The Love Dolls Chapter 4 free porn video

The observation deck was like an amphitheater over a surgical operations room. Darcie looked through the glass partition at the activity in the clinic below. Centered the room was a chair that looked like a dentist’s chair, complete with head-rest, tilted far back. Behind the chair was a bank of computers and monitors.
Being led to the chair was a young woman; Darcie would guess her to be about college-age. The girl was held securely by each arm as she was guided into the chair. She walked unsteadily, as if sedated, and it appeared to Darcie that she resisted as much as her weak condition allowed. But the clinicians settled her into the chair with little effort and snapped a metal band across her forehead. Straps secured her arms, legs and torso.
“What’s going on?” asked Darcie.
Max said, “We call this the incubator’. The girl you see down there was acquired several days ago. Young, in good health, attractive. Yesterday she underwent a rather specialized cranial operation. Our team of neurosurgeons have identified the sensory perception zones of the brain, and have found a way to access them. A small neurotransmitter has been installed in the subject’s cerebral cortex, connected to a jack at the base of the skull.”
“And what does all that mean?” asked Darcie, as she watched the team settle a kind of virtual-reality helmet over the girl’s eyes.
Max said, “It means we can make her see things, hear things, even feel things in her own mind. And reinforce those perceptions by intense pleasure—or by a sensation of unpleasantness applied directly to her mind.” The girl was struggling weakly, but straps soon held her immobile in the chair. And as for the pleasure stimulus. . .”
And Darcie saw how they undid a small velco seal between her legs, and gently but firmly inserted a large powered dildo deep into the girl’s sex. Faint muffled protests could be heard through the helmet, but despite her attempts to fight the straps, the dildo slid home.
“From this point forward, we let our doctors control the girl’s thoughts. They flash images of submission and obedience into her brain, computer-generated virtual-reality displays of herself, actually, and then accompany those images with stimulated pleasure. We alternate that with contrasting images of resistance and defiance, and tickle her brain with some unpleasant sensations. After a while, a conditioned reflex is established in the brain that tells her that obedience brings pleasure, and defiance brings punishment. After, say, a hundred thousand repetitions of this same simple lesson, the subject’s brain is effectively rewired into that of a docile slave. Independent thought is rendered impossible. The same technique can be used to train the subject in other behavior patterns, such as sexual technique and customized specialties requested by the client.”
Darcie watched as the girl began twisting and writhing as the mental images flashed through her brain. Methodically, relentlessly, the captive was being converted into mind-controlled slut, despite her futile, pathetic struggles. Darcie said, “All this sounds pretty sophisticated for a k**naping ring, if you don’t mind my saying so. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Oh,” said Max breezily, “We have some of the world’s most respected neurologists on our staff. See that man down there, the bald fellow by the EEG monitor? That’s Dr. Raymond Charlesworth, chairman of the Essex College of Psychology.”
Darcie stared at the figure below. “Wait, I know about him. He’s written several books—as a matter of fact, we once had him on the show to talk about. . .I don’t know, relationships or something.” She shook her head. “How do you get a man like that to help you with a scheme like this? You couldn’t pay him enough money!”
“Ah, my dear, money is not the coin of the realm, around here. See his assistant?” Darcie looked where Max pointed, and saw a lovely brunette in a tight-fitting white medical gown that barely reached over her ass, cinched with a gleaming white patent-leather belt to show off her curves—and a white leather collar to match. As the assistant bent over to check one of the straps on the restraining chair, Darcie could see the swell of her breasts barely restrained by the medical gown. The girl said something to the doctor, then lowered her eyes demurely as if waiting for instructions.
“What the good doctor gets for his contribution to our program is—her,” said Max. “She’s only nineteen, but her mind has been conditioned specifically to suit his particular, ah, tastes. As his personal sex slave, satiating those desires is her goal in life. She’s also been trained as his assistant for our work here. I understand the girl’s been performing well in both categories.”
Darcie shook her head in disapproval, then looked again at the imprisoned girl below. “So after frying that poor girl’s brain, you then hustle her out on the marketplace to the highest bidder? Pretty slick, Max.” And she shuddered.
“Hardly not,” Max replied. “We don’t eliminate intelligence. We just disengage it except for the tasks the client wants her to perform. And once a subject’s mind is controlled, the next step is to enhance their physical condition. We call it packaging’.”
“I’m sure you do,” muttered Darcie.
“This way,” said Max, as he led her to the overview in the next station of the Observation Corridor.
At first sight the room looked like a typical health club. Half a dozen girls were working out at various machines, each one with a trainer keeping careful watch. On closer inspection, however, Darcie could see the girls were clad in bodysuits so sheer and tight that they could have been sprayed on. One girl pumped hard on a stepping machine; a flick of the trainer’s riding crop on her asscheeks made her pump harder. Darcie winced at the sight, imagining the sting on the rump underneath that skintight-stretched fabric.
“What’s with the suits?” asked Darcie. “They’re so thin, they look positively sprayed on!”
Max replied, “Oh, those are one of our most successful innovations. Each suit is actually custom-tailored to compress and shape the wearer’s body into the optimum shape for that particular person. A strict diet and a program of vigorous exercise—supervised and motivated by our staff, you see—and you can get good results quite quickly. And the material is a special synthetic compound of organic polymers that over time actually bonds with the subject’s skin. It recycles water and waste products and makes the Doll essentially self-sustaining, with the addition of nutritional supplements every week or so. And an owner can change the bodysuit’s color from metallic, to shiny black, to natural skin tone. Quite aesthetic, wouldn’t you say? They also let the sexual heat build up inside.”
Darcie had to admit to herself that the girls did look quite fetching in their gleaming, form-fitting outfits. Even the nipples could be discerned through the sheer fabric as the full breasts underneath bounced and bobbed with every exertion. She said, “Hmmm...either you got lucky in your k**nap victims, or I could swear some of those girls have had boob jobs.”
Max said, “Oh, we have our own staff of cosmetic surgeons. Most of the girls are touched up to conform with standard requests—36 D breasts are high on the list. We found most American men like well-endowed LoveDolls. And what are rather crudely referred to here as ‘bubble butts.’ Europeans, on the other hand”—and he gestured with his hand as his palm were a weighing scale—“Europeans prefer more petite development.. We cater to all tastes. Oh, see how the girls walk with their heels in the air, on the balls of their feet? One thing we do on almost all the LoveDolls is apply a special salve to their Achilles tendons; it has the effect of gradually shrinking the tendon until only extremely high heels are comfortable to them. We break them in slowly, of course—four inch heels, then five, then six.” Darcie could see how some of the girls had already been fitted with towering stiletto heels. They walked with the uncertain gait of new-born colts. Max seemed to read her thoughts. “They’ll be prancing about like ballerinas in no time, the little darlings.”
They continued down the corridor, passing several beauticians’ chairs behind the one-way glass. In the chairs, LoveDolls underwent various conventional beauty treatments—hair, facial wraps, skin lotions were all applied expertly to the unresisting bodies of the sex-slaves-to-be, making them as desirable as possible.
The next room was far from conventional. This was also an exercise room, but Darcie soon realized the exercises were of a sexual rather than aerobic nature. In one zone, a LoveDoll was strapped to a stationary bicycle. She pedaled furiously. “Looks like she’s really going at it,” said Darcie.
“Part of it is mental conditioning,” said Max. “Each LoveDoll is programmed to be fanatical about maintaining a perfect physique to please her owner. In this case there’s an added incentive. Look closely at the seat.”
Darcie squinted, and as the LoveDoll’s rump would bob an inch or two off the seat with each cycle of the pedals, she caught a glimpse of a phallic cylinder protruding from the seat that rapidly pistoned up and down, penetrating deep in her pussy with each thrust. Darcie caught the musky scent of sweat and feminine sex.
“It’s geared to how fast she pedals,” explained Max, following her gaze. “All the LoveDolls have been psychologically implanted with supercharged libidos. The sexual tension builds and builds, and can only be released by a trainer or owner. I like to think of the LoveDolls training on this bicycle as frantically racing for an orgasm that is perpetually just barely out of reach. You see, this is room is used exclusively for the development of sexual technique. It’s surprising—I would even say shocking—how little American women know about the actual practice sex. After graduating from this room, a LoveDoll will never just lie there.’”
Darcie spied another exercise routine in the far end of the room. She asked, “And what’s that one doing?” She pointed to a LoveDoll straddling a kind of saddle on a stand. She was salaciously pumping herself over a large dildo impaled between her spread thighs that pistoned into her from the base of the saddle in a steady, deliberate rhythm. She gyrating her hips and flexed her abdomen muscles in response to each thrust.
Max said, “This particular exercise strengthens the vagina muscles to the point where she will be able to massage her owner’s cock most effectively, and with a variety of pre-programmed techniques. Squeezing, stroking, corkscrewing—they have to learn them all.”
“She’s going at it pretty hard too,” said Darcie, as the LoveDoll’s redheaded mane whirled and thrashed back and forth with each toss of her head. “Is that the mental conditioning again?”
“Correct, Ms. McVey. Right now there’s nothing more important to her than giving her imaginary lover the utmost pleasure she’s capable of. The fact is, she’s replaying a scene she’s already experienced countless times under her psychological conditioning back at the Incubator.’ This training is naturally duplicated for all love-making techniques—oral, anal, even such simple pleasures as backrubs and shower sudsing.”
“And the trainer?” asked Darcie, pointing to one of the leather-clad supervisors who kept an eye on a control panel dial and a finger poised over a switch.
“Ah, there comes time when a little more motivation is needed, if the LoveDoll is performing one whit below her capacity, naturally.” As he spoke, the trainer frowned and flipped the switch. The LoveDoll rose from the saddle with an electric shock, her eyes snapped wide. Then the LoveDoll redoubled her efforts at the dildo. The trainer gave an approving nod.
“Naturally,” muttered Darcie. She had noticed the look of rapture on the girl’s face, and wondered how many times she had orgasmed that evening.
“Would you like to see the finished product?” asked Max. “I believe we have one waiting for pickup by the client in the holding room.” Darcie nodded mutely.
The holding room turned out to be one of the most lavish rooms in the club. Dark mahogany paneling, thick carpet, plush chairs—and in one corner, full length ornate mirrors—a perfect forum for inspecting one’s newly purchased plaything, Darcie thought. Max quietly murmured something into the intercom speaker on the wall, and soon a shapely trainer escorted the purchased LoveDoll into the room.
Darcie took in a short breath as she caught her first look at the finished LoveDoll. Blond hair, shimmering in highlights, tumbled down to the doll’s shoulders. Her eyes were large and green, flecked with gold, her face oval with a model’s high cheekbones. A collar with a stainless steel ring graced her slender neck—and that was the only apparel she was wearing.
As for her body, Darcie had to secretly concede to herself that Max’s technicians knew what they were doing. The breasts were full and perfectly proportioned; the waist slender, the hips showed as graceful curves. As Darcie walked around her, she saw the tight asscheeks and long, sculpted legs that stood on towering high heels that made her walk mincing and sensual. Darcie could see how the girl’s entire body was encased in that incredibly thin transparent bodysuit that gave her a satiny sheen, totally unblemished, velvety smooth to the touch.
It was more than the girl’s physique that created the sexual energy that crackled around her. The way she thrust her chest outward, as if begging for somebody to cup and massage her breasts, and the way she arched her back slightly to accentuate the curve of her ass, and mostly the way her eyes seem to glow with an spoken hunger to be taken and ravished—all these combined to make the LoveDoll infinitely desirable as she stood before them in brazen display.
Darcie said in a kind of awe, “You mean this was once. . . a person?”
Max said, “Yes, an au pair exchange student from Denmark, I believe. She’s been transformed into what we call our standard model. Fully functional, well-trained in all sexual techniques, utter compliant to her owner’s wishes. This one has been voice-disabled by conditioning, except for love-making sounds. That way we could install silicone pads in her mouth and throat to create a small, tight channel—effectively converting her mouth into a second vagina.”
Darcie studied the girl’s face in fascination. “This make-up,” she began—
“Imbedded permanently into the skin,” answered Max. “Eye shadow, blush, lipstick, the works. She always looks her best and you never have to worry about getting lipstick on your collar. Or elsewhere.”
Darcie noticed how the LoveDoll’s lips had been pumped with collagen to the point where she could even open her mouth on her own. Darcie could only imagine the pleasure an owner would experience has he forced his manhood through those twin cushions of plump, moistened lips.
Max addressed the LoveDoll. “Turn around,” he said crisply, and the LoveDoll instantly and gracefully complied. She spread her legs and bent over slightly to show off her sex, totally uninhibited. Max was saying, “The standard model can be commanded either by voice, as I did just then, or by this remote control.” He hefted a remote control console in the palm of his hand and pressed a button. The LoveDoll turned again to face him. “Exquisite, don’t you think?” he asked pleasantly to Darcie. “Each command has a unique electromagnetic signal implanted through conditioning in her mind. After so many repetitions, her conscious mind is bypassed altogether, and her body just responds automatically to the signals. Efficient, wouldn’t you say?”
Darcie could only stare in amazement at this apparition of this sex goddess, programmed into obedience. “And all this conditioning,” she asked, “it really works? Does she know what we’re saying right now?”
“Not really, no. She’s aware we’re here, of course, but her cognitive ability has been disengaged except to respond to commands. We can restore it of course. But we uncovered an interesting side effect that prompted us to keep the LoveDolls under full mental control.”
“Side effect?” asked Darcie. “What side effect?”
“They don’t seem to age at all,” said Max, and for the first time Darcie heard a note of wonder in his voice. “Something about the aging genes becoming disengaged with the rest. . .Forever young, forever beautiful. . .” His voice trailed off. Then he shrugged apologetically to Darcie. “Forgive me, it’s the romantic in me. You can’t help but admire them, can you? And she’s fully functional, her vagina reconfigured for the maximum sexual pleasure to her user. But that is just one of the many options we offer. Here, I’ll show you.” He pressed another button on the control. The beautiful Doll gracefully sank down on her knees. Max was already pulling out his cock, with no sign of inhibitions himself.
Must be the romantic in him, thought Darcie.
The LoveDoll tilted her head back slightly, her tongue snaked over her lips to render them moist for easy entry. The tip of her pink tongue darted out to caress the underside of Max’s manhood.
Darcie was no prude, and no stranger to oral sex. In fact, during her climb up the network ladder, a corporate V.P. who guarded the gate to her promotion made it clear he liked her on screen performances so much, he wanted to see what she could do behind closed doors. So Darcie always associated fellatio with those demeaning experiences, one offered reluctantly and only with the understanding that she was entitled to reciprocal service from her lover, or something of equal value.
The LoveDoll considered it anything but demeaning, apparently. Or didn’t care. Or maybe Max was right, and her thoughts were completely replaced by her programming. For Darcie never saw a cock sucked with such adoring adroitness. The LoveDoll spent several minutes just running her lips and tongue along the shaft, occasionally swirling her tongue around the head of Max’s throbbing cock. Her half-closed eyes followed Max’s s every movement, and Darcie could almost feel her warm breath as he kissed and licked his balls with loving attention. Max entangled his hands into the beautiful Doll’s glossy hair, and she allowed him to direct her mouth wherever his pleasure dictated, her full lips sliding all the way over his cock. Finally, when his cock was pulsing with a heat all its own, Max gripped her head hard and thrust himself deep inside her, fully sheathing himself down her eager throat. His gasp of pleasure reminded Darcie what he said earlier of converting the LoveDoll’s mouth into a second vagina—in fact, as he penetrated in and out between the Doll’s lips, Darcie could hear the suctioned slurping as her narrow-channeled mouth provided a perfect fit for his engorged manhood. The cheeks of the mind-controlled slut betrayed how her tongue working was furiously along her master’s shaft. As the Doll’s bouncing breasts brushing teasingly against Max’s thigh’s with every thrust, Darcie realized the Doll’s entire mind and body were totally focused on bringing the ultimate pleasure to her owner. Max tightened his hold on her head and picked up the tempo of his thrusts, literally fucking her mouth, sheathing his cock to its base past those soft, yielding lips.
Max finally tensed and came hard. She gulped his seed down greedily, then swathed his withdrawn manhood with her tongue to clean him up. Max restored himself, and pressed the control device. The LoveDoll sank back on her heels, head lowered, her hands resting on her thighs, palm up, in the classic position of submission.
Darcie felt faint. She slowly sat down in one of the plush chairs. What had seemed to her to be a good story for her career had become a nightmare. To see a free woman methodically transformed into a sextoy was a notion so diabolical, so monstrous that it was beyond belief. But what really shook her was her own reaction to it—for one split second, she wanted to ask Max for the remote, and see what it was like to have the LoveDoll pleasure her. Darcie could swear when she looked into those large green eyes, she could see an unquenchable desire still burning like embers. She shook off the temptation.
“Well, Max, that was quite a show,” she said huskily.
Max said, “That’s just an all-purpose LoveDoll. Some of our more discerning clients have particular tastes and preferences that we try to fulfill. Come this way.”
The next room featured one subject: a naked girl was strapped in one of the incubator-style chairs, this time with her crossed wrists manacled above her head. Darcie knew enough now about the clinic’s mind control techniques to note the headphones securely attached to her ears, while a nearby computer flooded her brain with God-knows-what neurological imprints. The usual vaginal stimulator was in place, rhythmically pumping in and out and reinforcing those mental commands with cycles of sensual stimulation. But what caught Darcie’s eyes immediately was the size of the girl’s breasts. They were enormous—like twin volleyballs.
“Ah,” said Max, “I see you’ve noticed our subject’s prime feature. The buyer has a particular interest in, shall we say, busty girls. He’s asked us if we can provide a LoveDoll for the a true connoisseur of large breasts. The subject—Brittany, her name was—was already blessed with good development when we acquired her. But our client wanted more. So our clinical staff developed a technique that is having marvelous results.. Since breasts this large would not be feasible with a single implant, the doctors have devised a procedure in which expandable pockets of saline solution are inserted in each breast, then pumped with more and more solution over time through those tubes to let the skin stretch.”
Darcie followed with her eyes the clear bag of solution hanging from a stand over the strapped-down girl, with the steady drip of the liquid pressed by gravity through two plastic tubes that fed through tiny incisions at the base of her breasts. The breasts themselves were covered by transparent suction cups that repeatedly sucked the ripe breast flesh into the shaped domes with a steady massaging effect..
“Those are to shape and form the breasts as they get augmented,” explained Max without being asked. “The client does not just want gigantic breasts. He wants gigantic perfect breasts. Oh, and notice that ointment spread over the breasts? That keeps the skin moist and stretchable, and also stimulates nerve growth. The slightest touch will cause spasms of pleasurable sensation.” Max gave a little laugh. “Each time the client comes to inspect the progress, he says, a little larger, please.’ It will take about a week more to get them to the desired dimensions.”
“But to saddle a girl with those gargantuan mammaries,” protested Darcie. “A week more of this, at the rate she’s growing, she’ll topple over if she tries to walk!”
“Oh, our training staff will instruct her how to walk, never fear. And walk in such a way as to make her breasts sway oh-so-invitingly. And of course we pay equal attention to the LoveDoll’s mental conditioning. Here, listen to this,” and he flipped a switch on the computer and handed Darcie a set of headphones. Darcie with a little frown reluctantly listened in to what was being piped into Britainy’s brain that very instant:
“—love my big breasts... I love my big breasts....They make me look so pretty... I love the feel of Master’s cock between my breasts...It makes me feel so sexy to have Master’s cock between my breasts... I love my breasts—the bigger the better...I love to see my breasts in the mirror....My breasts are just for Master to play with...It makes me wet to have Master kiss my breasts...I don’t ever want to cover my breasts, I want Master to see them all the time, to see how full and big they are...I love my big breasts...” Darcie could see how each lesson was reinforced by a surge of the vaginal stimulator. The girl’s eyelids fluttered as her body writhed in an extended wave of sexual pleasure, the rounded globes jiggling in a most sensuous way. Even so, she shook her head weakly from side to side, as if still fighting the inexorable mind control training that was penetrating the deepest recesses of her mind.
“That’s Brittany’s actual voice, synthesized,” said Max, replacing the headphones on the rack. We find it makes a deeper impression, almost like the subject talking to herself.”
“And it works?” said Darcie, fascinated by image of the LoveDoll being molded physically and mentally into a programmed slut with giant tits.
“Most definitely. By the time we’re finished with her conditioning, she won’t be able to look at her breasts in the mirror without slipping into orgasm right then and there. And we’ve also been able to design some garments for her to wear that display her new form to the best advantage. A custom-designed LoveDoll—that’s the direction our program is going.”
As they watched, the overhanging bag of solution ran dry. Brittany—or the evolving LoveDoll that used to be Brittany—glanced up with shrouded eyes with what Darcie thought was a look of relief. But just then a clinician walked in, looking sassy in her high-hem skirt and lab coat, and efficiently swapped the empty solution bag for a full one. Brittany tilted her head up as high as it could go, and watched the suction cups draw the new flow of solution into another millimeter of size on her pink swollen breasts, glistening with the lubricating ointment. Brittany’s head dropped back on the table, and she seemed to sigh in helpless resignation to the fact that her mind and body were was being gradually molded into a huge-breasted fucktoy. The relentless mental indoctrination coming through the headphones was obviously melting her will to resist.
Max pulled Darcie away by gently gripping her upper arm. “Come along,” he said. “Our final room has what I consider our finest effort so far. In fact, we’re in luck—the buyer stopped by today to test the state of our training.”
Darcie left, but not without a backward glance at the strapped-in Brittainy, the clear plastic tubes pumping another surge of liquid into her swollen breasts.
As they returned back down the corridor, Darcie saw the strangest apparition coming the other way. Two women—one wore the traditional leather corset and high-heeled boots of the trainers that Darcie had seen in the work-out rooms. She was leading another girl who bore the unmistakable signs of being transformed into a LoveDoll—the full lips, shimmering bodysuit (obsidian black, on this one), and sculpted body/facial beauty. Her hair had been allowed to grow long, almost down to the small of her back, and brushed to a glossy sheen.
But this Doll was apparently undergoing specialized training. A pony-bit was clenched in her mouth. Her arms were pulled back behind her, elbows touching, and encased in a single glove that knitted seamlessly into her form-fitting corset. So her arms and hands were immobilized, shoulders pulled back, making her breasts—large and sumptuous even by the standards of the clinic—thrust proudly forward. Darcie could only marvel at the muscular thighs and calves that flexed every time the Doll took another exaggerated high step. The trainer behind her guided the Doll with a firm grip on reins that pulled on the bit, while her other hand carried a crop.
As they passed this strange pair, Darcie stopped. “Max, what is this all about?” she asked, her eyes wide with wonder. Max held up us hand.
“Whoa,” the trainer said, pulling back on the reins. The LoveDoll stopped, panting through the bit, but staring blankly ahead.
“This is one of our earlier LoveDolls,” said Max. “Her name is Christina. Her owner has developed an interest in erotic equestrian play, so we reprogrammed her LoveDoll’s mind into that of a ponygirl.”
Darcie studied the LoveDoll ponygirl. Up close she could see the elaborate system of straps and buckles that could be used for different restraints. The bit itself was a leather bar clenched between her teeth, with two shiny metal rings pressed back on her cheeks that served as the connection to the reins. The ponygirl’s back was arched as she stood at attention on her high-heeled pony shoes. And either as a touch of whimsy or realism, a crested tail had been plugged between her firm asscheeks. Darcie tried to see some sign of humiliation or desperation in the LoveDoll’s eyes, but all she could see was the familiar opaque doll-eyes, looking straight ahead. The girl’s breasts rose and fell with the breath of her prior exertions.
Max regarded this amazing creature with a pleased look on his face. “I trust her conditioning is going well?” he asked the trainer.
“Yes, sir,” answered the trainer. “Today we’re learning how to canter. Aren’t we, dear?” the trainer added to the ponygirl, stroking the Doll’s thigh with her crop. “Miss Dunn still wants to use her for sex play, of course, so we’re working out hand commands and other dressage techniques.”
Max turned to Darcie. “This illustrates a point I mentioned earlier—the direction our operation is going. Once a LoveDoll has been commissioned, we can re-program them in the Incubator’ into anything the owner wants. You can upgrade your standard LoveDoll to be—oh, a French Maid, complete with accent...a raunchy courtesan from the streets of New Orleans.. the high school cheerleader of your youthful fantasies. . ..or even this charming ponygirl. One of our clients even married his LoveDoll, God knows why. But it’s what he wanted. It’s just a question of jacking in a new program—and we have hundreds to choose from, with new ones being developed all the time. He turned back to the trainer. “Very well, proceed. I’ll expect a report on her progress by the end of the week. The owner said to spare no discipline. It’s my understanding she wants to enter her little filly in some races.”
“Yes, sir,” said the trainer. She snapped the reins. The ponygirl LoveDoll resumed her parade-ground prancing. “Knees high!” admonished the trainer, with a reminding smack of her riding crop on the ponygirl’s asscheeks. The pair moved off down the corridor to the metronome click of the ponygirl’s steel-shoed heels.
Something buzzed around in Darcie’s mind. Dunn. . . Dunn. . . Then it clicked. “That owner—Miss Dunn, did you say? That wouldn’t be Lydia Dunn, chief of the Sex Crimes Commission?”
“The very one,” said Max cheerfully. “For a fee, Miss Dunn gave us protection from government interference while we built up our organization. “Christina was her rival at the Commission for several years, and actually assigned to infiltrate our organization. Naturally, Lydia worked with us to neutralize her. As an agent, Christina was smart and tough and posed a serious threat to us. Her conditioning as a LoveDoll was a most satisfying process. Miss Dunn acquired her as her personal sex-toy. Now Christina’s only function is to please her Mistress—in any way her Mistress desires. A happy resolution to both of our problems, wouldn’t you say?”
Darcie took one last backward look over her shoulder at the high-stepping ponygirl, her tail flicking back and forth. To be captured by these people, and changed forever into someone else’s property! The thought made her shudder. And she again congratulated her own foresight in giving her assistant Louise the file on this demonic club as insurance against Darcie’s own k**naping. You have to take risks to get ahead, Darcie reminded herself. But as long as Max knew an outsider could still blow the whistle, Darcie figured she was safe enough. After all, Max was obviously an intelligent man who understood how he had been checkmated by Darcie’s advanced planning. Otherwise, he would never be giving her this tour, would he? She thought.
But if Max was concerned by the trap he was in, he gave no sign of it as he pushed open some swinging doors to the strangest room yet.
Darcie stared at the large cage that dominated the room. The floor of the cage was matted straw. The bars gleamed chromium silver. A bowl of water was inside, as well as a large bin of some kind of dried food. Inside the cage was—a woman? A LoveDoll? A tigress?
Max was already talking. “This one was called Samantha, I believe. Very defiant, at first. But you see how we turned that feistiness to our advantage.”
Samantha prowled on all fours inside the cage. Her hair was untamed, but gorgeous—a light brown, with streaks of blonde, thick locks tumbling untamed around her shoulders. Her body had been buffed and physically conditioned to steel-like muscular definition, like a professional body-worker. But that toughness was somehow highlighted by the feminine curves of her breasts and ass, and by the savage beauty of her face. Green eyes that smoldered at the two visitors with either lust or hostility or maybe both. Her only garment was a thick leather collar, its dark brown color a matching the copper tone of her tanned naked skin. A powerful scent of the woman’s sex permeated the room. She resumed her pacing on hands and knees, back and forth, her muscles flowing like a panther.
A man entered the room. Khaki shorts and shirt, with brawny arms and a thick mustache. He wore thick leather handling gloves and carried a braided whip in one hand.
“This is the owner,” whispered Max. “He’s a great white hunter type, goes into the wilds every season. All this was his idea, the minute we showed him Samantha’s marketing video.”
“All of what?” asked Darcie.
“Just watch. We’ve kept Samantha on a diet rich with hormones—she’s been in heat for the past three days. Frantic to mate.”
Darcie watched as the owner unlocked the cage. Samantha backed into a corner with a threatening growl. The owner advanced, his boots crunching over the straw. Samantha’s clawed hand lashed out. The man warily circled around her. Samantha’s nostrils flared as she caught the man’s scent, and the promise of long-deferred mating. Still she prowled along the edge of the cage, never taking her eyes off the intruder. Once, when she lashed out at him with her long fingernails, he cracked the whip without the leather tip touching her—more to control her than to hurt her, Darcie noticed.
The owner sprang forward with agility. His gauntletted hand grasped the steel ring on the woman’s collar and he maneuvered himself behind her. Samantha fought back hard, teeth bared, hissing and clawing. But Darcie could see how Samantha was also being aroused in spite of herself. The man’s whip cracked close to her ears and she cringed and froze at the unexpected sound. The owner seized the opportunity to press her shoulders down into the straw, leaving her ass high and vulnerable. He reached in and directed his already erect cock to thrust into the captured LoveDoll from behind. One thrust—and he was deep inside. Samantha’s fighting died down, and her hisses of resistance became growls of pleasure as she allowed herself to be taken, to have that a****l heat finally quenched. Cautiously, the owner released his hold on her collar, and slide his hands down over her back and flanks, finally gripping her hips with his leather gloves. Samantha began meeting his thrusts with her own, as she tossed her hair and panted in building passion.
Darcie stared in disbelief. They’ve turned this girl into a sex a****l, she realized, and continued to watch with a horrified fascination. As he reached climax, the man’s hand shot forward and grasped the mane of her hair, pulling the girl’s head back as his cock rammed back and forth, taking her hard from behind. Samantha’s emitted a kind of a low-throated mewing. Her back arched and her muscular body tensed, and they both came in shared spasm of sexual fulfillment.
Both man and tigress/LoveDoll shuddered, then slowly collapsed together in the straw. Samantha, look of glazed satisfaction in her half-lidded eyes, nuzzled close to the man. Her pink tongue came out, and she submissively licked the man’s chest and shoulders and neck, still turned on by his salty taste. The owner, his chest still heaving with exertion, scratched the thick hair behind her ears, Max motioned to Darcie it was time to go, and they left the two in the cage.
“She’s come along nicely, don’t you think? She’s been programmed to think she’s his big cat. I understand he’s built an entire walled landscape for her in his Kenya estates. Don’t let that whip scare you. Deep down, he really loves his pets.”
“His. . . pets, you say,” muttered Darcie. She was too stunned to say anything else. The sights and sounds and revelations of this bizarre tour finally caught up to her, and she felt faint. The thought of turning women into custom-designed sex slaves was too diabolical to believe—yet here it was. She had to get out. . . she had to. . . Darcie found her eyelids growing heavy. The room seemed to spin around, and suddenly everything became misty and black.