A knock resonates through the house. I leave the freak hidden under the desk and greet the Founder on the front porch. I offer my hand.
“I was just watching your video on the newest prototype,” I say. “The brain chip is working well, then?”
“Quite reactive,” the Founder says as he shakes my hand, then we make our way back to my home office. “Primal reactions are not my preference; I am satisfied by the hybrid models with human skin and silicone. However, there are plenty of customers who will enjoy the Living Doll product line.” His grin widens, and I remove a bottle of champagne from the small refrigerator in the corner of my office. “We must make use of this conditioning technique with the lab-raised specimens.”
“And you must teach me how you’ve built such an impressive adult business empire,” I say.
I pop the bottle, then pour two flutes. Anyone, even a man like the Founder, can be reduced to a Living Doll. All it takes is a sedative, a cranial drill, and the right microchip.
However, there will never be a doll as perfect as my sweet one. It took dedication to fully transform Violet into the freak, and I have no doubt it will always be the most successful in performance when it comes to Living Dolls. I almost want to share the doll, simply to brag. But then I’d have to kill every man who even looked at it.
Perhaps one day, when I no longer have a need for the Founder’s business expertise, I’ll kill him too, because the Founder almost saw the freak when she was still a bumbling revenge-hungry cunt in the asylum.
Come to think of it, that’s exactly what I must do. I’ve already begun engineering lessons with Oliver, and soon, I’ll have the Founder teach me his business expertise. Eventually, I’ll no longer need either of them, and thus, they will be transformed into dolls too.
I offer the Founder a champagne flute. He takes it.
“I finally found the perfect owner for the son, by the way. A gentleman who loves dismemberment as much as he enjoys jigsaw puzzles.” The Founder chuckles. “He enjoys seeing the body in parts. I would call him a puzzling man, but we both know his desire isn’t uncommon among our customers.”
I laugh. I always knew Benji would be useful to someone; I should have known he would also end up in pieces.
“How did you find the client?” I ask.
“A guard at your asylum has a son, and that son is a client of the butcher.”
Without any further explanation, I know exactly the guard the Founder speaks of. After the man graduated from my program as a patient, I hired him as a guard in the asylum. I’ve always kept tabs on the guard’s son, knowing that one day, his son would likely come into my care, though it seems as if the Founder has already initiated other plans for him, and therefore, the butcher met the guard’s son first.
Perhaps I should be concerned that the Founder is meddling with my future patients, but I’ve never been possessive of any patient, except the freak. If anything, I suppose this interference is another point of motivation to turn the Founder into a doll and take control of The Pure Companion Company sooner than I first anticipated.
But the butcher? He is such an odd fellow. I must understand our business partnership fully if I am to eventually take over the company. I’ll have to better acquaint myself with him, and then I’ll decide my final plans for him as well.
“And how is the butcher doing?” I ask.
“Obsessed with human meat, as to be expected.” The Founder winks. “He did give word about your breeding pig. Your sow is finally with child. A daughter.”
It amuses me that the butcher refers to the women as pigs. The term fits; he farms them for breeding and for slaughter. Is it any different from me calling my experiments “specimens”?
By the time this daughter, the one from the sow, reaches maturation at twenty-five, I’ll be well into old age, and perhaps unable to truly enjoy the cunt. Then again, with our technological advances, there are so many reasons for me to plan for an extremely long, happy life. There is even a client of The Pure Companion Company, a medical researcher, who is working on a method to live forever. I can potentially give the freak the same longevity benefits, so I may enjoy it through a long and satisfying existence.
Then again, if I have the freak forever, then what use do I have for another cunt? I’m completely addicted to the freak, and thus, I will experiment on them and I will train them, but I will not use them.
The new specimens will endure my sadistic intellectual training methods, and the freak will continue to be my only sexual satisfaction.
All of them are my experiments.
A part of me vaguely wonders about the outcome of the pregnancy for the freak. In my home care, much like our customers, the freak must have constant eye drops. After feeding the doll nutritional shakes through a funnel, it must wear a diaper for three hours—the shake activates the intestines quickly—and with pregnancy, I’ve been doing two feeding sessions daily instead of the regular single dose, as the doll needs the extra nutrition for the child. And when the time comes, I’ll take the doll to The Pure Companion Company’s laboratory for birth. The technicians will raise the child, and in two and a half decades, I’ll be notified the specimen has reached maturation: twenty-five and finally the perfect age for my experiments.
The Founder has specified each laboratory-developed doll reaches maturation at twenty, which is a few years younger than my preferred age. Only then can we start my formal conditioning methods in his eyes. However, with my own projects, I’ll train them exactly as I prefer: at my later maturation age.
It will be amusing to watch from afar as the specimen grows in our laboratories. With no interaction from myself, how will this next daughter behave before it becomes a Living Doll? Somewhere, deep down inside of what’s left of its consciousness, will my freak enjoy the new company? Or will I force it to watch me kill its child?
By then, I’m positive there will be a new, updated brain chip that will create automatic obedience in the dolls, the capability to complete any of its owner’s commands without more than the doll’s superficial thought. I could even update the freak’s microchip and have it kill its own child for my amusement.
“A daughter.” I raise my champagne flute. “That is certainly good news.”
“Congratulations, my friend,” the Founder says.
A grunt sounds from the next room, and both of us turn toward the window view of the home laboratory. A woman with a thick nose and short brown hair paces, a chain leashing her to the wall. Her arms are covered in tattoo sleeves, and a tattooed lace pattern covers her breasts and ass.
