“There were some arguments about your mother, you know.” I rub my finger along its clit in slow circles, taking my time. The doll’s mouth parts. I lick my lips; my dick pulses. “Her employer said she was found masturbating at work, but her father—your grandfather, that is—said she was merely having relations with a coworker. You see, your grandfather was enraged she was the only one being punished, and not her male coworker. I reassured him I agreed Ivy was being served injustice, but that if he wanted his daughter to be able to return to her old employer, she must complete the voluntary commitment by herself.”
I briefly stop massaging the doll’s clit. A gurgling noise babbles out of the throat. I chuckle, shake my head, then resume my strokes on the bundle of nerves. The doll wants pain, not pleasure, and it declares its desires with these automatic responses.
We must take our time though.
“I promised your grandfather I would take good care of her, even if I was only a nurse,” I murmur. “I promised to personally see to it she had everything she needed at our facility.”
I cackle. It’s absurd; anyone would have been able to see how corrupt the asylum was, and yet no one dared stop me for fear of their own commitment.
“Of course, the promise of returning to her old job was a lie,” I continue. “Her employer had no intention of rehiring her, but it was the only way I was able to convince the bitch and your grandfather to agree to a full stay. I forged any paperwork your grandfather and her employer deemed necessary.”
Musk, sour and sweet, mingles with the dank air. I curl my fingers, resting the edge of my fingernails on the doll’s clit, keeping the pressure steady, but not giving it the pain—the orgasm—it wants.
“You see, I had experimented with intellectual training on some of the other patients while I was a maintenance worker, and your mother, well…” I click my tongue, my cock straining toward the doll, greedy for friction. “She was my first official patient, and the first who took to intellectual training so well. She never admitted it verbally, but we ran many tests to confirm it. Her cunt would be sopping wet any time I hurt her. It was fascinating how similar we both were as pain addicts, and yet my perversions were always stronger. We both craved pain, but I also desired complete control of the other.”
I pinch the doll’s clit. The body convulses, a moan coursing from its lips.
“Later,” I say through the doll’s moans, “when the father returned to retrieve his pregnant daughter, I gained the assistance of the higher-ups to reassure him the pregnancy was indeed in motion before his daughter arrived, even though the timeline did not add up. That was enough to calm the poor idiot until I could get him in an isolated area. Then I got rid of him. I didn’t need any more interruptions from my sessions with his daughter, especially knowing this wouldn’t be her last pregnancy.”
I fiddle with the drawer next to the bed and remove a clamp, tighter than a binder clip, and attach it to the doll’s clit.
The freak groans. A second orgasm. I smile down at it.
I couldn’t have asked for a better doll.
“You, my sweet one, are a filthy cunt, like your mother,” I murmur.
Kneeling on the bed, I lift the doll’s ankles to my shoulders, readying my length at its entrance. If the doll could truly see, I’m sure it would appreciate the scar on my chest, a drop of blood oozing from the mutilated wound. I’ve removed the scab repeatedly, and sometimes, I even re-punctured the skin, to make sure the freak’s mark is embedded in me, like my scar is etched inside of its vaginal cavity from the cock sleeve.
I thrust my scarred cock inside of the doll. The velvet pussy walls clench me, and I smack the clit clip. The doll thrusts violently, and I howl, tossing my head back.
“But you’re better than your mother,” I pant. “You’re the best fuck your father has ever had.”
The doll’s mouth is open, but for a split moment, I swear our eyes almost meet, and a tear of happiness slips down its cheek. My words must satisfy some dark need buried deep within its consciousness.
Then again, I am a logical man, and I understand the limitations of our Living Dolls. This moment of eye contact is either a coincidence or a trick of the mind. The doll cannot willingly meet my gaze. Everything must be forced.
Either way, I love making it cry.
Chapter 33
Dr. Ambrose
six months later
On the screen, the latest doll moans as the tester inserts his fingers into its pussy. Similar to how Benji recorded his perverse sessions with Violet, the Founder has recorded the tester’s sessions with our prototype Living Doll.
The tester brandishes a knife, then slices into the doll’s chest. It screams and falls to the floor.
My dick bobs in the freak’s mouth as it suctions around me. I thrust my hips forward until the tip of my cock bridges the back of its throat. The freak gags on my length, the shoulders lurching. It may be near vomiting, but I keep face-fucking it. I enjoy treating my favorite toy like this: a doll under my home desk to be used and ignored while I finish my day’s work.
As you can see, the Living Doll exceeds expectations, the Founder says. He remains out of view of the camera lens, instead choosing to speak into the microphone from the side of the frame. The tester mounts the doll’s chest, his cock entering the wound.
The tester has requested another doll with tattoos, the Founder adds. I’ll have my harvesters gather a specimen. Please use this exact training and surgical method for it as well.
The video ends. I scoot back my chair. The freak’s dark hair roots are past its ears now, and though it requires more maintenance than it did as a fully fledged human, the freak has adjusted quite well. As I zip and button my trousers, I make a mental note to dye its hair soon.
The freak’s stomach is rounder now too. Even with limited motor function, the freak readies a child for the world, and more importantly, a new experiment for me.
