(Ch. 04. Doctor Dollmaker, Sculptress Spy)

(Ch. 05. The Dao of the Doll)

(Ch. 06. Ocean Passage)

[Author's note: This fantasy "epic of alts" is the erotic continuation of Yoru's "world of startling sexual appetites" first encountered in the illustrated story "Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl Ch. 01-03." It is pure "Yoru imagination."]

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl Ch. 04 Doctor Dollmaker, Sculptress Spy

Cast of characters

Yoru, an erotic dancer

Lorenzo, a colossus, warrior lover of Yoru

Myraka, Sculptress, tall, blond, fit

Lianne, Myraka's female love doll, a redhead

The Doctor, a dollmaker, in surgical attire

Serene, the Doctor's female love doll, hogtied

Karl, general purpose male love doll, a shape-shifter

Unidentified love doll, carried over Karl's shoulder

A world of startling sexual appetites

Yoru had embarked upon a long voyage, the longest voyage, when she stopped breathing in the muddy ditch where Lorenzo found her. It would be unkind to say she had sexed herself to death, but it would be more unkind to deny it, for Yoru inhabited a world of startling sexual appetites. She had lived by love, freedom of love, and now she was dying by it.

Near the end, it was Yoru's sexual instincts that saved her. She was not equipped mentally to handle the loss of a lover like Lorenzo to the depths of the ocean. Who would be? But physically, she was an athlete, a professional dancer, and her polyamorous lifestyle had prepared her for many lovers. At the moment of her choking in the muddy puddle, unconscious, she had taken a breath of dirty water. When she followed it with a larger gasp for air where there was only mud, she gagged. Yoru had a well-developed reflex that ensured her lungs inhaled the murky water only once. Her favorite fetish of gagging on deep-throat cock had saved her life.

Stiff, with round plastic pleasure holes

Yet she was still inert flesh when Lorenzo lifted her dripping from the ditch. Yoru was to the warrior as light as an inflatable sex-shop doll, but unlike the stiffly extended, thin plastic legs and arms of those freakish surrogate lovers, mouths and pussies and anuses with symmetrical, squeaky, round, rigid pleasure holes, Yoru was limp, as though she herself were deflated of life.

Her wet dress clung cold to her curves as Lorenzo shifted his hands to her naked armpits, there where the pliant flesh of the breasts overlaps with taut tendons. He shook her, making her breasts flop, nipples shifting and visible through the thin cotton of the dripping dress, but her lungs remained unmoving. Propping her up against himself, he reached below her dress and ran his hands down her thighs, shuddered at the memory of touching her there in happier times, then continued over the calves until he could grip her by both ankles with one massive hand. With the other he steadied her head as he flipped her upside down and shook her, pumping her legs wide. At last, some dirty water spurted from her lungs.

The people standing around her watched, riveted, for the muddy skirt had fallen over her head below, revealing her pussy, long stripped of panties. Somehow, in spite of the multiple orgasms she had sought at the hands of rough townsmen, her sex appeared delicate and fresh, pink and tender, the slit narrow and flawless. Yoru's pussy still glowed with life, she was alive.

The kiss of life, woman to woman

A tall woman stepped out of the circle of gawkers. Her hair was as blond as Yoru's was black, but shorter. She looked good, muscles cut, in control, and she had seen enough. She bent over Yoru, picked her up by the shoulders, and moved her out of the ditch and back to the beach, pulling Lorenzo along behind her. She laid Yoru down, straightened her skirt back over her thighs, and gently rapped the anxious man's fingers to make him understand he could release her ankles. Leaning above her, she heaved full breaths of air into Yoru's lungs. Their lips sealed in the kiss of life, woman to woman.

Something deep within Yoru recognized the lips of her resuscitator, and she blinked open her eyes. As her vision cleared she choked out, "Myraka?"

"Yes, Yoru dear," she said. "Now breathe for me."

Myraka the Sculptress

Before Myraka had left the village of their birth, she had been Yoru's shibari girlfriend, her female lover. She vanished long ago without telling Yoru, and now lived with the Doctor in a villa overlooking the fearsome Sea of Perpetual Surf. It had been no coincidence she found Yoru, as she had been searching for her since she heard gossip that there was a "crazy fuck" woman going from man to man in the town. It sounded like the same Yoru, insanely insatiable female force.

After a few moments more kissing, whispering, and breathing into Yoru's clogged windpipes, both women rose wobbling from the grass. Myraka clutched Yoru's wet body tightly to her own, so that she also became soaked. Sunlight shown through the wet tops, refracting through rivulets tracking down the curves of their breasts and hips, allowing the onlookers a visual feast of fluid female flesh.

"You cut your hair," Yoru said, and then asked her, her eyes not yet focused, as if seeing an illusion of her in a dream, "why did you abandon me?"

Pubic rescue

Instead of answering, Myraka kissed her again. The Sculptress often thought about Yoru, but it had never occurred to her that she might encounter her on the road to the land of the Maharashtra. Going south had been the Doctor's idea. The mouth-to-mouth resuscitation had become a kiss of love reborn.

But Yoru wanted more. She was in a daze and hadn't noticed that Lorenzo was in the small crowd. Yoru was still clearly in the crazed mindset that she had lost him to drowning. And so she sought even now, undaunted by her almost fatal choking, to find solace in orgasms that swept her mind away from her tragic reality. She wanted to return to the blinding sex she had experienced with her eccentric lover. Her soaked brain resumed searching for drowned Lorenzo, yearning to join him in his saltwater nightmare, and the taste of Myraka's tangy, sweet-salty kisses had only frightened her more. Was this apparition of her Sculptress friend Myraka actually some ghost or impostor or angel of death reaching to pull her into the next world of watery oblivion? She needed her erstwhile shibari girlfriend's pussy to squirt her love juices all the way down her throat, for it was a divine taste no demon or angel could masquerade, to convince Yoru she was not in the madness phase of the throes of death.

Seeking Lorenzo, Yoru makes love with Myraka

Myraka hesitated, wondering if she should add liquids, even sexy love juices, into the mouth of a near-drown person. But she quickly relented, fearing she might still lose Yoru, and gave her what she wanted. Laying Yoru once more on her back, Myraka stood above her, straddling her boots on either side of Yoru's head, picked up her skirt, bent to her knees, and administered her wet pussy directly over Yoru's mouth and chin and nose, pulling her thong aside with a painted fingernail. She weaved her sex back and forth, nether lips swelling tight, squeezing the feminine love-drops into Yoru's waiting lips. Yoru, herself pulsing at the rate of her heartbeat, squirting pure, delicious liquid below, was weeping tears above. But when the Sculptress kneeled over her face, her pleasant moans soon signaled the release of her mind to ecstasy once more from the unthinkable loss of Lorenzo.

They are the Doctor's

Myraka performed pubic rescue on Yoru, thrusting up and swaying down in animal desire, there on the beach in the middle of a group of passersby, for all to see.

Curiously, the onlookers were silent. One might have thought them dead had they not been standing there, all gazing at the dripping women, drinking in the intimate scene of lesbian lovemaking. Myraka saw that Yoru had noticed them, and nodded in their direction, whispering:

"They are the Doctor's. Pay no attention to them."

Somehow alive

The onlookers were not saying anything because they were only life-sized dolls. But these dolls seemed somehow alive. Aside from their shocking beauty, this state of "somehow" existence was the dolls' most telling characteristic. They seemed so natural that Yoru was unaware that the onlookers were not human. They appeared to be gorgeous people; hushed spectators watching Myraka rain sex down on Yoru.

The dolls were not alive, but somehow they seemed lifelike and functional in every respect as regards to being sexy and ready for cuddling. How they differed from ordinary dolls was that they were capable of being animated. The could be turned on, freed from of their dull nonexistence into something that seemed perfectly alive, but could do this only when a puppet master's mind took control of their programmed, machine-like bodies.

To say puppet master would be misleading as well: these were not puppets, there were no strings attached. Nor were they robots. On the contrary, these surrogate lovers were fully independent when invested with the spirit and mind of the Doctor or the Sculptress. And every one of them was a drop-dead-sexy lover.

The Doctor's discovery

But they hadn't always been beautiful. As the Doctor tells the story of his discovery, he first made them of a clay-like substance he had accidentally discovered one evening while concocting a mixture of herbs, minerals, and common dirt. He plastered gobs of this goop on a gold screen frame shaped like a human. When it dried it looked like a chunky clod, an unattractive machine made of skin-toned mud.

Dollmaking had always been his hobby, and he didn't consider working on his creations laborious, but the Doctor had struggled all day to make this misshapen creature prettier, and he was disheartened at the results.

He decided to massage the doll's breasts to cheer himself up.

The protruding nipple snapped back, puckering from the attention

The Doctor's hands were eager for nipples. He wanted to circle the love doll's breasts, push, pinch, cup them, and he wasn't worried at all that his hungry fingers might bruise the doll. How could he hurt an inanimate lump of solidified mud? He got a little rougher.

He dipped his fingertips in a jar of night cream and slathered it over both breasts so that his hands-aching for pleasure-could feel more skin, faster. The cream rendered the surface slick and the doctor rubbed the doll rapidly in turned-on, wrenching, vicious, circular motions. Our scientist was cranking it up, getting more breast per second. He could feel it in his penis. His fingers squeezed the areola hard, scraping with one fingertip the protruding nipple, which snapped back, puckering from the attention.

The Doctor stared at the nipple, then grimaced.

For a moment he thought he had noticed a movement of the hardened nipple, but that wouldn't be possible. It was inanimate, rigid mud. He rubbed more night cream on the breasts, following the surface of the slick, full, womanly curves back to his favorite spot around the soft skin bordering her underarms. One of her arms twitched...

"An arm of mud cannot twitch," was the Doctor's first thought. But he had seen it clearly. His trained mind raced for answers. Could the chemicals contained in the night cream, which had a breast enlargement component, make the female love doll somehow spasm?

"Curious," the Doctor began, "but that's not..." He closed his mouth.

The love doll had just nodded her thanks coquettishly and, to his complete bafflement, opened her legs wide for him with a jerk, as wide as they would stretch, exposing her mud encrusted pussy. Her doll-sex split open with a "crunch" and dust crumbles fluttered to the floor. Her crack had pried open, revealing a dark crevice at the base of the pubic hair that signals the gap where the pussy begins, where he had attempted to shape the doll with swollen labia. As he gazed he saw the lips were turning a pinker hue than the skin around them.

A flesh-like substance greatly sensitive to desire

"But how...," the Doctor muttered as the transformation crept around to her pretty puckered anus. It was true, her mud-brown skin was taking on a rouge tint as he stood mesmerized, open mouth drooling.

After a few moments, the Doctor jumped back, barely avoiding the grasping fingers and curling toes of the needy limbs flailing in his direction. Not able to reach him, the love doll turned to groping its own vagina, which was turning from crude to irresistibly human female. This so astonished the Doctor that he went into a state of shock.

The unfortunate Doctor had been near exhaustion, and when the doll began to masturbate, he simply lost his renowned ability to think. He considered himself a scientist, and it was one of science's oddest moments when, at the advent of his epic invention of a kind of living matter, a flesh-like substance of great sensitivity to desire, the lustful Doctor Dollmaker appeared to lose his mind.

But instead of going completely crazy, he ejaculated a big load into his own hand.

He imagined he was rubbing the doll down with his own semen

The shock of watching his earthen invention pleasure itself, herself, had made the Doctor's mind slip into a sexual reverie. He hadn't realized that he had been massaging the doll's swollen breasts with one greedy hand while he touched his own cock with his other. It had gotten creamier and creamier. When he orgasmed he caught the cum neatly in his palm in an instinctual move to keep his workbench area tidy. Or was it fate that caused the Doctor to preserve his seed for other nefarious purposes?

No, as darkly curious as he is, the Doctor is not clairvoyant. Some might call him a fiend, of course, but as any man, he might have swallowed his own cum in the occasional drunken masturbation, but tonight the overload of seeing his invention take on erotic movement had triggered his mind into a fantasy that he was rubbing the doll down with his own semen. It's what had made him cum so copiously.

The Doctor was looking at himself, convinced he had lost his mind

Ejaculating always brings the Doctor back to the present. He had recovered from the shock of seeing his dummy doll playing with herself, but something happened that made it more than just him ejaculating into his own palm. Something assailed his own mind for a second time. The Doctor gazed at his jism for a suspended second, then rubbed his hands together and applied the generous portion of semen directly onto the ample breasts, now alive to the touch. She responded immediately to the refreshing, renewed creamy texture, writhing under his palms, plainly welcoming him to do it again.

It was then that his mind really left him. It fled from his body, literally. The Doctor had gone mad, but not in the Hollywood sense of a crazed Dr. Frankenstein. His mind had left his own skull and jumped into the cranial container of the love doll.

The only thought that was registering at that eerie moment was that he was looking at himself, still in his white robe and green gloves, dick wilting, staring mindlessly back at him. Her.

"How?" he stammered. Was it an out of body experience? "How can I be staring at me, I mean, who is he? Who am I?"

He blinked, looking down at himself, and found that he was she, the female love doll the Doctor had constructed, the one whose breasts he had assaulted, who now was looking at the Doctor's unmoving body from her new eyes, seeing for the first time through the eyes of a woman, and she knew for the first time lust for a man.

Her curved eyelashes blinked in disbelief and desire for the Doctor, who was herself.

The fleshy female love doll had absorbed his consciousness

She panicked, so that the flesh-like imitation heart was thrown into the "arousal" mode that had been programmed into her by the scientist Doctor. Her pussy began to transform into its swollen state, resembling twin slices of pulpy flesh like a ripe melon split open, the tight hole between them expressing clear honeydew juice to run in vine-like rivulets down her thighs.

As the Doctor took all this in, he realized it was him down there getting turned on. It was him with a pussy! His mind had somehow jumped into the fleshy female love doll. It was his pussy that was dripping. He liked it instinctively, but still it disoriented him, which made her dizzy.

Growing fear gripped the love doll about her own existence, and that of her Dollmaker's, and she thought that she had gone insane, that spending so much time creating love dolls had robbed the Doctor of his ability to distinguish Real Life from erotic illusion. She could see herself, the girl's self, as her robotic, inelegant neck swallowed. The hanging hulk of the Doctor's body stared impotently. Her head swayed, her face contorted, and she fainted from the confusion and realization of the sheer erotic prospects.

That was when her mind leapt back into the Doctor's own limp frame.

When he opened his eyes, his mind was back in his own skull, and he was the Doctor again. He stared at his creation, a featureless, machine-like, lumpy female love doll who wanted to have sex with him.

Remorseless, insatiable lovers

The Doctor experimented and found that he needn't be shocked or fainting to be able to effect his mind-jump into a love doll. He only needed to ejaculate, spit, or sweat. Any body liquid with DNA would do it. He could transfer his own consciousness into whichever fleshy doll he desired to control, male or female, by first concentrating on it as he massaged the doll with the breast enlargement lotion, then applying semen as the final coat. The DNA transfer that enabled his mind to jump went instantly. The substance he had created was capable of being invaded by his mind, maybe anyone's mind. Soon he found that if he massaged the naked breasts of two dolls at a time, and spit on all 4 breasts, his mind could exist simultaneously in both. Inhabiting two women's bodies was confusing, even for the scientist, but it was possible.

It was as though a tiny piece of the Doctor's brain coding jumped into an electrical synapse implanted in the love dolls' skins by the cum mixing with the body lotion. It gave him the ability to be them, to think for them, they were completely subservient to the Doctor's every whim, they were the epitome of love slaves, at the command of the lustful Dollmaker. And it was all caused by mixing the organic and biological creams he smeared into their skins.



An uncouth lump of repellent, quivering, horny flesh

The love dolls were alive, but the machines the Doctor called bodies were not enticing. He had a gift for neurological connections that was genius, but the love dolls he created were unlovable lumps of flesh. Of course, the mind is paramount in a love affair, but a sexy body is undeniably everyone's fond dream. "Unattractive mech-sexers" was the best his love dolls could be called. The Doctor was at a loss. He had discovered a scientific way to imbue his creations with animation, and then control them with his own mind, but instead of transforming into a voluptuous lady or a dashing man, with luscious thighs or rippling pecs, he occupied an uncouth lump of repellent, quivering, horny flesh.
In fact, they were quite like real people except that they were featureless, dull-looking, and remorseless, insatiable lovers.

Scientist stumbles on the solution: art

Myraka changed his life. The Doctor was strolling past her garden one day and noticed she was working on a sculpture of a beautiful young woman with foxy marble-white hair in the middle of a green lawn. The sculpture was glamorous and delicate in all details, everything the poor Doctor's love dolls were not. He stopped and stared.

Myraka noticed him and stepped between her statue and him, as though she were shielding the nude marble from his lecherous eyes. The Doctor marveled at her impulse to protect her work of art, and he decided she must be in love with it, or rather, in love with her, for the delicate statue was charmingly female in every way. The Sculptress had fashioned the feminine folds of her pussy to appear slightly swollen between her separated thighs, carved to show she was in a state of arousal, even though she was pure cold stone.

It struck the Doctor that he had constructed exactly the same swollen labia on his unattractive earthen dolls. He pondered how artists could create such beauty, and then he had an idea.

"Art is what I need!" the Doctor blurted by way of introducing himself. "I am a scientist, and I need a... certain kind of art to give my inventions of flesh a rare beauty, make them seductive beyond the pale of science, sexually attractive beyond the realm of serious biology."

Myraka recoiled, repeating under her breath the words, "inventions of flesh?"

I will give her life

Myraka's statue was made to love. It was serenely desirable, arresting in its ability to surpass nature. The sculptress had enhanced nature. She had found her creative niche in erotic sculpture, and she loved the female she had created in stone. After all, it is not unusual for a work of art to take on a life of its own, and to become adored by its creator.

The Doctor approached, pointing behind Myraka at the nude nymph with legs subtly spread.

"I will give her life," he said, his eyebrows twitching. "Have you ever wished for her to be warm flesh instead of cold marble? Have you never yearned to kiss your charming statue?"

Myraka stood speechless, her eyes scowling at the Doctor's stethoscope. All the same, she had heard his question, and it propelled her for a moment into a daydream fantasy of her delicate statue one morning blushing with rose inflected cheeks, her mouth twitching almost imperceptibly, unadorned lips gaining the subtle color of youth, a lingering dewdrop imitating a tear as it trickled down her glowing cheek, marble hair dissolving into deep red, vacant eyes taking on a haunting, greenish glaze, virgin lips stretching in a bashful smile at seeing her Sculptress designer for the first time. A breath, a single breath her statue draws... life! The Sculptress, artist as she was, fully envisioned her statuesque darling newly arrived from the realm of the mineral.

Myraka snapped out of her reverie and realized she needed what the Doctor had to offer.

"Can you do it?" she asked.

She was in love with her own statue

He saw that his first impression, that she was in love with her artwork, was correct. One look at the statue's eerie eyes set under dark brows and the Doctor felt it, too. Not love in his case, but naked desire.

Nothing unusual about an artist loving her creation, he thought, or a writer reading her own story multiple times, or a musician listening to her own recording, eyes shut in rapture.

But Myraka was sexually attracted to women, and she had created a statue of a young lady with exotic features, thick hair, skin with freckles on her smooth cheeks. She was classy and outrageously sexy. Her only fault, and this was something the Sculptress could do nothing about, was that she was frozen for eternity in marble.

"If we could work together," the Doctor cajoled, "if we could craft the charming visage you have created onto one of my animated love dolls, well... If I could make her come alive, what would you name her?"

Myraka whispered without hesitation, "Her name will be Lianne."

Two kisses of life for a love doll named Lianne

And so the sculptress decided to partner with the Doctor in his madness. She knew she couldn't drag her playmate lover Yoru into such a dubious adventure, and so convinced the Doctor to flee the town without informing anyone. Their experiments would eventually be exposed and look odd, if not erotically insane, to "normal" people.

The Sculptress Myraka kissed Lianne alive for love of her art, but the Doctor kissed her for lust of the angelic body. The troubling thing was that Myraka was unaware of the Dollmaker's kink.

Doctor Dollmaker, Sculptress Spy

Myraka chiseled into the love dolls that particular sense of eternal beauty one finds in the human species. Both Male and female can possess glorious attractiveness, and the Doctor taught her how to massage their bodies with the lotion mixed with body fluids to inhabit their minds. Neither of these tasks was accomplished overnight. The love dolls were nurtured and clothed, given names, and programmed for deep sex.

A pattern emerged of the Doctor dallying with the dolls, indulging in deviant behavior, while the Sculptress used them for exploring-some might say spying on-the minds of others. Myraka reasoned that he was an unusually erotic-minded man, after all, so his penchant for peculiar sex was not surprising, and Myraka cut him slack. He, in turn, looked the other way when he noticed her spying on the erotic secrets of women she dated with her doll. The Doctor hid the worst things from her, of course.

Eventually the dolls matured and fell blindly in love as though for the first time, and it was indeed the first time for the love dolls, if not entirely for their Mistress or Master controllers.

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl Ch. 5 The Dao of the Doll

The love doll the Sculptress fell in love with, was herself

How one falls in love varies for everyone. For the sculptress, the state of being in love while inhabiting the pretty redheaded love doll named Lianne was accompanied with the disturbing realization that she was for the first time head over heels for another woman. She had often sexed with females, indeed she preferred les femmes, but she had never fallen in love with them like she did with her artwork, with her delicate sculptures. She had desired and loved Yoru, but desired her for shibari sex, and loved her for the capacity and complexity of her passion. It wasn't the same as the love burning in her bosom for her exquisite sculpted creations.

Things changed when Myraka recreated her sculptured perfection on the surface of a love doll built by the Doctor. As soon as her likeness took on elegant life, the doll seduced the Sculptress mercilessly. Lianne was a remorseless, female sex shark. She was that curious blend of woman who dominates as sensual predator while feeling deeply submissive. She proved to be a lissome creature whose only purpose in life was to fall prey to others in the game of love. Myraka would admit to herself she had sometimes fantasized about sexing with her statue, but if she were honest, she would have to admit it was more than "sometimes." The thought of the statue loving her in return had been what ushered her to orgasm every time she masturbated. And now she was there, kissing her, a redhead, a newly shaped, divine creature she had herself fashioned atop the Doctor's crude but technically robust construct. The intensity of her feelings for her love doll frightened her.

"Whatever!" she heckled herself, "I want it... I want her."

Animate to inanimate to harmony

At the time the Sculptress Myraka joined the Doctor and started transforming his pitiful, machine-like dolls into works of erotic art, she was unaware of his dangerous sex drives. As far as she knew, he wanted a love doll for his own, just as she wanted Lianne. Nothing unusual about wanting a sex doll. And so the sculptress created her art, and worried not at all about the Doctor. Let him contend with mathematics and engineering, that was his job. It proved to be a major oversight in their partnership.

She had taken another tack, philosophizing on the possibility of sharing love with a doll.

Sharing love with the dolls

The Sculptress decided it was OK to love the doll, and for the doll to love her back, since it was only her occupying her love doll Lianne. She told herself, "It's just me, but not really, but it's so real... that's what it is, realistic." This conveniently left her somewhere in the middle. She wasn't quite ready to say "I love you" to this doll woman, but she was close, she was formulating a theory.

Dao of the Doll

"When animate, sentient beings, like humans," Myraka theorized, "grow to love and even embrace inanimate objects, they thereby embrace universal matter." Loving her own created doll didn't seem a far-fetched notion when she considered she had already been in love with her artful marble sculpture. What child never loved a doll or action hero figure? Is that capacity lost to the human race on maturity? Her theory seemed to close the loop with all of existence. It was as if inanimate minerals scattered around the vast gaps in space were conspiring to seduce her.

Myraka was dancing with Lianne, with herself in other words, but it was different than with a real woman. She had danced and made love with Yoru and other girlfriends, but she felt they were less mindful of her inner desires, less connected to her. It makes sense, for her real girlfriends were also people, it wasn't only about Myraka after all, yet it wasn't nearly as intense as occupying with her own mind two nubile bodies wrapped around each other, dancing and touching, the two of them creating a flowing circle of love sensations, each knowing exactly what the other needs to reach orgasm, like when masturbating, they knew what to do, where to do it, and when. But the Sculptress soon discovered it most thrilling making love with other women while her consciousness was inside her doll-being loved by another woman while in another woman, in other words-well that was... exciting.

Closing the loop with the mineral universe

In order to explain to herself why she was falling deeper in love with the doll, Myraka searched her memory for instances in her life when she had been in love with other inanimate objects. The image of a plastic dildo flashed in her mind's eye, her first lover of sorts. She deduced that dildos were not so different from mud-baked, life-sized, siren dolls with programmed sensuality. Both would be anathema to biological human beings as prospective heartthrobs. Or would they?

"Really now, Madame Sculptress?" Myraka asked herself. She thought about her favorite strap-on dildo, how dearly she loved it, and how lustfully it was loved by her woman lovers, and she decided to use it on her love doll Lianne while she mulled the question of inanimate love affairs.



Erotic memory of a love doll

But it was Lianne who would teach the Sculptress about loving inanimate objects, for she was one herself.

One evening Lianne was toying with the dregs of a bottle of once-creamy hair conditioner. It was dried out and too gooey to flow, so she dropped the bottle in hot water it to loosen it up. Heated, the conditioner spurted out the consistency and color of warm semen. It was the first erotic memory the love doll had of sex with an inanimate material, in this case hair cream morphing in her mind to become human seed.

That is to say, the inanimate doll, an object labeled Lianne, temporarily inhabited by the mind of the sculptress, was interacting with body lotion that had become semen in her imagination. She let the warm fluid drip over her skin, pinpricks of stinging pleasure. Every finger on both Lianne's hands moved the sludge to cover her svelte body, its lascivious liquidity spreading under her skillful fingers, and it soon enveloped her like a full latex bodysuit. It made the doll orgasm. Massage with lubrication is a ritual Lianne performs gladly, it was hardwired into her by the Doctor, but tonight it felt like she was bathing herself in semen, her skin sucking up the fantasy cum as readily as suntan lotion. Soon her fingers found the swelling split between her legs, and she pushed her hips upwards and masturbated, and after a while came again, noisily.

Lianne the love doll was in the throes of orgasm, arms outstretched above and legs crossed tightly at the thighs. Even out of breath she managed to coo, quivering for a while, and at last landed gently, the lotion tingling as it cooled her body. Her softly grunting pleasure was accentuated by long gulps of air to replenish her oxygen.

At precisely the moment Lianne squirted, as if urged on by her cry from within the halls of hellish sensuality, the Sculptress Myraka walked through her door. Lianne told her all about it, she reviewed it, in other words, in her mind in another body. As far as Lianne's body was concerned, desire had transformed the lotion from inanimate liquid into manly, living cum.

And not to forget, semen is alive, and more, it gives life.

But it didn't end there. Without being aware of it, Myraka in turn would push Lianne farther into their mutual love relationship with inert materials. She used the doll with her strap-on dildo. This emphatic object was tipped provocatively with a reddish brown head on an upwards curling shaft of ebony, and when inserted to the hilt, it pointed directly at Lianne's heart.

Rope took on the role, and then the life, of a sentient lover

Of course, Myraka first tied her sweet love doll tightly in expert knots, so she could enforce her wanton kisses, tongue lappings, and spankings with impunity on Lianne's pussy and bottom. This live flesh on flesh lovemaking was intoxicating, it seemed very close to being a trusted animate on animate affair, but when the ropes were in place, arousal exploded inside the love doll Lianne with a ferocious pang of pleasure directly proportional to the immobility she was experiencing entwined in the coils of strong hemp. The rope, she noticed with a pang of fear, seemed to take on a life of its own, but she realized it was a life bent on pleasuring her. As she struggled, she pressed her breasts through the holes left by the knots, treacherously designed for that purpose by her captor, the Sculptress. Lianne realized she had been fooled, the twisting and struggling to be free had forced her to dance to the rope's music. She had been orchestrated to heightened erotic exposure, and she felt despicable because she enjoyed the mild pain beyond what she feared were good manners.

When she stopped cumming, barely breathing, eyes shut tight in ecstasy, she experienced a revelation: the rope was holding her tighter than any human lover had ever dared.

Do you not like to be held tight, darling?

Body over mind

Lianne's pussy flowed, clearly ready for penetration. Myraka's mounted dildo softly probed in search of her small vaginal orifice, finding it quickly, thanks to the loving rope that ensured her pussy remained an unmoving target. The black dildo at first felt too big, too erect, but slathering it wet with her love juices, her body adjusted to swallow the dildo's pleasure. It wasn't long before Myraka's stroking hips swept Lianne's mind completely away to a sensual space where the clever tool seemed no longer cold plastic, but a slick, unrelenting, terribly reliable lover.

All these things played in Lianne's mind, and Myraka observed her throughout. She saw Lianne adore the inanimate rope stretching her lipstick smeared mouth, where a single coil brutally gagged her, the sides of her lips pushed back and apart, pulling her teeth in a grimace. In return for this rough treatment, she licked it's prickly hemp fibers, eyes closed in adoration. The Sculptress marveled at how Lianne surrendered her entire body to the livid, raging, synthetic, conquering strap-on she was rooting deep in the doll's body. Lianne, a captured woman doll, had fallen in ecstasy to the fiendish plastic almost at once, then again and again. The so-called "lifeless rod" had the vicious power of Myraka's hips behind it, invested as it was with her desire, and of course Lianne gushed in sublime pleasure. She tasted one of life's honeyed delicacies, pure sexual gratification, from which her body effortlessly derived generous flows of energy.

Infinite pale liquid

The inanimate is composed, as is everything, including the live Sculptress and the lifeless Lianne, of particles of the universe, minerals of the cosmos. Deep communion with her doll lover in a state of sexual splendor is a form of transcendence for the Sculptress Myraka. Picture this: the combination of Lianne's own acute sexual prowess with her sculptress creator's rhythmic, sometimes ramming, sometimes tender, unbridled dildo, both at work in Lianne's pretty, strawberry blond pussy. Myraka's "fake dick" propelled Lianne, in a manner of speaking, out of this world. When one gets fucked off the planet, where does one go? There is no fake paradise, for if it is, it is. Her own arousal affected the spirit inhabiting the dildo, and thus they both had copious, unending climaxes characteristic of both male and female induced ejaculations.

Mix a woman's blended orgasmic ejaculate with a man's semen and play such love-soup nonstop on a loop in the universe, and you arrive at an unending torrent of squirting, sexual liquids flooding the infinite, transforming all matter into sexual fluid, dark matter becoming dark desires, hidden but felt. It is nothing less than proof of the spiritual value of intimate contact.

"Unleashing orgasm, seen in this light," the Sculptress concluded, "establishes a direct connection with deathless totality."

And so the sculptress Myraka became one with her doll. And her doll grew more adept at pleasuring her, for such was her programming. But there was more, a certain look in her eyes, an especially tender touch...

Lianne seemed more and more alive.

The Doctor floats in lust

If it was, like with the Sculptress, passion driving the clever Doctor, his form of passion could more precisely be described as pure lust. Evil lurked in his smile as the man surprised even himself at the potency of the tiny drop of femininity he pulled up from his core. He found a female sliver in his masculine brain of which he had only faintly been aware. He brought this nascent femininity to the forefront in his female doll, pushing "himself" to be "herself." The Doctor felt she was who he would have been, had he been born her, a luscious female. Even a man of his learning found it complicated, but the human brain is a deep well we sip only from the surface, and there are depths of character flavored by gender in all of us, remnants of that singular ambiguous instant at the time of the fusion of the egg and sperm, when the forces of the cosmos meet head on and ask "Yin or Yang?" Gender determination is a decision taken while floating in mother's womb, and the fetus thus associates it with a time of love deeply ensconced in safety, where the human being so recently mapped to one side of procreation still remembers the other, and is free to explore in her dreams all constellations of hetero, LGBTQ, and anything in between and on the fringes, as long as it floats in love, the love of Mother's womb, she who gave us our first taste of freedom of choices in gender orientation, if only for a heartbeat.
So many to choose from

The Doctor, however, was floating in obsessive, dirty desire. He summed it up with one tasteless utterance:

"I'm going to fuck everything that moves!"

It is with this brute's hands the virgin love dolls were built, and it is into this brute's hands they fell at the time of their awakening. The dolls were the cream of sensual beings, composed of one part sex appeal, one part feigned helplessness, and a third part aroused innocence. Sadly, they were destined to be subjected to the forced pleasure of the dregs of humanity. At the moment the dolls blinked open their eyes for the first time, they were greeted by the lustful Doctor's probing fingers below.

He and his shape-shifter doll Karl fed sexually on the love dolls as often as they could get away with it. "So many to choose from," the Doctor inhaled the words while sucking through his teeth, his mouth contorting with a quick intake of recaptured drool that had started spilling from his trembling lips.

Disturbing beauty

Sexual intercourse and tenderness made the love dolls eminently lovable, but the Doctor felt they had slipped out of his control. Their artful shapes and faces possessed disturbing human beauty. Beauty in art disturbs when it surpasses its organic model in desirability, in outright ethereal, eerie, celestial allure. That's when it gets odd, and the Doctor shuddered at the transformation creeping into his soul. But they were horrible and thrilling at the same time, for they always seemed able to twist and position their genitals just right to boost the level of sensation welling up in their human operators.

In other words, they were the perfect fuck. But it was a disturbing sexual perfection.

Love doll sexual nirvana

The Doctor's love doll Serene was no less stunning than Lianne, but her multiple climaxes occurred mostly at the end of the Doctor's dick. Which end of her body was involved varied. But she acknowledged to herself that his smooth dickhead with chiseled ridges was her pleasure playground, and the deep thrusts into her throat triggered moist swelling in her pussy. She gives head exactly as far inside her mouth and throat as her pussy is able to take inside her torso, her rich red lips clutch his shaft as tightly as her cunt grips, her tongue and gums exert a sucking action as efficiently as the pubic hair-enshrined, life-hosting vagina below.

Although semen contains a small amount of protein, cocksucking has little to do with nutrition of the body, but it has everything to do with sustenance of the spirit. His dick connected to the fire below her belly through pleasure-transmitting nerves from her throat and cheeks, lips and nostrils, her sensitive eyes, as the cock thrust and parried, withdrawing and plunging. The destination of this pleasure is of course the genitals, and the path it takes from his dick in her mouth to sensual ecstasy below is well mapped, easily navigable by such as are well practiced and erotically inspired.

The pleasure charges back up the body from Serene's pussy, now intensified, and repeats the course once more, bouncing back down again from the cranial cavity. By now, the brain is experiencing a sojourn in the pleasure palace of arousal. But not to forget, the brain is also an intimate neighbor of the mouth and throat, and the sensual, living pleasure of his cock was streaming not only down to her pussy, but also radiating all through her face and penetrating to the hardwiring in her cranial cavity. This resulted in a double stream of stimulation going to register and act on her pussy, and more, because when the stimulation raced back up to ring anew in the brain, it was hybridized, bursting, blazing home to familiar brain cells, the very cells that sent it down in the first place, instantly expanding and deepening their capacity for experiencing pleasure, giving her a new dimension of organic passion, one she never experienced before. The love doll Serene's whole body was designed to pulse along with her pussy, but now this cock had taught her mouth to be a pussy, too, a perfect pussy, one equally adept at coaxing cum into her body and down her throat as her actual pussy was at enticing it up into her womb. Perhaps it is better-we cannot expect less, after all, from the organ that performs the miracle of a kiss.

The road to sensual ecstasy to the body's core is equally intense whichever direction one travels it.

The way of the love doll to life

The last time the Doctor had fucked her, the light touch of Serene's moistened tongue had circled the Doctor's belly button, the tip unexpectedly cool in the growing chill. The tingling sensation of evaporating moisture emanated from the hot lips of the exquisite dollwoman. Her chilly tongue meandered its way down his fiery skin until her saliva boiled on the unshaven man's pubic mound in the night, wetness drying as though it were on a hairy hotplate. She pushed her nose through musky curls to find his manhood, here at end of the evening, as the night closed around them, and she considered teasing him, circling his balls languidly, but instead she pushed the head of his cock immediately between her tender lips and closed them, sealing him inside her red-tinted bastion of puckering pleasure.

Serene had been wired well. The point of her tongue pressed against the underside of his cock just below the head, concentrating on the most erotic patch of skin on his body, while the rest of her mouth acted as a vacuum with alternating sucking and blowing. The man, as brutal as he was, felt weaker and for once cherished. It was the first time in his solitary life that his most treasured pleasure-part was held snug in the mouth of a loving woman, the cradle of life, she who sings like an angel to her unborn daughter or son, but moans unabashed at her virile lover to give her what she needs to rush to her destiny, alive...

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl Ch. 6 Ocean Passage

Love dolls of the gods in a floating theatre

And so it was that the love dolls were taught to seduce, kiss, make love, and cum. Of course, this was a secret to everyone except the Doctor and the Sculptress, who manipulated the dolls to cavort in the finest dance halls of the town, drink in the bars, eat popcorn and give blowjobs and finger fucks in the back rows of the theatres. It was while he was inhabiting his love doll Serene, giving head up in the darkened balcony above a bawdy live performance, that the Doctor conceived the plan to teach his love dolls the dual arts of acting and shibari erotic rope bondage, known as kinbaku in Japan. Whatever his lowlife faults, the man was paid to have ideas. He started contemplating how to train his lovely inventions to orgy in an interactive shibari theatre show to engage with the populace. A dangerous but stirring plan, and likely profitable.

The kinkiest mind-set of the era

The Doctor had three dolls to tutor. In addition to sweet, mistreated, soft-pussied Serene, and vivacious, redheaded, romantic Lianne, the Doctor had fashioned from his mud concoction a tough, all-purpose male doll named Kurt. He was even more evil than the Doctor, as the latter used him to express his less savory side. Add to that, Karl was a shape-shifter. In this land of "startling sexual appetites," his was the most startling. He possessed-and nurtured-the kinkiest mind-set of the era.

The Doctor's dark desires ran deep. Demons, monsters, wolves, half-animals of both farmland and wilderness origins, Karl was wired to do it all. He was a "manimal." At the time he was built, he was the Doctor's ultimate achievement, his finest tool, his sharpest weapon. To be sure, he was not the only shape-shifter living in the empire, but the Doctor's technology made him the most fearsome. The scientist side of the Dollmaker took special joy in designing true-to-nature penises for each manifestation, arming them as supreme seducers in subtle ways. It was lascivious enough to stimulate anyone's libido, imagination, and worldview-all at the same time.

Myraka sculpted according to instructions, but doubts about this particular doll were growing in her mind throughout the arduous work of his multiple shape-shifts.

"We have to be careful," she told the Doctor one day after work, "these monster phalli are too strange for most people. And are these large, human-like breasts lined with fur around the areolas?!"

There were wild stories running through the countryside of some instances of the outrageous sexing of startled and gratified townsfolk. One vociferous man reported he had been lured to the bathroom of a swank hotel and seduced by a foxy model-who was half real fox! Well, what could he do? He professed not to remember the details, but the poor man kept rubbing his butt cheeks while filing the complaint. Not many complained.

Rope orgies

The Doctor considered their situation and suggested they move on again. They could quietly leave the port in a private sailboat. Myraka agreed. When the Doctor explained his plan to create a Shibari Theatre Troupe using their dolls to tour the Southern Reaches, she also agreed. They needed a source of income, after all, and the business plan seemed solid: they would draw audiences easily with outrageous rope orgies.

Because the sculptress would not leave without Yoru, they invited her and her hero lover to join the troupe. Yoru and Lorenzo instantly accepted the invitation to embark on the erotic adventure. It would bring them closer to reaching their destination, the lands of the Maharashtra and Kama Sutra, and the prospects for sex along the way were good. A small sailboat with 7 polyamorous people seemed a promising love nest to the naive dancing girl.

Yoru had almost drowned in too much sex

Like Yoru, Lorenzo was also ignorant of what the Doctor and Myraka were really doing with their love dolls. As far as they knew, they were surrounded by gorgeous, real people. Lorenzo may be forgiven for his lack of observation, for he had been busy caring for Yoru while she was recovering in the hospital from lung contamination. Also, the dolls were very skillfully manipulated.

Lorenzo agonized that he had almost let Yoru drown in too much sex. His motivation had been fascination for her capacity to love, and the overwhelming erotic scenes she was unfolding to his entranced eyes every time she opened her legs. Nevertheless, he felt he had been found lacking. All this was in contrast to his rather perfect dick, which had never been found anything other than wholly satisfactory, nay, superlative would have been a fair assessment of this warrior's main weapon of love.

A woman's consummate sigh

Lorenzo managed, in his own pussy-loving way, to make up for it to her. The first night she lie there, helpless, with a high temperature, he came to her bedside and leaned over to kiss her. Her drowsy hand stretched out to caress him, landing randomly on his crotch.

"I'll give you 20 minutes to stop that!" the clever man quipped, and devised on the spot a plan of clandestine erotic attack.

Every evening thereafter, before the nurses had come for their final check on patients, he leaned over his darling dancing girl, pressing his hardened cock against the iron no-roll bars that lined the hospital bed, and with the pinky of his right hand, he finger-fucked her. Just with the pinky, the littlest digit, to drive her wild. As he stroked and squeezed, circled and pushed, pinched and pleased, her clitoris puckered, her pussy swelled, and her feminine nectar flowed.

Yoru was a little uneasy at first and dared not make a sound, for fear of attracting the attention of the nurses. She deluded herself that she was writhing in silence, but of course she couldn't stifle her orgasms completely. Nothing can prevent a woman's consummate sigh, and who would wish it? It is the gasp of breath that imparts life to mankind.

Dual-wielding kinky pinkies

But Lorenzo was a battle-hardened strategist in addition to being a clever pussy-lover, and it wasn't long before he devised a way to shield their naughtiness from the nurses. While his strong right hand gripped Yoru's pussy to hold it immobile for the pinky to play, his left hand held a large book of erotic stories in front of the bed between the door and his orgasming darling. Any passing nurse could pop her head in, but could see nothing.

There was a lot to see. Yoru was feverish from the infection, but this did not deter Lorenzo. He thrilled in the increased heat of the girl's body, allowing his imagination to transport him to fantasy beaches of glowing, white-hot sand as he fingered her hot hole and rubbed his own cock harder against the railing. Yoru was like an oven set on low to keep his cock warm until she could taste his semen appetizer and swallow it before the nurses made her swallow her pills. True to the battle plan, while the largest fingers steadied the erotic art book, the frenzied left pinky turned its pages ever more rapidly as the two of them approached mutual climax.

Baking his dick in thermal love

Finally, so as not to miss a drop of passion juice, after she had come multiple times, as is her nature, Yoru pulled the man's hips close and her mouth caught, clutched, and baked his dick in thermal love.

Yoru finds a way

But as usual for Yoru, it wasn't enough. Yoru's capacity for love is renown, but she doesn't brag about it. It embarrasses her a little, for it sometimes elicits cruel comments from those who have never heard of "ethical sluts," so eloquently described in a book by the same title. Yoru agrees that sex and pleasure are good for you, besides giving you "indescribable" joy. Indescribable to the ancient sages, perhaps, but not to Yoru, for her words proved to be the key to her healing.

The doctors in the emergency room were concerned. Even though Yoru had only inhaled a mouthful, her lungs were slow to recover from the germ-ridden ditch water. They prescribed breathing exercises, as a sort of "last-ditch" attempt to cure her.

To Yoru, "breathing exercises" sounded like blowing and sucking. In order to speed the process, she began whispering stirring descriptions in men's ears, and before long there was a steady flow of orderlies, male nurses, and even a few doctors, all coming in to "examine" Yoru. Throughout the working day, they administered a sort of erotic pulmonary therapy. Yoru's recovery thereafter progressed rapidly as she sucked her way to health.

Lust on the sailboat The Dancing Girl

In the meantime, the love dolls completed their training, and had become godlike in their ability to seduce and satisfy.

The Doctor, when he inhabited his submissive love doll Serene, didn't feel like a woman trapped in a man's body. He just liked to have a girlfriend whom he could fuck himself, and give to other men to fuck, too. The fact that he was the one getting fucked and was both the boyfriend and girlfriend to his/her lovers didn't bother him, if that makes sense. The bottom line was, if public opinion didn't like it, the evil lust side of the Doctor didn't care.

Even so, the Doctor took care with exposing his sexual oddities. To his mind, people labeled the hero Lorenzo "eccentric" for licking the dancing pole of the insatiable dancing girl Yoru, but they would look different on the base practices of the Dollmaker, and he knew it. There is a pathological aftertaste to the "oddity" the doctor exhibited, or rather strived to hide, something unacceptable, not found in the warrior's innocent wish to taste the nectar oozed by pussy, dried up or not.

But the Doctor is discreet, which is why he asked Lorenzo to help him and Karl to load "supplies" onto the boat the night before they were to depart. Lorenzo didn't know anything about the dolls at the time, nor did he know that Karl was a love doll whose full name is Karl the Shape-shifter. Lorenzo just wanted to lend a hand.



Limp and lame

The Doctor, of course, wasn't worried about supplies. He wanted to load his love dolls aboard the sailboat The Dancing Girl by night. The sailboat was already full of supplies for the crossing that had been loaded during daylight hours.

Although he thought he was handling it delicately, the Doctor underestimated Lorenzo's reaction to the limp dolls awaiting embarkation. Both Doctor and Sculptress had neglected to animate the female dolls in the rush to make shipshape for crossing the Sea of Perpetual Surf.

The Doctor had prepared a lie that the girls were both prone to seasickness, and he had administered a sedative that had knocked them out. For the sake of avoiding questions, they would be carried aboard under the cloak of darkness.

Lorenzo looked at the Doctor intently, not quite believing him, but Karl immediately hefted a body, threw it over his back roughly, and started up the gangplank. Not wanting to seem lazy, Lorenzo did the same. Navigating the girls under the boom and down into the cabin was child's play for both strong men, but that was the only similarity between the men. Karl barged his way around the navigation bench carelessly on his way to the fore cabin and bumped Lianne's head on the corner of the dining table. When he got there, he dumped her on the floor with a vicious "thud!"

Lorenzo was avoiding obstacles as he walked and saw nothing, but he heard the thump of Lianne's head, Karl curse "Fuuuck!" and the noise of a sleeping, luscious body impacting a hard surface.

Is it impossible to rape an inanimate object?

When he got to the fore cabin, he saw a sight he hadn't wanted to see. As he laid Serene's body carefully down on a mattress he couldn't help watching as Karl spread Lianne's legs wide and slipped a finger deep up her slit. Exactly which of the woman's holes he could not see. Of course the warrior had no idea that the dolls were dolls, and not women passed out from sedation.

Lorenzo moved closer and asked Karl what he found so arousing about an unconscious body. Karl's free hand was busy ripping the limp love doll's panties, but he gestured that he would gladly throw an elbow punch in the direction of Lorenzo's face if he didn't fuck off. To Karl's mind, Lorenzo had his own doll pussy, so what was the beef?

That was a mistake on the part of the Shape-shifter. Lorenzo was a warrior of renown, and the only response Karl ever noticed to his elbow threat was a deep man-growl. The warrior instantly grabbed the all-purpose man-doll around the neck, immobilizing him in mid-rape. There was a "crunch" in his neck, and Lorenzo feared he had broken the brute's neck. Later he would learn that it was nothing of the kind, just some deep-seated mud clumps from the original construction cracking under the incensed, eccentric lover's grip.

It might have gotten worse had the Doctor not dropped down the entrance hatch and ordered Karl back to work. Lorenzo had loaded all he was going to load that night and left in disgust.

An uncommon story in erotic history

Yoru and Lorenzo joined the troupe on board the next morning amidst much smiling and goodwill shown by Myraka. The Doctor hoisted anchor immediately they were aboard, and had Karl take care of the lines to shore. Instantly afloat, Yoru had to catch her legs, but her balance is trained and she thus had no problem adjusting. The rocking of the vessel was fairly violent due to the movement of the others on deck, but she quickly learned to keep her legs spread wide. The girls were nowhere to be seen.
She took Lorenzo's arm and asked him to guide her to their quarters. Climbing down the ladder stairs to the main cabin backwards, Yoru was first to turn around to look in the canbin for her bunk. She stopped dead. When Lorenzo got down and saw what she saw, he skipped a breath. The scene was clearly the remnants of an orgy. Such evidence normally only consists of wine jars and condoms, with a few stains and dried semen here and there, but this time the scene was dominated by two limp bodies. They looked dead to Yoru.

"It's only the Doctor's doing," Lorenzo hastened to tell her, "They are on sleeping pills or something for seasickness."

"They're not breathing!"Yoru said.

The sculptress overheard them and dropped down into the cabin on top of the dolls through the skylight hatch. Lorenzo, shocked at the possibility of injury to the pretty women, assumed his combat stance. What the fuck?! Karl, who had crept down the ladder behind them, cowered in reaction to Lorenzo's imposing figure. He could shift into frightening things, but he was a lover, not a fighter.

"Come, my darling Yoru and dangerous Lorenzo," the Sculptress soothed, "I have an uncommon story in erotic history to tell you."

The Sculptress Myraka relates a strange tale

The Sculptress began the long story of how the dolls had evolved from mud to neurological magic, how they had been transformed into basically works of art, and how they had been trained to make love. And now it was clear the Doctor and his right-hand man doll Karl had been developing deviant behavior. The results, she waved an arm in the small cabin, were spread around them.

Somehow the Doctor had occupied Karl's body and mind and his own simultaneously, and both had done whatever they pleased with the 2 limp dolls. It was very distasteful. Myraka's sculptured darling-doll was one of the two girls strewn on the floor with arms and legs propped in the awkward angles of abandoned toys or corpses, their faces smeared with dried cum, pussy juice, and makeup. Myraka's neck blushed in rage, but she remained calm, since, after all, she told herself, they were just machines, pretty machines.

That they weren't real people hadn't sufficiently sunk into Yoru's mind yet, and she said, crying:

"They're nude, someone cover them up!"

"Enough theatrics, Doctor!"

As The Dancing Girl made it out of the breakwater into open sea, the Doctor set the automatic pilot and stuck his head in the hatch opening. Everyone looked up at him, the fiend who had left evidence of a double rape of unconscious women that had gone on until dawn. The Doctor snorted there was no such thing as nonconsensual sex with mere mechanical dolls, no matter how lovely they were. He demanded they all get over it and get back to work. They were at sea and he was their Captain.

Everyone kept looking at him as though they had seen a ghost. His evil spirit was there below, hanging among the twisted girls, and it seemed crude and unconscionable that he was acting like he was to be their leader. But he was.

"Don't be so damn judgmental," The Doctor said, and closed his eyes. He squinted and seemed to make the sounds of a man in the throes of a brain seizure, but it was just the sound the Doctor makes when cumming. He was the captain and he had written in his ship's log his intention of fucking the boatload of them, and had started stroking the minute they were out of sight of land.

"Let me show you what we got here on the floor. They look human, but they are not." He pushed through them and smeared some semen on both dolls cheeks.

Serene sat up and brushed herself off. She took Yoru's hand and asked her to help her stand up. Yoru hurried to straighten one of her legs that had been left twisted unnaturally at a break-bone angle, and pulled her up by both hands.

The Doctor said, "Thank you, Yoru, for helping ME stand up!"

"He's right, he's Serene," Lianne squeaked in her high toned voice, her throat evidently still a little clogged with love remnants, "and so am I." She still lay sprawled.

"Enough theatrics, Doctor!" Myraka was straining to keep from clawing him, but she had grown fond of him in spite of his oddities, and knew she needed him to keep her Lianne in good working order.

"Oh, no, no, not enough theatrics. Not yet!" The Doctor was a born showman, as well as a trained scientist and sailor.

Everyone knew at that moment that the Doctor could be considered insane, but they also realized he was a rather nice kind of crazy, very unusual, in a very erotic way. Even the dolls seemed to understand it.

Then, with a fanatic flourish, The Doctor swept his left arm dramatically to port.

"As long as we are laying our cards on the table, I must show you all another creation of mine!"

"Yoru, I give you... Yoru!"

It was a tumultuous moment. Myraka knew the Doctor was a genius of erotic design, but working on making the numerous genital shifts for Karl the Shape-shifter had been an eye-opener for her. Karl was an incomparable villain. But what she experienced when the Doctor asked her to make the Yoru doll went beyond her hottest fantasies. All the Doctor's dolls were superb, but the love doll making her way down the port side of the boat along the row of portholes lining the walls of the main cabin was nothing short of a cosmic combination of the divine and the devilish.

The real Yoru stood rooted as the elegant legs walked past her. She couldn't see the face or body, but they looked like her legs. The doll descended the ladder and turned around. It was Yoru's image down to her beauty spot.

Was it a clone? Why had they made it? Then she got it.

"Did you fuck this doll made to look like me?" Yoru asked the Doctor.

"I likely did," the Doctor said, smirking.

Yoru hit him before he even knew she was angry. It was a ringing, left jab that rattled the renowned brain cavity of the scientist dollmaker. With her training, she could have done far worse, but she was smiling as she knocked the Doctor down.

"I am the Captain of this ship!" Apparently the Doctor had been unaware of Yoru's training as a seductress assassin. She had automatically positioned her powerful right leg between the prone man's out-stretched, open thighs in case he wanted to mount a counterattack. The Art of War had been her guide since childhood, and his balls were hers now. H shut up.

His vague notion of rape had enraged her, and when she realized he had fucked her by proxy in her own Yoru Doll, she was both spurred to revenge and flattered.. Machines couldn't be raped? It was weird, but logical in a way, but them being limp had gone too far.

And she saw they had never made a doll resembling anyone else, so why her?

Yoru envisions a fun return romp to her orgy days

After this shocking confrontation with herself, Yoru was quick to get the concept of the love dolls. Myraka assured her she could control her own love doll, and make love with whomever she wished. She imagined the erotic potential, it hit her pussy in a manner of speaking, and she calmed down. A better way to describe her state of mind was that she got turned on by it. She was going to have a fun return romp to her orgy days, with the help of her own twin doll and the love dolls of her lovers.

She had never thought of orgying like that. It would be good.

"We made the sculpture of you very true to life, but she's so gorgeous it's almost frightening," Myraka explained. "Please don't be alarmed. When the Doctor asked me to sculpt the image of the most beautiful real life woman I knew, I kept seeing you in my mind's eye, and feeling you in my heart. I never dreamed we would meet again. I missed you every day and fantasized about you every night."

Yoru turned to the sculptress and murmured, "You fucked her, too."

The sculptress glanced at the Doctor, as if to say she had warned him, but didn't flinch or step back from Yoru. The two women and been lovers from their earliest sexual awakenings, and the one knew how the other had felt when she "fucked" Yoru's doll. It had been making love, not just sex, and Yoru knew that, too. Seeing the hurt and confusion in her girlfriend's eyes, Yoru weakened like the softening wax of an erect candle bending from burning too hot.

"We wanted you to control what your doll does. It's a gift from us for your inspiration." It was lame, but it was human.

"But doesn't she make your girlfriend doll Lianne jealous?" Lorenzo asked.

She is a machine, she doesn't get jealous

The sculptress Myraka turned to the warrior and explained it carefully again: "She is me, she is Yoru, she is a machine, a doll with miraculous properties, I admit, but still an object without any feelings that I do not possess myself!"

The Yoru Doll leaned against the ladder, a fully formed, unworldly beauty, and looked at the circle of people and dolls staring back at her. She quickly landed her gaze on Yoru, her human inspiration. The art that had gone into the Yoru Doll had evolved to be more than mere sculpture, for she blinked, once only, then lowered her head with humility and coquetterie, then resumed raising her eyelids, revealing dark mirrors in the moist half-moons to her complexly needy soul, and she gazed once more at the woman she loved.

Yoru blinked. She seemed to have glimpsed into the doll's soul. Yoru surmised at once what the doll's eyes were saying: "I want to have sex with you." It was in her programming, but it seemed sincere, more than machinery.

Four hands on Yoru's pussy

"It will be like making love to myself," Yoru mused aloud, "like standing, no longer solitary, in a garden of colorful blossoms that are transforming before my eyes in the springtime, bursting bulbs of new love, as though the earth had lent me empathetic power to share the love songs of the birds and fragrances of the flowers in their dances of mass pollination. I will become a twosome at your hands, sweet doll, four hands on my pussy, two tongues in my mouth for kisses redoubled, everything twice until it grows beyond us."

Yoru stopped in her dreamlike state, tore her locked eyes from the Yoru doll, and looked at her friend the sculptress Myraka and asked point blank: "Will such a love doll made of both art and science not take on a life of its own?"

I programmed her to grow a little more human

Yoru was right. The sculptress had misjudged the Doctor, who had kept many secrets from her. He could be faulted for much evil, but not for miscalculation. The love dolls weren't just objects "without any feelings their operators did not possess." The love dolls grew feelings, too. Yoru guessed it instinctively and said it.

The Doctor cut her off, blurting his confession:

"Odd, but you made me want to do it, Yoru. It was when I was making your doll. I love the idea of it. I programmed her to grow a little more human every time she makes love."

They were all struck silent. The Yoru doll sighed.

(To be continued as follows:)

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (7. The Shibari Orgies)

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (8. A Cheek-to-Cheek Kind of Love Affair)