Playing With Dolls

Neither dark nor light existed. Sophy could not see. Her wrists and ankles rubbed against cold metal restraints. Ice filled her veins as she became aware that she was naked, her skin cold and prickling.

"Hello?" She flinched at the sound of her own voice. It seemed to stop flat right in front of her as if stopped by some unseen force. It was quiet, and it became apparent to her that she was in something.

Sophy squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them wide. Her eyes would not adjust to the darkness. She could move her head left and right, but when she tried to look up, a restraint held her head down.

"Hello!" She yelled. Her voice reverberated against the material in front of her. "Hello! Somebody!"

Her heart began to drum. She squirmed about, her skin pressing hard against the restraints. They would not give or wane against her force. Trapped, she gave up.

In the void, she could not see, could not hear anything but her own voice. The only indication that she was lying down was that her long hair was falling to her side. She could feel metal pressed against her back, but only when she moved. How long, she thought, had she been lying here for her skin to be accustomed to the metal?

The pounding of her heart now steadily played in her head. Where was she and how did she get here? All she could remember was going to bed. That was it.

This must be a dream, she thought. Sleep paralysis. She hoped that with enough concentration she could wake herself. Closing her eyes, she counted down from ten. On one, she would tell herself to wake up.

... four...

... three...

... two...

... one...

Her heart rate jumped into the low hundreds with a heavy drumbeat. Faced with the realization that this nightmare was no dream, she writhed and fought against her restraints. "Help! Please! Someone let me out!"

The restraints tightened, Sophy yelped. "Oh, God! Someone! Please!"

Sophy's struggle was interrupted by a metallic whirling, like the sound of a power drill. Something underneath her was moving, machines positioned themselves.

*Initializing, please stand by,* a robotic female voice chimed from the outside, its voice muffled through the thick metal. *Initiating Nerve Splicing Routine.*

"What's going on? Can anyone hear me?" Sophy cried out. "Please! Someone let me out!"

Her heart raced with a machinegun rhythm. She bucked against the tight restraints refusing to believe it to be futile.

There was a prick at the back of her neck. A sharp pinch, like the jab of a needle. Sophy groaned with a wretched cry as she felt something slither up through the inside of her neck. She cringed with horror; She could feel it, feel every inch of it creeping inside her. Like a tiny tendril, it crept along her spine and up to the base of her skull.

*Phase One complete. Initializing Phase Two.*

"Help! Someone for the love of God please help!"

A sudden internal snap, like the flipping of a switch, every nerve in her body cried out in unimaginable pain. She screamed in excruciating agony. Pins and needles, hot brands digging deep into every pore. The instant onslaught of hellish torment seemed to last forever, every second nothing but pain.

Then it stopped. The pain subsided as though it had never occurred, only to be replaced with a steady buzz of pleasure. Her body hummed with indescribable ecstasy. She felt as though she was floating in the clouds, her mind adrift in constant, blissful mindlessness. The bliss stopped. Like the pain before it, it vanished as suddenly as it came. She felt nothing -- nothing at all. Her body and mind were without feeling, without emotion. Blank.

The whiplash left Sophy confused. Logically, she knew something was wrong. She should not be feeling such acute sensations. She knew that, given the circumstances, she should be panicking. She was only concerned in a logical sense, as though it were a math problem.

*Phase Two complete,* the robotic voice said, *Initiating Neural Reformatting.*

As Sophy contemplated her lack of emotional response, she began to find it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts seem to be hushed, as though being drowned against a current; whisked away into oblivion only to be replaced by an empty void. The voice in her head left, and so, too, did her subconscious. Her senses were muted. She was aware, but not cognitive. She lied perfectly still, unthinking, unfeeling, her mind was as soulless and empty as the space between the stars.

*Neural Reformatting Complete. Please Select Format.*

Standing on the outside of the chamber, Dr. Angela Havel stood over top of the control panel. She reviewed the order form. She punched in the code and inserted her key. Turning her key and hitting the start button, a chime sounded, and a green light flashed from above the coffin-sized pod.

*Format Selected. Initializing, please stand by.*

The timer showed thirty minutes. She sipped her coffee and went on to the next pod. The subject inside was undergoing its Neural Splicing, which was automated. Good, Dr. Havel thought, by the time the first subject is finished she'll be too busy with it to handle the second. She'll let her intern deal with it. For now, she was going to make a trip to the break room. After handling fourteen subjects today, she thought she deserved it.

When she returned, the neural formatting procedure was finished. Last one of the day, she reminded herself, just need to tough it out. She checked the order form; she was to perform the same procedures she had done to every subject they pull through here, but there was a special note at the bottom of the form. It was written in pen, the black stroke faded from being photocopied. The subject was to be picked up today, the note said, by the buyer.

That was a first. Most customers preferred to wait for a few days so they could make sure the press wouldn't send out their watchdogs. Dr. Havel would rather not face whoever it was wanting to spend so much money on--

She caught herself. She had to stop that; she knew better than to allow her morals to get in the way of her job. The money was too good, and the benefits to die for. That, and she knew what she was getting into when she signed the dotted line.

With the tap of a button, the compressed air of the sealed pod hissed free. The lid rose with a mechanical whine. Once the top was open, the pod rose to a standing angle to allow the subject to step out.

Dr. Havel did a quick visual inspection of the subject. It looked healthy, no visible wounds. It was completely bald, the machine worked to remove the hair on its head. Its ankles and wrists were red from having struggled against its restraints -- nothing to worry about.

She retrieved her penlight from her coat pocket. She shined the light into her subject's unblinking, soulless eyes, strobing the light until she saw the eyes twitch and blink to the overwhelming stimulus.

"Can you hear me?" Dr. Havel said loud and clear once she was certain the subject was awake.

The subject's eyes slowly moved about at first, then, with confusion, her eyes flickered all about.

"Can you hear me?"

The subject then looked at Dr. Havel, life showing from behind its pale green eyes. "Yes."

"Can you raise your hands, please," Dr. Havel ordered.

The subject did what it was told and raised both of her hands out in front of her.

"Good. Now, slowly, step out of the pod."

Hesitantly, the subject took a small step out of the pod, its naked feet wincing from the cold ceramic floor. It stepped out further, cautiously, and finally stood out of the pod. It showed no signs of curiosity, that was good. Most subjects don't, but if they do, they must be reformatted a second time.

From a glass cabinet in the corner of the large room, Dr. Havel retrieved a neural collar. The collar was small and lightweight, easy to remove for undressing and bathing. Top of the line, it never needed to be recharged and had a functional range of one hundred miles should the signal not be blocked. She stepped behind the subject and found the small micro-socket in the back of its neck. She aligned the small receiver with it and with a snap she braced the tight collar around the subject's neck.

Dr. Havel retrieved a remote control from her pocket, dialed in the connection to the collar and hit the necessary programming buttons. Then, she tested it. First, pain. The subject cried out, as its entire body cringed with pain. Then, relaxation. The subject's body went limp, shoulders rolling back.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Havel asked, her voice monotone.

"Good," the subject replied.

"Do you know your name?"

"I am Doll 0304"

Dr. Havel nodded. She hit the button to return Doll 0304 to a blank state. "Great, now let's get you dressed."

The two walked together down a short hallway to the dressing room. The room was large, with chairs and mirrors strung about. The attire was kept in neat rows of garment bags hung along the walls; each bag contained identical outfits tailored in size to their respective subjects. Dr. Havel ordered the subject to stay put while she retrieved its outfit.

"Here," Dr. Havel laid the garment bag on a chair and unzipped it. She held the jet-black latex clothing in her hand, feeling how smooth it was, how it reflected the light. It was almost mesmerizing. Dr. Havel sighed, setting the outfit down for a moment to take the neural collar off the subject. Once the collar was off, she ordered Doll 0304 to get dressed.

It didn't take long for the subject to dawn the clothing. Her abilities and skills were still present, the neural reformatting was made precise through years of experimentation to only affect emotions, memories, and metacognition. With the neural collar off, Doll 0304, like all the dolls processed in the lab, was aware and cognitive but in a blank lobotomized state. For her emotions, she relied on the neural collar.

Doll 0304's conditioning began the moment she slipped into the black latex. After dawning the three-holed hood, the ensemble was complete. Dr. Havel attached the collar, and with the remote she dialed in a conditioning stimulus.

"I want you to examine yourself in the mirror," Dr. Havel said in a clinical tone.

Doll 0304 did as it was told. Its eyes roamed about the body that stood opposite of her in the mirror. Covered in head to toe with black, glossy latex, the only visible skin was at the slits for her eyes and lips. The latex was tight, conforming to every inch of her body with a sleek tautness.

Its lips parted in a silent gasp as tingles shot down its spine. Every inch of it was made to be leered at, to be desired. The gloss of the latex drew the eyes in -- commanding one's gaze. The latex gleamed and reflected under the lights like oil on metal.

It accentuated every curve on Doll 0304's nubile figure: its long legs, its round, well-defined bottom, slender hourglass figure, and its ample breasts. The hood brought attention to its pale green eyes and plump lips. The heels of the boots it wore brought the doll to about Dr. Havel's height.

Its body hummed thanks to the neural collar. It ran its hands along its body, its fingers encased in the beautiful black gloss. It squeezed its breasts and felt the tingle of its nipples between the pinching fingers. Squeezing her skin through the latex brought flickers of heat between its thighs. Running its hands down its stomach and to its needing heat, she rubbed herself through the latex, the sensations even more delightful.

The conditioning seemed to be working, Dr. Havel thought. It always did. Every doll learned to love latex; learned to love its tight embrace. They came to recognize latex as a second skin, a skin they wished to be encased in forever. The latex helped dehumanize the dolls, made them appear as only sexual objects. It fit their mindless state.

A thought crept its way from the back of Dr. Havel's mind. What would it feel like, she wondered, to wear latex? Of course, she knew it wouldn't bear the same sexual gratification that these dolls experience. They were being conditioned to enjoy it. But, still, what would it be like? What would it be like to have every inch covered in the conforming material, her mind wandered; what would she look like wearing it?

She was confident she would look decent. She was attractive enough. Long black hair, dark brown eyes, she stood taller than most women, and had a more voluptuous figure, which suited her well.

A low moan broke the silence like a pen hitting the floor. Dr. Havel flicked her daydream away with self-annoyance and flickered eyes to Doll 0304. It was pleasuring itself. One hand massaged the desperate need between its legs while another explored its latex body, squeezing, and kneading each and every curve.

With the neural remote, Dr. Havel dialed back the pleasure emitting from the neural collar. "That's enough. I think you're good to go."

The doll turned to face the doctor, hands down by its side. Dr. Havel glimpsed into the doll's muted eyes. Regret surged through her, she flicked her eyes away and grabbed the garment bag.

"Come on, your owner will be here any minute now."

Dr. Havel led the doll to the reception room. It was a small, open space. Strategically placed ultra-modern décor gave the room a sleek, black and white sexiness. It catered to the rich, to the people who wanted everything to be a big presentation. There was even a black ceramic wine bucket on a glass table between two center piece couches. As per usual, Dr. Havel instructed the doll to wait behind the door to make the reveal more special. Doll 0304 obeyed with silent obedience.

On the hour, the buyer arrived. Alone, no escort or entourage, a single wildfire orange Ferrari pulled up to the entrance. A man in a million-dollar black suit stepped out of the car and approached the glass entrance. The glass was one-way to ensure buyer privacy, but the man's bravado, the walk, gave no indication of a need for privacy.

The man entered; he gave a practiced smile. "Johnny Fuchsia, pleasure to meet you."

Johnny Fuchsia. Short, thick dark brown hair with a beard styled to have a professional roguishness, he carried himself with the confidence of a man who owned the world. Dr. Havel recognized the name. An American fashion designer, he made headlines all over social media after some controversial fashion statements went viral. Of course, his models always took the fall.

Dr. Havel extended her hand. "Dr. Angela Havel. It's good to meet you."

Johnny shook her hand. His smile shifted, brighter and warm. Dr. Havel couldn't help but notice. "Dr. Havel. Or may I..?"

His voice trailed with a hint of a chuckle, Dr. Havel replied, "Angela is fine."

The warmth of his hand left her grip, and Angela suddenly felt a flare of embarrassment shoot through her. She jumped back into her routine.

"If you would, please, Mr. Fuchsia--"

"Johnny, please."

"Of course. Johnny, if you would please, take a seat and we'll have your doll out for you."

Johnny nodded and made himself at home on the leather couch. Angela took the remote from her pocket and pressed the button to signal Doll 0304. She knew the order had been received when she heard the distinct clicking of heels on marble through the door at the far end.

The door slowly opened. Johnny's smile lowered into a hot smirk; his gaze fixated on his new possession. Doll 0304 stepped into the room, heels clicking, the accentuating and conforming latex caught light with a bright gleam. Johnny licked his lips.

Doll 0304 stopped several meters away from the two. Angela handed Johnny the remote. "Here," she said with a professional smile, "this is the neural remote. It can only be used when she is wearing the neural collar."

"Yes, I memorized all the details," Johnny mused.

"Doll 0304, you are now the property of Mr. Johnny Fuchsia."

The doll nodded.

Johnny's eyes never left the doll's delicious body. "What was her name before she became Doll 0304?"

Angela's eyes flickered to Johnny. It was an unusual question, most preferred not to know the answer to.

"Its name," Angela started, emphasizing 'it,' "was Sophy Blake. Of course, it is now Doll 0304, or whatever you decide to name it."

"Doll 0304 is fine for now. Perfect even."

Johnny motioned for the doll to approach him. Angela stepped back and took a seat on the couch opposite Johnny. Most buyers, if they came in person, liked to take a moment to 'appraise' their purchase, which the company encouraged. Angela felt bad, almost, for not having any wine. She felt a celebrity such Johnny Fuchsia should have had a better reception.

Angela watched as the doll stepped up to Johnny. The doll stood in front of him, rubbing herself gently, Johnny having activated her pleasure center. He sat up and ran his hands along the doll's slick, latex-clad body. His fingers explored every curve, his eyes full of greedy hunger.

"With your neural collar, you'll come to love my touch. To love me. Worship me, even." Johnny whispered. "Your life is about to change for the better."

He dug his fingers into the doll's two-layered skin. He made no attempt at modesty as he ran his fingers over the doll's shapely bottom, made accentuated by the glossy jet-black latex. He kneaded and groped it with a hot fervor, his breathing hard and excited. Its backside, its ass, facing Angela.

Johnny took a deep breath. "This is what I love about latex and these dolls."

His eyes then shot to Angela's. For a second, he said nothing, Angela became acutely aware of her burning cheeks. Then, he spoke, not to himself, but to her: "And this? This doll isn't a human. The latex, the mind wipe... this doll is exactly that: a doll.

Angela parted her lops as if to say something, but she couldn't formulate a coherent response.

Johnny hummed. "Regardless. Doll 0304 has the perfect ass, doesn't she? Exactly what I wanted." And with that, he gave the doll a solid spank on the bottom. The doll cooed. Angela found herself unable to glance away.

"Take a seat, 0304," Johnny chuckled, "Worship me, quietly and respectfully. We're in public."

Doll 0304 sat down next to Johnny. She curled up against him and began running her hands across his chest and arms, down to his leg and thighs.

"Thank you, Angela. This purchase has been, well, the best I've ever made. Truly."

Thank God, Angela thought, back to pleasantries. "Well, we are more than happy to hear that. I will certainly let the team know that."

"You know, speaking of you and your team: how do you do it? I mean, the neural splicing, and the collar... all of it."

"Well, it's a complicated process. And, of course, a trade secret," Angela said with a short polite laugh.

"I'm serious. I'm fascinated by it. Truly. It's poetic to make someone into something else. Something more, but less. Does that make sense?"

"Uhm, I can see where that may be," Angela smiled. Never had a buyer been so interested in the details.

Angela chose her words carefully. "I would like to tell you, but it's complicated and classified. I might--"

"Why don't you tell me an abridged version. No specifics."

"Well, I could do that. Would you--"

"Great. How about over dinner?"

Angela's cheeks went red hot. "Dinner?"

"Dinner. I'll buy. Private place and high class. I can give you the details over text."

Angela froze. Her mind raced at a million miles per hour. Each thought coming and going, each one the wrong thing to say. She watched as Doll 0304 placed a soft kiss on Johnny's cheek.

"Uhm, uh, sure. Yes. That would be lovely."

"Great. This weekend?"

Angela nodded.

Johnny stood up; his doll followed suit. "Well then, Angela, I look forward to our dinner together."

The two shook hands. No words were said nothing as Johnny turned and walked out to his car, his new doll following close by his side. She stood in the middle of the room dumbfounded. Excitement and anxiety danced around her thoughts like a monkey on her back. She almost couldn't believe it: she was going to have dinner with Johnny Fuchsia.