Chapter 28
Dr. Ambrose
After we finish the freak’s final test, I attach a metal leash to her collar. She crawls beside me, finding her place at my feet.
It’s quite astonishing how well the freak takes to her new life. It must be comforting to embrace a lack of agency, to simply exist.
We travel up the stairs to my bedroom. I clip her leash to an o-ring installed on the floor beside my bed; I had it prepared for her about a year ago.
Then, I retire for the night. I sleep on the side of the bed closest to the freak. She doesn’t ask for a pillow or a blanket; she folds her hands under her head and tucks her feet underneath her, her naked body positioned against the hard floors.
Collared and chained like this, she’s one step closer to becoming my perfect doll, and that brings me peace.
I sleep well.
In the morning, I stand and stretch. The windows are shuttered from the inside, the smallest hints of light breaking through the wooden slats.
The freak perches on her feet, positioned like a dog waiting for my command. The collar fits her neck tightly, her small tits hang, and a slight bruise darkens her mons.
My dick twitches at the sight of her. I should feed us first, but I’m eager to begin the next phase of her transformation.
“Good morning, freak,” I say. She wiggles on her haunches. I pat the top of her head. “I have a new task for you to demonstrate your dedication to me.”
Her eyes widen, her pupils dilating. Then she settles back on her ankles, demonstrating her confidence in me. She’s killed her own mother; how much worse can my demands get?
I stifle a laugh. It can always, always get worse.
I unlock the chain leash from the floor, then tug the freak to her feet.
Using the leash, I lead her down the hallway to the stairs.
At the top of the steps, I stop and link the chain around my knuckles, like bandages around a boxer’s fists.
Then I offer her my hand. She blinks, the only sign of her internal processing.
She takes my hand.
“We must be careful with these steps now,” I explain. “After living for such a long time in the crib cage, you must be quite sore after yesterday’s acclimation. Your muscles could give out at any moment, and we don’t want my favorite toy to get ruined now.”
She smiles. Perhaps she’s grateful I’m caring for her…
If you can call it that.
As we descend, my brows raise. Perhaps I am caring for her. I am deeply invested in her more than any other specimen I’ve experimented on.
I lead us down the same first floor hallway as the night before until finally, we reach the door leading to my personal laboratory.
Inside, there are seven diapered women, each sitting naked on medical chairs, similar to the ones used in a phlebotomist’s clinic to draw blood.
However, my furniture includes locking mechanisms and belts to keep the bodies upright and nutrient IVs administered in the women’s bodies.
Can they truly be called women, though? Perhaps it would be more accurate to call them human females.
I’m sure reputable doctors and civilians would prefer respect given to those in an unresponsive wakeful state; I’ve always been prone to thinking of my failed experiments as lower than that though.
Once they entered my care, they were no longer humans who deserved respect; they were raw materials for my experiments.
And eventually, they became failed experiments.
The freak is my best experiment yet.
She’s lucky she’s my obsession.
The freak’s grip on my hand pulses, and her eyes wash over the white-tiled room, the same one she was in the evening before. Her mother lies limp on the table in the center. The warm, ripe scent of molding fruit mixes with the clinical staleness in the air.
Cleanliness isn’t usually a priority of mine. However, a few months prior to the freak’s arrival at the asylum, I began a tireless cleaning regimen in this laboratory in preparation for her final transformation.
Now isn’t the time for that though.
I pull the freak by the chain to the nearest failure; a female in its early forties with black hair and pale skin.
Though the specimen is a stark contrast from the freak’s dyed blonde hair and tanned skin, the failure wasn’t always like this.
It had a similar complexion to the freak, and I even once dyed the hair blonde to force it to resemble her more.
Of course, the failure could never get close to being the freak. I despised the specimen for its inaccuracy and thus shaved its head.
That was years ago. Now, I fully accept the failure as it is. No one can come close to resembling my disgusting freak. I know that now.
“I selected this one shortly after your twentieth birthday,” I explain.
I take the freak’s hand and run it over the failure’s shoulder.
Goosebumps freckle the failure’s skin; an automatic reaction even in its non-responsive state.
The body always reacts. As I cup the freak’s hand, my groin stirs.
Together, we massage the failure’s breasts, the nipples no doubt hardening under the freak’s palm.
The freak’s skin flushes. Pressure expands my chest. Next to the failure, I’m strongly reminded that the freak is only in her twenty-fifth year. I am eager to watch her mature and evolve under my control. Age won’t deter my insatiable desire for her; it will only make me want her more.
“This specimen was once as sun-kissed as you when you first entered the Ambrose Asylum,” I say. “As your skin is beginning to show, and like the failure’s skin demonstrates, a lack of sunlight will diminish any evidence of sun worship.”
The freak scans the failure’s body, perhaps searching for clues of my attraction to it.
In truth, I haven’t had any use for these failed experiments in years.
The process of transforming women into dolls became dull.
Yes, there were decent challenges, though no one piqued my interest; they were merely ways to get me one step closer toward my ultimate goal.
But once Violet turned eighteen, my energy renewed.
I had no interest in her yet, but it was an indication her maturation period was closer than ever.
Only seven more years, and she would be mine.
Thus, I started mentoring Oliver, my computer engineering specialist, and I manipulated his bright brain to reach its full potential. I wanted to guarantee the microchip would be ready by the time she returned to me.
So I collected this failure, hoping the resemblance would satiate my needs for the time being while we installed different versions of the microchip in its brain.
It didn’t satisfy me.
“Da—” She stops herself. Her knuckles flutter under mine, and she touches her collar with her free hand. She must be wondering what my title is, now that she’s wearing my collar. My cock contracts, arousal building in my groin.
“You may still address me as Daddy,” I say.
“Daddy,” she whispers. “Did you get her because she reminded you of me?”
I chuckle. Oh, how the sweet thing clings to the hope that even when I wasn’t with her, I still yearned for her. And in a way, I did. I knew the specimen would have a similar outward appearance to the freak, and for a short while, that was enough to motivate me.
Obsession always brings us back to our knees.
I may not behave like a normal person does, but I am and always have been completely dedicated to my freak.
And thus, I understand her need for that promise of loyalty.
What is the next test I’m moments from administering on her, if not another way to prove her loyalty to me?
I tug her leash to the counter a few feet away and open a drawer.
Inside, there are scalpels, speculums, drills, saws: medical tools resembling weapons, if you will.
Anything a man may need to assist him with transforming individual women into Living Dolls, weapons the freak may be tempted to use as well.
The freak’s hand runs over the handles, her delicate fingers hesitant. I unlock the leash from her collar; the chain clinks on the floor.
The pile of metal waste lies at our feet.
The freak whirls around; our eyes meet. Her dark irises flicker with emotion; I’m unable to identify it though. Is it trepidation? Lust? Fear? Hope?
She could use the leash to choke me to death. She could also use the scalpel to stab my neck. She could also run until she found a safe place to hide. With what I’ve put her through and her past determination to kill me, there should be animosity between us.
But that’s not what I see in her. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something else.
My shoulders tingle. “Go on,” I taunt us both. “Show me.”
“Show you what, Daddy?”
“You know, sweet one.”
She flinches, and her gaze drifts from my neck to the chain. Is she planning my demise? She hasn’t tried to choke me to death yet…
She lifts her chin. “Show you that there’s no one else but us?”
Desire floods my veins, my cock tenting my trousers. “What a good answer.” I dig my fingernails into her hips. “Now, show me how badly you want the bitch to suffer.”
I spin the freak around to the drawer. She removes a scalpel, then draws closer to the failure.
Giddiness flows through my limbs, a lightheaded sensation causing my shoulders to rise; I am a balloon full of helium, floating toward the clouds.
Are there parts of Violet lingering inside of the freak, feigning obedience to get closer to killing me, or has she fully given herself over to her new life as my toy?
Forcing a defiant cunt into submission will be entertaining. On the other hand, her obedience will fulfill me too. Whatever she chooses to do with the scalpel, I’ll enjoy it.
A scream erupts from the freak as she jabs her hand forward, the scalpel penetrating the failure’s throat. It gurgles, choking on its own blood. The freak removes the scalpel, then stabs the failure’s cheek. Its chest. The other side of its neck. Blood sprays her skin.