Chapter 30 #2
I plunge the syringe into her neck. She falls forward, her shoulders leaning on me, her arms heavy.
I scoop her into my arms and carry her into my sterile laboratory.
To be honest, many of my operations have been completed wherever the specimen was sedated—in my office, in the dining room, in the hallway, wherever I finally grew impatient with their conscious lives—and previously, I had no concern for the cleanliness of their surgeries.
If they were infected, then there would always be another resource to experiment on next.
With the freak, it’s different. I can’t be too careful. I’ve waited too long and invested too much in her success. It would be a waste to let her body get infected and die before using her as my Living Doll.
I lie her across a steel table. I clean her body with a soap containing chemical agents used by the best surgeons in the world. Then, I carefully section a portion of her hair, cut it near the scalp, and shave what’s left.
There’s a sort of rhythm to the preparation that comes next; using sterile gauze, I wipe medical benzene across the skin—its scent of gasoline fills my lungs—then it’s rubbing alcohol, and finally, the deep orange hue of iodine. I cover the surrounding area with sterile sheets.
The scalpel cuts cleanly through her scalp; beads of blood line the incision.
I scrape the skin from the bone and separate the layers.
More blood begins to collect, so I seal the blood vessels with my electrocautery tweezers as necessary.
The flap of scalp skin hangs, still attached on one side, exposing the skull underneath.
I use the cranial drill to remove the bone.
The pinkish-gray brain gleams. I insert the chip; thin, thread-like fibers spread from its center, connecting with the organ. Excitement swells inside of me, a fever reaching its highest peak in my head, and my vision pulsates; it’s as if everything around me has a heartbeat.
The freak becomes my doll.
I staple the bone back into place, then stitch the skin.
This is a risky surgery, especially done outside of a hospital setting; however, I’ve completed many surgeries with the other failed specimens without risking their death by infection.
I have no doubt the freak will heal from the transformation.
After I remove my briefs and trousers, I take a cock sleeve from my desk drawer and return to the laboratory.
The silicone sleeve is short, meant only to cover the tip of the penis, and as such, I consider it a crown from my cock.
A slim spike, curved like a talon, decorates the sleeve’s head.
The blade is positioned so it will penetrate the vaginal walls with an aim toward the anterior, the famous spot where some women are forced to squirt.
With this cock sleeve, the doll’s flesh will scar, leaving my permanent imprint on its body.
I will never share the freak with another, but I’m compelled to leave my permanent mark inside of it, to celebrate this transition from woman to object.
If a child writes its name in permanent marker on a toy and a couple gets matching tattoos to show their union, then this is my mark on my freak.
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.