Fine Love Dolls
- 1 year ago
- 30
- 0
The Love Dolls Chapter 1 free porn video
I think you will find this one to your liking,” declared Max. “It took us a while to bring her up to your specifications, but the results were worth the effort.”
The client, heir to a banking fortune in Canada, nodded impatiently as he perched on his chair in the showroom.. He was young, he had speedboats and vacation houses and girlfriends and more money than he knew what to do with. Which suited Max just fine, because his firm catered to exactly such clientele. Max pressed a button on his desk.
The door opened, and a woman trainer escorted the man’s custom-designed LoveDoll to stand in the center of the room. The young man blinked. “She’s so. . . perfect,” was all he could manage. And Max could not disagree—they had done themselves proud with this one.
The girl had amber hair whose tresses slipped over her bare shoulders. Her face was oval-shaped, her lips large with just the right amount of pouting sensuality. The LoveDoll kept her eyes downcast, the long lashes giving her a vulnerable, demure look. And her body—three months of rigorous conditioning, the attentions of some of the world’s most accomplished cosmetic surgeons, and the natural comely shape of the original k**naped girl all combined to make her the equal of any centerfold.
“She’s. . . quite amazing,” said the young man, unable to hide his excitement.. “And she’s programmed exactly as I wanted?”
“Of course,” said Max. “Neural imprinting of your personal behavior requests, as well as the basic obedience and sexual stimulation programs.”
“What’s her name?”
Max smiled, and took a cigarette out of his gold case. “What do you want her name to be?”
The man thought. “Amber,” he said at last, as if he had not been thinking about it constantly for the last six months.
“Amber it is, then,” said Max. His hand touched a remote control device on the desk. “Tell her.”
The young man cast a sidelong look at Max, then cleared his throat. “Your name is Amber,” he said. The girl’s lashes rose up just long enough to gaze lovingly him.
“Yes, sir,” she said in her soft contralto.
The young man rose and walked around her as if he were in a museum admiring a piece of sculpture. “And she will do anything I say?”
“Of course. That is what we offer here to our clients. Total beauty, total compliance. She’s been conditioned to think of your pleasure as her only function. Advanced sexual technique modules have all been incorporated into personality. And naturally, her body has been modified to enhance your pleasure, in ways which I will allow you to discover on your own.”
“The body suit is self-contained, permeated with the skin. It can be obsidian black, metallic, or natural.” And Max’s fingers danced expertly over the control device as he talked, making the LoveDoll’s body shimmer into the alternatives—each one seeming more alluring than the last.
“You’ve done her breasts perfectly,” said the young man, marveling at the fullness and perfectly shaped orbs, with their rosy areola and stiffened nipples. “May I?”
“By all means, after all, she is your property now,” said Max, with a magnanimous wave of his hand. The man and walked completely around the girl. His fingertips tentatively trailed over her body. Emboldened, he cupped the Love Doll’s breasts, rolled her nipples with his thumb and forefingers. The LoveDoll’s long lashes fluttered, and her breathing became fast and shallow. The man’s hand then roamed over her flat stomach, her curvaceous flanks, before his fingers probed the shaved lips of her sex. “She’s wet,” he said in mild wonder.
Max smiled. “I would wager she was soaking the minute we brought her in. Biochemical conditioning. Her chemoreceptors have been adjusted to respond to your pheromones.”
“Huh?”
“That means just having you in the same room sends her into a sexual heat. We’ve done neurological scans in the clinic; their pleasure centers light up like a Christmas tree,” Max said with a chuckle. “A command from you, and she’d probably orgasm right here.”
The client took a deep breath. “Show me.”
Max tossed him the control unit. “You’ve had our course in LoveDoll control. Press the O button.”
The client did so. Amber (as she now was tagged) closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly back. Her hands crept to her breasts, massaging them with increasing intensity. Then her fingers slipped between her legs...and she gave a long shudder and collapsed into the arms of the client.
“That’s really something,” he said. He looked a little bashful. “I know you get these. . . LoveDolls from various sources. Can you tell me what she did before she was, uh, acquired?”
Max shook his head. “We would prefer not to. Keep in mind she’s not a person anymore, with a past that has to be reconciled. She’s your toy, your plaything. Believe me when I tell you that she has been totally converted into your personal sex slave. Somebody in your position has a right to the finer things in life, and this just happens to be one of them.”
The client tilted his head in acceptance. “And the financial arrangements are all satisfactory?” he asked.
Max said, “Yes, your account draft was received yesterday. Thank you. It’s a privilege doing business with someone who appreciates quality. Now if you just step out this way. . .”
The client took his LoveDoll gently by the arm and guided her through the door opened by Max. When they were gone, Max checked for messages, and nodded in satisfaction. Another acquisition was in progress. And high time, too, with such a demand for the product. . .
The minibus of Kappa Beta Phi sorority barreled over the road to the beach. Spring break was finally here, and the girls shrieked and laughed as the bus swerved in its hurry to reach the beach for the week of fun.
“Hey, watch those curves!” shouted Brittany over her shoulder, almost toppling over the seat she was kneeling backwards on.
“Watch your own!” shot back Samantha at the wheel as she glanced through the rearview mirror at Brittany’s tight-clad shorts and voluptuously filled t-shirt. “You’re jailbait, girl!”
The sorority sisters giggled with glee. “Bring on the boys!” came a yell from the back of the bus. Somebody opened the cooler, and chilled cans of beer were passed from seat to seat. Samantha, her blonde hair a mop, accepted a can and took a hearty swig, while her other hand pounded the steering wheel to the beat of the blaring radio.
A siren suddenly wailed behind them. “Oh, noooooo!” one of the girls cried. “Cops!” There was a mad scramble to put away the beer. Samantha glanced out the side window her beer can still held high on the steering wheel, and her eyes met the reflection sunglasses of an officer in a patrol van next to her as he gestured her to pull over. “We’re toast,” she muttered. She nudged the minivan over to the side of the road, and began rehearsing her sweet-and- innocent act.
Brittany had her own plan. She quickly opened a water bottle and splashed the liquid over her T-shirt.
“What are you doing?” one of the girls asked.
Brittany smiled her dazzling smile and looked down at the soaked t-shirt hugging the contours of her ripe breasts. “Cops are men, aren’t they? It’s worked before.”
The sorority sisters heard the doors of the parked patrol van slam behind them. Two officers sauntered up to the driver’s window.
“License and registration, please, Ma’am,” said one.
“Was I speeding, officer?” asked Samantha as she dug into her purse. “I’m awfully sorry, it’s just that we’re late to meet our parents, and—”
The officer held up an imperious hand. “Just let me see your license and registration, please, Ma’am”. Glumly, Samantha handed them over. In the meantime, Brittany had clamored out the bus, her t-shirt clinging to her jiggling breasts, and leaned nonchalantly against the minibus and smiled with seductive innocence at the cops. She parted her tanned legs slightly and gave a long, luxurious overarm stretch to thrust her breasts even further out, straining against the soaked cotton of the t-shirt. “I hope we haven’t been too bad,” she said coquettishly. One of them gave her an expressionless look through the dark glasses and went back to his scrutiny of the license. “This has expired,” one finally said. “And I believe we saw some drinking. We need everybody to get off the bus, and bring your ID’s.” There were chirps of dismay, but the girls—eight of them in all—were soon lined up by the minivan showing various stages of concern. One of the officers heaved himself inside the minivan. Samantha leaned over to another scantily-clad girl. “My daddy is going to kill me if I get a ticket,” she complained. They fretted under the sun, sweat beginning to run down there barely-clad bodies in rivulets.
The officer emerged from the van. In his hand were small plastic bags filled with pills. “Look what I found on the bus,” he said accusingly. The girls exchanged wide-eyed glances. “We’re going to have to take you in, all of you,” continued the officer.
“Not just a minute!” snapped Samantha. “None of us brought d**gs or anything on the bus.”
“How did you know they were d**gs?” countered the officer. “No more sass out of anybody. Come along!” he barked. The officers herded the protesting girls into the van parked behind the bus.
“But what about our bus?” demanded Samantha before she was shoved through the back door of the van.
“It will be taken care of,” said the officer as he closed and locked the door. The van drove off, leaving one of the officers behind, the one who had “discovered” the contraband. He climbed onto the minibus, turned on the ignition, and drove it to a deserted stretch of coast, a high cliff where the sea met the mountains. He slowed the bus to where the guard-rail had been carefully weakened. The officer prepared to dismount the bus, keeping one hand on the steering wheel—then gunned the engine. With an athletic leap, he rolled to safety as the minibus smashed into the guard railing and toppled into the depths of the crashing sea below. The officer stood up and pulled out his cell phone.
“Operation successful,” he called in. “Eight items retrieved, vehicle disposed.” Then the officer took off his bogus police cap and waited for retrieval.
The client, heir to a banking fortune in Canada, nodded impatiently as he perched on his chair in the showroom.. He was young, he had speedboats and vacation houses and girlfriends and more money than he knew what to do with. Which suited Max just fine, because his firm catered to exactly such clientele. Max pressed a button on his desk.
The door opened, and a woman trainer escorted the man’s custom-designed LoveDoll to stand in the center of the room. The young man blinked. “She’s so. . . perfect,” was all he could manage. And Max could not disagree—they had done themselves proud with this one.
The girl had amber hair whose tresses slipped over her bare shoulders. Her face was oval-shaped, her lips large with just the right amount of pouting sensuality. The LoveDoll kept her eyes downcast, the long lashes giving her a vulnerable, demure look. And her body—three months of rigorous conditioning, the attentions of some of the world’s most accomplished cosmetic surgeons, and the natural comely shape of the original k**naped girl all combined to make her the equal of any centerfold.
“She’s. . . quite amazing,” said the young man, unable to hide his excitement.. “And she’s programmed exactly as I wanted?”
“Of course,” said Max. “Neural imprinting of your personal behavior requests, as well as the basic obedience and sexual stimulation programs.”
“What’s her name?”
Max smiled, and took a cigarette out of his gold case. “What do you want her name to be?”
The man thought. “Amber,” he said at last, as if he had not been thinking about it constantly for the last six months.
“Amber it is, then,” said Max. His hand touched a remote control device on the desk. “Tell her.”
The young man cast a sidelong look at Max, then cleared his throat. “Your name is Amber,” he said. The girl’s lashes rose up just long enough to gaze lovingly him.
“Yes, sir,” she said in her soft contralto.
The young man rose and walked around her as if he were in a museum admiring a piece of sculpture. “And she will do anything I say?”
“Of course. That is what we offer here to our clients. Total beauty, total compliance. She’s been conditioned to think of your pleasure as her only function. Advanced sexual technique modules have all been incorporated into personality. And naturally, her body has been modified to enhance your pleasure, in ways which I will allow you to discover on your own.”
“The body suit is self-contained, permeated with the skin. It can be obsidian black, metallic, or natural.” And Max’s fingers danced expertly over the control device as he talked, making the LoveDoll’s body shimmer into the alternatives—each one seeming more alluring than the last.
“You’ve done her breasts perfectly,” said the young man, marveling at the fullness and perfectly shaped orbs, with their rosy areola and stiffened nipples. “May I?”
“By all means, after all, she is your property now,” said Max, with a magnanimous wave of his hand. The man and walked completely around the girl. His fingertips tentatively trailed over her body. Emboldened, he cupped the Love Doll’s breasts, rolled her nipples with his thumb and forefingers. The LoveDoll’s long lashes fluttered, and her breathing became fast and shallow. The man’s hand then roamed over her flat stomach, her curvaceous flanks, before his fingers probed the shaved lips of her sex. “She’s wet,” he said in mild wonder.
Max smiled. “I would wager she was soaking the minute we brought her in. Biochemical conditioning. Her chemoreceptors have been adjusted to respond to your pheromones.”
“Huh?”
“That means just having you in the same room sends her into a sexual heat. We’ve done neurological scans in the clinic; their pleasure centers light up like a Christmas tree,” Max said with a chuckle. “A command from you, and she’d probably orgasm right here.”
The client took a deep breath. “Show me.”
Max tossed him the control unit. “You’ve had our course in LoveDoll control. Press the O button.”
The client did so. Amber (as she now was tagged) closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly back. Her hands crept to her breasts, massaging them with increasing intensity. Then her fingers slipped between her legs...and she gave a long shudder and collapsed into the arms of the client.
“That’s really something,” he said. He looked a little bashful. “I know you get these. . . LoveDolls from various sources. Can you tell me what she did before she was, uh, acquired?”
Max shook his head. “We would prefer not to. Keep in mind she’s not a person anymore, with a past that has to be reconciled. She’s your toy, your plaything. Believe me when I tell you that she has been totally converted into your personal sex slave. Somebody in your position has a right to the finer things in life, and this just happens to be one of them.”
The client tilted his head in acceptance. “And the financial arrangements are all satisfactory?” he asked.
Max said, “Yes, your account draft was received yesterday. Thank you. It’s a privilege doing business with someone who appreciates quality. Now if you just step out this way. . .”
The client took his LoveDoll gently by the arm and guided her through the door opened by Max. When they were gone, Max checked for messages, and nodded in satisfaction. Another acquisition was in progress. And high time, too, with such a demand for the product. . .
The minibus of Kappa Beta Phi sorority barreled over the road to the beach. Spring break was finally here, and the girls shrieked and laughed as the bus swerved in its hurry to reach the beach for the week of fun.
“Hey, watch those curves!” shouted Brittany over her shoulder, almost toppling over the seat she was kneeling backwards on.
“Watch your own!” shot back Samantha at the wheel as she glanced through the rearview mirror at Brittany’s tight-clad shorts and voluptuously filled t-shirt. “You’re jailbait, girl!”
The sorority sisters giggled with glee. “Bring on the boys!” came a yell from the back of the bus. Somebody opened the cooler, and chilled cans of beer were passed from seat to seat. Samantha, her blonde hair a mop, accepted a can and took a hearty swig, while her other hand pounded the steering wheel to the beat of the blaring radio.
A siren suddenly wailed behind them. “Oh, noooooo!” one of the girls cried. “Cops!” There was a mad scramble to put away the beer. Samantha glanced out the side window her beer can still held high on the steering wheel, and her eyes met the reflection sunglasses of an officer in a patrol van next to her as he gestured her to pull over. “We’re toast,” she muttered. She nudged the minivan over to the side of the road, and began rehearsing her sweet-and- innocent act.
Brittany had her own plan. She quickly opened a water bottle and splashed the liquid over her T-shirt.
“What are you doing?” one of the girls asked.
Brittany smiled her dazzling smile and looked down at the soaked t-shirt hugging the contours of her ripe breasts. “Cops are men, aren’t they? It’s worked before.”
The sorority sisters heard the doors of the parked patrol van slam behind them. Two officers sauntered up to the driver’s window.
“License and registration, please, Ma’am,” said one.
“Was I speeding, officer?” asked Samantha as she dug into her purse. “I’m awfully sorry, it’s just that we’re late to meet our parents, and—”
The officer held up an imperious hand. “Just let me see your license and registration, please, Ma’am”. Glumly, Samantha handed them over. In the meantime, Brittany had clamored out the bus, her t-shirt clinging to her jiggling breasts, and leaned nonchalantly against the minibus and smiled with seductive innocence at the cops. She parted her tanned legs slightly and gave a long, luxurious overarm stretch to thrust her breasts even further out, straining against the soaked cotton of the t-shirt. “I hope we haven’t been too bad,” she said coquettishly. One of them gave her an expressionless look through the dark glasses and went back to his scrutiny of the license. “This has expired,” one finally said. “And I believe we saw some drinking. We need everybody to get off the bus, and bring your ID’s.” There were chirps of dismay, but the girls—eight of them in all—were soon lined up by the minivan showing various stages of concern. One of the officers heaved himself inside the minivan. Samantha leaned over to another scantily-clad girl. “My daddy is going to kill me if I get a ticket,” she complained. They fretted under the sun, sweat beginning to run down there barely-clad bodies in rivulets.
The officer emerged from the van. In his hand were small plastic bags filled with pills. “Look what I found on the bus,” he said accusingly. The girls exchanged wide-eyed glances. “We’re going to have to take you in, all of you,” continued the officer.
“Not just a minute!” snapped Samantha. “None of us brought d**gs or anything on the bus.”
“How did you know they were d**gs?” countered the officer. “No more sass out of anybody. Come along!” he barked. The officers herded the protesting girls into the van parked behind the bus.
“But what about our bus?” demanded Samantha before she was shoved through the back door of the van.
“It will be taken care of,” said the officer as he closed and locked the door. The van drove off, leaving one of the officers behind, the one who had “discovered” the contraband. He climbed onto the minibus, turned on the ignition, and drove it to a deserted stretch of coast, a high cliff where the sea met the mountains. He slowed the bus to where the guard-rail had been carefully weakened. The officer prepared to dismount the bus, keeping one hand on the steering wheel—then gunned the engine. With an athletic leap, he rolled to safety as the minibus smashed into the guard railing and toppled into the depths of the crashing sea below. The officer stood up and pulled out his cell phone.
“Operation successful,” he called in. “Eight items retrieved, vehicle disposed.” Then the officer took off his bogus police cap and waited for retrieval.
Mei
- 08.08.2021
- 17
- 0
