Keep her face underwater until that pathetic fighting stops
…. and until that pathetic little heart stops….
Then haul her out and get to work 🥵
Horror ♥ Enemies ♥ Heart exam ♥ Work
The Devil. That’s what they’d called him. It brought a smile to his face reading the e-mail chain he was never supposed to see. It was a private conversation, a back and forth between the executives of one of the many corporations he owned. He fired everyone cc’d on it. Then he put the nickname on his business card. He liked it. The Devil.
The Devil stepped on stage, wearing a black suit and red tie. He faced the large audience of c-suite execs, shareholders, important people – it was the annual convention for the holding company that legally oversaw the network of brands, businesses, and conglomerates under his dominion. No one dared miss the event for fear of his wrath. And yet, one major CEO was absent without explanation.
The murmuring audience silenced as he approached the mic. The large projector that had earlier displayed charts and reports now shot up a white slide with the text HEART OF THE COMPANY.
His speech seemed humdrum enough. Profits were up, shares were strong…but something seemed dark and sinister behind his eyes. Outside of this room, the men and women gathered were giants of industry. Major players. Some were household names. But in here, they were in hell. His hell. No one said a word or even reached for a glass of water. There was a terrible sense of dread. He was the kind of man who might liquidate one of their companies just for the fun of it.
“Some of you may have noticed we’re a CEO short today. She’ll be joining us live via video here in a moment. I’ve sent a special auditor to our New York branch to do a…” he lingered on the next word with inhuman cruelty “…check-up.” Then the Devil smiled. “Here she is now. He turned to the projected image behind him and clicked a button.
The shocked audience gasped at what they saw. The slide had become a top down video stream of a conference table. The CEO was strapped down to it, her white silk shirt opened down to her dark wool pants. A red necktie gagged around her mouth, softening her screams. “What is this?” “Is this some kind of sick joke?” “Is this real?” the terrified audience said in whispers across tables. The Devil smiled, knowing they wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.
A pair of medical gloved hands entered the livestream frame. They cut her bra down the middle, parting the halves over the large cups of the woman’s breasts. Then the hands drew a line down her chest with a Sharpie. The helpless CEO could only watch in terror, her screams projected live from her conference room into the full banquet hall. The Devil smiled. “Anyone want to see how the company is doing? Let’s check some vitals.”
The “auditor” placed a stethoscope on the woman’s chest. Her fearful pump pounded against her chest, the frantic beats beamed remotely into the corporate venue. The audience watched the video proceed in absolute panic – this was a leader in her industry, they sat on the same boards, played tennis at the same health club. Now they saw her bound and gagged to a table, naked tits spread – and they listened as her heart raced so fast it stumbled over itself, skipping in terror. The Devil couldn’t tell which view he enjoyed more, the giant video behind him or the shocked faces in front. He hoped at least someone in the audience noticed the CEO’s smart watch light up in red with her BPM flashing. “I love technology,” his psychopathic mind thought.
“Sounds like they’re performing well over there” He said into the microphone, speaking over the muffled yells and loud heartbeats coming from the stream. He paused to straighten his tie. “But let’s get a more holistic angle.”
The stethoscope explored different parts of her chest, making a slow stop-and-go circle over her chest with the same lack of empathy as a city bus. Business as normal, just with screams and a heart that could burst any minute. The CEO’s pump was struggling, too much coffee, too many red eye flights…and they could all hear it in the erratic pounding.
“I think I can speak for everyone when I say that what we’re seeing is very impressive work,” the Devil grinned. “Looks can be deceiving though. Maybe we need a better view?”
Omg… love this! So different… and so dark… 😈😈😈
just watched a demonstration on open thoracotomy and how to treat a stab wound of the heart and they were talking about how sometimes all you have to do to get a patient's vitals back is to press a finger over the wound (which effectively plugs the hole and allows for blood flow again). and i got really turned on by the idea of someone saving me that way. they keep their finger pressed against the hole in my heart and it restores my pulse--imagine how that must feel, too, the sensation of my struggling but still-pulsating organ against their fingertip. and just that single fingertip being the only thing keeping me from bleeding out. they wait for the other surgeon to arrive & begin the repair and just keep their finger there, that lifeline, over my wounded heart.
Oooh yes, that does sound pretty amazing! Thanks anon, for sharing and for being so descriptive - love messages like that 😊
Love this! 😍
Hi, they deleted us too :-(
But we will not give up.
I created a new account.
I don’t know what they’re after, they still don’t have a chance to erase it all. Reblogged videos and photos are visible even if they delete the account.
Fuck the tumblr.
Signal boost! Hope your followers can find you again, your blog was amazing (but also, please see my comment - you might get it back!)
Very well-behaved, comes complete with an excitable little heart and a willingness to try any manner of heart-play.
(Can get a little heart-needy and will require lots of cardio-attention and frequent stething - only genuine and very passionate cardiophiles need apply 😊)
I need monitoring…. closely. So very closely.
A multitude of wires fastened all over my chest - each one carefully placed there by a strong, expert hand.
Every single electrical signal inside my little heart picked up by the electrodes and displayed on the screen for us both to watch.
And then the fun really starts. How do you make those little green spikes bounce even faster? How do you slow them down to virtually a flatline?
How do you make my little blood-pump skip and jump and stutter erratically, so much so there’s barely a discernible pattern on the monitor?
Slide your hand beneath the wires, rest your palm directly over my apex. Feel the chaos as you watch it on the screen - see and feel what you do to my excited, dancing little organ…
Just monitor me. Please.
“Heart is grasped and intermittently compressed as cardiotonic agent is injected into heart…” The caption on this picture is as much of a turn-on as the picture.
How I’d love to be forcibly strapped down to a table - arms and legs restrained - and a full-length mirror fastened to the ceiling directly above me.
I am forced to watch as my torturer cuts away my clothes and begins cracking open my bare chest… exposing my frightened, wildly-beating little heart for his pure enjoyment.
He savours the view for a while - gently caressing my breasts, exploring between my legs - as we both watch the rippling mass of cardiac muscle thrashing ever-faster. His hands are all over me, expertly and oh-so-easily driving my arousal levels ever higher…
And then, he finally slides a hand inside the opening in my chest, and gently cradles my heart in his palm. He feels its every beat - every contraction, every throb - beat by powerful beat. I feel my heart slamming directly against his gentle grip as my body begins that wonderful warm build-up to orgasm…
He can’t hide his rock-hard erection as he takes the needle in his other hand…. a muffled grunt of sheer pleasure escapes his lips as he presses down the plunger, filling my left ventricle with a paralytic agent.
He continues to tenderly hold my heart as it begins to arrest. My heart actually stops beating right there in his hand, right at the moment the peak of my climax hits.
And now it’s his turn to cum…. right over my exposed, arrested little pump….
… if the thought of a hand wrapped directly around a heart, manually forcing it to pump, is a part of your kink (from either the patient’s or the doctor’s side!)
(I know this is a very niche part of an already niche fetish, but after the lovely anon message I had earlier I’m interested to know who else finds this a turn-on)
cpr is very good but the added intimacy of my chest being cracked open, the core of my life exposed to the only person who can save me. they pour all of their love into tenderly pumping my heart into beating again. restore my heart which loves you, which begs for you to save me--my life completely dependent on their swift, rhythmic massage. again, again, again, again, refusing to stop for as long as it takes to watch it thunder, to watch it beat on its own again. so gentle and yet so persistent. so careful with my delicate life, yet working so aggressively to bring me back into this world. and to imagine those fingers finally feeling the heart contract against them on its own, and that sigh of relief, that huge huge sigh of relief... those hands still inside of me, keeping my recovering heart cradled within them, ready to work again if i fall back into arrest. "I got you. I'm not letting you die. I got you right here with me."
Loooove this!! 🥵💦🥵💦
Thank you for taking the time to write that, that’s my favourite anon message in quite a while!
mannn i really wish there were more internal cardiac massage videos out there
Omg - yes!! You and me both anon. The sight of a bare hand wrapped around a quivering heart, rhythmically massaging it and forcing it to pump (or forcing it into arrest? Possibly even better… 😈) is just wonderful.
An absolute huge turn on for me, and now you’ve messaged I will make a conscious effort to find more clips like the last one I posted….
Thanks for the message!
“Come here and let me feel that sexy little pulse of yours…”
Erm… What’s a girl have to do round here to get some strong chest compressions and a damn good stething?!?
The grey cityscape rushed and crawled erratically as i pressed my head against the train window. The condensation cold against my temple.
The carriage was packed with morning commuters. Tired office workers jostled for standing space in the isles as i closed my eyes and hoped a passenger with greater need for a seat didn’t appear. The fertile bulge of a pregnant woman or a struggling parent on a rush hour school run always seemed to appear just as i settled into the journey.
Many would read a book, studiously annotate laser printed documents with luminous marker pens or squint at the screen of a smartphone.
I prefer to just switch off and observe. The red-faced banker, indignant at standing, the eager executive broadcasting their aspirations with a phone glued to their ear, an exhausted middle manager contemplating how many more of these cattle jammed journeys need to be suffered before retirement.
As my bleary eyes moved from face to i noticed a young woman standing in the awkward space between seats and the doors a few rows down. Approximately 30, with straight black hair touching her shoulders. Wrapped tightly into a winter coat with opaque tights and riding boots, she clung to the yellow hand rail as if her life depended upon it. Her complexion pale, even for an urban winter, she was clearly unwell but was too far away to offer her my seat without causing huge disruption. I made a mental note to keep a eye on her.
The train rattled through another couple of stations before creeping into its terminus. The doors bleeped open and slowly the passengers shuffled off clutching bags and umbrellas. I was still seated as i spotted the young woman approaching. She was pretty but looked truly awful, every bit drop of colour had drained from her complexion and was looking unsteady on her feet.
As she approached i smiled and opened my mouth to ask if she was ok but before i could utter a word she passed out on the spot. Like a marionette with their strings cut it was as if someone had just switched out a light.
She fell hard into the back of the woman in front. The man behind her grabbing at her coat in an attempt to catch her before hitting the ground. A scene of confusion was unfolding as people began to panic. Someone needed to take control.
Rising to my feet i barked at the man who was still grabbing her coat to hold her under the arms and take her full weight and move her into the open space by the doors. Without question, he complied, the heels if her boots dragging along the floor as he awkwardly manoeuvred her limp body into the clearing.
‘Now gently lower her down’, i instructed, taking an arm myself.
I didn’t look good, she was still out cold and white as a ghost.
As we lay her flat i fumbled for a pulse at her slender wrist and put my ear to her mouth. Weak and erratic her heart was in the last throws of getting oxygen to her brain. She was fibrillating badly and There were no detectable breath sounds.
Gently placing a hand under her neck i tipped her head backward then pressed a finger on her soft chin to open her airway. Checking again for warm breath, but there was still nothing.
Inhaling deeply i pinched her pretty nose and bent forward, sealing my mouth over her painted red lips. Exhaling my breath hard into her near lifeless body her lungs wheezed and chest rose sharply as i repeated the process three times over.
I fumbled for a carotid pulse but this time there was nothing, she was now in full cardiac arrest. Damn, i just prayed we weren’t too late to save her.
The woman she fell into was now kneeling opposite me and struggling with the zip of her thick winter coat. I couldn’t apply effective compression through the downy material and took over, ripping her coat open and breaking the zip.
Underneath she wore a fitted dress with a bold geometric print. Counting along the ribs of her chest i placed the heel of my hand on her sternum and place my other hand on top.
Inhaling sharply to collect my composure i rocked hard onto her chest as i began the first series of 30 compressions. When you see resuscitation on TV patients receive the gentlest of compressions and seem to miraculously revive. Reality is somewhat different, effective resuscitation as an almost violent quality. In order to manually do the work of a stopped heart, cardiac compressions need to be hard enough to potentially crack ribs.
‘Ambulance’ i shout to no one in particular. ‘On its way, mate’ replies a male voice from above.
‘Station staff’ i shout, reaching the end of the compressions and sealing my mouth over her lips again, cheeks puffing out and exhale hard into her lungs, her chest rising sharply again.
“Defibrillator, they must have an AED somewhere in the station” i shouted resuming deep chest compressions. Counting as i went, her whole body shook with the force being exerted to keep her alive.
Again i felt for a carotid pulse but in vain. Victims of full cardiac arrest rarely revive without having their motionless heart shocked back to life. We desperately needed a defibrillator.
I tilt her head backward again in preparation for the next set of rescue breaths, inhaling a deep gulp of metallic station air. As i seal my mouth around hers and force my warm breath into her lungs I’m aware of a muffled commotion behind me at the train door.
An exhausted, overweight station guard is standing, panting, above us. In his arms is the red box of a mobile AED.
After a short exchange of questions and terse, urgent responses he slowly drops to his knees.
‘Bare skin, we need bare skin’ he says removing his hat and rubbing a furrowed brow.
Kneeling upright i pull a swiss army knife from my trouser pocket and extend the short, razor-sharp blade.
Leaning down i move her hair from around her ear and make a promise: 'sorry miss, but if you come back to me i’ll buy you a new frock’.
And with that, I slash open the front of her dress with a single, swift movement. The sheering sound of torn calico the only sound as it exposes her milky white chest and small breasts held in a lacey white brazier.
Hastily we set about placing the sticky AED pads onto her chest, one at the top right and one under her left breast, Faithfully following the line drawing on the inside lid of the defibrillator.
The guard switches it on, 'analyzing’ said the robotic voice from within before instructing 'shock advised’.
The machine whirred as it generated enough power to jump-start a truck, eventually reaching full charge a red button flashed urgently on the front.
'Stand clear everyone’ i shouted before hitting the button with an open palm.
The girl jerked violently as the power discharged into her milky white chest.
Her head falling to the side and legs moving with the force of the shock.
We sat silently awaiting the outcome before the robotic voice advised '2 rounds of CPR’. The shock had failed to restart her heart.
Straightening her head and tilting it backward i again pinched her nose and enveloped her mouth with mine, watching her chest rise as i inflated her lungs before starting the next set of compressions. Rocking vigorously i pounded her chest harder than ever, ribcage bowing as i desperately tried to make her heart work again. It was like we had become the same person as i used the life in my tired body to support hers, my breath in her lungs and hands on her failing heart.
By the time the button on the AED flashed red again my head was swimming. Beads of sweat rolled down my face and streaked my bare forearms. This time someone else shouted to stand clear and hit the button, her petite body jolting even more violently than before as the shock increased in power.
Immediately i pressed two fingers onto her neck as she made a wheezing sound in her chest. Without thinking i put my ear flat to her sternum and heard the sweet sound of her beating heart.
The rest was a blur. No sooner had her heart restarted then the paramedics arrived and set about their work. I have vague memories of a stethoscope sliding all over her chest and a BP cuff being attached. At some stage, ECG leads were attached to her chest and she was intubated before being stretchered off with her chest exposed with wires attached. A female paramedic tapped me on the arm and said 'well-done mate’ in the chirpy indefatigable tone unique to those who work in jobs where life and death is an everyday occurrence.
My head was still swimming and in addition to the immense sense of relief was a bizarre sense of separation. A strange emptiness.
The following day i read a single paragraph news article about morning commuters saving a young woman’s life, and how her family wished to thank a mystery man who other travelers thought may have been in the armed forces, or an off-duty emergency worker or something.
Smiling i turned the page. I was so happy she was safe, but part of me ached for her.
Absolutely loved this first time I reblogged it, nearly 6 years ago! Just felt like posting again as loads of people will never have seen it. No dark, twisted elements- just a very well-written, delicious resus scene :)
a stething-cuddle ideally… :)
Mine so would, with the right touch… and also my heartbeat…
This is a lovely little resus clip - including some rarely-seen internal heart massage and defibs 😍
In ABCs of first aid, why is Airway separate from Breathing?
Because they’re different mechanisms- and you have to determine Airway before you can start to determine Breathing.
When you’re checking for Airway, you’re checking to see if the structures that allow the person to breathe are intact and open. The person’s airway could be occluded because they’re unconscious and their head is in a really weird position, or they’re choking, or their throat is swollen shut, or their face is underwater. None of these mean they don’t have the ability to breathe, though. Airway is (usually) a quick and easy thing to correct too, either by changing the position of the person’s head/throat, or by putting a plastic airway in their mouth or throat.
Breathing can only be checked for once airway has been established.
When you’re checking for Breathing, you’re checking to see if the person’s body is sending and using the correct signals to move air in and out. This can be impacted by a ton of different things- maybe their diaphragm is damaged, maybe the part of their brain that controls breathing is damaged, maybe they overdosed on an opioid or barbiturate and their breathing drive is knocked out. But if you went straight to checking for breathing and it was really an airway problem, you’ve wasted valuable time.
ABCs are meant to help rescuers make the best possible decisions for their patient in often chaotic, dangerous, and distracting situations. If you just said one or the other, a lot could in theory be missed.
- Ross (@macgyvermedical)