Page 15 of Exposed (The Wellard Asylum #1)

T he poor thing’s mouth hangs open, piss dampening the corners of her lips. Patches of gray dirt smear across her skin, and her dyed blonde hair is in knots. I rearrange myself and zip up my trousers while smirking at her. Pissing on her is like marking my territory.

Before she can fully comprehend her post-orgasmic state, I bound up the stairs, and lock the basement door behind me. Though there is a risk in leaving Violet unattended, the tunnel door is locked, and there are surveillance cameras in every area of the basement; I can see her whenever I want.

Besides, I have an appointment I can’t miss. For now, I’ll be in my office, observing Violet through a camera lens.

After I return, I settle behind my desk, then open the surveillance footage on my laptop, adjusting the settings until I can see her in the dim lighting.

The cunt’s chin angles down toward the bottom of the tub; she’s probably gawking at the murky puddle of my piss mixed with the tub’s years of neglect.

She touches her lips, her fingertips skimming her damp skin, as if wondering, Did I really let him piss on me?

“Of course you did, sweet one,” I say out loud. “You’d let me do anything to you.”

Three knocks reverberate through my office door.

“Come in,” I say.

A man with slick, black hair and a strong cleft chin enters my office.

A wide smile is etched onto his face, a characteristic of his permanent business etiquette, and the scent of freshly washed laundry spreads across the room.

The Founder of the Pure Companion Company offers his hand.

His company originally specialized in hybrid sex dolls: rubber interiors sheathed in human skin.

With my help, the company has started a new product line, a project we are both eager to perfect.

I stand, and we shake hands, both of us with equally firm grips. Although I am, indeed, smarter and better than him, the Founder is a man who deserves my full handshake. He’s become a dear associate of mine.

“Alick Ambrose,” he says. “It’s always good to see you.”

I return to my seat. “And how is the Pure Companion Company?”

“Flourishing. Always flourishing.” He takes the chair directly across from me and nods at my laptop. He’s observant; he knows I have a habit of studying my patients. “I take it you’ve acquired the next specimen?”

On the screen, Violet flutters around the basement as she crawls on her hands and knees. She reminds me of an insect trapped in a jar.

She shouts at the camera lens: I know you can see me!

I raise a brow. At least she’s aware.

The dumb cunt must be searching for the tiny container she hid in her mouth.

I chuckle coldly; she must be stupid to think I wouldn’t see her cheeks packed like a squirrel’s on the way down to the basement.

Perhaps she’s searching for a way out. The tunnels underneath the Wellard Asylum are vast; however, my preferred section of the basement has a locked door blocking anyone from entering or leaving.

Thus, the stupid cunt will only get so far.

Or perhaps she is searching for the extra copy of her mother’s file, which I brought with us and conveniently dropped on the floor of the basement.

She’ll find it soon. I added a new note in it just for her.

I briefly ponder calling her supposed boyfriend to ask what she’s hiding in the container, but I’d prefer to let it unravel on its own.

Surprises, especially vicious ones, always amuse me.

And if I need to punish her for whatever she has planned, then her guilt and shame will be absolutely exquisite during our next session.

I turn back to the Founder. “Did you enjoy the previous specimen?”

“Quite thoroughly,” he says, his mouth a crescent of sharp teeth.

“The model groaned in pain, but I’m afraid there were no tears.

Our clients for these products are very particular.

Tears are one of our biggest requests in the preorders.

As you know, our dolls must react naturally without any words. ”

The Founder and I are collaborating on a product of human women transformed into sex toys.

We’re calling it our Living Doll product line.

With the right treatments, a woman can be changed from a human with free will into a doll that solely reacts to a man’s stimuli.

If he wants the doll to scream, he can stab it, and by the power vested in me, it will scream, and it will never retaliate or withhold anything from its owner .

I had been working on a similar project before beginning my collaboration with the Pure Companion Company.

I always thought lobotomy would be the perfect way to create a completely obedient object.

After a few failed attempts to achieve my goals, I realized I needed more control over the brain.

The goal isn’t a lack of reactivity; the objective is to create a sexual need so strong, it overrides all other instincts.

Thus, a doll can have its mental and emotional responses, while being unable to resist the sexual submission.

Eventually, I began using a microchip in the brain, which opened up new possibilities.

Despite our recent success, tears have been the most difficult aspect to replicate once the doll’s processing chip has been installed in the brain.

I’ve played with the idea of conditioning the women beforehand to enjoy pain and pleasure, as well as forming a certain response to the simplest of triggers.

For example, taking a cock in any orifice can be conditioned to become an unbearable task for the doll, and thus, our tear-trained products will cry for our customers from mere penetration.

Violet will be my first experimental doll with these particular conditioned triggers.

In our first few hours alone, I’ve already begun teaching her body to respond to clitoral pain with orgasm.

And with repeated use of her holes and degradation of her mind, she will eventually be brought to tears of joy and agony by my mere presence.

“As I hinted at in our correspondences, this one is the answer to our concerns.” I nod toward my computer.

Typically, I’d adjust the screen to give the Founder a view of the specimen.

I have no desire to share a physical view of her though; he doesn’t deserve it.

No one deserves a view of my sweet one besides me.

On the screen, Violet squints, attempting to read her mother’s file in the dim lighting. It’s actually a copy of the original file, which I conveniently left for her supposed boyfriend to steal. Her eyes dart across the papers now, studying the new handwritten note.

I turn back to the Founder. “You see, my hypothesis is if they already have an inclination for crying during sex in their conscious lives, and if they have an interest in depravity before they’re transformed, then the brain will already be hardwired to respond with tears and arousal.”

“And does this next specimen have these qualities?” the Founder asks.

“Of course she does. She’s my daughter.”

The Founder chuckles. A man like him will never fault me for my obsession with my own blood. He’s worked with many different clients with various needs, and he has his own inclinations as well. His mission has always been to promote a world in which all men can achieve their darkest desires.

“She’s perfect for you, then,” he says.

On the laptop, Violet’s shoulders deflate, and her chest swells in apprehension as she appears to read the same lines repeatedly. I beam; with arousal in her veins, it must be hard to concentrate on the words.

She’s such a silly, stupid cunt.

My cock throbs. I’m already eager to return to her.

Anger is often her primal response, born out of some idiotic need to save other women from men like me; still, tears come easily for her.

Covered in piss, she cried like a baby as she came, and her sorrowful orgasm brought delight to my rotten heart.

It’s been a pleasure, a purely blissful experience really, to begin this phase of Violet’s preparation for life as a doll.

Violet is already inclined to enjoy experiences like this; I’m confident we can train individuals who aren’t depraved like her. With the right conditioning, they will cum and cry, and our clients’ needs will be satiated.

“And this is the one you mentioned from your patient’s videos?” the Founder asks.

I nod; he’s referring to Benji. I would hardly call Benji a patient, though.

I had fully intended to share the videos of Benji and Violet having perverse sexual encounters with the Founder, but even then, something had stopped me.

Perhaps I didn’t want the Founder to see Violet naked and submitting to her own dark fantasies.

There was a need to keep her—to keep it— all to myself.

Perhaps I was possessive of her long before I realized it.

I’m an old man, and yet Violet is teaching me new things about myself. The clever cunt.

The Founder brightens. “Then you have control footage to demonstrate her reactivity before and after her intellectual training,” he says. “Our prototype tester will be excited to see the results.”

My jaw ticks. The idea of letting anyone destroy Violet in the way I’ve dreamed of for so long unnerves me.

I don’t consider her a human being any more than I consider her a cockroach, and yet I want to use her for myself.

If you consider where her origins began—with her mother—then she is my longest project so far, and I don’t intend to waste a specimen as exquisite as Violet on a customer who enjoys penetrating chest wounds .

My mouth pinches, and a sneer twists my expression.

Oh, the drudgery of having a sexual need so vile, so violent, and so completely over the top, one becomes a prototype tester for a sex doll company.

I’m sure the tester thinks his inclinations are unique, but I’ve been studying sexual interests since before he was born; he has a basic mind.

My interests—and Violet’s interests—are much more evolved and dynamic.

The idea of wasting my precious doll on him irritates me to no end.

I suck in a breath. I won’t declare it now, as it’s unnecessary to our current business, but I will keep Violet as my doll until she dies from natural causes.

I’m older than her; alas, there’s a possibility a Living Doll’s existence can be cut short due to the extreme nature of the maintenance procedures, and I certainly can’t let her live longer than me.

But I will make her cunt wetter than a dam by torturing her for the rest of her pathetic life.

I redirect our conversation: “May I see the footage of the tester’s latest encounter?”

The Founder swipes through his phone, then offers me his device. On the screen, a man stabs the human doll’s chest. The doll grunts as air is compressed from its lungs; there’s an erratic nature to it, an emptiness, a purely biological response.

I sigh. The Founder is right. We need their brains to work just enough to respond with emotion but not enough to actually resist any activities.

Then again, some clients enjoy the fight. Perhaps one day, we’ll have the option of full capacity dolls without the ability to gather enough intelligence to truly defend themselves .

The tester lowers himself and inserts his cock into the doll’s chest wound.

He howls: Cry for me, you little bitch!

His hips pump, blood splashing his groin. The doll’s face is smashed to the side. Blood drips down the breast, its eyes dry and blank.

Cry for me! he shouts.

With those words, Violet’s teary gaze fills my mind; my sweet one has cried for me multiple times now.

She tries hard to appear as if her desires have no effect on her, but all it takes is a simple command before she dissolves into a brainless whore.

Perhaps that’s why she enjoys degradation so much; when your only function is to be a fuckable hole, then there’s nothing to think about.

I return the device to the Founder. “I have confidence this next specimen will be a perfect fit for the project.”

“Excellent,” he says.

Movement on my laptop screen causes me to straighten in my seat. Violet sits in the tub again. I switch to a different camera to the view in front of the tub.

She rubs her clit as she stares at the papers inside of the manila folder.

Soon, I’ll find out whether Violet is aroused by notes on her mother’s final days and if she’s intrigued by her parentage.

In her mind, a rapist took her mother’s body, forced her to carry a child, and now, the child is an adult following in the mother’s footsteps.

Then again, my sweet one will go so much further than her mother. There is so much more potential when it comes to Violet’s final destination, and I will be her guide.

I reach for a decanter of scotch and two glasses behind my desk. I pour, then offer one of the drinks to the Founder. This is our tradition. The sooner we toast, the sooner I’ll get back to using my fuck doll.

“To new beginnings,” the Founder says.

I grin. “To fresh blood.”

We clink glasses.

Once we finish our scotch, the Founder will exit, and I’ll resume Violet’s training.

The Founder has his own personal desire: unreactive women who see without judgment. On the other hand, I enjoy their reactions: the transition from a woman to a permanently degraded and docile object.

Furthermore, I find it fascinating to experiment on my descendants. I’ve given my life to the study of perversion: is depravity nurtured, or is it inherent? There is never a clear answer, and yet I continually venture forward, always willing to search for the truth in the name of science.

I enjoy nurturing those conflicting urges within a woman as much as I love observing from a distance as they blossom naturally.

I have many possible biological descendants who will reach maturation—twenty-five years of age—in the coming years.

Violet isn’t the first descendant I’ve experimented on, but she is the first to truly capture my attention.

Now, with her as my patient, I’ll kindle the sick flames inside of her and prepare her for the next phase of her existence.

She will be my most prized possession.