This choice: animated, plastic sex doll • Go Back...Chapter #6animated, plastic sex doll by: Yote   Who are you kidding. By night you're a cheap, plastic sex doll like the sort they sell for $10 in sex shops. You lift the skinsuit from the box. It had been the most advanced TF tech you'd been able to afford, even after borrowing an additional $300 from your flatmate, and it was barely even powerful enough to conceal your masculinity, let alone make you a believable woman.
You roll it out on the floor, smoothing out the creases with your hands. The skin doesn't even attempt a facsimile of human flesh. Instead it has a cold, rubber feel to it and an unnatural, bright-pink colour. The three orifices it offers are little more than round tunnels of red rubber.
Sighing, you begin the arduous process of pulling it on - first stripping out of your clothes and lathering your body in a stinky blue gel - one part electroconductive gel to aid the neural interface, one part adhesive glue that starts sticking you to the suit even as you pull it on. You grunt in frustration as you wriggled your arms into the tight confines of the suit's, careful not to damage as you fight with the adhesive gel and the skin's woeful lack of give. Worse than its crudeness, it is flimsy. Already you've had several energetic customers almost tear the costly plastic skin.
You worm your lower body into the suit, wincing at the familiar pressure of it crushing your manhood against your body. The pain of it cuts out abruptly as the neural interface kicks in, severing the connections between your brain and your dick, forwarding them instead to your crude vagina.
There is one benefit to the suit being so low tech at least. Equipped with the cheapest neural interface on the market, the sensory syncronisation never makes it over 30%, meaning that you perceive the world around you as through a fog. Touch, sight, smell, taste, all are dulled while you wear the suit. It makes it easier to distance yourself from the sordid business at hand. Once you even fell asleep, though that didn't seem to faze your customer, judging by the soreness in your body when you awoke, dollar bills scattered over your sticky, plastic skin.
You lift the mask of the suit to your face and fit the mouth piece attached to it into your own mouth - equal parts breathing apparatus, gag, and fuck hole. Happy that it's in place - you'd have a hard time breathing without it - you give your face a coat of the gel and slide the mask into place.
The world becomes muffled. Pressing your doll hands to your face, you wriggle the mask a little until you feel a close fit and the gel begin to dry on contact with the rubber skin. You take a long, blonde wig from inside the box and apply it to your scalp with a little more of the gel.
Looking down at yourself, you give a humourless laugh around the mouthpiece. Why any man would want to do you like this, you don't know.
"Idhs uh liffingh," you sigh to yourself around the gag, as you...   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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