It always amazed me how the simplest of things could change your life. Turn left instead of going right, hit the brakes instead of the gas, dress for a party instead of work, or, in my case, accidentally take the wrong pill. I had been working for a new company; I am a financial consultant and general troubleshooter for big businesses, when this occurred.
It began, truthfully, with another car running a red light. The car broadsided me and I ended up spending several months in traction. After the hospital stay came an even longer rehabilitation. Unfortunately, neither could eliminate the pain that I was forced to live with. Luckily, the man I am, and the one I was to become in the future, both learned how to deal with pain--to even make pain pleasurable and desirable.
How to start is the most difficult question. Well, for me at least it was rather easily solved. You see the car that broadsided me belonged to a company. Right on the side of the car it had the company name emblazoned in big, bold, cursive letters: H.Y.D.R.A.
H.Y.D.R.A. stood for Helping You Deal Right Away. Just my luck I got hit, and severely hurt, by a driver from a rehabilitation center dealing with people injured in automobile accidents. I know, it couldn't have been more ironic if I'd plan the fucking accident myself!!
Needless to say the employee who hit me, a rather striking long-legged, large chested blonde, gave me her card right away and we exchanged information. When the time came for my hospital stay to end and my rehabilitation to begin I knew right where I was headed. The company had contacted the hospital, explained the situation and told them that, obviously, the rehabilitation, however long it took, would be performed by them gratis.
Now I know what you are thinking--they had other motives for taking care of my rehabilitation--like avoiding a major liability lawsuit that would probably cost them millions. I thought the same thing and was just as wrong as you are. The rehabilitation, complete with all surgical reconstruction, since my body was severely damaged in the accident and insurance doesn't cover more "cosmetic" procedures, was to be performed there and that is where my adventure at H.Y.D.R.A. begins.
They took pictures from my apartment to use as a guide, but they did not reconstruct my face and body to my previous state. Instead of doing just reconstruction they decided to improve upon it as well. When I finally was able to see my new face and body I realized I was staring at me, but it looked nothing like me previously. H.Y.D.R.A. made me better. I was now the, at least in their eyes, perfect specimen of masculinity.
My face had been altered and I had the gorgeous looks of an Olympian god. Every facial muscle was perfect, not a hair out of place. My eyes were the same basic color but now looked to be an even more striking shade if that is possible. When I stared at my naked body for the first time I realized that I now had the quintessential "six-pack" abs I'd always dreamed about. My legs were somehow thinner, toned, yet more muscular looking. All in all I was everything I'd ever dreamed of being but had yet to reach though the workouts I did daily.
I can't say that the first time I was awakened I was surprised to be strapped to a table. After all, if you saw your body had been completely rearranged by some unknown benefactor what would you do? Thankfully they had a counselor on hand to explain what had been done before they ever let me off the table. She had taken her time and went into full details as to what to expect when they did let me up. So, when I was finally able to see myself nude in the rooms full-body length mirror I did not freak out--too much anyway---though I do recall cheering just a bit.
What I did not know at the time, though found out later on, was that other modifications were made to my body as well initially and that more were indeed planned for me. The one modification that they made that was not immediately apparent upon waking, but after being visited by several gorgeous nurses soon became apparent, was the fact that they had also, for some unknown reason, increased both the length and girth of my penis. I mean, let's face it, several gorgeous nurses see you naked and you are strapped to a bed you are going to get a massive hard-on unless you are gay or dead. Well, I am not gay and after seeing them I knew for certain I was not dead!
My rehabilitation progressed rather normally, aside from the modifications that they had made to my body, and soon enough I was able to walk, run and exercise as I had before. The nurses and doctors all seemed to be flirting with me though I don't know why or whether or not it was just a figment of my overactive imagination. What I did know for certain was that I can't ever recall seeing a male nurse or doctor the whole time I was there recovering during my rehabilitation.
Eventually they pronounced me fully recovered and I was able to leave. However, for some reason I don't recall, I never made it out that door. Instead, I awoke in some strange chamber, bound naked and gagged only able to hear some strange chanting. I tried to focus on the words but focusing only seemed to make me all the more groggy and unfocused instead.