Plastic Prosthesis Recovery Inc.

PLASTIC PROSTHESIS RECOVERY INSTITUTE - PPR INC.

A SEXUAL COMEDY IN A FEW WORDS

nb-names have been altered to provide privacy

PLASTIC PROSTHESIS RECOVERY INSTITUTE

What woman doesn't want a great pair of breasts, a movie star chin, abs like Dwaine the Cock, or Jock or whatever his real name is? Hey, those abs are not natural! Nope, they are plastic prostheses!

My dream is to fill up every empty crevice on the human body to satisfy those unhappy with their appearance, desirous of showing a new face to the world, or a more beautiful state. I'm not talking about Hawaii.

Our efforts will create an aesthetic dream world. To those desirous persons, the timeless beauty of the Venus de Milo, the earthy beauty of Sophia Loren, the sexuality of Monroe ( Not President Monroe), the grace of an Audry Hepburn, or the rugged visage of the Duke (John Wayne). The masculine beauty of Paul Newman or Mastrioni is now within reach of everyone, and you don't need a gravedigger's shovel.

Let me explain. I first began considering this concept when I was a young intern, fresh out of Berkley Medical School. My career took an unexpected turn when the state medical examiner hired me to perform autopsies on gunshot victims 'toe tagged' in Los Angeles. Many of the victims were common homemakers, criminals, or prostitutes found in the wrong place at the wrong time and zapped, often by police over eager to pull the trigger. Of course, sixty-two percent of the younger prostitutes had their tits stuffed with plastic prostheses. In doing their autopsies, I noticed that the prostheses were still in excellent condition, except when the bullets had pierced one tit and left the other implant unscathed.

Harry Hirohito, my male surgical assistant, said,

"Fake tits are hard to kill."

Then it came to me, could we harvest implants from the recently dead? I started paying attention and taking samples from the various cadavers that came to us for autopsies. I was amazed at how resilient these 'plastic' materials were. The saline implants were equally resilient, but refilling depended on the intricacy of the injector valve, and I never felt comfortable doing a replant with the prefilled saline "Booby pack." When recharged and tightened, the valves were still not strong enough. When examined under a high-powered microscope, they often showed fiber wear. With patience and continuous experimentation, we found an epoxy that allowed safe valve replacement.

Harry said, " How often can you squeeze a fake tit before it gets boring or breaks." We tested that; the silicon implants held up past 2308 hard squeezes. They were damn near indestructible when the silicon shell was 10mm to12mm.

We had many used samples in the coroner's office, but we had to find the best way to sterilize them. I visited the Allergen company's production plant in Pittsburg. I made a friendship with Dr. Ferdinand Russo, who had no intention of transferring to Mexico when the Pittsburg plant was scheduled to close next year.

Russo was a wiz when it came to providing answers. We used proprietary, confidential information to establish the liquid sterilizers that would not permeate the inner surface but eliminate any trace of organic adhesion material. After that, it was only necessary to heat sterilize and put the reconditioned prosthesis into plastic sterilized packs.

After eliminating any snags in this process, I appeared on the Shark Sank television show and was sent packing after my introductory remarks. The idea was too far out for the panelists to back. However, one of the TV panel of investors approached me after the show and offered to buy a 50% share for $200,000 with the additional promise to help me set up mortuary retrieval units over most of the globe-- Europe, the United States, and South America being the most significant users of breast prosthesis. I agreed in a heartbeat.

We have already sent patented sterilizers to six different locations. Gordon Jenkins, our secret Silicon Valley billionaire benefactor, floated us a $2,000,000 loan (oops, I wasn't supposed to mention his name, please don't tell anyone). We are actively involved in experimentation, and our progress is excellent. Our competitors call us "Gravediggertitty.com, but who gives a nip?

When I left the coroner's department, I was hired to assist the famous aged Dr. Noah Lansky, who had pioneered breast enhancement for the wannabe Playmates referred to him by Hugh Heffner. Although he was in his eighties, his mind was still sound, but his hands had a slight tremble that meant I had to do the surgery.

Noah would say, "Hef looks at a babe and tells her,

"If you had a little more tit, you could be a star." or "You need a more prominent chin, sweetheart, to set off your nose, damn you could be in 'pitchers,'" or "Honey, you need more umph in your ass."

"Not your dick again," she replied.

Hef bankrolled these wannabe starlets who paid a hefty interest rate for the loan and referral service. Some women, like Honey Grifter, made it to the big time in porn. Others like Sara Jourgonson had a short movie career and a popular television vaginal deodorant commercial.

Others ended up in the secretarial pool at Playboy Magazine. The high heels short-skirted members of that tribe were called upon to perform certain dirty little acts that are no longer openly discussed in Corporate America. Shouts of

"Don't squeeze my tit so hard, you'll break it," were commonly heard behind closed doors at Playboy's executive office.

Back then, from 1950 to 1980, every employee knew they were considered the boss's property. The "me-too movement" was not yet invented. Dr. Noah confided in me that when he often attended Playboy parties, sexual activity was rampant. Girls fought for an invitation to the Playboy Grotto soiree parties. The chance to meet the most eligible actors, comics, and athletes, might make your world and bank account jingle -think cash. Marry one of these bozos, and you'd hit the gold mine. So what if you had to shed a little pussy juice and sperm in the grotto pool, the pool cleaner would scoop it up, and no one would notice.

Today the cost of implantation by a qualified surgeon can cost from $4,000 to $15,000. Even dentists are allowed to play with tits—something they were doing for years when they'd put Miss Smith to sleep with laughing gas.

A good quality silicone implant sells to doctors for $480-600 and can last a lifetime. The ones from certain 3rd world countries are right up there with the cost of a bag of fancy potato chips. When they charge the patient, the doctors increase their price at least four times over their cost. We have asked the legislature to permit patients to purchase their prostheses directly from us.

With rescued implants from cadavers, our firm could offer high-quality, respected brands from the USA, Europe, and Japan, all of the highest quality. We can offer them at half the wholesale price, and the patients can then go to surgeons or clinics we designated, who would only charge them for the medical 'labor.' involved. We like to refer to these individuals as the "Have Tit will Travel" group.

Selling such provocative items led me into several embarrassing situations. Did I say bare-assing? How often did a flat-chested vixen offer me a dabble in her honey pot? Yes, human behavior being as it is, such offers were frequent.

I vividly remember the young and gorgeous Tia Maria Higgins and her twin sister Carpum Diam Higgins. Their bodies were near perfection, but unfortunately, both were flat-chested, with lovely nips but no titties. You may remember the twins after they were 'implanted-blown up' and featured in several bare-chested layouts in Playboy, Punchy, Squire, Cosmopolitan, and other magazines. I was responsible for the increased size of their bosoms.

To say the Higgin's Twins were oversexed would be an understatement. I was at the Chicago Medical Convention for plastic surgeons with a small booth exhibiting examples of our recovered prosthesis and surgical photographs of the procedures.

The twins entered my booth and couldn't keep their hands off me. I almost came in my pants, but I told them they had to cease their embarrassing behavior or I'd have the security guard remove them. That calmed them down and gave me time to hide my obvious erection. I wrote down my hotel and suggested they visit me that evening.

I didn't know that one of the twins was super fem and the other was a lesbian whose pussy was never penetrated by a male, but she had other surprises in her bag of tricks. Later that night, there was a double knock at the door, and I peeked and saw the two blonds in shameless attire. At first, I thought they were prostitutes prowling the hotel, but then Carpum Dium lifted her short skirt and flashed m I recognized them.

"Come in, sweeties." I opened the door.

Tia Maria entered like she owned the place, while her sister put her arm around me and held tightly to my swelling pecker.

"Have you ever heard the woodpecker song?" She asked as her other hand unzipped my pants.

"Do you have a bottle of Champagne here, Dodo?"

"My name is not Dodo, but I responded, "Look in the bar fridge."

The next thing I heard, as Carpum pushed me onto the bed and pulled off my pants and briefs was,

"Look, sister," said Capum, "real tighty whities." She pulled off my underwear and placed them on her head like a headdress.

"Would you like a..." And before she could finish her question, Tia guzzled a full mouth of champagne and started giving me a bubbly blow job.

I had no intention of being taken advantage for a fool.

"Ok, girls, I get it. If you want free titties, I've got to fuck you. A blow job ain't going to do it."

In response, the twins unzipped their party dresses, and all three of us climbed nude into the bed. I struggled to get my wang into Tia, but her cunt was tighter than a peanut shell.

"Here, let's try it this way."

I rolled off the bed and pulled Tia closer, she lifted her legs, and I bent over to lick her magnificent vagina that spread wide with lips that resembled a petite pink ameba. I spent a few minutes feasting, and when I stopped, she grabbed my swollen cock and inserted it into her tight pussy.

Carpum must have busied herself getting ready for that moment. I was leaning forward, filling Tia's magnificence, when a terrible pain broke my concentration, and my dick started squirting love juice much sooner than I'd planned.

Tia had laced her long legs around my knees, holding me captive. Her sister Carpum, outfitted with a belted eight-inch black lubed dildo, had gotten behind me and in one swoop had penetrated my butt hole and was thrusting inside me like a tennis ball machine, one blast of her hips followed by another.

I found myself in a most uncomfortable situation. The more Carpum's dildo rampaged through my ass flesh, the quicker the pain began to subside, and the hammering in my ass became bearable. Damn, I began to enjoy it.

"How am I going to live without this," flashed through my mind.

My limp dick, having made a generous deposit in Tia's cunt, came up for a breath of fresh air and became alive again. I knew dickyboy would not let me down. I shook him out to his full length, and whatever sperm remained in my large balls was now dripping out of my pee-hole intent on waxing the floor, and shoved him once more into Tia's rosy vag.

I learned there is no better tool for a subsequent ejaculation than having a dildo in your ass. Having satisfied myself and Tia, she released her stranglehold on my legs, and Carpum let go of my ass cheeks, withdrawing the long object from my enlarged butt hole. Carpum pinched my ass and ran into the bathroom to wash the wicked instrument.

Tia wrenched the cork out of a chilled bottle of Dom and filled our glasses. We spent the rest of the night gurgling and giggling. Before they left, I gifted them four of the best titty implants from my sample case.

Some men would say lesbians are a pain in the ass. Initially, that may be true, but once you get synchronized with its magic and rhythm, a strap-on can be marvelous.

'Enuff' said about this purulent episode. I hope you, dear readers, will not reveal this story to my wife.