© Copyright 2010 - AmyAmy - Used by permission
Storycodes: Machine/f; M+/f; D/s; latex; bodymod; doll; electro; bdsm; replicant; oral; sex; cons/nc; X
Part 10: How to Program a Doll
At last the dream begins to fade. I’m inside the cocoon, squeezed tightly inside it and surrounded by some sort of warm liquid. There aren’t really any sensations apart from the feeling of being constrained by the pressure of the cocoon and the weight of liquid. I can’t feel myself breathing, the temperature is perfect, and the only sound is the heavy rush and whoosh of fluid: womb sounds. Like a fetus ready to be born I can feel something is happening and change is on the way.
The liquid begins to drain away and I feel the pressure increase. I feel squashed and trapped inside the cocoon now. The temperature is starting to fall.
After a few hours of increasing tightness the cocoon literally starts to split, tearing open. White light floods in. My eyes are closed but I can sense the brightness though my eyelids. All around me I can feel ADAM manipulators stripping the cocoon away, washing me, cleaning me and gently straightening me out into a relaxed reclining position.
The blast of warm, flower scented air that was drying my face peters out and with great trepidation I nervously open my eyes. Around me I see parts of ADAM poised, motionless and waiting for me to show that I’m alive.
Satisfied with the flicker of my eyelids ADAM proceeds … wait … I have eyelids? The old routine continues. I feel myself lowered a short way. Down below I can hear Gideon and Jared’s voices.
“Here we go, final moment of truth, test and calibration,” says Jared.
“If I was a religious man I’d pray to God for this to work. As it is all I can do is put my faith in ADAM,” says Gideon.
The waves of sensation begin. My eyes are open but my head is tipped back, I can’t see myself, just ADAM. Heat, cold, pressure, pain … searing pain … and then the ecstasy – mere physical sensations. Anything, any change, is a relief after the grueling days of being trapped in a dream, no, a nightmare, of suspension bondage, relentless orgasms while trapped in tight, oppressive darkness and being fed through a tube.
The tests don’t end when I expect though, something weird happens, something I never felt before. My sight disappears, then my hearing. For a moment I’m back in the white empty place of no sensations.
Then just as suddenly I’m overwhelmed with an absolute gut-wrenching terror. I have no idea where it comes from but I feel so afraid it is literally a physical sensation, not just something in my mind.
The terror jolts suddenly into a vague but overpowering sense of loss and melancholy, only to jump tracks and become a furious burning hatred and anger – this last has some congruence with how I expect to feel given that I’ve just discovered that they can push raw emotions into my head – that even my feelings are no longer my own.
The overwhelming darkness gives way to sensations of love, joy and peaceful acceptance. Despite their control of my base emotions I can still think my own thoughts and I know what is being done here. Even while I’m supposed to be thinking happy-thoughts I don’t like one bit of it. I know these feelings aren’t genuine.
My senses return as the physical stage of testing begins. I’ve already been through a phase of this experiment where my movements were not my own. It was nothing compared to them messing with my mind. Furthermore, there has never been a time apart from during the tests themselves where I lost control of my body once disconnected from ADAM, so I try to reassure myself that things are no different now as my arms and legs move through bizarre swirling test patterns without my consent.
ADAM gives me a final misting of … something … it smells wonderful and finally I am lowered down to Earth where Jared and Gideon are both waiting attentively in a way they never have before. They’re still wearing their big coats and the sarcophagus is still leaking deep cold into the room. The cold still doesn’t seem to trouble me particularly, in a way I consider this a bad sign.
Almost involuntarily my eyes flutter, my hands reach towards my face and I get the first hint of what I have become. It looks as if my original human body has been dipped in a layer of glossy white plastic so fine and delicate that the little creases in my knuckles are still visible, even if the tiny details of my skin are lost and smoothed over. I have fingernails, clearly made of a different material from the ‘flesh’ of my hands, but still glistening white plastic.
“Take hold of me as you try to stand Kelly, as usual there may be shock or disorientation,” says Jared offering me his arm.
I come to my feet and look down. Beneath my neck is a weird fusion of the stiff, fake doll body and something that looks almost alive. My male-fantasy sized white plastic breasts swing and bounce exactly like my real breasts used to – or not exactly, these are much larger. I brush one with my fingers and the sensations on both sides are absolutely clear. It feels like skin touching skin, if your skin happens to be extremely smooth and slightly slippery. The sensation is vaguely pleasant and I feel a tiny stirring of arousal within me.
My waist is still unrealistically slender, my hips and ass unfeasibly pneumatic, like the luscious computer-airbrushed version of a glamour model on a magazine cover.
It suddenly strikes me that I’m about four inches taller than I used to be, and by the look of it, every inch has gone into my legs – in fact it seems like they took some inches away from somewhere else to add to them as well. Standing flat on my feet my eyes are level with Jared’s. He adjusts his fleecy hat nervously.
I’m silent, practically in shock. I really am no longer myself. It was easier to slip past myself and ignore it when it all just felt like a shell, when I felt that I was still ‘inside’ there somewhere. It’s obvious now that I’m not, whatever I once was has gone, probably for good.
“Are you alright Kelly?” Says Jared, worried by my continued silence.
I shake my head but say, “Yes, yes. I’m fine. But…” Tears well up in my eyes when I discover that I can speak normally again. They redouble when I discover that my eyes can cry. I always thought the saying ‘tears of joy’ was just a figure of speech.
“I should definitely say welcome back at this point,” says Jared. “You’re crying, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
“I’m just overwhelmed, that’s all. What…? What happened to me?” I say.
“Your entire body, excepting your nervous system, was broken down and rebuilt from scratch. Your DNA is unmodified but expression is profoundly altered. Most of your body is now a completely synthetic and symbiotic organism manufactured by ADAM. Put another way, you’re a human nervous system inside a completely artificial body. The synthetic structure also penetrates your brain like a matrix, stabilizing it physically and allowing the external stimulation of specific areas,” says Jared.
“Don’t tell her that,” says Gideon.
“We can wipe it later if it bothers you,” says Jared.
“You can wipe what?” I say.
“Shut up Kelly,” says Gideon and pushes a button on the electronic slate he’s carrying.
I go to respond but I find that my voice no longer obeys me.
“Oh, I’ve been wishing I could do that for weeks,” says Gideon. Jared looks back at him with resigned irritation.
“For pity’s sake, turn it back on. Do you have any idea how frightening that must be?” Says Jared.
Gideon grumbles and pokes his slate again. “It doesn’t matter: this is all going to be wiped now anyway.”
While I’m curious what he means about ‘wiped’, mainly I hope that whatever he has done will restore my voice.
“I’m sorry,” I say nervously. “I’ll be quiet. Please don’t do that again.”
I have a strong urge to punch him in the throat, but the Doctor’s training holds for now. I need to control myself and behave in a respectful manner because I know for sure there are worse punishments lurking in his slate menu than an attack of laryngitis. Some of the Doctor’s words come back to me clearly now. Maybe she really was just trying to prepare me for what was ahead when nobody else would do it.
“If you pass your tests we should be ready to try and manufacture an Eve from you tomorrow,” says Gideon.
“Of course, Eve won’t contain any human DNA, only patented biochemical processes, but she’ll still have a functioning copy of your brain, your memories, your mind,” says Jared, who suddenly seems to be very keen to spill out details of what’s going on. I guess he’s trying to help me, though his explanations make little sense to me. I’d prefer some advice on what to do. Should I relay this stuff to Lauren I wonder?
To my immense surprise a text message starts to scroll intrusively across the bottom of my vision. Startled, I jerk my head about. It’s another blow to realize they can make me see things whenever it suits them.
“Do not react to or mention this text message,” it says. I attempt to conceal my initial start by miming disappointment at my continued baldness and patting my glossy smooth head.
“When Gideon touches his slate pretend that you just forgot everything that happened since I said ‘welcome back’,” reads the text. I guess that Jared must be sending it though I have no idea how because I didn’t see him do any typing. Perhaps he prepared it all earlier.
The text scrolls again. “I’ve disabled the memory wipe procedure this one time. I daren’t do it again in case Gideon starts to suspect it’s not working and checks the logs for tampering. We can wipe your recent memories, but only very recent memories. You need to remember that and watch for the discontinuities. I won’t use this channel again unless there’s an emergency. You’re on your own for now.”
Just as Gideon reaches to his slate again, Jared says, “Welcome back Kelly, what’s wrong?”
“I’m just overwhelmed, that’s all.” I hesitate awkwardly and then stammer, “What…? What happened to me?” I say.
“You’ve just emerged from ten days in ADAM. Nobody has ever been inside that long before. You can expect to feel some disorientation, possibly unexplained mood swings or erratic sensations. It’s best just to try to ignore them unless you find they persist. If they do seem persistent then it’s important that you let us know as soon as you’re sure,” says Jared.
“You’re scheduled in for some tests now: basic physical and psychological tests. Jared will see about the physical checks. Unfortunately, Merriam has called in sick with some ridiculous lady-flu, so Doctor Wayland from neural mapping will help you with the others; she’s at least a psychologist if not a psychiatrist,” says Gideon, who clearly thinks that psychology and psychiatry are both only one stage removed from aromatherapy, horoscopes and the healing power of crystals.
“Oh, and it ought to go without saying, but don’t eat or drink anything, ok?” Chips in Jared.
“I’ll do my best,” I say.
“You better get moving then. Jared will meet you in the gym,” says Gideon.
“My uniform is gone,” I say weakly.
“Collect another from your room then,” Gideon snaps irritably.
I don’t respond. Instead I simply leave. It’s not far from the outer door of the secure area to my new room but it feels like a long walk when I’m completely naked. Newly remade as I am I now have something to hide, once again I really do feel exposed. There are tiny, almost invisible hairs on my skin; not very many of them but enough that I can sense the air moving around me in a way I couldn’t in my previous condition.
When I reach my room I want to sit down on the bed, rest, think and take stock, but my bed is designed only to be used as something I am sealed into. It can only be used one way and I don’t want to climb into it now. The room is utterly devoid of human comfort and it isn’t really possible to sit down anywhere except the floor.
I inspect my new face in the mirror. It doesn’t look remotely like me. At least it’s not just a mask and appears to be fully responsive. It moves with all the fluidity of my original human face. I try various expressions. They aren’t quite ‘me’ as I remember or imagine myself, but they seem to work. It’s as if my face has been re-invented by an advertising agency. Every expression I have manages to look adorable, or enigmatic, or seductive, or otherwise excessively intense in a way that feels try-hard and fake to me.
Something about my foreign reflection in the mirror reminds me of those disturbingly over-sexualized dolls that you always see for sale in supermarkets and K-Mart. I may well look like a seductive Lolita, smoldering, coquettish or vulnerable by turns, but these looks aren’t mine – I don’t feel any ownership of them – and I wish I could make them go away. I feel like a learner driver at the wheel of a supercar. It feels like I could do a lot of damage to myself and everyone around me with expressions like these.
My eyes, my lips and the details of my face seem incredibly real, just the color and texture are off. Everything except my irises are white; even my eyelashes are white. My eyes are an intense violet blue that almost glows, but there is something implacable and inhuman in those eyes as if they know things I don’t. I’m reminded of the strange yellow reflective eyes of the owl in the old Bladerunner movie.
I’d already noticed that to my chagrin I still don’t have any hair on my head, which remains smooth white and bald. It’s a look that seems to accentuate my inhumanity, adding to the unreal monochrome look of my glistening white body.
I look down below the neck line. I seem to be completely anatomically correct. I heft a breast. It feels soft, warm, real, almost human. If it weren’t for its glossy white skin, unlikely porn-star size and gravity defying perk I might have thought it was a normal breast.
I brush my fingers across a nipple and that feels real too. I feel a tingle of excitement run down my spine. Emboldened, my hand slides lower and spreads my lips for inspection. They too are soft, warm, yielding, sensitive and completely realistic. I don’t have any trouble finding my clitoris: they made it about half an inch long, and now that I’ve disturbed it, it firms up and pokes right out of its little hood. Did they model this off some famous porn star? Why-ever would they give me a gigantic bloated clitoris? Maybe the Doctor asked for it, and perhaps it’s just another way for them to continually remind me of what I’m for.
Ironically, now I finally seem capable of sexual fulfillment again, the sexual over-excitement that has obsessed me for months seems almost completely gone. It isn’t even difficult for me to stop inspecting my new plastic fantastic pussy and get dressed. I know that if I take too long somebody in a bad temper is bound to come looking for me so I cut my examination and introspection short.
I dress myself in one of my identical uniforms. Even before I vacuum seal it, it seems to fit better than before. Instead of being somewhat baggy it’s a snug close fit all over, perfectly tailored. I can see they weren’t made for the previous revision of me but instead for this new body. I close the seal and the vacuum pump sucks the remaining air out of the suit so that it sticks to me like a second skin, producing a rather embarrassing camel-toe as it does so.
First up are x-rays and an MRI. They can barely make out my skeleton on the x-rays and even their special machine shows nothing of my internals. The MRI fares only a little better, showing only my nerves – it seems that I am determinedly non-magnetic.
In the gym my test regime is extremely dull. Jared puts me though a lot of basic physical exercises but spends most of the time staring at graphs on his computer. Presumably they’re my measurements, but I have no idea what they mean. I don’t ask him. I’ve begun to appreciate that if he has something I need to know, he’ll tell me as soon as he’s able. It soon becomes apparent that physically I don’t have a lot of strength, in fact I feel weaker than before, but my endurance is almost limitless. Part of the way through Kaiser shows up and discusses graphs with Jared.
Kaiser seems very taken with my new look. He spends a lot of time staring at me, which he has never done before. It quickly becomes unsettling and I’m glad when he leaves.
The psychological tests are all on the computer, to do with eye-hand coordination, color recognition, reaction times and other dull things. I have no idea how well I perform. The petite Doctor Weyland seems very nervous around me and barely says more than a few words. She’s prematurely grey, in her forties or fifties, and I tower over her like some huge white-plastic buxom sex doll.
Once the tests are complete Weyland calls Jared to collect me and escort me back to my room. I feel like I’m continually chaperoned, like a small child that isn’t safe to be allowed out on her own or a Victorian-era girl in danger of corrupting influences.
Jared takes me into my room and closes the door behind him.
“The results are good, we go again tomorrow. Report to the ADAM room when you wake up,” he says, very cold and businesslike.
“May I ask a question?” I say tentatively.
“Ask away Kelly,” says Jared, suddenly seeming more himself.
“It feels like I can swallow, and I you tested my sense of taste earlier. I even have a, you know?” I say pointing to my behind. “What happens if I eat or drink? I know you told me not to, so I won’t, but I guess I just want to understand.”
“It might look like you have one, but you don’t have a real digestive system. What you have is just for show. You can eat and drink but anything you swallow just drops down into a reservoir in your abdomen until we flush it out. My guess is that Gideon wouldn’t have incorporated even the sham of a digestive tract except for the Doctor argued for it on psychological and sales potential grounds,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, unwilling to show how I feel about all this, unwilling to unleash the brutal force of my emotions. In any case, I have the sneaking feeling that we are being watched. To my surprise, Jared has more to say.
I begin to remove my uniform. Jared pretends not to notice.
“Your body needs and uses water to produce various secretions, including a sort of saliva. Liquids and other nutrients you need all come through the maintenance port in your belly, through your fake navel,” he adds.
“Oh,” I say. “There’s still a socket there?”
“Yes,” he says. “I have to go now. You should charge up, it might make you feel better.”
It looks like I’m still being treated as a faulty machine. I’m tempted to say that I feel fine, but in reality I’m simply too confused and overwhelmed to know how I feel. I want more time to process everything and they aren’t giving me any.
I open my bed and climb in. The socket in the back of my neck engages and I black out instantly.
I wake up as quickly as I blacked out. There is no gradual drift back out of sleep, no process of struggling with a fuzzy brain and an unresponsive half-sleeping body. Bang. Here I am, completely awake, completely alert. It’s as if no time has passed for me.
However, time has passed. From the sounds of the warehouse complex I can tell it’s late at night.
Kaiser is looking down at me. I don’t know for sure, but this feels wrong. Kaiser has never taken an interest in me before, and I can’t think of a single time that he was sent to escort me anywhere. What’s more, somehow I know my time in the bed is not properly complete. I have been woken prematurely. This is not a planned awakening.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Be quiet now Barbie,” says Kaiser.
“I’m not Barbie, I’m Kelly,” I say quietly and politely. Does this guy think that calling me Barbie is the height of insightful wit? I can see I’m going to get this Barbie thing all the time now and it’s going to get tiresome really quickly. It’s been going on long enough as it is. It was bad enough when I made my own comparisons, but apparently now it’s so obvious that even Kaiser has latched on to it.
Kaiser is holding some kind of remote control in his hand. It doesn’t take me long to figure out exactly what this might be for.
“Hush now Barbie,” he says, and I feel my vocal chords shut-down. I can’t make a sound.
“Don’t try anything funny. Climb off the bed and get on your knees,” he says.
I don’t move a muscle. I’m half way between paralyzed with fear and just plain obstinate.
The pain in my head starts slowly, increasing gradually. In a few seconds I’m writhing helplessly in agony. It feels like I’m being burned to death, like my skin is peeling off, like every muscle in my body is ripping apart, like my head is exploding and a drill is penetrating each of my eyes.
“I can turn it up further. I’ll keep doing it until you do what I want,” says Kaiser. Then the pain just shuts off. I’m perfectly fine again.
Frightened and defeated, I climb off the bed and kneel in front of him. I didn’t even really intend to disobey him anyway, it was just nervous hesitation. I’ve already worked out that resistance is pointless and can only lead to my additional pain, humiliation and eventual capitulation. I couldn’t even say no to the Doctor, and she couldn’t send me to hell at the touch of a button.
“Don’t think about trying to get the controller off me. First off, it’s made so you can’t even touch it,” explains Kaiser. He waves the control close to my face. It’s like my entire head explodes in searing pain. If I’d been standing I would have fallen over. “Second thing is controls only respond to a flesh and blood humans, not to plastic dolls – so even if you can push yourself through the pain you still can’t do anything. Third thing, there’s a dead-man’s switch and if I don’t press it once a minute it will go into full punishment mode, and I reckon you won’t like that at all Barbie.”
I stare up at him fearfully my head tilted back. He takes a step forward and I have to roll my eyes upwards to look at him. His crotch is practically in my face. I can smell his pants could do with a wash. It’s disgusting.
“Now I want you to give me the best blowjob of my life. Everyone here knows that you’re an expert carpet-muncher, but I reckon some of those skills have to translate. If you do a bang-up job I’ll give you some of this,” he says nudging a control on the remote. I feel a wash of sheer orgasmic pleasure that comes straight out of nowhere. “If you fuck it up you get to sit on the naughty step.”
He looks down at me grinning from ear to ear, waiting for me to begin. At first I hesitate.
“Get moving or I’m going to check that the hurt button is still working,” he says.
I hastily reach up and unzip his fly, my fingers fumbling nervously. I stall, trying to think, what can I do? I unfasten his trousers and let them drop around his feet. My hands are pulling down his dirty underpants and I still can’t think of a way out.
He gives me a little blip of pure pleasure and intense happiness as his pants drop to the floor. I realize that the greatest horror of my situation isn’t just that he’s going to rape me, he’s going to make me enjoy it – he’s going to make me complicit in it.
These hits of pain and pleasure are so insidious, so strong. I don’t want to cooperate with him, but I still really want more of that good feeling. I want it a lot. More than that, I am prepared to do just about anything not to feel the overwhelming pain again. I’m going to have to give in, so I may as well make it as painless and pleasurable as possible. That’s how they get you.
I catch myself rationalizing what I’m going to just do this for him and give him whatever he wants as best as I can and it’s only been a few seconds. I have the sinking feeling that somebody half-competent like the Doctor would only need about half an hour to get me thinking black is white, up is down, and begging to eat her shit on toast with broken glass-sprinkles even long after the threat of the remote is taken away. A couple of days and she could make me into anyone or anything she liked.
As I run my tongue along underneath his shaft he gives me a little more of the good stuff. I rub my lips along the length, breathe a heavy lustful sigh and then shamelessly lick and tongue his sweaty, hairy balls. I try to ignore the sour salty taste.
I’ve given my share of blowjobs before but it was usually with the promise of getting oral in return. There were exceptions: I had that Catholic boyfriend who usually managed to guilt me into it as a substitute for him ramming me in the ass, and there was that other one, the one who would beat the shit out of me if I didn’t – fortunately he ended up in prison. He made me visit him there too until he got moved and I was dreading the day he’d get out right up until this business with the company started.
I think of it as just like pleasing the Doctor. It’s just something I have to do, there’s no way out of it, but actually I am getting something in return, it’s a kind of intense raw pleasure I could quickly get a taste for.
As Kaiser’s cock hardens fully he gives me a little reward. I lick up and down it repeatedly and he leaves the setting on low, continually reminding me of how good it can be. When I circle the tip provocatively he gives me a little more.
At last I slide my lips down over his shaft. I push forward until I start to gag. I discover my gag reflex is insignificant. I remember I don’t have a digestive system. I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to vomit any longer. No surprise really, just another way they can remind me I’m just a receptacle. I try to swallow and push his cock even further into my mouth. I feel him stretching my throat as my lips brush the base of his shaft. He turns the pleasure up high and for several seconds I simply zone out, feeling him inside my throat, fucking it while I ride the wave of ecstasy. Who needs sexual stimulation when you have this?
I remember to pull back, sliding him out of me. I settle the tip of his cock in my cheek, working with my tongue while I use my teeth incredibly gently to brush the tip of his cock. I look up at him helplessly and our eyes meet. He blows his load. I try to hold it in my mouth and swallow it but it comes dribbling out down my chin. When he pulls his cock out of my mouth a long sticky strand stretches out and then falls across my breasts in a thin strand.
He gives me another wave of pure pleasure and then turns up the happy feelings as well. For a few seconds I feel like I love him and he makes me feel incredible, even though I know he’s an evil little user. As he turns down the reward it’s easier to remember that he’s such a prick and I know if I get the chance I will make him pay dearly for how he’s twisted and perverted me, and that’s ok too because I feel great.
“Good work Barbie. Now you just wait here while I get ready for round two,” he says.
He does something on the remote and I find myself frozen in place, unable to move a muscle. It reminds me of the Doctor’s drug, but this time my vision is pin-sharp, in fact I can still move my eyes. The physical pleasure fades down to the lowest discernible level, but the strange foundationless happy feeling persists. No matter the situation, I feel … fine. In know at an intellectual level that this is one of the most horrible violations I’ve ever experienced, and yet I’m powerless to even hate it, instead it’s distinctly pleasant – and that’s the most awful thing about it.
He stands there for a while, looking at me approvingly while he pulls his pants up and sorts out his shirt.
He leaves me frozen and walks out of my room, closing the door behind him. I sit there, an abandoned toy, frozen, lips parted, his cum slowly oozing out of my mouth and down my chin from where it eventually drips onto the huge mounds of my breasts, slowly covering them in cum frosting. By the time he returns it has almost dried and my face and boobs are thoroughly crusted with his ejaculate.
“I always wanted to fuck a girl up the ass, but I don’t know if you’re build for it, or whether doing it to you really counts, so I’m just going to fuck your pussy. Still, I figure I can still do it doggy style,” he explains. “I’m going to turn your voice back on, low volume only, and I want to hear you tell me how fucking awesome I am while I’m fucking you. I want to hear you begging for it,” he demands.
He uses the remote to return my ability to move. I figure my voice is also back on now.
“Just give me some more of that good feeling and I won’t be lying when I tell you how good you are,” I say in a whisper. I go to turn over, to get on my hands and knees for him.
He zaps me with a sudden bolt of pain and I fall flat onto my face in surprise.
“I’ll give you what I like. You can’t make deals with me: you’re a fucking doll. You do whatever you’re told you stupid cunt,” he says angrily. I guess I must have punctured his bubble by showing some human quality and he didn’t like it at all. Suitably chastened I know not to do anything like that again.
He pulls me up off my face by my ears, which hurts like hell.
“Hmm, I think I want you to lean backwards first, I think I want to get started by fucking those massive tits,” he says, pushing me back while I’m still kneeling. I’m not usually this flexible, but no surprise now I am. Given the predilections of the people that designed me I can probably do the full-splits and lick my own sex at the same time, but it never occurred to me to try. Do I have any more porn-star tricks in reserve?
Kaiser crawls on top of me, a crippling weight, and I use my hands to help squeeze my breasts together while he rubs his cock between them and plays with them. This sort of thing is normally no fun at all, as I know from Catholic guilt boyfriend, but Kaiser occasionally remembers to give me a pulse of pleasure that’s enough to keep me from thinking. Every time he does it I say something like.
“Oh God, Kaiser, you’re making me so horny,” or “Oh, faster big boy, faster,” or “Fuck me harder like the dirty slut I am.” Everybody knows these lines. I don’t know who invented them but they seem to be as old as history and there have been times I resorted to them when I needed them a lot less than this.
He continues to grab and massages my breasts, pulling hard at my nipples. The way he does it, it’s not really pleasant or arousing but the remote makes me enjoy it anyway. I want him to do it more.
After a minute or so he seems to have had his fill of abusing my breasts and I encourage him to move on by starting to drop in phrases like “I need you inside me,” and “fuck my sopping wet pussy daddy, I need that big Kaiser cock in me.”
It occurs to me again how a virtuoso like the Doctor could use this device to train me to turn wet and shudder with delight at a particular touch, the brush of my nipple against satin, a certain word, a particular scent, or simply the sound of her voice. Kaiser has no clue how to use it and he still has me begging him to fuck me. Literally.
When he climbs off me I flip over eagerly, getting onto my hands and knees I wiggle my curvaceious plastic bum provocatively at him.
“Come on Kaiser darling, fuck my gaping pussy,” I say. “Please,” I add, drawing out the word. “I need it so bad.”
He hits the joy button big time for that and I ride the wave while he fumbles to get his cock inside me. In a pathetic twist of irony he gets it in my ass by accident. It’s not like I don’t feel any genuine sexual pleasure at all from his awkward attempts, but there isn’t much. He isn’t very good and I’m not really in the right mood, though his joy buzzer is helping a lot with that.
I don’t think he realizes that he has me in the ass, and he starts to fuck me properly. He turns the pleasure setting up to the point where I can just about remember my name and leaves it there. At this point I would be happy for him to continue fucking me forever.
At first I’m almost afraid to encourage him in case he cums, but I’m also afraid not to in case he gets pissed off, so I keep it up. I just try to ration it. However, when I do it he gives me a little zap of fun and before I know it I’m literally talking my ass off.
“Oh God, fuck my ass,” I moan. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s so big – stick it in me harder,” I say, and I’m practically delirious anyway. I soon have no idea what I’m saying, it’s just a babble of sighing moans and the words, fuck me, so big, harder, faster, oh God and Kaiser.
After he shoots his load in me he turns the pleasure up even higher and I squirm around helpless in authentic ecstasy. Then on top of that he freezes me in place again and turns the happy setting up to max. My brain is basically microwaving on high. It feels like my mind is starting to dribble out of my mouth. I’m drooling from one end and his cum is dripping from the other. It feels like a few more minutes of this and I will simply lose the ability to do anything but beg Kaiser to fuck me. I never want this pleasure to end. He can do this to me night after night and I won’t complain. Intellectually, I hate myself for feeling this way and try to remind myself that the feelings will pass as quickly as they began – I will be left with my true feelings, but I no longer know what they are.
He just walks around me with his pants off and his cock flopping about looking at me. After a couple of circuits he bends down and fondles my breast. Then he pulls hard at my nipple. I’m oblivious. I’m flying on cloud nine – possibly several clouds above that. There is no sensation or experience from my previous life that can compare with this.
He stands up and the pleasure and joy simply stop, turned off in a flash. I feel myself able to move. I slowly sink onto the floor. The absence of joy is a kind of desolation in itself, but it’s not terrible. It’s like getting drunk without the hangover, there really is no major downside.
“Come here and lick me clean,” he says. Perhaps I spoke to soon: the major downside is standing in front of me waving his dick about.
I bound forward to obey like an eager puppy, in my mind the hope of more reward yanking me forward to offer whatever service I can. Yes, I feel pathetic and debased as I lick the traces of cum from his cock, but I’ve had worse moments. As I slurp up the sticky mess on his crotch I notice there’s something else there too, a kind of thick bittersweet tasting oil that’s extremely slippery and extremely hard to lick off – it must have come from me. I hadn’t thought about what might come out of me if I was aroused, or how they might have engineered that. They gave me an anus just so it could be fucked in it – thank you Doctor – so why not make it self-lubricating? Sometimes even I struggle to believe what they’ve done to me.
Finally satisfied with the degree of humiliation and control that he’s inflicted on me, Kaiser puts his pants back on.
“You can get back in your pod now,” he says. It never occurs to him to clean me up at all or wipe up any of the mess on the floor. “If you’re a good girl I’ll give you some more of the same tomorrow night,” he offers. “Maybe we can do some of that kinky stuff you like eh?”
My mind reels at what he’s suggesting. What the hell does he think I am, or have done, or want? Is this some fallout from rumors about the Doctor and myself, or is it something else he’s imagined all by himself?
He stands and waits for me to get back in the bed. I relax into the recess, which is now perfectly shaped to fit me and black out as soon as the plug engages in the back of my neck, leaving me with no opportunity to consider what just happened.
When I wake up it’s as if my thoughts simply resume from where I left off. My mind is whirling with frightening suspicions about Kaiser’s plans for me. It’s morning and the sleep cycle has completed. I need to get up and report to the ADAM chamber right away.
I decide to let things take their natural course. I don’t bother washing or tidying myself, I simply put on my uniform on like a good little robot.
I show up in the ADAM room with my face obviously sprayed with cum. I must stink of Kaiser’s ejaculations but in the icy cold room Gideon doesn’t even notice. Jared, however, asks about it immediately.
“How did that mess get on your face Kelly?”
“Mess? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I think it must have been Kaiser. He came into my room and used me for sex last night, repeatedly. It was fantastic,” I say.
“Gideon, did you hear that?” Says Jared.
“We don’t have time for this now, just get her in the chair,” says Gideon.
“What? We don’t have time? It’s bloody obvious that Kaiser was messing with our subject last night, by the looks of it fucking her in the eye. I’m no psychological expert, but by the way she’s acting she’s probably in shock, maybe seriously traumatized. Don’t you think that’s worth dealing with?” Snarls Jared angrily.
“How am I to know if she’s behaving strangely or not? I’m not her nanny. She doesn’t seem to be complaining,” says Gideon.
“I think we should get a rape kit or something, send this stuff off to be checked,” says Jared.
“Are you deranged? That would delay us for hours. It sounds to me like she consented to this. I don’t know what you’re making a fuss about. It’s not as if she’s been physically harmed,” says Gideon.
“Regardless of the abuse issues, which are fucking major, we can’t have Kaiser wandering about using our multi-million pound prototypes as sex-dolls,” says Jared.
“Oh, why the hell not? That bloody Merriam was doing it for months,” says Gideon. “In any case, the Eves are going to get it a hundred times worse, and as for the production models, well it doesn’t really bare thinking about does it? What do you think we’re making here? They’re not going to have rights – some people are going to buy them just so they can kill them for fun.”
“I think the difference is that Merriam got consent and the potential for damage was minuscule. Kaiser has a remote. You know what it can do: he’s using coercion,” says Jared.
“Just face it, you’ve had a thing for this girl since the start, always mooning after her like a lovesick schoolboy while she was rutting with Merriam like two skunks in a sack. Now your nose is out of joint because Kaiser got a bite of the cherry too. If it matters to you that much, why don’t you just screw her yourself and be done with it?”
“I can’t believe you just said that. You’re making personal attacks to try and save us a few hours in a schedule when some very serious breaches of conduct have obviously occurred. As for the things you allege about Merriam I’ve never seen any evidence to support it. If you were aware of something you should have acted then as well,” says Jared.
“Really, and what was that belt contraption all about?” Says Gideon.
“I have no idea, for all I know it was intended to discourage Kaiser – but it certainly wasn’t evidence of any real sexual contact between Merriam and Kelly,” says Jared.
“This is becoming tiresome. I’ll speak to Kaiser and if needs be I’ll take it as far as it needs to go. Are you going to stop whining about it now and do your job?” Says Gideon pushing his authority.
“If Kelly is ready to continue then so am I, but just think about this: all the wacky patterns he burns into Kelly are going to end up in your precious Eves. If those aren’t behaviors we want it might take us months to erase them again. I’d thought that you of all people would at least see the problem with that,” says Jared.
Gideon pauses. Clearly Jared has said something that has caught his attention. I notice that neither of them has bothered to ask me more about what happened. They might as well have paralyzed me and stuck me in a corner while they had this chat. I’m almost surprised I remember it. Maybe I’m about to forget it ever happened.
“Now that you put it that way I see the problem,” says Gideon. “We can’t have a product that’s good for nothing except sucking Kaiser’s tiny penis. Can we begin now, are you satisfied?”
“Not really, but I suppose it will have to do,” says Jared.
It’s now clear to me that both of them are fully aware I was raped physically and mentally. I get that Gideon’s reaction is simply to give Kaiser a slap on the wrist and tell him not to do it again. I’m not sure what Jared is going to do, or why of all of them he seems to give half a damn. Maybe Gideon’s assessment of the situation is correct.
“I think from now on her room will have to be secured “authorized only” with just the two of us on the card,” says Gideon.
“You mean set so that nobody has authority to move people on or off the list except you?” Says Jared.
“Yes, that’s what I just said,” answers Gideon.
“Kelly, can you sit down in the chair please,” says Jared.
I do as he asks, no comment, no complaint. Kaiser showed me very clearly last night what my position is here. I haven’t had any time to think about it yet and I’m still processing, but my thought is that this is exactly the sort of thing that Lauren was hinting at when she warned me to get out no matter the cost. I didn’t, and now it’s happening. The only conclusion I can draw is that I am royally fucked.
I spend a day in the chair. Repeatedly they send me up into ADAM and then lower me back down again. Each time they open their sarcophagus disappointed. Each time they run the procedure there are no vital signs from the thing inside the box. They lower me down. I feel as if their accusing looks blame me for the failure. They open the sarcophagus and pull out the frozen corpse. Then they start again.
They put the brittle frozen corpses onto hospital trolleys that are lined up at the side of the room. The cold boils off them in frigid waves. Most of them are covered over discretely with sheets. In one case the sheet froze in place before they could cover it properly, leaving the face and half the body exposed. Apparently, they have no problem disposing of so many corpses without questions being asked. The thought alarms me.
I can see the partially exposed corpse clearly from here. There’s nothing wrong with my synthetic body’s eyesight. It looks exactly like me – me as I am now – it’s as if a real person had been turned into a perfectly detailed carving in white plastic. Her dead eyes are open and they’re the same eerie blue color as mine. It’s not easy to look at yourself dead in replica, over and over. It starts to fill me with a feeling of dread; the foreboding that when they are finished with me, when I’m no longer useful, I’ll end up on a trolley like that, just as dead, just as insignificant, not even a proper human corpse, just a piece of plastic.
It would be worse if the dead girls looked like the real me, the person I used to be before they turned me into a cyborg sex-doll. Cyborg is the word of the day for me. It popped into my head while I was inside ADAM. I always knew that a cyborg was a combination of mechanical and biological parts but I suppose the word suggested something like a cold metal robot with glowing red eyes, not a soft flexible doll with legs up to her armpits and boobs like a porn star. I guess I’m inclined to get my pop culture references all mixed up.
Gideon has already sent two corpses to be dissected and analyzed. I suppose you can’t really call it a post mortem because they were never alive to begin with. They were made inside the sarcophagus by ADAM. I get the impression they are supposed to be alive but every time the process completes they stand there waiting for the vital signs to come up, but the colored graphs on their computer screens stay resolutely flat. Gideon is not happy.
“There simply isn’t any rational explanation for these failures. We know this metabolism is viable, we’ve run tests on modified Lilith cells and we’ve run tests of the copy and merge process: they both work perfectly within statistical limits,” says Gideon.
“It has to be a replication error,” says Jared.
“We’ve made viable replicas before, so why is the replication system failing now?” Says Gideon. “Besides, the lab results say the copies are perfect: they’re good copies. They should have lived.”
“But they aren’t really copies are they? They’re remappings? I know we’ve tested copy and merge but it was different. These aren’t merges of essentially congruent systems, this is a large-scale remapping. There has to be something that happens when we try to remap that much data at once,” says Jared.
“It’s a lot less data to remap than it was, most of the body is a straight duplicate now,” says Gideon. “If your theory holds up we’ll have to go to the next stage, minimize the remapping even further.”
“In that happens we’ll be blocked for weeks because those designs aren’t even finished yet. Berne are still on the original schedule,” says Jared.
“Plenty of time for us to isolate the replication error before then,” says Gideon.
“I don’t think we’re making progress any longer. I know I’m too tired. We should take the weekend off, get some rest and come back on Monday fresh to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb. Then we can try to find a real problem instead of just making minor tweaks and retrying over and over. This is a waste of time and materials,” says Jared.
“Agreed. Wishful thinking on my part to think we were looking at a mid-percentage failure rate situation. It could still be that, but we need facts not guesswork,” says Gideon.
“I’ll take these trolleys out,” says Jared. I think the corpses are getting to him too. He trundles the first trolley out of the room leaving me alone with Gideon.
Gideon turns to stare meaningfully at me. Frost is forming on his octagonal glasses.
My entire being suddenly bursts into a blazing inferno of pain. Fear, anger, desolation, despair and guilt crush down on my mind. The experience probably only lasts a few seconds but it seems like hours. Gideon has activated the pain centers of my brain with his computer: he means to punish me for something.
“That is for presenting yourself in an unfit condition this morning. Don’t ever dare to do something like that again. Your days of slacking, whining, gossiping and stirring up trouble are over and Merriam is not going to be able to protect you any longer now that you’re officially off the books,” says Gideon. He isn’t done. He gives me another squirt of pain and then continues his lecture.
“From now on I want you to be seen and not heard, prompt, clean, efficient and obedient. You are confined to your room when not working,” he pauses and then thinks of something else to demand from me. “Also, you should respond only to the names Lilith or Lilly. You will not tell anyone that your name is Kelly – Kelly is no longer working here. Do you understand all that?”
“Yes sir, I understand. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder in future,” I say. All I can think about is corpses that look identical to me being stacked in an incinerator. Apart from the mind shattering pain I’m past caring that Gideon is taking out his frustrations on me again: it’s not as if it’s anything new from him.
“You can go to your room now … Lilly, and make sure you clean yourself up properly this time and any other time you are dirty,” says Gideon.
On the way out I pass Jared coming back in to move another trolley. He tries to catch my eye but I avoid him. I keep my head down and scurry fearfully back to my room.
Once back in my comfortless little cubicle I strip off my uniform and set about washing away every trace of Kaiser’s secretions from my body and the floor. It isn’t easy when all you have is a basin barely big enough to wash your hands. When I’m finished I suspect I’m supposed to get straight into bed and lie comatose in the dark oblivion of the recharging process until they are ready to take me out of my box and use me again. Instead, I huddle in the corner, sitting on the cold floor and quietly weep to myself. Even while I’m doing it I feel afraid that I’ll be punished for it.
Finally, my fear gets the better of my need for introspection and I climb into the bed. As before, when the socket at the back of my neck engages with the charging plug I instantly black out and time simply stops for me.