Embellished Pt 01

Seraphina shifted in her seat, needing to scratch the itch and trying not to show it. Her parents had guests, the better sort of company, and it would be rude to act so distracted while Mrs. Ludlow held court. Especially if she scratched what was distracting her. Her attendance at these suppers were the price that Edgar, her father, had set in exchange for supplementing her income these past years since graduating university.

'Honestly sweetie, I don't know where your money goes. If you were dripping with diamonds like your sister I would understand, but you live like a pauper.' Seraphina had smiled at this, but kept quiet. Edgar was well into his third glass, and rounded his words as he spoke. He liked to talk as he drank, taking quick sips with each pause for effect. He never questioned her too deeply on what she bought, he didn't seem to care. He always supplied money and affection. He never needed her to achieve anything, or marry anyone. And a chef cooked dinner once a month at either the townhouse or the estate was an acceptable cost.

'And where do you itch, Ms. Smith?' Seraphina smoothly snapped her attention back to Mrs. Ludlow. She relaxed the fingers that had been scratching slowly at her wrist, and shifted again.

'I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ludlow, I'm not sure I heard you properly.'

'Theresa my dear, you aren't a girl anymore. Please, call me Theresa.'

'Of course Theresa. Some niceties are difficult to change I suppose. Especially since the time you dressed me and Fiona down so thoroughly.'

'What?' Mrs. Ludlow creased her brow for a moment, then smiled with recollection, 'My dear that was years ago, you and my niece were making a nuisance of yourselves! Bothering the horses and getting underfoot.' She opened her arms to the table, gesturing with her wine glass. 'These girls, you have no idea. I'd find them using the clean hay as a crash mat and jumping off walls into it. Or stamping in mud in the paddock. And lord the number of times I had to stop them playing with the equipment in the tack room! You ruffians earned a tongue lashing several times over.' At this she adopted a dramatically severe countenance, the attendant company chuckled. Edgar sipped at his glass happily. 'You were thick as thieves, you and my Fiona.'

Seraphina smiled and sipped her wine. Those were wonderful summer memories. Her friendship with Fiona had been immediate, each girl recognising in the other a true partner in mischief. She had been thinking of those three fleeting summers a lot recently, the time that was quickly becoming rose tinted, when every day was fun, when she enjoyed the final games of her childhood, and grew beyond playing to making safe trouble, experimenting with a stolen bottle of wine or a joint behind the stables. Admiring the horses. All the while surrounded by Mrs. Ludlow's bucolic pastureland. The thought had struck her already that those memories may have contributed to what had happened recently.

'Theresa was enquiring about where you work, Sweetie.' Edgar prompted.

'Yes of course.' She radiated another smile towards everyone. 'I assist in the historical records department at the museum. At least on a part time basis. I have been assigned to maps for the next few weeks.' The guests murmured some genial approvals, and Sera allowed the conversation to move away from her and on around the table.

'You know you really can stay the night if you would prefer Phiny.' Margaret, Seraphina's mother, said, helping her on with her coat. 'It seems like an awfully long way to drive at this hour.' The other guests had left a while before, and after listening to her father's whiskey paced stories for a solicitous period more, she had announced that she was tired.

'I won't be driving mummy, Francis will, he doesn't mind.' The coat settled into place and Seraphina turned. 'Do you Frank?'

'No miss. Happy to.' Said her parent's driver from where he waited beside the door.

'See mum, I'll just sit and enjoy the ride in his expert hands. You do have expert hands don't you Frank?'

'You know I do, miss' Francis smiled, slightly bashfully it seemed. Seraphina had always enjoyed charming people. Her sister dazzled them, she charmed.

'Well if you're sure darling, get home safe.' with hands on each other's forearms they leaned forward to peck each other on the cheek.

'Mwah! I will mum. Goodnight daddy' She called towards the study.

'Night Sweetie!' His voice rolled slurringly through the house.

The car moved out into the night, Seraphina nestled safely on the dark back seat. It was only when they were well beyond the gates to the estate that she allowed herself to address what had been bothering her all evening. Producing a small packet of hand wipes from her jacket pocket and placing them carefully on the seat next to her, she pulled the edge of her blouse up ever so slightly above her right hip. She undid her top button, and tucked the fingers of her right hand inside the waistband of her close fitting jeans. The hand slid around behind as she shifted her weight to the left. The hand tucked further around, her middle finger reaching stealthily up towards the crack of her ass, her nail coming to rest daintily against the skin immediately beside her butthole. With her neatly trimmed nail she began to scratch in tiny circles, biting her bottom lip and closing her eyes in pleasure at the relief to her still swollen skin. It would not fix the itch she knew, but it was immensely satisfying after an evening of proper posture. The privacy of her apartment would come soon enough.

'Everything alright Miss Sera?' Francis asked from the driver's seat. Seraphina pulled her hand away quietly, blushing slightly in the dark and reaching for a tissue.

'Hmm?'

'You made a noise Miss. Is everything alright?'

'Yes Frank, everything is fine.' In fact everything was getting much better for her.

The car wound out from country lanes and onto larger, faster roads. The electric motor was guided calmly and quickly by Francis. Seraphina watched distractedly as signs of civilization began to loom and retreat more frequently along their route. Advertising on these major roads was really getting out of hand. Huge signs blared graphics at the oncoming motorists. There had been a recent outcry when car manufacturers had struck a deal with advertisers. Now when a car was in auto most billboards would sync with it and begin displaying products on the HUD, projected onto the inside of the windshield. Sleeping commuters had been scared awake by exciting news about fantastic offers on cleaning products, and insurance. And the embellishments of course.

Several years prior a team working out of one of the smaller institutes had announced major breakthroughs in their work on bio-integration. Their focus had been on genomic modification for medical purposes, a field that had been on the edge of a revolution for seemingly twenty years. 'Think of the potential benefits of combining non-human traits with our own to improve medical outcomes!' the wide eyed spokesperson had enthused at the press briefing, 'Seamless integration of beneficial DNA.' Speculation had exploded about the potential implications.

'The Greenland Shark never gets cancer! Maybe that would prevent cancer from growing in us!'

'What about regrowing arms? The axolotl can do that!' Speculation on just what this research could mean for humanity abounded, with each expert predicting wilder and more optimistic things. The public wanted to see the wonders of the future today, but unfortunately the direct results had fallen well short of their expectations. Further experimentation had shown that the process was rarely 'seamless' as they had claimed. Sometimes a patient in a new trial, a poor soul desperate for a miracle, would respond badly to a newly developed animal therapy drug. They would pass away, the research team would announce another failure, providing extremely vague descriptions of the complications encountered, and the researchers would pivot down a new avenue. As time went on the failure rate, and the cost, and the waning public attention took more and more focus away from the process. It had simmered back down to being an extremely niche subject of study, and news of the benefits were rarely touted any more.

It did, however, bring one lasting change. An area of success was in the alteration of the skin and certain other soft tissues. It was perfect for helping burn victims. It was also perfect for body modification, and this was where the technology had finally found its feet. Very soon a new industry of clinic guided 'embellishments' had arisen. Now, with a minor surgery, a short round of drugs, and buckets of money, people could sport real whiskers, or pointed ears, or a tiger stripe pattern to their skin. The 'cat look' had really taken off in certain young and beautiful circles. Seraphina had rolled her eyes when a friend strutted into her apartment one day with dense, long white hair growing from ankle to knee.

'It's Yak!' she proclaimed proudly, 'Very exclusive! Very in!' Seraphina had smiled, and made appreciative noises, and indeed they had won her friend some brief, lusty attention, but secretly she thought they were ridiculous. She had a small collection of tattoos placed discretely around her body, mementos of good times with adventurous friends in exotic places. And they were enough for her.

Except they hadn't been enough.

The itch was back. She squirmed, pushing her weight down onto the seat, trying to rub herself against her silk underwear. It didn't help much. 'Just breathe through it', she told herself, 'another half hour and you can apply some salve. But fuck,' she sighed 'another two weeks of this might be more than I can bear.'

It took an hour and a half. A faulty connection in a lightrail coupling where it crossed the road had caused an incredible queue. Workers and maintenance engines struggled to get traffic moving again, but progress was slow.

'I blame the city!' Francis said from behind the wheel. 'They've been falling behind for years now. Bunch of incompetents! Pardon my language miss.' Francis had filled the time by saying this same thing in a dozen different ways. Seraphina let him grumble on, adding some supportive noises to imply that she was listening, but driven to quiet distraction by the ever present itch.

She opened an app and began to scroll, idly flicking past baby photos and fast opinions. Scrolling was not something she normally did but any distraction was welcome. After a few minutes she raised her hand to sweep the device to sleep, but as she did so a name drifted up onto the bottom of the screen. Fiona Ludlow.

They had been so close. Fiona had been like a cousin, a sister. She was the only person that Seraphina had come close to telling.

It was late in the summer. They were walking the perimeter of a field, closely hugging the hedge, keeping it between them and the stables a short way down the hill. Despite the balmy evening Fiona wore a large jacket, into the pockets of which she had slid three bottles of beer from her aunt's fridge. Seraphina transported a thin, misshapen joint in her back pocket. She had first attempted to roll for herself only a few weeks before. A couple of the stable boys had been doing the job before this. They were over eighteen and could buy the weed legally, but they were dull company and if they rolled they insisted on staying to share, so Seraphina had started to practice instead.

Their target was a small copse, remote enough to laugh and smoke in peace. As they walked they talked, reliving recent exploits, exaggerating this person's reaction to that trick, or that person's lack of awareness of this clever thing that one of the girls had said. Sitting unobtrusively beneath the trees they drank with self conscious bravado, and as the night drew nearer the joint smoldered from hand to hand. A mare grazed near to their hiding place. At first she had been curious to see if they carried a treat for her, but when none was forthcoming had turned back to cropping the lush grass near the edge of the copse.

'Look at her nipples. That's what having a baby does to you!' Fiona exclaimed. The mare had birthed a foal two months before, but the poor thing had died. The mare's teats were beginning to shrink back to their normal size but were still pronounced. 'Gross!'

'Uh, yeah.' Seraphina agreed after a moment, 'gross.'

'I mean can you imagine! Women who have babies end up all loose. No one would ever want to do it with you!' Fiona pointed at the horse, 'they probably look like that!' The mare, a soft grey thing, had turned away from them, still eating, and the last rays of the sun as it settled past the hills behind them were spilling onto the creature's backside. Between swishes of its tail they could see the contours of enormous, soft genitals, and a dark, protuberant anus. 'Gross!' Fiona announced again, 'Right?'

Seraphina stammered an agreement and cast her eyes down. She had been looking at the mare for some time before Fiona mentioned it. She had cried when the foal died, quietly of course. This was a working farm and few people seemed to share her sentimentality. She loved horses, they were gentle and powerful. She could ride, but not incredibly well. She spent more time around horses than riding them, more time stroking and grooming than sitting astride. She loved to braid their tails, and had become good enough that Mrs. Ludlow had once allowed her to help prepare some for a show.

'Her tail is very pretty' she said quietly,

'Yeah but look at what's under it!' again she jabbed a finger towards the horse directing Seraphina's gaze back to the anatomy, 'That flabby vag, and that giant donut! Eww! Right?'

'I mean yeah, uh, totally, but' Seraphina said, 'but I don't think it looks, you know, that gross.' The heavy shadow of the copse hid her blush. Fiona looked at her and giggled nervously.

'You think that looks, like nice or whatever?'

'I, I guess.I guess It's not too gross.' Fiona was silent for a moment, a questioning look on her face.

'Well I guess' she continued slowly, 'if I was a horse I'd think it was... sexy or whatever.' She laughed out loud again, softly slapping her friend's arm. 'Hey Sera, if you like it then maybe you're part horse! That'd be dope!'

Seraphina forced a laugh as well, handing the joint to Fiona and swallowing hard. It was cool under the trees, but parts of her felt uncomfortably hot. The mare moseyed away down the field, and the light traced a final line against the far side of the valley.

'Moving again Miss.' Francis' voice snapped her back to the present, 'Thank gawd!'

'Oh, oh good!' Seraphina ground her backside into the seat.

'Thanks Mr. Expert Hands' Seraphina flashed Francis a winning smile as he held the rear door open for her.

'They're here any time you need them Miss.' He held up his broad, tanned right hand, and repeated his bashful smile.

'See you next month Frank.' Seraphina put a familiar hand on his shoulder as she walked past him and up the steps to the building. She knew he would watch to see her safely to the door, he always did. He watched with a paternal air, just as he had when dropping her at school or at the farm when she was a girl. At times over the years she had noticed his gaze trained firmly on other young women, and she sometimes wondered if his view of her hadn't changed somewhat since her childhood.

She reached the door handle, turned to wave a goodbye, and began the interminably long walk up seven flights to her floor. The elevator was broken, and unlike her sister's accommodation there was only one in this building. With each step the itching got worse. At the third landing she stopped to take a breath, leaning forward against the railing and gritting her teeth. She softly stamped a foot and groaned. They had downplayed this side effect when she was at the clinic. 'Mild discomfort' is how it was described. She had felt mild discomfort after her tattoos, mild comfort she could deal with. Her shaking hand was moving to loosen her jeans when a door opened into the stairwell just two floors above, and the energetic sounds of a group of young men began to descend. Seraphina groaned and began walking upstairs again.

Why had she been so rash? It had taken a single moment of weakness, placing her contact details on the clinic's site when she was high and reality seemed far away. Despite the late hour she had received a phone call within minutes, and in a disconnected bout of bravado had agreed to a consultation set for a few days later. After that she had allowed events to overtake her. A permanent change, made rashly. She had been raised better than that. Who could she blame but herself?

She didn't blame Doctor Peters. He had done everything in a responsible and ethical manner. There was no pressure, no hard sell, and seemingly no ulterior motive. But his level of enthusiasm had struck her at the time as strange. Before the consultation Seraphina had prepared several ways of justifying her choice, but after quietly and hesitantly describing what she wanted the man had agreed wholeheartedly. He had practically jumped with excitement.

'Yes. Yes I can do this. Certainly I can.' He had begun pacing, one hand deep in the pocket of his white coat, the other rested on his bottom lip. 'I don't think it's entirely novel. Novel enough certainly, certainly it is. But I have read about similar cases.' He raised his head, his wide, excited eyes meeting her wide, nervous ones. 'The trick will be finding ideal source material. Yes indeed. Well,' he gestured towards the examination table with a smile 'hop up on there and we will take a look!'

'Um, yes. I suppose. Yes.' She rose. Her index fingers twined in front of the skirt she wore. 'Should I, um, remove them then?'

'Hmm? Oh yes, please just put them on the seat for now.' Doctor Peters had turned and was rifling through drawers. Seraphina took a breath, then hiking the skirt, hooked her thumbs into her underwear and, bending at the waist, pulled them down her legs. She stepped her feet out one at a time, being careful not to let the material touch the floor, folded the small garment once, and placed it on her seat. She smoothed the skirt again over her thighs.

'Um, Doctor,' She said to his still turned back, 'which way should I, uh, be?' Doctor Peters looked over his shoulder briefly.

'Oh, yes, all fours. Better view. Up you go please. Up, up!' He again pointed to the table, this time holding a smooth metal instrument in his gesturing hand. Seraphina was blushing hard as she turned, and crawled up and onto the cushioned table on all fours. 'Just be a minute. Where is that blasted light?' Her heart began to beat faster, she squeezed her eyes closed. The sounds of instruments being sorted onto a metal tray continued. 'Be right with you. Just need... aha! There you are.' The rolling stool squeaked as Doctor Peters sat down heavily, the momentum of his sit wheeling him towards the table. 'Ok, let's look at our canvas shall we?'

Seraphina gasped as in one fluid motion the doctor pinched the hem of her skirt in both hands and and flicked it up to rest on the back of her shoulders. Cold air flowed between her legs. She buried her face into the surface of the table, balling up the hygienic paper covering in her fists.

'Oh, that's lucky!' He said, seeing her tattoo. 'Haha. Hmm, yes ok, yes. I see, ok, fine.' Doctor Peters muttered to himself. 'Ok, quick pressure here now.' Seraphina gasped as a hand was placed on each cheek of her bottom and moved apart. The skin of the doctor's hands was cool and dry, his palms broad and firm, his thumbs gentle as he placed one on each lip of her vagina and parted them slightly. She failed to stifle a squeak, she could feel his breath against the back of her thighs. 'I know. Yes, that's fine. And now...' The thumbs released and her vagina closed. The thumbs moved upwards. His voice took on a more empathetic tone 'Easy now, just for a second here.' the thumbs met and rested directly in the center of her anus. Seraphina gathered a breath and released it slowly, trying to force the muscles of her sphincter to relax. As she did so she felt the thumbs gently assisting her hole to open. 'Mmm hmm, yes. Just fine. Ok, very quick cold going in, hold it there a moment.' She felt a thin, lubricated object being slid shallowly into her rectum. She heard a click. It was withdrawn. 'And that's it!' The doctor's tone brightened once more, and seizing her skirt he again flicked it back over her bottom. The stool squeaked in relief as he stood and washed his hands at the sink.