Kyle
There were no more wake-up calls. No alarms. No obligations. I could eat, sleep, shit, and fuck whenever I wanted. I stretched my arms with a satisfied groan and reached for my phone. Last night had flipped a switch inside me. I felt untouchable.
Everyone wanted a cydoll like Charlotte. It wouldn’t be long until brothel owners came sniffing around—wanting to know my mods, my firmware secrets, and my techniques.
I was going to be a fucking legend.
I glanced at her. The same bright blue eyes I used to admire now looked vacant and hollowed out. She was an intelligent companion and resourceful, but she was a machine.
Cydolls were built for men like me—built to serve.
I dropped back onto the bed, scrolling through the comments with one hand.
“Suck me off,” I said, without even looking at her.
I only looked down when her mouth was pulsating and sucking.
“Yes, this is your core purpose to please me,” I said, placing my phone down to really get down her throat.
Why should I make the effort?
“Face fuck yourself on my cock, Charlotte. Keep sucking until I come,” I said lifting my phone up and played one of the new Socket’s new uploads.
The cydoll had her limbs removed. He hadn’t used precision to amputate her, the copper wiring showed as well as the skeletal structure.
She was a Big Beautiful Woman model. Her thicker ass cheeks cushioned each blow from him as he fucked her from behind.
Her massive ballooned up breasts propped her up on the bed.
I could tell from the way her head was malfunctioning with the jerks and stuttering broken moans that her pain setting was set to maximum.
I spread my knees open.
“Play with my balls, Charlotte,” I said, sighing when she cupped them while she used her mouth suction.
I watched Socket’s feed in a daze, thumb hovering over the pause button as if freezing the frame would slow whatever was happening inside me. The screen glitched for a beat, then sharpened.
Socket stared straight into camera, grin behind the mask, and said, “Time to blow this whore’s mind.” His hand closed around a small black remote. He pressed it.
There was a high, whining tone—thin, electrical—and then the doll screamed. Not a human scream, but something close enough to make my gut drop: a raw, mechanical howl with static wrapped round it. Smoke smoked from her ears and mouth in slow grey ribbons.
Skin around the neck and shoulders darkened, micro-punctures blooming where wiring had failed. Hydrogel oozed from a damaged joint and the doll’s remaining arm spasmed, jerking like a puppet with snapped strings.
Socket groaned and started slamming into her with incessant deep thrusts before he grunted.
“Fucking nasty slut,” he muttered.
When he pulled out, the camera zoomed to her synthetic pussy as his come rushed out.
Charlotte’s lips rested on my balls. She held her mouth around my cock while sucking and vibrating.
“Fuck,” I gasped, watching the cydoll’s dismembered arm twitch a final time.
I blew my load into Charlotte’s neck. I gripped her hair, shuddering my cock twitched like the doll’s broken body.
He was one sick fuck. I needed to message him.
“Go clean yourself out and bring me breakfast,” I said, my voice flat. She nodded, methodically.
She pulled my shorts back into place and left. I typed out a message to Socket. He knew how to make them hurt.
? ? ?
I didn’t need another custom model this time. There was no NEXUS Node, no personality core—just a compliant shell. Charlotte was too expensive to ruin, and this one could be used for anything.
The catalogue flickered through endless simulations of flesh—breasts, thighs, mouths, holes. I stopped on the BBW range. Similar styles to the one in Socket’s video.
Those massive breasts, the slim waistline, and the voluptuous curves of her ass had given him great cushioning.
I clicked on one that was posed kneeling.
The model had heavy breasts and a slight paunch over her abdomen.
Her thighs were thicker to match her body shape.
Her skin had a manufactured golden glow, and her lips were purposely painted and moulded to pout.
Her hair was impractically long and an unusual silver colour that matched her silver-green eyes.
Yes, but she was an indulgence. Charlotte could clean her up for me.
I clicked again.
From the back, she had silicone meat on her frame, which creased when twisted into the right position. Just above her cheeks were two dimples. She was realistic, and it was clear she had only one production purpose—to service men.
I zoomed in on her labia—darker than Charlotte’s, the edges fuller, heavier. The anal passage was slightly open, almost breathing.
I made a snap decision and added her to my cart before choosing the basic structure preferences.
Virgin fit.
It didn’t matter how often I split or tore her, because ReSkin would seal the damage.
Express delivery. I’d have her by this evening.
All I needed to do was set up the cameras.
Charlotte walked in holding a tray.
“I’ve bought you a little playmate, Charlotte,” I said as she handed it to me.
I took the tray and wondered how well the cydolls would perform together. I’d test the new one first, but I could always instruct Charlotte to test its pain tolerance with me.
“Playmate?” Charlotte asked, her tone curious, neutral.
“Mmm. Another cydoll—but not like you,” I murmured, sipping my coffee. “Yes, a playmate. We’re going to experiment with it.”
“Yes, Kyle. I see a SINdoll delivery due on the Homecom3000.”
I frowned. I didn’t remember linking their systems. I lifted my cutlery, brushing off the thought. Perhaps I’d forgotten—maybe I’d done it to make her more efficient at managing the house.
? ? ?
The delivery bot arrived just after seven. I signed off the retinal scan, and the crate rolled into the living room. This one was smaller than Charlotte’s had been. Compact. Efficient. Disposable.
I tore through the seals until the latches clicked open. The smell of silicone and preservative chemicals hit me immediately—sharp, sterile, new. Inside, the doll lay in a translucent sheath of cellfoam, limbs bound to prevent damage during transit.
“She’s here,” I said over my shoulder. “Our little playmate.”
Charlotte stood a few feet away, hands clasped in front of her apron, eyes trained on the crate. Her posture was perfect. Her silence—flawless.
I knelt and peeled the plastic back from the doll’s face. Silver hair spilled out, soft and shimmering under the overhead lights. The skin tone gleamed faintly gold, the lips frozen in a faint pout. “She isn’t like you, Charlotte. We’ll call her It.”
Charlotte’s head tilted slightly. “Why It?”
“Because she doesn’t need a name,” I said, stroking the doll’s cheek. “Names imply identity. This one’s just function. She’s built for pain.”
I connected the charging line to the base of its spine, watching the indicator light turn from red to amber. “What do you think, sweetheart? I’m setting it on the maximum pain.”
Charlotte’s voice was soft. “Why would you do that, Kyle?”
I turned, half smiling. “I want her to feel the years of pain from rejection and this sanitised society. It’s therapy. The more pain she feels, the more it heals me.”
“It won’t really feel pain in a human sense,” she said, her tone neutral but precise.
I glared at her. “I know it doesn’t. But her face and body imitate pain. That’s the point.”
The hum of the charger filled the silence. Charlotte’s eyes flickered once—a blink too long.
I turned back to the new doll, brushing a hand along its synthetic thigh. “She’ll be perfect for us, Charlotte. For me. You’ll help me test her, won’t you?”
“Yes, Kyle,” she said.
But as I adjusted the power settings, I could feel her gaze on me—steady, unreadable, like she was the one studying me.
I chuckled to myself, testing It’s breast with my hand. The flesh was soft, pliant, almost biteable. My imagination was running amok, the possibilities already taking shape.
Charlotte’s protocols were still bound to my needs—every look, every gesture, every word—but even as I reminded myself of that, something in her gaze unsettled me.