The Founder chuckles. A man like him will never fault me for my obsession with my own blood. He’s worked with many different clients with various needs, and he has his own inclinations as well. His mission has always been to promote a world in which all men can achieve their darkest desires.
“She’s perfect for you, then,” he says.
On the laptop, Violet’s shoulders deflate, and her chest swells in apprehension as she appears to read the same lines repeatedly. I beam; with arousal in her veins, it must be hard to concentrate on the words. She’s such a silly, stupid cunt.
My cock throbs. I’m already eager to return to her. Anger is often her primal response, born out of some idiotic need to save other women from men like me; still, tears come easily for her. Covered in piss, she cried like a baby as she came, and her sorrowful orgasm brought delight to my rotten heart. It’s been a pleasure, a purely blissful experience really, to begin this phase of Violet’s preparation for life as a doll.
Violet is already inclined to enjoy experiences like this; I’m confident we can train individuals who aren’t depraved like her. With the right conditioning, they will cum and cry, and our clients’ needs will be satiated.
“And this is the one you mentioned from your patient’s videos?” the Founder asks.
I nod; he’s referring to Benji. I would hardly call Benji a patient, though.
I had fully intended to share the videos of Benji and Violet having perverse sexual encounters with the Founder, but even then, something had stopped me. Perhaps I didn’t want the Founder to see Violet naked and submitting to her own dark fantasies. There was a need to keep her—to keep it—all to myself. Perhaps I was possessive of her long before I realized it.
I’m an old man, and yet Violet is teaching me new things about myself. The clever cunt.
The Founder brightens. “Then you have control footage to demonstrate her reactivity before and after her intellectual training,” he says. “Our prototype tester will be excited to see the results.”
My jaw ticks. The idea of letting anyone destroy Violet in the way I’ve dreamed of for so long unnerves me. I don’t consider her a human being any more than I consider her a cockroach, and yet I want to use her for myself. If you consider where her origins began—with her mother—then she is my longest project so far, and I don’t intend to waste a specimen as exquisite as Violet on a customer who enjoys penetrating chest wounds.
My mouth pinches, and a sneer twists my expression. Oh, the drudgery of having a sexual need so vile, so violent, and so completely over the top, one becomes a prototype tester for a sex doll company. I’m sure the tester thinks his inclinations are unique, but I’ve been studying sexual interests since before he was born; he has a basic mind. My interests—and Violet’s interests—are much more evolved and dynamic. The idea of wasting my precious doll on him irritates me to no end.
I suck in a breath. I won’t declare it now, as it’s unnecessary to our current business, but I will keep Violet as my doll until she dies from natural causes. I’m older than her; alas, there’s a possibility a Living Doll’s existence can be cut short due to the extreme nature of the maintenance procedures, and I certainly can’t let her live longer than me. But I will make her cunt wetter than a dam by torturing her for the rest of her pathetic life.
I redirect our conversation: “May I see the footage of the tester’s latest encounter?”
The Founder swipes through his phone, then offers me his device. On the screen, a man stabs the human doll’s chest. The doll grunts as air is compressed from its lungs; there’s an erratic nature to it, an emptiness, a purely biological response.
I sigh. The Founder is right. We need their brains to work just enough to respond with emotion, but not enough to actually resist any activities.
Then again, some clients enjoy the fight. Perhaps one day, we’ll have the option of full capacity dolls without the ability to gather enough intelligence to truly defend themselves.
The tester lowers himself and inserts his cock into the doll’s chest wound.
He howls: Cry for me, you little bitch!
His hips pump, blood splashing his groin. The doll’s face is smashed to the side. Blood drips down the breast, its eyes dry and blank.
Cry for me! he shouts.
With those words, Violet’s teary gaze fills my mind; my sweet one has cried for me multiple times now. She tries hard to appear as if her desires have no effect on her, but all it takes is a simple command and she dissolves into a brainless whore. Perhaps that’s why she enjoys degradation so much; when your only function is to be a fuckable hole, then there’s nothing to think about.
I return the device to the Founder. “I have confidence this next specimen will be a perfect fit for the project.”
“Excellent,” he says.
Movement on my laptop screen causes me to straighten in my seat. Violet sits in the tub again. I switch to a different camera to the view in front of the tub.
She rubs her clit as she stares at the papers inside of the manila folder. Soon, I’ll find out whether Violet is aroused by notes on her mother’s final days and if she’s intrigued by her parentage. In her mind, a rapist took her mother’s body, forced her to carry a child, and now, the child is an adult following in the mother’s footsteps.
Then again, my sweet one will go further than her mother. There is so much more potential when it comes to Violet’s final destination, and I will be her guide.
I reach for a decanter of scotch and two glasses behind my desk. I pour, then offer one of the drinks to the Founder. This is our tradition. The sooner we toast, the sooner I’ll get back to using my fuck doll.
“To new beginnings,” the Founder says.
I grin. “To fresh blood.”
