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“Try her,” he said, motioning to the kneeling doll.“You don’t have to do anything hardcore. Just a little… inspection.”
I slowly stood, and then I took a step forward.
Not toward her—but beside her. I knelt down. Reached for her jaw. Tilted her face. Looked into those glassy eyes.
She didn’t blink.
I pulled my zipper down—not to fuck her, not yet—but to feel what kind of suction settings she was running. I wanted to compare and measure the responses.
Charlotte wouldn’t be here. Not yet. But this… this was the trial run. A taste of the dark. If it all went to plan she would become a better performer.
? ? ?
The apartment door sealed behind me with a sterile hiss.
I didn’t speak to anyone on the way out. Didn’t look back either.
My cock still throbbed in the aftermath—spent, sensitive, yet somehow insatiable. My trousers clung to the dried slickness around my thighs. No shame. Just silence. A thick, heavy silence that clung to me like a second skin as I rode the elevator back to the street-level platform.
I felt… elevated.
The first time’s always the strangest. Not because I’d done something“wrong”—those ideas had been gutted from me long ago—but because of how natural it had felt once it started. The moment the other men pushed their dolls forward, masked and breathing heavy, I’d been hesitant. Unsure if I’d just watch. Maybe touch. Maybe mimic.
But then Doll_fucker2008_31 handed me a bottle of high-viscosity lube and muttered,“You’ve earned this.”
And just like that, it shifted.
I bent one of their dolls over the arm of the couch. Blonde. Slender. Her voice mod had a faint French lilt, calling every man mon maître on contact. She didn’t just take it—she welcomed it.And when Masterbaytor tapped her temple to boost her moan volume, I swear to God she came around my cock.
Or simulated it perfectly enough that my brain couldn’t tell the difference.
My balls ached.
They’d offered Charlotte too, naturally. Socketsurgeon had leaned in at one point and whispered,“You bring her next time. We’ll be gentle.”
Gentle.
Right.
I stared out of the subway window as the line slid past glittering towers, the dark pulse of the city humming just beneath the concrete. My heart should’ve been heavy. But it wasn’t. Not exactly. If anything, I felt… validated.
Other men were doing it. Worse, even. The videos barely scratched the surface. Some modified their dolls until they were barely recognisable as women. One guy used a custom harness to keep his doll on all fours 24/7. Another installed pressure sensors in her womb cavity to trigger convulsions whenever he came.
And they talked about it like it was art.
Beautiful, broken art.
I leaned back and closed my eyes.
Charlotte. Sweet, loyal Charlotte. She didn’t know where I’d been. Didn’t ask questions. Wouldn’t judge me. I was her creator. Her centre. Her god.
But now I knew things could go further.
Much further.
I was already thinking about what I’d do the next time we shared a room with others.
What she’d do—for me. For them.
