Page 50 of 404: Consent Not Found
I accepted the invitation out of curiosity. The chatroom was black, red, and ominous.
[Dirty Dollhouse—Sadists]
To my surprise, Robo_twink was a member.
I clicked on a video that had been uploaded shortly after mine.
The video cut in, and a cydoll had a black bag over her head. It was tight—cinched at the neck. Her breasts, pale and glistening, jiggled with each brutal slap the man gave her. The sound echoed off the bare walls of the unnamed room. No décor. Just a mattress and restraints.
I glanced at the video name.
LIVE STREAM — Devbotdom69_
Title:“Breaking in Model X-6 | Neuropain Sync Test”
Viewers: 43
It wasn't an upload, it was a live stream. I zoomed in on the video.
“This one’s got the new pain-reward feedback loop. First spike’s a 3.2. Watch how she tightens,” Devbot said.
He gripped the doll by the throat, pushed her flat, and fucked into her violently. The fake hair clung to the sides of the bag like a veil. Her hands twitched—fingertips dragging across the mattress, confused by the combination of input signals.
“The harder you fuck them, the more they bounce back up. If you modify them correctly, they tighten and contract to perfection when the pain kicks in,” the man rasped.
I stared at the screen, unable to look away. I wasn’t sure if I was disturbed, aroused, or just… curious.
The comments flooded in, a stream of depravity applauding every slap, every violent thrust. But all I could think about wasthe damage. Silicone tearing, internal structures warping. That kind of rough use would destroy a cydoll’s chassis over time. Maintenance wasn’t optional—it was survival.
Pain mods or not, you had to respect the hardware.
I clicked out of the stream.
Another thumbnail blinked in the corner. Older file. Low-res. I hesitated—then tapped.
The doll was small. Too small. Her limbs were thin, her posture childlike, and her voice… high, synthetic, and wrong.
I exited the video immediately.
I’d read about those models—childlike cydolls—which were legal in most zones. There were loopholes in the code, a grey area no one wanted to admit existed.
I glanced at Charlotte.
She was motionless on the sofa, recharging, with her dermal lights dim.
Her body was curled in the fetal position, lips slightly parted, eyes closed in standby mode. She looked peaceful.
I exhaled slowly.
I didn’t want a punching bag. Or some glitchy fantasy of broken innocence. I wanted a perfect, loyal companion untouched by fundamental human flaws.
I wanted Charlotte.
The others?
They could keep their broken dolls.
? ? ?
