I angle the freak’s chin as if it’s looking at me. The eyes are closed; it’s asleep now, under the weight of the sedative. Soon, it’ll wake to me marking my territory.
“Some specimens take a while before the chip fully functions,” I say quietly. “If you’re still in there, then you better fucking cry for me, or I will make you regret it.”
I climb on top of the steel table and mount the doll. As my crowned cock slides inside of the cunt, the freak gurgles out a garbled and malfunctioned scream; it reminds me of a noisy toy with a nearly empty battery.
And it’s the perfect fear response.
“That’s right, you freak,” I growl.
I thrust my cock in again, goring its insides. Blood mixed with arousal squishes out of the doll’s hole, wetting my cock. Another thrust. Another stab. Another step closer to the freak’s final transformation into an object. Though I’ve fucked other patients and specimens to death before, this entire experience excites me like no other: taking my daughter, training her to be my freak, creating the perfect doll out of my own flesh and blood.
I’ve truly mastered the art of depravity.
“Any time I fuck you from now until your dying breath, I will control your pleasure and pain,” I say in a low, gravelly voice. “And if I want to make you bleed, you will fucking bleed.”
I pinch the clit, and the doll convulses in its conditioned orgasm response, gripping my cock so hard, I imagine it could sever my length from my body.
It doesn’t take long for me to cum after that.
Underneath me, the doll’s body is loose in a state of nothingness. I crawl off of the table and crouch beside the head, peering at its eyes. The pupils are dilated; they remain motionless.
I lick my lips, my cock already expanding with aroused blood again. There is no doubt in my mind a turbulent storm of emotions is warring in that tiny brain somewhere, even if the doll has no idea why it feels the way it does.
After I redress myself, I study the object. A pool of blood dampens the doll’s inner thighs. I nudge the body with the back of my hand, testing its responsiveness. The doll’s head falls to the side, and its eyes continue to stay blank, staring off into space. The pupils dilate in and out, as if the soul inside is clawing for a way out. I’ll have to take care of the vaginal wounds soon—I want it scarred, not dead—but I have time.
Drool slides across the doll’s lips and dribbles down to the floor. I sneer. It’s a pathetic creature. Useless in most ways.
But it is all mine. Now and forever.
I leave the doll’s eyes open. In the future, lubricant drops will be necessary multiple times a day. Right now, it’s important the doll fully understands its new situation. The acclimation to life completely under my control will be painful, and every activity we engage in will be more enjoyable for me.
Tomorrow morning, I will notify the Founder that the latest prototype is healing from the transformative surgery, and that I have no intentions of handing the doll over to our tester. I’m confident the Founder will swiftly send me another specimen, and I’ll contact Oliver to have him deliver another copy of the brain chip. Soon, with the help of The Pure Companion Company’s developmental laboratory and associated human farm, we’ll be able to create the best Living Doll product line man has ever experienced.
The doll’s facial muscles spasm, then relax. A tear runs down the doll’s cheek, adding into the small puddle of drool. The freak is inside of there, somewhere, and I trust it knows to be used like this is a gift. It will have no responsibilities now. No worries. No fears.
Nothing will exist besides pain and pleasure.
Chapter 31
Dr. Ambrose
The next day, shortly after feeding the freak its first funneled meal as a doll, a knock on the front door echoes through the house.
I check the surveillance footage and find a man standing on my porch. A bent nose. Wavy brown hair. Tall, yet boyish in stature.
Benji. The idiot boyfriend. The vanilla lover. Violet’s caretaker.
I raise a brow. I expected Oliver to bring a new copy of the microchip today, as the Founder will be delivering the next specimen ready for surgery tomorrow. We are all eager to have the prototype tester use our latest model.
This visitor is an interruption to my schedule.
I suppose I expected Benji to return eventually; an idiot like him would obviously want to ride his metaphorical white horse to save his damsel in distress. I did not expect to see him now, though. His single brain cell must have somehow ignited, realizing his other half was no longer with us on this earth.
Not as she was, that is.
I leave my doll strapped to a chair, exit the laboratory, then open the front door.
Benji scratches the back of his head.
