The last model in the lineup strutted her way down the catwalk, moving seemingly effortlessly in that long-practised way, arms and legs and hips and buttocks all perfectly orchestrated in a symphony of motion that ensured that all eyes stayed on her. The advance publicity had been most carefully managed: some in the audience were already aware that this one was different. But still you could hear the sharp indrawn breaths from those who were only just noticing what was—unusual—about this girl. As she got to the end and turned to make her way back, murmurs broke out here and there. But there was also sporadic applause.
The applause grew stronger, and overpowered the questioning murmurs by sheer volume. Some got to their feet and cheered. As the last girl got back to the main stage, the designer came out, surrounded by the models applauding him, as was usual. As she joined in with the rest, she looked around, and even she could not help but notice that much of the cheering and clapping and blowing of kisses from the audience was not for him, but for her.
❦ ❦ ❦
“Homomorphic acroplasty?” enunciated the interviewer carefully. “Sounds painful.”
Erica smiled. “Thankfully, it wasn’t,” she replied. “I suffered terribly in the accident, but once I was in the capable hands of Doctor Valens and his team, I have to say they treated me very well.”
“Tell us about your accident.”
“I was a passenger in a car crash. The car hit a power pole, and a cable landed on—actually in—the wreck of the car. There was a fire. I tried to get myself out, and got both of my hands badly burnt.” She held out her arms for all to see. “They had to be removed completely.”
“And the good Doctor told you what he was able to do for you?”
“Yes. At first I thought it was kind of, euughh, weird, you know? But I had plenty of time to think about it—I could have lived the rest of my life without hands, if I wanted to. And eventually I realized it was the only way.”
“They have done transplants.”
“Certainly, and that gets better all the time. But even with all the best matching techniques, they still never quite look like they’re part of you. And you have to take the drugs to stop the immune rejection, for the rest of your life. As a model, transplants were never going to look good on me. And prosthetics, as advanced as they are getting nowadays, just can’t offer the functionality you get from your own body.”
“So what did the Doctor say?”
“He said he could clone an existing part of my body. You know, make extra copies in another place. He couldn’t make new hands, exactly, because I didn’t have hands any more that he could copy. But he could clone my feet, as the next best thing.”
“So you have an extra pair of feet on your arms in place of hands.”
“Feet on my legs, feet on my arms, yes.” Erica paused to take a sip of water from the glass on the table in front of her. “As you can see, they’re not perfectly as good as hands. Toes are not fingers, so I need to use both armfeet to hold the glass. Of course, it’s easier with a wineglass, since I can grasp the stem of that between my toes.”
“Ah, if only we could have served you wine on the show...” Laughter. “You call them ‘armfeet’?”
“Yes. I don’t call them hands, because they’re not hands. In place of fingers, I have to get by with these extra toes. But even so they are quite flexible—with a bit of practice.” She demonstrated by spreading and wiggling the toes on her armfeet. “I’ve had quite a bit of time to get used to them. I can write and draw and type and dress myself and put on makeup and ... and do all the usual everyday things with them. Better than mechanical parts, anyway, because they’re a seamless part of my body, controlled by my muscles and part of my nervous system.”
“Organic feet are better than robotic hands?”
“I tried the robotics. So, definitely.”
❦ ❦ ❦
Erica sat before the dressing table, and undid the lid on the cream jar as the camera came into a medium shot. She dipped a toe of an armfoot in the jar and held up the dab of cream. “As a woman, it is important for my skin to be supple,” she said to the camera as she rubbed the cream between the soles of her armfeet. “Even though I have feet for hands, Delpica Deep Moisturizer With Lanolin works to keep them soft like silk, so my touch can be soft like a caress from a hand, not like a kick from a foot.” She ran the soles of her armfeet each across the other forearm, and then used them to caress her cheeks, tilting her head at the camera for the closing zoom-in. “Delpica. Keeps my feet as soft as your hands.”
“Cut! That’s a take.”
“Do I have to do this topless?”
❦ ❦ ❦
“Here at the Valens Clinic, we replace missing body parts, we don’t normally get called on to add extra ones.”
“But you can do it, Doc?” asked the bare-breasted woman sitting on the examination table.
“Your existing figure is entirely natural, with no artificial augmentation? Yes, I believe we can, Miss, er ...”
“Cara Kuntz. Well, that’s my acting name. On account of the tricks I do with my pussy ’n’that.”
“Have you been a porn actress long?’
“Few years with live shows, videos, got my own website, live streams, all that. But same thing all the time gets stale, yeah? So I wanna take it to the next level, like.”
“So you want to be the first multibreasted porn actress.”
“First proper multibreasted porn actress, not like those stick-on fakes, or those mutant girls they find with one extra lump with a nipple on it, yeah? I want these to be a regular extra pair, like. Matching shape and size and skin colour and everythink, nicely placed, here, and here.” She indicated symmetrical spots on her rib cage underneath her existing ample breasts. “I give them a bit of a jiggle, they’ll know it’s not Photoshop, yeah.”
“Since they will be clones of your existing breasts, rest assured they will look, and feel, and work, every bit as natural as the ones you’ve already got.”
“Wow! Four genuine, working tits! Will they make milk?”
“You take lactation pills? Sure, they will work. And no, you don’t have to take twice as many.”
“Triffic! I can’t wait! Only thing is, I’ll have to come up with a new acting name, to go with the new gimmick. How does ‘Carlotta Rackz’ get you?”
“I’m afraid my tastes would run to something more like, ‘The Polymastic Polly Masters’.”
“Poly ... what?”
“‘Polymastic’. It means ‘multibreasted’.”
The girl grinned. “Oh yeah, right.”
❦ ❦ ❦
At the post-show party.
“So, how’s your freak lady doing?”
“You mean Erica? She’s doing very well, thank you. Lots of work right now.”
“The audience is going to get tired of her, you know that.”
“As they do every girl, eventually. But this one really is different.”
“All in all, pretty gutsy of Jean-Louis to have her in his show. But I guess his little freak attraction paid off. This time.”
“Hello, Max. And what are you gentlemen talking about?”
“Why, we were talking about you, my dear. Ed here was just describing you as, what did you call her? A f—”
“My goodness, is that the time? Nice to meet you, um, Erica, but I really have to rush off now. Urgent business pre-meeting before tomorrow’s business meeting, you know. Bye-bye.”
“At this hour? What a strange man...”
❦ ❦ ❦
“So you are the famous Doctor Valens?”
Erica made the introductions. “This is Max, my agent. Max, the doctor who rebuilt me after the accident.”
“Do you have many patients for this sort of thing?” asked Max.
“As befitting the first, and only, practitioner of this technique so far, I have my hands full,” replied the Doctor.
“So to speak,” added Max.
The Doctor hesitated for only a moment before laughing politely. “It is not all substituting feet for hands,” he replied. “The technique has many other applications. Also if the patient has not suffered bilateral loss, it is possible to clone from the remaining side to mend the other. For example, replacing a unilateral mastectomy.”
“The loss of one breast. For example, from cancer. Or someone who has lost an eye, could have a replacement cloned from the remaining eye. Just to mention some actual cases.”
“Ah.” Max gulped a little.
“The possibilities for musculoskeletal integration alone—”
“I think I need another drink. Excuse me, Doctor.”
The Doctor gave only a brief glance of puzzlement as Max left. Then he turned to Erica. “Anyway, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”
Erica followed his gaze to a woman at the other end of the room. “Who is she?”
“Another of my patients.”
“Quite a looker. Is she a model, too?”
“She used to be one. She’s not sure she can do it again. Maybe she should, and maybe she shouldn’t. But sharing experiences with you ... could be helpful.”
“Sure, if you think I can help.”
The woman caught the doctor’s gaze. He beckoned, and she began to walk over.
Erica’s glance immediately went to her arms, thinking that—but no, she just had regular-looking hands on the ends of her arms. Bare to the shoulders, with the most delicate of straps covering her soft, natural-looking breasts, running down to an ankle-length leg-hugging dress...
And there it was. She had no shoes or stockings on—could she even wear shoes? For on the ends of her legs, she had an extra pair of hands in place of feet.
“Erica, Vanessa,” said the Doctor.
Erica could barely even offer an armfoot to shake before the woman took it in both of her armhands. “Oh, I’ve heard so much about you,” Vanessa exclaimed. “You were wonderful in the show today.”
“It’s been a year since my own accident, when I had to quit modelling.”
“You lost your ... feet?” asked Erica.
“Yes. And the Doctor said he could replace them with clones of my hands. Sounds strange, really, but it’s true what he said, that a part of your own body is better than any prosthesis.”
“Seems we have something in common. Or is it that opposites attract? I’m not sure.”
Vanessa laughed at Erica’s feigned confusion. “If only the Doctor could figure out how to swap our parts around, wouldn’t that be great?”
“We’re working on it, I assure you,” replied the Doctor. “Speaking of work, I have a full day tomorrow, so I should probably call it a night.”
“Ah, but for us girls the night is young,” replied Erica, “Let’s go get a drink, and talk some more.”
Doctor Valens turned to watch the two departing women, and smiled.
❦ ❦ ❦
They found their way to the garden outside the chateau.
“Let’s keep on the grass,” said Vanessa. “Concrete and gravel hurts my leg-hands.”
“You should wear shoes,” suggested Erica.
“I wish I could. But they only make them for feet, not hands.”
“We should talk to one of the shoe-designers. They’re creative types, they love to try something new.”
“Who knows?” replied Vanessa. “Maybe they could come up with a whole line of shoes for hands, and I could model them!”
They both giggled at that.
“These heels aren’t so good on soft ground,” added Erica, slipping her own shoes off. “Ooh, this grass is cold.”
“Here, have a flower,” said Vanessa, plucking a daisy from the grass with one leg-hand. She passed it to an arm-hand and held it out to Erica.
“I can do that too,” replied Erica, similarly plucking a flower with a leg-foot, and taking and offering it with an arm-foot.
“I learned to use all my hands,” said Vanessa.
“And I learned to use all my feet,” replied Erica.
❦ ❦ ❦
Vanessa sat on the bed, while Erica stood in front of the mirror, clad only in panties, her dress on the floor. Outside the window, the first traces of dawn could be seen lightening the sky.
“I haven’t—since the accident—” hesitated Erica.
“Allow me,” replied Vanessa. She slipped the straps of her gown off her shoulders, baring her breasts. Then she came over behind Erica, and gently embraced her from behind.
Vanessa smiled and shook her head. “Your feet in place of hands, my hands in place of feet—what does it matter? I think you’re beautiful. Do you think I’m beautiful?”
Erica nodded, slowly. “Yes you are.” Barely audible.
“Then...?” Vanessa gave a questioning look into the mirror.
Panic in her voice. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Please go.” Erica stifled a sob. Then, more insistently. “Just go!”
Tears came into Vanessa’s eyes. “I thought—with you—we would—” In a welter of confusion she slipped her gown back on, gave one last look of hurt and bewilderment back at Erica, and fled from the room.
Alone, Erica hooked the big toes of her armfeet in the top of her panties and slowly drew them down. The fire had not only destroyed her hands, it had taken something else. Memories of the desperate struggle to push herself free from the burning seat of the car as the flames licked up around her thighs... As the garment fell to the floor, she took a hard, pitiless look at her exposed crotch.
The internal genitalia were still intact, it was only the external parts that were lost. There was no sign of scarring anywhere—mere replacement of lost skin was routine to fix nowadays. Erica had agonized over this decision even longer than over the replacement of her hands. Finally she had to agree that the Doctor’s recommendation, bizarre as it was, was the most functional of all the alternatives. Because the thought of living the rest of her life being unable to enjoy sexual pleasure was just too depressing to contemplate.
It was a perfect, though boneless, clone of her face-mouth. Even the lip muscles worked in all their versatility, once she figured out how to control them. Though she vetoed the Doctor’s suggestion of adding a tongue. And the issue of teeth had been avoided by common consent...
She opened and closed her sex-mouth, and exercised pursing and pouting the lips. It seemed miraculous that the sexual sensitivity had been restored, that the sensation when those lips were touched, even when they just touched each other—
She formed a smile with her sex-lips, and almost answered it with a smile from her face-mouth. Then that bleak look came over her face again.
Someday, maybe someday, she would pluck up the courage to show that to a lover. Or even have a lover. Reveal that last secret, pay the price of rejection, if that’s what would happen. Many had been accepting of what she was so far; would they still be accepting of one even more extreme revelation? She would take that step and find out.
But not today.
❦ ❦ ❦