THE ULTIMATE LOVEDOLL 
All Rights Reserved by Vendatrix
The doors to the Chief's private office slammed open with a force hard enough to 
rattle the hinges. Lydia Dunn, Chief of the Commission of Sex Crimes, stopped 
her dictation in mid-sentence. Her icy stare did nothing to intimidate the 
Deputy Commissioner, Christina Hilshire, who had burst so expectedly into the 
Chief's private domain. 
"Yes, Christina?" Lydia Dunn asked, without a loss of her legendary self 
control. "I don't recall us having an appointment." 
Christina weathered the stare and marched right up to her boss's desk. "I want 
to know why my investigation of the XTC Doll Company has been shut down!" she 
exclaimed. 
Lydia Dunn arched her eyebrows. "I was prepared to tell you during our normal 
staff meeting this afternoon. I saw no point in continuing this fishing 
expedition of yours. I would also comment that being my second-in-command does 
not give you the right to barge in here without even knocking." 
Christina planted her fists on the desk and said, "My hunches have proved right 
so far, that's what got me promoted to your executive officer. And my hunch is 
that this company is up to something." 
Lydia Dunn leaned back in her chair and idly picked up a sheaf of papers from 
her orderly desk. "I've read your report. This XTC Doll Company manufactures 
synthetic love-dolls. That's not illegal. It's even encouraged, after the last 
AIDS epidemic forced the full outlawing of all illicit sex business." 
Cristina shook her head before Lydia Dunn had even finished speaking, the 
younger woman's unkept short black hair hair ruffling with the movement. That 
impatient arrogance, together with Christina's insistence on wearing what she 
damn well pleased and doing what she damn well liked, made Lydia Dunn's knuckles 
whiten even as she held the report. The fact was, this independent little 
upstart really got on her nerves. Lydia Dunn chose tailored business outfits and 
wore a carefully selected perfume. Christina not only crossed the line on office 
demeanor; she stomped all over it. If only she wasn't so good at her work. 
Christina said, "I hacked into their financial computers. This company is making 
tons of money. I suspect the lovedoll business is just a cover for a high-class 
prostitution network." 
"Oh, come now," said Lydia Dunn. "Prostitution is strictly prohibited," said 
Lydia Dunn. "Life imprisonment--medical quarantine--for everybody involved. The 
owners of this company wouldn't be that stupid. And I would know about it 
through other channels if there was the slightest chance. Besides, have you ever 
taken the trouble to inspect one of their love-dolls? Supposed to be 
state-of-the-art, very expensive. That would account for the revenue." 
Christina put her hands on her hips, "In the first place, I think that whole 
business of love-dolls is sick, and I don't care if they're sanctioned by the 
government as a sex-partner substitute--the owners of this business are creeps, 
as far as I'm concerned. In the second place, we both know that the rich and 
famous can always get what they want, if they willing to pay the price. And 
finally, I've got evidence that this company might be paying bribes to 
government officials in high places to keep their business secret." 
A chill entered Lydia Dunn's voice. "Are you accusing me of taking bribes?" she 
asked. 
Christina backed off. "No, of course not. I'm just suggesting your normal 
channels of investigation might be thwarted. That's why we need to send in an 
agent. Namely, me." 
"Hmm. Dressed as you are now, Christina, you might very well pass as a recruit 
for a prostitution ring." Lydia Dunn's eye ran disapprovingly over the girl's 
provocative dress. Tight-fitting leather pants, a white silk blouse whose 
contours betrayed the absence of any kind of a bra and just enough make-up to 
emphasize her natural beauty. Lydia Dunn had heard how the men in her path to 
promotion had been distracted by her sensuality, and how Christina had played 
them for what they were worth and marched over their bodies in her three-inch 
heels as soon as they had served their purpose. "If I send anybody, it ought to 
be a male agent, posing as a customer." 
"I can run circles around any male agent on your staff, Miss Dunn. Besides, from 
what I hear, you're not exactly partial to men anyway." 
Lydia Dunn resisted the impulse to strangle this impertinent little snit right 
then and there. True, Lydia acknowledged that Christina was young and smart and 
oh-so-attractive. But Lydia's pristine and well-coifed exterior hid the ruthless 
instincts of an administrative in-fighter who had clawed her own way to the top. 
She wasn't about to be toppled by some pedigreed street hustler. She leaned back 
in her executive chair and said casually "Office rumors say you're after my job 
as Chief, Christina, that you have your little heart set at working at this 
desk." You scheming little slut, she thought. 
"Only if I deserve it--like, if I prove the existence of a world-wide 
prostitution ring masquerading as a maker of toy love-dolls, right under the 
nose of our Commission on Sex Crimes," replied Christina sweetly to the older 
woman. You over-the-hill bitch dyke, she thought. 
Christina checked her make-up one last time before entering the offices of XTC 
Doll Company. The address took her by surprise; she had expected some dingy 
office-warehouse. But the corporate office had an address in one of the finer 
sections of the city. When she entered through the doors and marched up to the 
receptionist, Christina was struck by the fine decor of the office. The oil 
paintings on the wall, the plush embroidered couch, even the fresh real flowers 
displayed in the vase on the Chippendale table--all seemed to have been selected 
with exquisite taste. Christina had dressed the part of a hooker looking for a 
new gig, and felt very out of place in these elegant surroundings. 
"I called about a job," she said, after signing in under her fictitious work 
name. 
"Someone will be out to see you in a moment," said the receptionist. When 
Christina tried a few probing questions, the receptionist offered a bland and 
impersonal smile, nothing more. Her face, though pretty, was expressionless. For 
a mad moment, Christina wondered if there wasn't something, well. synthetic 
about her. Don't get paranoid so soon, Christina chided herself. But the 
receptionists eyes--blank and soulless--bothered her. 
Christina noticed a hologram display booth in the lobby and walked over to check 
it out. OUR LATEST LOVE-DOLL! announced the display. She pressed an indicated 
button, and an image about a foot tall flickered into life. The display flashed 
specifications and features of the so-described "Ultimate Love-Doll", as the 
image of the mannequin postured herself invitingly. The doll's body conformed to 
the ideal voluptuous shape, with perfect make-up and glossy skin. Christina was 
impressed in spite of herself--the doll was extraordinarily life-like, and if 
even half the warranties were true, the doll could be quite a novelty. It would 
be just like men to go for some toy with full hair, large breasts, and a 
"precision-engineered love channel", as the display boasted. Pity that all that 
ingenuity was devoted to such degenerate purpose, thought Christina, her nose 
wrinkled in disgust. 
Presently another woman came out and called for her. She, too, was pretty and 
well-mannered and totally unresponsive to Christina's questions. Instead, she 
motioned Christina to a chair in a cubicle with what looked like some kind of 
eye-examination device. 
"We have a security system here that codes off retina scans," she explained. 
"This will let you pass through the various checkpoints into our recruiting 
department for your interview. Please look into the eye guards so we can 
register your imprint." 
Christina gave what she hoped was a silly-prostitute smile, and tried to hide 
her wariness. She looked into the eyepieces, much like having her eyes examined. 
"We need to hold your head steady," said the voice beside her, as a strap 
secured the eyepiece tightly to over the bridge of her nose. Christina found 
herself watching a pulsing light inside a slowly revolving spiral, on a field of 
total blackness. The sparkling light blinked on and off at a steady rate. . . 
then the rhythm increased, the light flashing at a faster pace. Faster and 
faster, brighter and brighter, her mind now totally focused to the very center 
of the spiral. Suddenly she realized what was happening: the pulses had 
quickened to thirty times a second, precisely calibrated to the brain's 
ocular-neuron rate. The strobe effect--a classic device for inducing a state 
resembling an epileptic fit! Chistina twisted her head frantically to one side, 
but the eyepieces remained strapped securing over her eyes, the vision in front 
of her remained stationary--compelling, irresistible. She heard a buzzing in her 
ears as she began to lose consciousness. She tried one last desperate attempt to 
heave herself out of the chair, tear herself way from the iron grip of the hands 
that held her down. But her mind was already paralyzed. She sank back in the 
chair, the flashes now exploding in her very brain, everything swirling around 
her.... 
Christine opened her eyes. Blurred vision, her mind fighting for orientation. 
Now she was on her stomach, still on a gurney or table. Her face was framed by a 
padded ring, so she looked down on the floor, seeing surgical shoes on white 
tile. Her whole scalp felt cool, as if she had just stuck her head in a freezer. 
A soft moan escaped her parched lips, and she struggled feebly to raise herself. 

"Christ, she's coming around," said a voice. 
"Give her twenty milligrams of demerol. No, make it forty," spoke a voice with a 
vaguely European accent. A pair of green surgical shoes step into her line of 
downward vision, joining the first pair. Her arm twitched--must be an 
intravenous hook-up, there--and once more her consciousness dissolved into grey 
nothingness. But not before she heard the metallic clink of surgical instruments 
brought to bear. 
Dreams! Nightmarish episodes of getting roused from slumber, voices telling her 
what to do, how to stand. Blue background, blue everywhere, except the bright 
lights in front. Hands helping her, positioning her, faces in front of her like 
indistinct balloons. Kaleidoscopic flashes of looking down, seeing her body in 
different outfits--will the real Christina please stand up? I can't, thought 
Christina plaintively, I'm so tired. Just let me lie down and go to sleep. But 
the voices urged her on, kept prompting her like an actress forgetting her 
lines. Maybe she got the job, she thought. But which job? She couldn't remember, 
but she seemed the center of attention of the people around her, which is how 
she liked it. She smiled for the cameras in the audience. But Commissioner Lydia 
Dunn wouldn't let her have her moment of attention, the bitch! If only she 
wasn't so sleepy, then she could really put on a show. But her eyelids grew 
heavy, and the voices grew quiet and the lights turned dim. And in her dream, 
she felt herself slipping into sleep again. 
At last Christina gained consciousness for real. She felt her training and self 
discipline kick in like faithful allies: Waking up was a matter of ascending 
through layers of fog, you just had to wait for your mind to clear sufficiently 
for you to act rationally. Be patient. Gather your strength. 
She felt straps against her arms, waist, and legs. She cracked an eyelid and saw 
how she was restrained in something like a dentist-chair. Looking down over the 
swell of her breasts, she saw how the body suit followed the contours of her 
curves to perfection. She felt some kind of phallic device intruding deep inside 
her pussy, but could see nothing between her legs except a few wires leading off 
table. When she tried to move her head to look around the room, she felt a 
tightened band around her forehead that prevented her. Even that slight effort 
made her wince at the stab of a headache. A residual effect of the mind-inducer, 
she wondered, or did she injure herself during her capture? A particular ache 
throbbed just behind her right ear. Then Christina remembered the surgical 
surroundings earlier, and had to fight down her panic. She kept her eyes closed. 

"I know you are awake, Miss Hilshire." The voice was cultured and vaguely 
European She opened her eyes and studied her captor. About forty years old, she 
judged. His physique was solid, but not over muscular. His business suit had a 
cut that suggested a London tailor, but other than that, his type could be found 
in any corporate boardroom. Grey eyes, with irises flecked with black. And 
rimless glasses--you looked at the eyes behind those no-nonsense glasses and 
kept your distance. Christina loathed him immediately. And they apparently knew 
her real name! Christina hated the idea of being out-maneuvered by a man. He 
said calmly, "Are you feeling all right, Miss Hilshire? Can we get you something 
to drink, some cold water perhaps?" 
"I'll tell you want I want," said Christina, her voice edged with venom, "I want 
you get let me go. Right now. Otherwise, you and your creepy little outfit will 
find yourselves in more trouble than you could even conceive." 
"Oh? And what were you doing here, may I ask?" 
"I was applying for a job." 
The man said in mock surprise, "Truly? I was not aware that agents of the Sex 
Crimes Commission needed a second job to make ends meet. They really ought to do 
something about the pay scales of your agency." 
Christina said nothing, her cover blown already. "So I was right, then wasn't I? 
This whole love-doll business is just a front for something illegal. What do you 
got going here, a nice little kidnap-and-prostitution ring?" She sensed other 
people behind her, and could barely see out of the corner of her eye some kind 
of computer set up off to the side. 
The man, who had been sitting next to her, rose and walked to the foot of 
Christina's restraining table. He smiled at her question. "Oh, but for the 
golden days of white slavery! Damsels in distress chained to sweat-soaked 
mattresses, held in the holds of tramp steamers bound for the fleshpots of the 
Orient!" He smiled and shook his head. "No, the XTC Doll Company really is in 
the business of making and selling love-dolls. The finest imaginable, Miss 
Hilshire. We have come out with a new line, called the Ultimate Love-Doll', 
which has become quite popular among our customers. As you will soon see." He 
began to pace. Christina followed him with her eyes. 
He said, "There is some truth to what you say: a market for sexual adventure 
does in fact exist. It's mostly male, but not entirely. Many of our clients live 
and work outside the United States--bored with their home lives, frustrated with 
the taboos that prevent them from exploring their interests more openly. 
Generals, bankers, nobility--powerful men in their own societies. Much like your 
Senators and CEO's." 
"Don't be naive," snapped Christine. "Senators and CEO's don't have women 
kidnaped or drugged or whatever as sexual playthings!" 
"Oh?" the man said with a chilling smile. "And tell me who is being naive, here, 
Christina? Surely it is not me. I might add that such men need security and 
discretion--demand it, in fact. The sex-registration laws that followed the last 
outbreak of AIDS plague are constrictive enough. Mistresses and call-girls can 
turn the tables, threaten to go to the tabloids and talk-shows. This can be a 
most trying situation for these gentlemen, you understand." 
"My heart bleeds for em," muttered Christine, wincing as a spasm of pain seemed 
to ricochet through her cranium. Max studied her intently. "Your head, it 
hurts?" he asked. 
"Yeah, it hurts. And my scalp feels cold." 
"Yes, we shaved your head." 
"You what?!" 
"Yes, you will understand why quite shortly. Here, I will show you." The man 
stepped out of her vision, but quickly returned, rolling a full-length mirror to 
a stop at the foot of Christina's chair. She saw herself totally trussed in the 
chair. And her hair had indeed been totally shaven off , leaving her head now as 
smooth as a billiard ball. The bastards! Although she flaunted her refusal to 
follow conventional fashions, Christina had always been secretly quite impressed 
with her own looks. This was too much! 
" People around here call me Max', by the way," the man was saying. "I'm one of 
the directors of the company. And don't worry about your hair, it will grow back 
by the time we finish your training." 
"I've got other names for you, MAX!" she shouted. When she ran out of 
obscenities to call him and was left breathing hard, her eyes glaring like twin 
embers of hostility, Max motioned to somebody behind her. 
"While you were in the care of our clinic," said Max, "we installed a 
neuro-transmitter at the base of your skull, right next to your cerebellum. We 
can connect to that transmitter through a jack installed behind your ear--a 
process we call jacking in', by the way." 
Christina didn't know which was more terrifying--what he was saying, or the 
methodical academic way he was saying it. I've got to get out of here, she 
thought. These people are crazy! She tried to keep the initiative. "So you want 
to interrogate me about what the Commission knows of your outfit, do you? What's 
it to be, then?" she asked defiantly. "Bamboo shoots under my fingernails? 
Rubber hoses? Electrodes?" 
Max shook his head. "Miss Hilshire, we surely do not want to injure you in any 
way. We have other uses for you. As an undercover agent yourself, I expect your 
training included techniques at mental control, and the ways to resist them. In 
the old days, they called it 
brainwashing'. The techniques vary, but usually involve sleep deprivation, 
isolation, threats, psychological pressures--very crude methods indeed, wouldn't 
you say? And not much left over of the subject, when they finished." He gave a 
small shake of his head, as if to show his professional dissatisfaction. "We've 
come up with something far more effective. The ideas aren't new," he added 
modestly, "but the application is, we think, unique. You know who Pavlov is, 
don't you? He was a Russian scientist, who did tests of ringing a bell when he 
fed his dogs; after a while, the dogs would salivate at the mere sound of the 
bell. Rather discouraging for the dogs, no? And then the marvelous work of your 
own B.F. Skinner, who taught us that by controlling the rewards and punishments, 
you can shape behavior. It becomes a matter of reinforcement, you see." 
This patient instruction was not what Christina expected, and she fought down 
another wave of panic. Stay cool, she shouted to herself silently. Wait for them 
to make a mistake. But already she had the unnerving suspicion that this Max was 
not the type of man to make mistakes. 
Max said, "But how to put theory into practice, eh?" His eyes glinted behind his 
rimless glasses. "The neuro-transmitter was the key. I remember when we first 
formed the company, the moment at the clinic when we realized it could be done. 
We'll show you." 
Christina's eyes grew wide as a latex-gloved hand pressed something against the 
base of her skull, right behind her ear. She felt more than heard something 
click in. A tiny tremor of some kind of electrical charge tickled her brain. For 
some reason the phallic device pressing deep inside her pussy also seemed to 
quiver with some kind of charge. Then somebody pulled over her head some kind of 
hood. There were perfectly formed holes for her nostrils, mouth and eyes--but 
Christina wondered how long they would remain open. Max's voice carried through 
the earplugs in the hood just like headphones, and seemed to resonate deep in 
her own head, with no sense of direction. "The purpose of that head covering," 
said the voice, "is to deprive you of any kind of sensation except for what we 
allow. Did your training at the Commission include anything on neurology, Miss 
Hilshire?" 
"Just enough to recognize a nutcase when I see one. Like you, Max." Her voice 
sounded thick and unnatural with her ears plugged. 
"I'll reserve comment on that. We connected the neuro-transmitter in your skull 
directly to your primary visual cortex, bypassing the optic nerve. We're able to 
upload whole sequences of visual images directly into your brain--much like you 
see when you dream. "Now, let's see some images that we're going to be working 
with, shall we?" He stepped behind a rostrum with computer keyboard, and his 
fingers tapped a few strokes. Christina's eyes widened at the thought that her 
very brain was somehow now linked to their infernal computer. And Max controlled 
the keyboard! 
"Close your eyes now, Christina, or you will see double," said Max, as if this 
was being done for her own good. His fingers danced over the keyboard. Christina 
something like a power surge flash through her mind. A picture in fact was 
forming in her mind, superimposed on her view of the clinic! She found the 
double image disorienting, so she let her eyelids drop shut. And she 
saw--herself! 
Only it was a picture of herself that could never have existed. A dungeon scene. 
She was naked save for a metal collar, and chained to a wooden post, kneeling in 
a bed of straw, head downcast in a submissive posture. This picture flickered 
out, and a new image flashed before her eyes in the same dream-like wavering 
clarity. She was now dressed in an fetishistic maid outfit: an apron trimmed in 
white lace over a frilly maid's dress, glossy high-heeled pumps and fishnet 
stockings. She was bending over at the waist to dust off a bookshelf, displaying 
her derriere as if in open invitation. Christina blinked and tried to shake her 
immobile head to rid her mind of these disturbing pictures, but they filled her 
vision no matter what she did with her eyes. The final scene showed her dressed 
like a slut, her body barely covered in the flimsiest lingerie possible, 
literally crawling to the feet of a sitting man. The man's features remained 
blurred in the vision, but her expression, as she halted on hands and knees 
between his legs and looked up, radiated nothing short of animal lust. The man's 
hand reached down, grabbed a hank of her hair, and drew her face toward his 
thighs-- 
The vision flickered and went out. Christina found herself looking again at Max 
still standing at his computer keyboard. 
"Enjoy the show?" he asked. "We have a databank full of them. We shot the raw 
footage when you were drugged into a compliant state, when you were first here 
as a guest. It was not easy, let me tell you--something like positioning a 
ragdoll at times. But we got the basic images. The background comes from 
computer imagery superimposed on your figure. It is quite amazing, don't you 
think? And you, Miss Hilshire, look positively fantastic. Considering your past 
relationships with men, seeing yourself in a submissive role might be a 
refreshing change for you, no?" 
"What do you know about my relationships, you scumbag?" demanded Christina. 
Max smiled without humor, and flipped through a file on the table next to him. 
"Quite a lot, actually. Of course we had you checked out, when we found you were 
checking us out. We even interviewed some of your former lovers, without them 
quite realizing it, by posing as tabloid reporters. They were only too glad to 
tell us how you used romance as a weapon. Some of them felt like just another 
notch on your lipstick case, to coin a phrase. Used' was frequent verb, by the 
way." 
Christina said, "Well, men have their uses. A few of them. Most of them are 
children, interested in either sex or their toys. If they can't stay up with me, 
that's their problem,." she said haughtily. 
"You American girls!" protested Max. "Always so independent! Don't you realize 
that you could control your men so much better with deference and charm?" 
Christina bared her teeth in a shark-like smile. "Step a little closer, you 
creep, and I'll show you some charm," she said." 
Max closed the file with a shrug. 
"So what's going on here?" demanded Christina. "Are you kidnaping women to make 
pictures like that? Does your precious Equinox Company have a world-wide market 
for bootleg pornography?" 
Max shook his head. "Not at all," he said. "I would say these images were made 
at great expense and trouble for an audience of one--namely you." 
"I don't understand," said Christina, now making no effort to hide her 
confusion. 
"You will soon enough," assured Max. He pointed to the computer to the side of 
his restrained captive. "As you saw from that sample of images, we have 
concocted many scenes of you in a compliant state of mind. We intend to play 
those scenes over and over again, going from the computer memory drives directly 
into your visual cortex. Each scene will be reinforced by a pleasurable stimuli. 
Or rather," he corrected himself, "a combination of stimuli. The 
neurotransmitter implanted in your brain has a biochemical stimulator to your 
pituitary gland. At a mere tap on our keyboard, we can prompt a surge of 
estrogen, endorphins and other hormones directly into your brain's limbic 
system, the very seat of your emotions. Estrogen fires up your sexual drive, of 
course. Endorphins induce a sense of euphoria, a definite high', I believe you 
call it. You have no doubt noticed we've installed a penetrating phallic 
stimulator in the bodysuit. That will provide another source of pleasurable 
stimuli. We have found in our research that sexual pleasure in particular is a 
very effective reinforcing force." 
"And what do you hope to gain by all this mad-scientist nonsense?" demanded 
Christina, but deep in the pit of her stomach she felt she already knew. 
"Oh, our scientists are not mad' at all, Miss Hilshire, if you mean to imply 
they have taken leave of their senses. They are quite dedicated to their work. 
As for what we intend to gain, we have it in our power to amplify your sexual 
cravings to any level we want to. I suppose the term bitch in heat' would best 
describe it, crude though it may be." Max removed his glasses and began 
polishing the lenses from a handkerchief drawn from his pocket. "You see the 
advantages, of course. We control your emotions. We control what you see and 
hear. I would suggest to you, Miss Hilshire, that we control your very brain! So 
why drag you through the conditioning experience in real life, when we can 
simulate them much more efficiently in your own mind? In fact, my dear, we've 
programmed over 100,000 repetitions of the simulations for you to experience by 
the time we are finished. And each one will be reinforced with a sensation of 
sublime pleasure." He stopped polishing and resettled the glasses on the bridge 
of his nose, and continued with a sterner tone. "Of course, you will try to 
resist. The neuro-transmitter we installed will detect those thoughts before you 
even think them. The neuron patterns of rejection can be easily recognized; the 
synapses light up whole sections of your brain like a Christmas tree. I am sorry 
to say such activity will be discouraged by negative conditioning. That is to 
say, Miss Hilshire, that such thoughts will immediately trigger a sensation of, 
well, let us just say exceeding unpleasantness." 
As Christina heard Max's last comment, her anger--simmering ever since she found 
herself helpless--boiled over into defiance. "If you expect me to cooperate," 
she flared, "you can go screw yourself." 
"Ah, Miss Hilshire, that's just the point: I don't want you to cooperate." 
Christina stared at him, her rage turning to confusion. 
"You see" he continued "when you don't cooperate, the computer recognizes the 
brain patterns signals, and automatically sends a jolt of negative conditioning. 
The whole point of this exercise is to remove your conscious will as a factor in 
your behavior. So by all means, fight back!" His lips broke into confident smile 
that Christina found so aggravating. "Well, enough repartee. We need to close up 
the hood, Miss Hilshire, to assure full dominion over your sensory output. When 
we next see each other, you will find yourself a different person." 
Christina opened her mouth to shriek curses at him, but just then a gloved hand 
slipped a mouthpiece gag between her teeth. Her jaw was forcibly closed by a 
brawny arm, and she felt a strap being cinched under her chin. Then another hand 
came within her field of vision, holding some kind of eyepads. Christina uttered 
a muffled protest as the blindfold slipped over her eyes, snapping over clasps 
around her brow and cheeks. The agent found herself in total darkness, her chest 
pressing in ragged rhythm against the constricting straps with every panting 
breath. Blood roared in her ears and she fought for self control. Then she heard 
Max's voice filling her head. "By the way, Christina, we also synthesized your 
voice to give you a little encouragement in our little exercise. You might as 
well sit back and enjoy yourself." 
She felt a tingling in the connection behind her ear. Then a scene flashed 
before her eyes, a full version of one of the scenes sampled earlier. Christina 
saw herself chained to a stout wooden post. The image was so real, she almost 
felt the steel cuffs biting into her wrists crossed above her head, the rough 
scratchings of the straw on her knees and thighs. Suddenly she felt a wave of 
pleasure course through her body, so intense that she found herself trembling. 
The endorphins! She thought. They're using my own hormones to make me want this. 
She tried to close her eyes to stop watching--but her eyes were already closed! 
The scene was playing on the backdrop of the very brain itself. The figure on 
the screen writhed sinuously. She watched as the Christina-image brushed a bare 
breast with a forearm, and another mind-bending flood of chemical pleasure 
pulsed through her brain. They even have it synchronized with what the image is 
doing, she realized, with a combination of horror and fascination. 
Christian steeled her mind. Think of other things, she commanded herself. She 
forced her mind to replace the submissive scene with another image, of her as 
Chief of the Commission, sitting at Lydia Dunn's desk, leading the extermination 
of this horrible XTC Doll Company. The two images fought for primacy in her 
mind. But just as she was on the verge of ordering the execution of Max, without 
the benefit of clergy, the computer detected the resisting thought patterns. And 
responded immediately. 
Something like an electric jolt zapped through Christina's whole brain. It 
wasn't pain; it was the bedrock sensation of awfulness without the related 
physical pain. It was enough to send Christina practically bolting out of her 
chair, if such a feat were at all possible. And then, before she had even known 
what had hit her, the dungeon scene was playing again before her eyes. Her own 
daydreams were obliterated. As she took her first gasp, she recalled Max's 
description of the computer's negative training device: "Exceeding 
unpleasantness," he had called it. The man has a gift for understatement, she 
thought. 
Before she could reassemble her defenses, she heard a voice in her mind--her own 
synthesized voice! "I want to do what I'm told," whispered her voice. "I want to 
be a good girl. I want to pay attention . . ." The sound of her own voice 
confused Christina, she could not tell her own thoughts from the relentless 
persuasion. For a few seconds, Christina watched the screen as the 
Christina-image drew her hands over body, luxuriating in her bondage. Another 
wave of pleasure--the endorphins splashing over her brain again . . .except this 
time Christina allowed herself to float away on it. . .just for a few seconds. . 
.tremors of amplified pleasure raced through her loins. . . 
No! Christina caught herself just in time. What to do? She remembered from her 
training the oriental technique of resisting torture by dividing time into 
infinite segments. All right, then--- 
The computer pounced again. The second jolt was worse than the first. 
Christina's scream was totally muffled by the mouthpiece and gag. The 
neuro-transmitter had once again spotted the flickering synapses that betrayed 
her mental resistance. The endless loop began all over again--the image, the 
voice, the endorphins flowing into her brain to send her soaring in spirals of 
euphoria. 
Still reeling from the last shock, Christina once again succumbed to the 
onslaught against her free will. After a few seconds of passive acceptance, her 
body was rewarded by the phallus lodged deep inside her. It hummed to life. 
Slowly, in cadence to the scenes of the Christina-image caressing herself, the 
phallus throbbed and matched the stirrings of Christina's own sexual response. 
Before she knew what she was doing, Christina found herself writhing to the beat 
of the mechanical lover thrust inside her. The voice in her ears urged her on, 
seductively whispering: "Oh, yesss, I love that feeling...I want to be played 
with...I'll do anything I'm told..." 
As if through a fog, Christina dimly realized what was happening. Even though 
she tried to will herself to put up some fight, her mind and body did not obey 
her. It took all her will power to desperately summon up a mental block from 
this new seductive persuasion. 
The punishing shock obliterated the resistance before it had even formed in her 
mind. When her mind cleared the submissive Christina-image returned. Only now 
she was dressed in a leather fetish outfit, her waist cinched with laced corset, 
her legs clad in thigh-high boots. But her voice remained the same, still 
whispering submissive inducement deep in her mind. . . 
Max stayed at the keyboard her for over an hour of her programming. He followed 
every mental shift and dodge his captive attempted, watched with satisfaction as 
her episodes of resistance grew shorter and less frequent. Although he had 
witnessed hundreds of such scenes, he savored watching this particular subject 
reduced into conditioned compliance. As he watched Christina writhe in the 
restraining chair, he knew that her total universe consisted of alternating 
pleasure and instruction on one hand, and punishment for negative thinking on 
the other hand. He marveled at how long she was able to resist, trying to shore 
up her crumbling mental defenses. But slowly, inexorably, her brain learned its 
lessons of obedience. 
An assistant tapped him on the shoulder. "Miami is on the line, sir." Max left 
the clinic and returned to his own office, followed by the assistant. 
Max picked up the telephone receiver, listened a few moments, then nodded. "Yes, 
I think we can accommodate that." He hung up the telephone, and flipped through 
the status reports of his love-doll production line. "Demand is picking up," he 
said to the assistant. He dug into his work, with occasional glances along a 
bank of monitors that had closed-circuit television views of each of his clinic 
rooms. That way he followed Christina's progress, as well as the other captives 
undergoing programming. The very thought of what was happening to Christina in 
particular added some zest to his work. Beneath the visual image, the screen 
displayed various measurements of brain-waves, heart-rate and sexual arousal 
from the body suit that was packed with sensors. By degrees, her mind was being 
conditioned into submissiveness, and her sexual cravings were being stoked and 
amplified until satisfying that craving became her overriding fixation. Nice 
change of attitude, he thought to himself. He watched the silent writhing and 
undulation of the figure strapped in the chair, the aristocratic high cheekbones 
smoothed over but still apparent under the precisely-fitted hood, as the 
relentless procession of submissive images impressed themselves on the girl's 
mind. And his trained eye could spot the pressing of her stiffening nipples 
against the contoured fabric of her skin-tight bodysuit. The programming was 
going well. Max expected the training to go even better. 
A full day and night had passed since Christina began her conditioning. When the 
computer had completed its full cycle, Max read the charts and approved the next 
step of her preparation. The assistants unstraped the limp form from the 
behavior modification chair, and wheeled her to the clinic bath.. The scent of 
deep musk and her damp inner thighs confirmed her sexual conditioning. They 
washed Christina thoroughly, and took her to a special recovery room to sleep. 
Hours later, Christina awoke. She propped herself up her elbow, and groggily 
tried to shake off the incredible dream of being captured and brainwashed. When 
she ran her hand over her head and felt her bare scalp, she realized with a 
shock that the dream was real. She felt behind her ear until she located the 
metal insert that served as the connection to the computer programming. She 
touched the metal connector gingerly, and wondered if her headache was caused by 
the surgery or the programming that had been stuffed into her brain. 
But wait! She was still thinking! She wasn't a zombie! Perhaps the conditioning 
had not worked in her case! The thing to do now was to get out of this place, or 
at least send word back to Chief Lydia Dunn back at the Commission of Sex Crimes 
that she was held captive. Christina knew that Lydia Dunn would love nothing 
better than to be the one to rescue her after all that boasting Christina had 
done in the Chief's office. Well, she would just have to swallow her pride. 
Christina had the satellite uplink code memorized that could put her in instant 
communication with headquarters. All she needed was some kind of uplink 
transmitter. Restless for action, Christina sat up in bed. And that is when she 
saw what had been thoughtfully displayed next to her bed. 
On a rack hung the most amazing outfit she had ever seen. Leather panties with 
zippered access panels, a black patent-leather corset, studded collar with 
leash, black leather gloves, and thigh-high laced boots with six-inch heels. She 
walked over and ran her fingers over the smooth coolness of the material. 
Although she never had a taste for fetish outfits before, Christina found this 
garments very sexy and stimulating. Her heart began to pound, and she 
compulsively began to dress. The corset had uplifted underneath supports that 
displayed her breasts in a wanton style, and the high heels made her back arch 
in a most sensuous manner. She couldn't believe she found this outfit so utterly 
compelling. 
She was just cinching the corset tight when she heard the door unlock. In walked 
Max. "Well, he said, "I see you've chosen your own outfit." He was wearing a 
satin embroidered bath robe with an XTC logo. 
Christina glared at him. "Your little brainwash device didn't work, Max." But 
something was wrong. The mere sight of this man she hated at sent a delicious 
ripple of desire through her. 
Max said. "Oh, really?" He leaned against the door frame and studied her with a 
proprietary interest that Christina found both unnerving and strangely 
exhilarating. And the tremors in her body began to center on her pussy. 
Nevertheless, she tensed her muscles for confrontation. 
"You try to even touch me," she warned, "and I'll rip your heart out!" 
Max said nothing. A wave of heat seemed to spread through Christina's whole 
body, and she found herself breathing deeply, actually panting, with a pent-up 
sexual hunger. The more she looked, the more she wanted him. What was going on? 
"All right," she said, her voice weakened by uncertainty. "If you want to ravish 
me, you better get on with it." 
Max smiled. 
Her hand involuntarily slid down to her moistening pussy. But stopped short! Try 
as she might, she could not touch herself. She looked up in consternation. 
Max said helpfully, "The ability to pleasure yourself has been conditioned as 
forbidden in you. The only sexual release you get is up to me." 
Christina ran a hands over her tightly-constricted waist, and helplessly felt 
her nipples grow erect and sensitive on her jutting breasts. She dared not move, 
for concern that the slightest brushing of her pussy lips would send her into 
sexual spasm she had no hope of controlling. The leash dangled from the front of 
her collar to sway provocatively between her breasts. 
"As a matter of fact," Max went on casually, "your need to wear that outfit--you 
look smashing in it, by the way--and your arousal have been programmed into your 
mind. You know what you have to do, don't you?" 
Christina's mind raced. She had to get release from the passions building in 
her! Her secret hope that Max would take her were dashed--he knew how desperate 
she was! Then it dawned on her: if he would order her to, she would surrender to 
him. She took a few tottering steps toward him, still uncertain what to do. If 
he wouldn't fuck her, maybe he would let her fuck him! 
As if sensing her changed behavior, Max said simply, "Kneel." She immediately 
dropped to her knees, and nuzzled his thighs. 100,000 conditioning repetitions 
took over as her trembling hands untied the sash to his robe. She kissed his 
ankles and up his legs, and thought it only natural that she hand him the other 
end of the leash to her collar. In no time at all, her lips were gliding up and 
down his cock, her tongue sensuously lapping up and down the length of his 
shaft. His murmured commands were greeted with instant compliance, as 
Christina's swirling mind focused only on giving him pleasure. 
For his part, Max watched the girl follow her programmed obedience to his 
desire. Her technique needed improvement. And there were physical alterations to 
make her even more marketable than she was now. But feeling her warm breath and 
wet lips pleasure him, he hoped the training wouldn't be over too soon. He 
uttered another command, and Christina found herself dropping to all fours, then 
down to her elbows with her ass held invitingly high. Max positioned himself 
behind her, and without pause thrust his well-practiced cock deep inside her, 
mounting her like one would a high-bred filly just broken in. Christina gasped 
as he rammed the his cock in and out of her soaking pussy, her mind allowed to 
think only how desperately she needed to be subjugated this way. His rhythm 
built up into a kind of heated frenzy. Christina arched her back and pressed 
herself against him to meet each thrust. His cock finally spasmed deep in her 
belly. Christina shuddered as he filled her, then withdrew himself. Christina 
cleaned him with her tongue, as she had done countless times in virtual 
reinforcement. Even her "Thank you, Sir," was spoken before she realized it has 
she who had said it. 
Max said before he left. "That was a good start, but you have a lot of work to 
do." 
The next few days introduced Christina to the demanding regimen designed to 
transform her into a docile sex slave, programmed for her owner's pleasure. Max 
directed the trainers to start her off with simple commands, like Stand! and 
Sit! and Suck! At first there were moments of resistance, even a hint of 
defiance. But her brain was so thoroughly programmed, it stopped those thoughts 
before they even had a chance to form, before the neurotransmitter reacted with 
another jolt of exceeding unpleasantness. At some commands, she would hesitate, 
as if on the verge of protesting. Then there would be a certain blinking of her 
eyes, like shutters being drawn, as her captive mind raced to suppress the 
prohibited thoughts. Then the conditioned response of obedience. It was as if 
the word "no" had been plucked from her vocabulary. Gradually, her moments of 
knee-jerk defiance were replaced with a doe-eyed passivity 
The physical training alone would have been demanding enough. Hours upon hours 
were spent on treadmills, stairmasters, special muscle-development equipment. 
Christina had prided herself on staying in shape before, but those weekly 
sessions at the community gym were nothing compared to the relentless drill 
undertaken under the stern eye of the exercise masters and mistresses. These 
sessions left her panting and dripping with sweat on the various workout 
machines, her growing hair matted on her forehead her body trimmed down to 
well-toned muscle. The macrobiotic diet filled out her curves nicely. 
Beyond straight aerobics and weight-training, Christina was introduced to a 
different class of exercise equipment, this variety designed to increase her 
sex-play potential. She was instructed to sit upon dildo-like tubes that could 
expand or contract with her internal pussy contractions. Although the sensation 
was new to her, she quickly caught the knack of squeezing the dildo. When that 
basic skill was mastered, she was tutored in the art of stroking it with her 
pussy muscles. It was quite a sight to see her working her alternatively 
clenching and releasing the training cock, biting her lower lip in 
concentration. When her trainer at this station finally announced that her 
vagina was becoming "precision-engineered", Christina felt a thrill of perverse 
pleasure, having forgotten where she first heard the phrase. She began to absorb 
her lessons with enthusiasm. 
And every day she underwent further reinforcement at the behavior modification 
chair. Christina actually looked forward to these sessions, sometimes tilting 
her head to give the operators an easier access to jack-in the connection. This 
was not surprising to Max, since one of the first impulses they implanted in her 
mind was the desire itself to be programmed. Christina still had her intellect, 
and on one level still dreamed of escape, but these independent thoughts were 
gradually replaced by the relentless programming of the neuro-transmitter. 
Automatic obedience had become hard-wired in her brain. 
Max did not want to proceed with her physical enhancements until her mind was 
sufficiently controlled. He knew that day had come when he saw her leaving her 
daily massage. These preliminary rubdowns were designed to work into her body 
the specially designed bonding polymer oils that gave her skin a smooth texture 
and glossy finish, gradually replacing her skin cells with a synthetic coating 
that removed all blemishes and carried a permanent scent of fragrance. 
"What's wrong, Christina?" Max asked. 
"I was thinking . . .I have to call someone. . .someone important. . .Lydia 
something. . ." A look of helpless confusion spread across her pretty features. 
"You don't need to call anyone, Christine," said Max. "You're quite happy here, 
aren't you?" 
"Oh, yes, Sir," she said. She smiled gratefully at him and hurried off to her 
next workout. 
That afternoon Max began composing an introduction to the circular he 
periodically sent to potential buyers who had already expressed an interest in 
new subjects. He preferred to write his reports long-hand, his pen scratching 
over the hard surface of his glass table-top. 
As you see from the enclosed report, he wrote, Christina H. has excellent 
potential. I'm pleased to report that her mental conditioning has advanced to 
the point where she obviously finds the act of thinking on her own to be 
increasingly difficult. Already her cognitive functions are being ratcheted down 
level by level. The goal, of course, is not to create a zombie, but to channel 
her mind exclusively into automatic compliance for her future owner. Now that 
she is at the stage where the slightest thought of resistance is throttled down 
before it even has a chance to form, she is ready for physical alteration. 
Please study the photo images contained in the appendix to this report, and feel 
free to voice your suggestions. 
Max smiled, knowing that the deluge of suggestions he could expect from his 
exclusive circle of clients. When it came to female beauty, everybody thinks 
they're an expert, he thought. Of course, he had his own thoughts on the 
subject, but it was better to let his customers think of themselves as the 
master designers. Max felt a stirring between his knees, and looked down through 
the clear glass tabletop at his personal concept of beauty: his own private 
Ultimate Love Doll. Her name had once been Yvette, a model at a Milan fashion 
designer, and she had caught his eye the moment the Company procurers. In some 
ways she had been like this Christina Hilshire, the subject of the circular now 
before him on his desk. Max recalled how hard Yvette had struggled, just like 
Christina. But it took only a few weeks of behavior modification to convert her 
to full compliance, and a few weeks after that under the skilled hands of the 
Company's body-sculptors to remake her appearance as the answer to Max's 
desires. 
Like all dolls in the Ultimate class, Yvette-Doll's body was encased in a 
synthetic second skin. This innovation made possible the perfect body shapes 
that were the hallmark of these most advanced love-dolls. Careful measurements 
of each subject allowed the computer design of the ideal body shape, with 
emphasis on sexual attributes. A special latex fabric of organic polymers would 
then be tailor-fit to that subject. This fabric had extraordinary tensile 
strength, and would gradually compress the subject's body into the desired 
shape. Over time, with rigorous exercise, the subject's own natural heat would 
warm her body enough to flow into the shape dictated by the suit. When that 
perfect customized figure was achieved, the organic polymers of the bodysuit 
formed a molecular bonding with the subject's own skin surface, so that each 
Ultimate Love-Doll was forever encased in a hermetically sealed second skin that 
ensured her shape would always be pleasing to her owner. 
A Love-Doll in a bonded bodysuit looked like a living sculpture of perfected 
beauty. The surface would be smooth to the touch, as it was skin-tight and 
stretched to the limit. Usually the suit included six-inch heels that became a 
permanent part of the doll's physique, as well as a collar ring in the front. 
Naturally the bodysuit had access panels for all possible penetrations. An owner 
could also use his remote control to change the color: shimmering metallic, 
glossy black, or transparent. As for the Doll herself, the sensation of being 
compacted into a perfectly-formed sex toy was further amplified by her own 
sexual heat trapped inside that hermetical seal. Any caress of that ultra-thin 
second skin would leave her with ripples of unquenched desire. 
Max had selected "transparent" for his Love-Doll's color. Her flesh-tones 
displayed their unblemished perfection, and the body-wrap had bonded to that 
skin long ago. Max thoroughly enjoyed stroking her exquisitely-sculpted breasts, 
the touch smooth and warm on his fingertips. Now he had her kneeling between his 
thighs, her slender fingers slowly stroking his rigid cock as he had programmed 
her earlier. Max was partial to blondes ("I've spent too much time around 
Americans," he would joke apologetically to his Continental colleagues), and 
absently ran his non-writing hand through her thick mane yellow-gold tresses. 
Max found her expert touch to stimulate his writing such reports. Occasionally 
she would lean forward, and let her lips trail up and down the length of his 
shaft, her almond eyes looking up through the glass for approval to take his 
whole cock in her hungry mouth. Max had permanently installed silicon pads in 
her mouth, leaving only a narrow channel with her tongue on the bottom--in 
effect converting her mouth into an alternate vagina of velvety softness. He 
loved the feeling when he forced his cock through that wet tight tunnel, his 
Doll's tongue working furiously to bring him the maximum pleasure. 
Max still marveled at the prospect of transforming a beautiful woman into a 
customized sex slave. He indulged himself frequently, with his compliant Love 
Doll programmed to satiate every lust. But tonight he held off fully satisfying 
himself. After he finished his report, Max promised himself, then he would have 
time for a little play. I really have to stop working so hard, he thought, as 
his hand slipped under the table and guided Yvette-Doll's mouth back over the 
head of his cock. He reached over the remote control device that gave him direct 
input into Yvette-Doll's neurotransmitter, and dialed in a slightly faster 
speed. He sighed with pleasure at the quickened tempo of the doll's lips over 
his stiffening cock. The report was finished very, very quickly. 
While Max filtered the requests of potential buyers in the days that followed, 
Christina's sexual drive was stoked to an astonishing level. The 
neurotransmitter in her brain kept sex hormones flooding her system, and the 
incessant programming shaped her desire from wanting sex. . .to needing sex. . 
.to craving sex. Each love-doll in training--and there were about twenty 
undergoing treatment in the Company facilities at that time--were kept in a 
state of sexual heat that supercharged the behavior modification. 
Max huddled with this clinical specialists. With Christina passively posturing 
before them, they discussed the various modifications that would make her 
eminently desirable. Any lingering celluloid had long since exercised away and 
her muscles were nicely toned. He had his team go over her full body in fine 
detail, sometimes with tape measures, comparing the results to the usual 
customer requests. Then the debate started. Although a majority of his staff 
wanted to carry her beauty to its full sensuous potential, a minority, including 
Max, argued for retaining some of her original aristocratic bearing--what they 
called the "Ice-Princess" look. individuality. Eventually, the known market 
demand and the weight of the buyer's comment made the difference, and Max 
reluctantly slated her for what the clinicians called the Full Slut Makeover. 
Before the treatment was over, Max had to spend a few days out of the office on 
one of his frequent trips--so many of the buyers only felt comfortable dealing 
with him personally, and this buyer--a lady--was quite particular regarding her 
preferences. 
When he came back, he ignored the stack of messages on his glass-topped desk and 
sought out the head of the clinic. "How did Christina's treatment go?" he asked. 

"Oh, welcome back, Max," said the man. "Excellent results. She's even been 
advanced to Grade C workout. She's probably in session even now." Max thanked 
him and walked through the corridors to the exercise room. He normally took a 
shower after returning from long flights, but it was worth the wait to see how 
well the "Full Slut" look suited Christina. 
He spotted her right off. Christina was already encased in one of the clinic's 
figure-molding bodysuit. The material look sprayed on, it was so thin, but Max 
knew it was incredibly strong and elastic, and was already at work compressing 
the Christina's body into her most sexually-appealing shape. Black was her color 
for the afternoon workout. On her, the bodysuit looked smooth and shiny, like 
liquid obsidian. .Even from a distance, Max found the form of her legs, thighs 
and buttocks, perfectly sculpted under the skin-tight bodysuit to be very 
erotic. He nodded at one of the trainers, who led the woman off the machine to 
stand in front of Max. 
Max could not suppress his bedazzlement. The clinicians had outdone themselves. 
The black bodysuit started in a high collar with a single metal ring and covered 
every inch of her body below that. Her front form was just as ideal as the 
backside. He studied the subtle alterations to her face. They had done something 
with her cheekbones and chin, turning her pretty face into a beautiful one. Her 
hair had grown back considerably, and now brushed her shoulders, mostly straight 
but with a stylish curl at the end. Christina's waist was cinched by the 
unforgiving bodysuit into a strict hourglass shape, with hips nicely curving 
into her rounded ass. And her breasts! 
Max marveled at the exquisitely shaped orbs that ballooned out against the shiny 
black material. The "Full Slut" look naturally called for enlarged breasts. The 
ever-erect nipples pressed provocatively against the thin material of the second 
skin. Max could tell by the way Christina's breasts bounced when she dismounted 
the stairmaster that they were soft and resilient, almost begging to be 
squeezed. Even now as Christina breathed deeply from her workout, her breasts 
rose and fell with each breath in a seductive rhythm all their own. 
"Turn around, Christina," he said curtly. 
"Yes, Master," she said with downcast eyes. The form of address had been 
programmed long ago. Christina now thought of him not as "Max" or even "my 
master", but simply as "Master." Max knew when she was finally sold, her 
devotion would be changed to her new owner. But it still pleased him to hear her 
say it. Her voice sounded thick through lips enlarged with collagen 
injections--what the irrepressible staff in the clinic called CSL, for 
"Cock-Sucking Lips." With the same silicon mouth implants that allowed Yvette to 
provide world-class blow-jobs, Max knew that Christina's speech would be 
affected. Not that it bothered him, as the Ultimate Love Dolls had no need of 
speech. 
Christina obediently pivoted slowly, the light playing off the smooth back 
finish of her bodysuit. Max noted approvingly that her heels were permanently 
mounted on six-inch stilettos.. These made her calves tighten and her back arch 
so that her uplifted ass offered what seemed to be a permanent invitation.. 
Max knew that she had been conditioned by the behavior modifier to automatically 
activate into arousal in his presence, a feature that would be switched over to 
her eventual buyer. She was slightly panting, now more in sexual heat than 
exercise. She subtly shifted her body so that her new breasts thrust forward, 
and her hands slid sensuously over the clinging bodysuit. Max could imagine how 
her heat and wetness was pent up inside that sealed suit, like a volcano ready 
to explode into sexual frenzy. 
As for Christina, she had long ago accepted the notion of her body being a 
sex-toy for use at her owner's whim. Even now she felt the usual craving for 
Master's cock, which she would only be allowed to satisfy upon his command. 
"We have a showing scheduled for a few weeks away, when you will displayed to 
some buyers. We want you to look your best." 
"Yes, Master. Will you be using me tonight?" she asked. The scent of her arousal 
betrayed her desperation. 
"Mmm, perhaps." 
"I'll be very good, Master." His answer triggered the seduction routine in her 
programming, and she wet her lips with her tongue and slowly stroked her 
voluptuous breasts to further excite her Master. If Max had any doubts that the 
Full Slut look suited Christina, they vanished with that wanton display of lust. 
Max smiled, finding it hard to believe that it had only taken a few months of 
intensive conditioning to transform Christina from a haughty little prima donna 
into the compliant sex-hungry, her eyes bright with the hope that he might give 
her a good, hard fucking. 
And he decided to do just that. He remembered that he intended to take a shower 
anyhow. Max pulled a small-link chain off the rack on the wall, and snapped one 
end to the ring in her collar. He guided her into the shower room adjacent to 
the exercise hall and had her unclothe him. Her bodysuit stayed on, and Max 
enjoyed the sight of the water droplets cascading off the suit's smooth, curved 
surface.. 
Christina had been schooled in shower protocol by countless sessions with the 
behavior modifier. She turned on the water and worked some soap in her hands 
into a thick lather. She applied the suds to Max's body, working her delicate 
fingers over his muscles. Soon warm billows of steam wafted up from the floor of 
the shower, adding to the passions of them both. Christina's hands slid over his 
shoulders, his back, and trailed by tantalizing degrees to his cock--which, by 
this time, was as hard as iron. Her fingers delicately caressed his cock as if 
her whole purpose was to made it as rigid and throbbing as possible. The soapy 
smoothness of her ministrations soon had Max breathing deeply, his cock almost 
purple in its engorgement. Christina sank to her knees. She formed an "O" with 
the thumb and forefinger and squeezed it back and forth over his cock, like 
hard-pressed lips. Then Christina demonstrated how the clinicians had combined 
her new physical attributes with specialized training. 
She cupped her breasts in her palms, and pressed them over his cock. Max could 
not help shuddering as those two soft orbs, with a fullness like melons at the 
peak of ripeness, enfolded his throbbing cock. The material of the bodysuit was 
so thin that the sensation felt just like he was pressed against the creamy 
smoothness of real skin. He even felt the hardness of her erect nipples through 
the fabric as they brushed against his sensitized skin. She expertly squeezed 
the yielding flesh around his cock, and then massaged it with her breasts. Max 
leaned slightly forward, pressing his hands on her shoulders, and fucked into 
this new love channel. His breath was coming in gasps now, and even Christina 
uttered soft mews of unrestrained arousal. Still working her breasts slavishly 
over his upright cock, Christina lowered her mouth to lick the head of his cock 
at every emergence from the soap-smooth crevasse of her breasts. 
Max exerted all his self-control not to release himself until he had sampled his 
future love-doll's pussy. He pulled her up and quickly undid the fastener for 
the slit between her legs. Immediately her pussy lips pouted out, moist and 
swollen with the girl's desire. Between her exertions and the lubricating effect 
of her pent-up passion, Max deduced the second skin bodysuit was a sweatbox, 
making her pussy a furnace of frantic lust. 
With her pussy now accessible, Christina slithered against Max's taut body. She 
raised herself up, and slid down his torso so that his cock glided directly 
between her pussy lips. Lubricated by the soap and by the girl's own love-oil, 
he found himself thrust deep inside, all the way from the base of his cock. It 
was then that Max experienced for himself the craftsmanship of the clinic staff. 

Each muscle in Christina's pussy had been tightened from the relentless workouts 
on the artificial phallic device. That exercise was aided by the weaving into 
her vagina walls some of the same organic polymers that made the second-skin 
bodysuit. This coil of synthetic tissue kept the same tensile strength, and had 
the effect of amplifying the contractions of her pussy. The slightest 
penetration of a cock triggered a series of spasms to the point where 
Christina's pussy had the strength and suction of pneumatic pump. On top of 
that, her conditioning in the behavior modifier had drilled into her mind the 
exactly sequence of tensions and release for a user's maximum pleasure, matching 
the rhythm of his thrusts. In short, Christina's pussy had been converted into a 
bio-mechanical fucking machine. Max just leaned against the tile wall and 
allowed her to fuck him, driving herself up and down his cock while her soft 
breasts slid over his chest. The scent of her sex mingled with the steamy aroma 
of the bodywash soap. With her arms wrapped around his neck, Christina whimpered 
and moaned softly in sexual frenzy. At last, Max exploded into orgasm. He felt 
her pussy muscles ripple back and forth on his cock, milking the last of his 
cum. 
As he let her dry him off later, Max actually considered a trade-in: Yvette for 
Christina, as his own personal love-doll. But then he knew that she was already 
earmarked for the up-coming auction, so he let the thought rest as a happy 
daydream. 
Max sipped his espresso and went to work on the pre-auction circular. Several 
more weeks had passed--weeks filled with intensive conditioning for Christina, 
as well as the final modifications that he wanted to highlight to potential 
buyers. 
With an Ultimate Love Doll, he wrote in long-hand, you get the sensuality of a 
geisha, a harem pleasure-slave, and an 18th century courtesan. In our first lot 
on the block, we will be offering Christina H., whose programming includes the 
standard selection of service routines. These routines have been conditioned 
into her mind through her neurotransmitter and can be coded by the remote 
control device (included in purchase price). With a flick of your finger, you 
can trigger your favorite activity or fantasy. Over twenty selections can be 
customized for your personal use. Max considered listing suggestions, but 
decided to leave that to the buyers' own active imaginations. He continued 
writing: Your Ultimate Love Doll has been modified to accept nutritional pellets 
inserted directly into the digestive tract from a concealed compartment above 
the hip (see diagram). Each of these pellets contain sufficient nutrients to 
power your Doll for one day. They are fully absorbed into the Doll's system and 
therefore produce no waste products. Eliminating the need for your Doll's eating 
also reserves the mouth solely for your sensual pleasure. A six months supply of 
pellets come free with your Ultimate Love Doll. 
Max then went on about bidding procedures and payment plans. He did not dwell at 
length on Christina's sexual potential; he would let the live demonstration take 
care of that. 
Max was nervous, as he usually was before a showing. He personally supervised 
her warm-up and dressing, and went over her programming routines with a 
thoroughness that drove everyone else crazy. But he knew he had a prize in 
Christina, and wanted to leave nothing to chance. 
At last they were ready. Max spent a few minute socializing in several different 
languages with the buyers who had flown in just for this occasion. Only a few of 
the buyers needed background and orientation, since most of them already had 
more than one Ultimate Love-Doll. They gathered in the auction room, mostly men, 
but some women, and took their seats in front of the circular stage. Max himself 
spoke into the microphone, his European accent giving the event a definite 
cosmopolitan air. 
"Welcome again, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "We have several dolls to offer 
you tonight, and we will start with open bidding on our latest. Christina, come 
out, please." 
Christina walked out on stage. The body-molding suit had contoured her body to 
perfect dimensions; Max had selected metallic silver as the color of her 
second-skin bodysuit. She had been programmed specifically for full display 
tonight, and like a proud filly, she strutted and posed. Max kept up a steady 
monologue, pointing our her features, giving operating instructions. "She's been 
programmed with advanced sexual technique, ladies and gentlemen, and like all 
our Ultimate Love-Dolls, may be returned for reinforced or upgraded programming. 
In addition to the basic sex protocols, Christina has been conditioned to many 
fantasy scenarios, including Ponygirl, French Maid, Exotic Dancer, or even First 
Night Honeymoon!" The last brought a titter of laughter from the jaded audience. 
"You have all seen our latest model remote controls," Max went on. "Just make 
your selection and let her please you. For example--" He flicked the remote in 
his hand that triggered the pre-programmed behavior modes in Christina's 
neurotransmitter. "On her back--" Christina gracefully slid to the floor, and 
spread her legs invitingly. "Hands and knees--" Christina responded to the click 
by rising to the doggy position, her back nicely arched and her head held high. 
"And oral--" Christina made her way fluidly on her hands and knees to a pre-set 
phallus on the stage floor, and demonstrated her sensuous lapping of that 
artificial cock. Max, with a keen eye on his customers, knew that every man in 
the audience was imagining those soft, full lips servicing him. He noticed the 
flared nostrils and hungry gaze of the one of the female buyers from Singapore, 
and realized that particular image was not limited by gender. 
Max sensed the time was right to open the bidding. As he planned, he flicked the 
remote to "masturbate", and watched Christina obediently kneel in front of the 
audience and play with her perfected body. Her hands roamed over her breasts, 
pressing them together, pinching her own extended nipples. She then trailed her 
touch past her taut stomach, over her bush (option to buyer: shaved, trimmed, or 
natural), and her fingertips tantalizingly rotated around her exposed clit. Max 
marveled that this lascivious display was totally under his control, by the 
press of a button on his remote. 
Christina's body began to rock in passion. Her eyelids fluttered, and she tilted 
her head back as her fingers dug deeper and deeper into her pussy. Her metallic 
second skin seemed to shimmer sparks from the reflection of the multi-colored 
stage lights focused on her writhing form. The electronic bidding as flashed 
across the screen above the stage, the numbers leaping higher and higher in 
tempo to the Love-Doll's spiraling passion. The phone-in bids tumbled after each 
other, pressing the auction price higher still. Max found his thumb jamming down 
on the arousal-amplifier as Christina bucked and writhed to her programmed 
sexual frenzy. The sensuous curves on her metallic skin flowed and twisted with 
her lascivious self-pleasuring. At last, when the bids topped off at an 
astronomical level, Max allowed the Love-Doll to climax. With a long-shuddering 
moan, Christina collapsed on the floor. 
The whole audience seemed to blink and shake themselves out of the spell of 
watching the performance. The congratulations Max later received on such a fine 
product gave him almost as much pleasure as the final top price from one of the 
telephone bidders. Almost. 
The buying went on through the evening, with Max putting some of the dolls on 
the block and reserving others for private placement. Eventually the night came 
to an end, with cigars and brandy for all. "Say, old boy," said an English earl 
who had a stable of Love-Dolls on his estate near York, "you do a positively 
smashing job here. This certainly beats hands down the old game of picking up 
chorus girls on the West End, if you see my meaning!" Max helped him with his 
coat. "Only one thing--how the deuce do you stay ahead of the coppers, eh?" 
"Well, sir, we take precautions, of course," said Max. "A large part of our 
budget goes to political types, to have them look the other way. Not to 
mention," he said with a wink, as one sportsman to another, "a positively 
smashing large part of our inventory of Love-Dolls." 
"By God, sir, I like your style!" said the earl with a laugh. 
The bidders had all gone home. The winning owner of Christina, a telephone 
buyer, had already submitted the "fine-tuning" adjustments regarding hair-color, 
forms of address and the hundred of other detailed preparations that gave the 
XTC Doll Company such a reputation for service among its elite clientele. The 
customer was en route to pick up new toy. Christina knelt at Max's feet in the 
standard passive-ready position as they waited in the anteroom. Her color 
tonight was transparent; the bodysuit that seamlessly shaped her body had long 
since melded with her skin. Max admired how Christina's pussy lips protruded 
moistly from the her slit, looking like thick tender petals from some sensual 
flower--the result of months of steady stimulation. They seemed to match the 
pouting fullness of the lips around her mouth. With both sets of lips so 
wantonly displayed, Max envied the dilemma of the new owner of which to fuck 
first. 
And yet Max felt a certain wistful sadness at seeing Christina go. But there 
would be others, he knew. And studying the porcelain perfection of the face and 
the voluptuous figure of his latest creation, Max couldn't help feeling a 
certain pride in his work. But there was one last step left to complete his 
latest Ultimate Love-Doll. He reached inside the binder waiting for the customer 
entitled "Christina-Doll - A User's Manual" and withdrew the remote control to 
her neuro-transmitter. He punched in a sequence of codes and handed the remote 
to the kneeling girl. 
"Christina," he said, "We're going to turn you over to your new owner. But 
before we do, there is one last command. If you press the button on that remote, 
the final traces of your old personality will be nullified. That way you can 
serve your new owner without any interference from your past." He paused. "Would 
you like to press that button now, Christina?" 
She looked up at him, hesitating. Then she smiled and press the button firmly. A 
shudder went through her voluptuous body. Her eyes closed. When she opened them 
again, her eyes had the opaque look of all Ultimate Love-Dolls, like pools of 
still water. Max knew she had crossed the threshold into being a bio-mechanical 
sex machine. His reverie was interrupted by the knock on the door of the 
anteroom where they were waiting. 
In walked the new owner. Max caught the scent of a perfume that the old 
Christina would have instantly recognized as the same that lingered in the 
office of Chief of the Commission on Sex Crimes. In fact, Lydia Dunn wore the 
same austere conservative business suit from that agency. But now carried a 
hand-tooled riding crop. 
"Good evening, Miss Dunn," said Max, as he rose to greet her. He kissed her 
extended fingers with a courtly gesture. 
"Good evening, Max." She regarded the kneeling Christina, her erst-while 
arch-rival at the Commission. "I see you have my Ultimate Love-Doll ready." 
"Yes, Miss Dunn, I would say in this case no introductions are necessary." 
"Indeed. But I'm sure I'll like this improved version better than the original." 

"We've added some new sub-routines to your Doll." He handed her the User's 
Manual. 
Lydia Dunn opened to the indicated page. "Ah, the Correction and Discipline' 
selection," she read aloud. " Your customized Ultimate Love Doll has been 
programmed to perform certain inconsequential tasks improperly. This gives you, 
the Owner, the opportunity to inflict whatever level of punishment you desire. 
You may choose your Doll's response to punishment to include: 
  begging for more; 
  tearful contrition for her bad behavior; 
  a Level Four orgasm 
  all of the above.'" 
Lydia Dunn closed the manual with a wicked smile and said: "Oh, I rather like 
that." Her eyes glittered as they roamed over the inviting sight of the kneeling 
Christina-Doll. 
Max said, "I thought it might appeal to you. We also supercharged her libido, as 
you requested. By the way, we think another one of your agents might have 
stumbled across our operation in Toronto. You might be receiving a field report 
soon. May we count on you to make sure this doesn't cause us any inconvenience?" 

"Of course, Max. Who knows--it might lead to another new recruit for you here." 
Max smiled politely. "We'll send you the particulars," he said. "In the 
meantime, we can have your Doll delivered by separate transport, if you like, 
Miss Dunn." 
"Oh, that's all right, Max. Just wrap it to go; I'll take it with me tonight." 
The staff at the Commission were astonished to learn that the firebrand Deputy 
Commissioner Christina Hilshire had decided to step down from that position. 
Some who had caught fleeting glimpses of her entering the Chief's office through 
the private door could not help but notice the physical changes, the 
deliberately sexy look combined with enormously enhanced breasts no office suite 
could hide. The office gossip was that Christina had volunteered for a 
long-duration undercover assignment. That would explain her taking the job as 
the Chief's personal aide, so that Christina could clear her desk of routine 
administration and concentrate on her new role. The fact that Christina had 
apparently taken residence with Lydia Dunn at her house in the country was 
probably due to the intensive briefings between the two. 
Lydia Dunn took her last call at the office for the day. Lydia Dunn pushed her 
executive chair away from her desk, and toyed with the remote, eyeing her 
Christina-Doll kneeling next to the potted plant. First she pressed "Arouse." 
Then she scrolled down to "Crawl" and pressed that lazily. 
Christina's downcast eyes flickered with the sudden spasm of sexual heat 
triggered in her body by the neurotransmitter. Then she slowly dropped to all 
fours, worked her way with a feline gracefulness over to Lydia Dunn. Lydia Dunn 
allowed her Doll to nuzzle and kiss her legs. So obedient. So submissive. So 
utterly under control. 
Lydia Dunn withdrew the riding crop from her drawer, and ever-so-lightly brushed 
it over the pubis mons of her love-doll. "So you wanted to work at this desk, 
didn't you, my little pet?" she said with a wicked laugh. "Now you can, under my 
terms." She examined the flat end of the crop, now glistening with moisture from 
the doll's quivering pussy. "My, my," she said, "aren't we feeling randy 
tonight? I always figured you were a little slut. Now, you're my little slut, 
aren't you? I may loan you out from time to time, dear, since there are plenty 
of men who will gladly look the other way in case the Company attracts their 
attention, if given the right inducement. You're the inducement, of course. Do 
you expect me to forget how your little ambitious investigation almost spoiled 
everything? Not to mention your naughty little schemes to take over my job. How 
impertinent! You have a lot of making up to do, so you better get to it." 
The Christina Doll looked straight ahead with those docile opaque eyes. Then for 
one second, the tiniest moment, Lydia Dunn saw a faint flicker of awareness 
behind those eyes, and she knew that the original Christina was still inside 
that beautiful Doll body, and that underneath all those layers of conditioning 
and programming, the original Christina realized she was trapped in a lifetime 
of sexual service to her hated rival. The thought gave the Chief Commissioner a 
surge of pleasure. She raised her conservative dress and hooked one leg over the 
armrest of her chair. Her fingers selected "Oral" on the remote, and watched the 
Christina-Doll respond. The flicker of consciousness in the Doll vanished, its 
head lowered to the programmed task. Lydia Dunn leaned back in her chair, closed 
her eyes and felt the first touch of the warm breath and searching tongue of her 
private Ultimate Love Doll. 




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