I’m fortunate my future will continue to include breeding my own specimens; the Founder has assured me I can impregnate some of the women—the sows, if you will—at the company’s partnered human farm. And, as I stated earlier, I also fully intend to breed particular patients at the asylum and bring them to The Pure Companion Company’s laboratory to develop. Only a foolish man would ignore his potential resources.
Then again, I have no need to impregnate women anymore, at least not sexually. The freak keeps me completely entertained, and I know how the dumb cunt would react if she saw me breeding another woman. There are non-sexual fertilization methods I could use, but knowing my semen has been inserted inside of another cunt will be hard enough for the freak as it is. And though I enjoy torturing my sweet one, I like knowing my seed is solely hers.
It’s not like her opinion matters though; soon, she won’t even have the power to whimper her complaints.
She will be nothing more than my object.
Chapter 30
Dr. Ambrose
Once I arrive home, I open the door to my office and settle my gaze on the freak. She kneels in the corner, a metal collar fixed around her neck and chained to an o-ring in the floor. A used rimmed puppy pad is near her, filled with a puddle of her excess waste. The rich scent of decay, similar to the withered rose garden in my front yard, wafts through the air.
I teased the freak with the idea of wearing diapers; the puppy pads work well for us now. Her diet—fully hydrated with water and completely reliant on the nutritional shakes—is such that her urine and fecal matter have a mildly sweet aroma. Eventually, when she’s an object, she won’t be able to relieve herself on a puppy pad; thus, diapers will become the primary method of catching her waste.
A smile broadens my lips. For now, I enjoy seeing her naked, forced to urinate and defecate on a cloth pad like an animal. However, the freak does not take the role of my pet. She’s so much less than that. And soon, she won’t even deserve pronouns.
She will be my object. A thing. A well-used toy.
A moth flies past me and flutters down to a damp rug at the perimeter of the room. The freak peeks at the windowed wall at the far end of the office. Much like my office at the asylum, this home office also has a view into the next room, the laboratory where I once kept my failed experiments.
There aren’t any failed experiments in the laboratory now; my freak took care of all of them. I quite enjoyed watching her kill the human females and fucking their corpses. The shame it brought her in the beginning was exquisite—the dread in her eyes, the shivers raking down her spine—all erased with a mere touch of her clit. It’s impressive how easily it came to her by the last murder.
The freak is fully conditioned now, thanks to my training, triggers, and rewards.
Each of the failed experiments has been shipped off to The Pure Companion Company’s lead taxidermist for skinning in our Hybrid Doll product line: human skin with plastic interiors. After which, their meat will be transferred to the butcher at the company’s partnered human farm. While the failed experiments weren’t useful as Living Dolls, a businessman knows to use all of his resources. Besides, using the skin and meat erases the evidence of any crime. I’ve even suggested we ask the butcher how to repurpose the bones for feeding the sows in the human farm, as well as the specimens in the development laboratory.
I use a side door in my office to enter the sterile lab, then I ready a small tray on the counter with the tools I’ll need for the freak’s transformation. Then, I return to my office and run my fingers through the freak’s long, grown-out strands of blonde and black hair.
“Tell me, sweet one,” I murmur. “Have you been wondering if your boyfriend, Benji, will return to save you?”
She reaches forward, pawing for my attention.
“Daddy?” Her brow wrinkles. “Who is Benji?”
She no longer remembers her old supposed boyfriend, then. Well—he was more of a caretaker anyway.
I click my tongue as I sheathe my hands in disposable gloves. “Never mind, my love. Let’s try another question. Have you been wondering why there were so many of you in different stages of development?”
Her face contorts on the word “you.” She knows I’m referring to the failed experiments, and that must unnerve her. The freak doesn’t voice this concern though. The essence of her mind is still there, wavering between her temples; she can’t fully process what I’m asking anymore. It’s too difficult, too cognitive. Lust glosses her eyes, and she stays crouched on the floor. Her hips inch forward.
“You’re nothing unless you’re being used.” I tilt my head. “Isn’t that right, my disgusting freak?”
“Yes, Daddy.” She pouts. “Please, Daddy. Can I suck your cock? I need you.”
My dick twitches. I walk around her kneeling form and tap my chin.
“I raped Ivy Ward every night until she became pregnant,” I say. “I did this twice with her, actually. To be honest, Ivy wasn’t the first woman I bred, nor was her first child exactly what I wanted. So, I did it again and promised to continue doing so until she produced a daughter. Luckily, on the second fertilization, she had you.”
“Ivy?” the freak asks, her voice lighter than a cloud. “Who is Ivy?”
I chuckle, a grin spreading across my face like the roots of a tree. After years of subtly dropping clues about her mother’s death until she was destined to fall into my trap, no one can deny I’ve worked hard. `
I deserve this.
“And then I paid a foster family to take you,” I continue. I rub the top of the freak’s head, petting the good thing like an obedient dog. “Some may argue I told them to treat you in such a way you yearned for affection in the worst places. The truth is I did no such thing. I simply requested updates on your upbringing, a vague account of your failures and successes. They neglected you of their own accord. Thus, you became a desperate, filthy cunt with a need for violent acceptance.”
I bend down beside her. Our eyes meet. Her stare is vacant; she’s not fully there. I drag my knuckles across her cheek.
