SUNSET FELLATIO: "Charity, creativity, and eroticism" (1-6 rewrite3)

             

(Writer's note: This is the story of an erotic blowjob, a rewrite of a roleplay (RP) date night that occurred after two charity auctions benefiting breast cancer research held at the House of V club in Second L­­­ife. It is part of the last chapters of an erotic novel I am working on, The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl. Photos in this story are by Elroy Click.)

SUNSET FELLATIO: (1) "Charity, creativity, and eroticism"

Who will to sip her sexy tea?

The Mistress of the House of V Charity Auction shoved Yoru to the front of the stage. She stood trembling in the cold, chin defiant, nude except for ivory-colored panties. A small patch of shiny black pubic hair peeked above the lacy rim, and between her thighs a darker shade of ivory revealed that she was moist below.

They had tied Yoru’s wrists and elbows tightly behind her back, wrenching her shoulders at an unnatural angle, stretching her skin, expressing the blood from her nipples, turning them a lighter shade of pink. She struggled, but twisting her torso tossed her exposed breasts in cruel, choppy circles, exciting the lascivious gazes of the auction onlookers even more. 

“HOW MUCH AM I OFFERED?” bellowed Mistress Auctioneer, “WHO WILL SIP HER SEXY TEA?"

Lest her rich patrons forget why they were there, she seized Yoru's long hair in a gloved hand, snapped her head backwards, and forced her down. Yoru's knees buckled and hit the floor hard, and her long thighs sprawled wide, the spotlight burning on her two-toned triangle of lacy love above.

Mistress Auctioneer reached down with her other hand and yanked those same wet panties half way to Yoru's bruised knees. Everyone saw how the ivory cloth was revealed to be a mere thimbleful of thread, a thin line of silk stretched between wildly skewed knees. Their gazing eyes traveled naturally up along the outspread thighs to the exposed, swollen, purplish-pink, glistening nether-lips of her now-naked vagina.

"Behave!" she hissed in Yoru’s ear, backhanding her as she straightened up, the bulk of her body steaming over the prostrate, perfect nude.

Trembling puddles

The pain instantly caused Yoru’s pussy to increase its erotic flow. She drizzled trembling puddles below her spread legs. Everyone could see she was humiliated, but they also recognized the powerful pleasure she was feeling from the RP.

Someone in the crowd murmured, "The perfect SLex partner."

Blinking from teared, sexed eyes
Being stripped, bound, and kneeling in front of all those people was more embarrassing than Yoru had imagined. But it was clear she couldn't help herself, her womanly fluids expressed her desire fluently.

"After all, it's for charity," she thought, "and I'm among friends." Still, she felt panic welling in her tummy. She tried to recognize some of the voyeurs, but her hair was held arched back by Mistress Auctioneer, and Yoru could only move a few centimeters from side to side, blinking from teared, sexed eyes.

Elroy's date plan: a lesson in giving head

Elroy's cock was twitching as he watched Mistress Auctioneer present Yoru, panties splayed crookedly at her knees, displaying everything to the audience. They were gathered for the annual charity event, and Elroy has money to spend for pleasure. Specifically, he likes fellatio, aka blow-jobs. He was going to do something good for humanity and for himself, but secretly he also wanted to pleasure the erotic dancing girl from the club. He had a long list of cock adoration tips to force on her.

What was he thinking?

He liked that she now stood before him, defeated. "She is already dripping," he thought, “she emotes like a banshee lover, and she is going to be easy."

But Yoru was not going to be easy.

                       (He slipped her down and positioned her firmly on the Jacuzzi floor tiles between his open thighs.)

SUNSET FELLATIO: (2) "Who breeds the tigress, must love the claw"

An invitation to the joys of domination

Yoru snarled in a stage whisper, "Free me and I will shred you!" She struggled against the ropes binding her arms, shaking her breasts violently from side to side, but when she tried to get to her feet, intending to leap off the stage onto a front-row customer, she slipped on the wet floor and fell hard on her side.

At once Yoru twisted around to get back up. She is very athletic, the dancers of House of V are renowned, but tied up as she was, she couldn't prop herself up without opening her legs wide, giving the guests a vista of the split running from her pubic mound down and back past her puckered anus. Her entire sex was laid bare, butt-cheeks stretched apart by the physical exertion, the path to her womanhood a swelling, curving, dripping passion-scape. Legs straining low and wide, arms bound behind, stripped completely nude, Yoru was an invitation to the joys of domination.

Until her lovers are drained or deceased

"SOMEBODY,” said the Auction Mistress, “is going to have a short but happy love life.” She grinned evilly and spat out a warning: “Don't untie her ropes if you want to get out of her bed alive!”

This didn’t elicit the “correct” reaction from the audience. Some were staring askance at the sheer savagery of Yoru’s RP. As her friends know, she never holds back. Were they overdoing the RP?

“But she likes oral sex," Mistress Auctioneer purred, pretending to confide this erotic morsel to the audience, buttering up her buyers. Unfortunately, she followed it up with another off-putting remark: "And … she is never satisfied until her lovers are drained or deceased!"

A gasp of disbelief could be heard in the bleachers, but others were clearly warming to the scene. A Domme repeated the word "deceased" and shook Her head.

It was then that sub-boy Moly felt called upon to stand up on the front row and warn: "Let the buyer of this Woman beware: never untie Her!"

"Thank you for that testimonial," said Mistress Auctioneer, looking down at him and motioning him to sit his sub-ass down.

Yoru turned on the gawking customers, glaring, daring, mocking them for showing fear:

"Who breeds the tigress, must love the claw!"

There was a silence while this threat was mulled over in the crowd. It was clear that Yoru was frightening the customers' subs and "baby-girl" spouses.

"Gag her." said the Mistress Auctioneer.

Was Yoru defeated?

Two club cronies lumbered up to Yoru cautiously from behind, one on either side. They knew that Yoru’s legs were loose, and that she could jump one of them, clutch them around the neck, and drown them between her powerful, gushing thighs. Grateful to be given a chance to show off center-stage, they reached out bravely, pawed the dangerous girl like they were touching red hot candy, but stood well back, faking grins. Quickly one produced a noose of rope on the end of a pole and slipped it around Yoru’s neck and pulled it closed, paralyzing her, while the other inserted a ball-gag into her mouth.

Yoru hung her head pathetically to one side. She couldn't threaten anyone now. Was she finally defeated?

It is a mistake to underestimate women
But Yoru raised her head again. Even fallen, helpless, Yoru was still a woman, and it is women who survive, or the species does not. A veteran erotic dancer, she had simultaneously been nurtured in compassion and love. It is a potent mix in the body of a sensual woman.

She resolved to dance in spite of the gag and ropes. Her breasts were riveting, her cut muscles flexing. Yoru's dance incorporated leg moves that entice the senses as well as assail the unwary. She was role-playing revenge, which was arousing lust all around her.

In the end, it was Elroy who bought her for 32,000 L$. He outbid 6 other would-be "suitors," his voice calm the while, an older man with iron balls.

Yoru blinked. Her RP had worked. She considers slavery of any sort abhorrent, as do they all, but this was just role-playing a tiny drop of that poison to create a mood, and she couldn't stop grinning. Bound in exquisite shibari knots and threatening, she had snagged them 32k for charity. But she couldn't say a word, could only drool from above and below. It was embarrassing, erotic, and somehow OK in the context.

Yoru changed dances, turning her back on the bidders, bending double, peeking between her widely-spread legs at the winner. Her heels propped her butt-cheeks high and stretched them open. She winked upside-down from between her thighs and, in spite of her gag, smiled, inviting Elroy to inspect his dangerous "goods" if he dared.

"Going once to Sir Elroy."

"Going twice for 32K..."

"Going 3 times... SNAP!" The Auction Mistress closed the bidding with an appreciative whack with her horsewhip on Yoru's back.

                                    (Elroy fucked Yoru a while just to drive home the point that she was his for the night.)                      

SUNSET FELLATIO: (3) "Nothing in the water except his huge, brilliant white, swelling yacht"

Date night after the auction
Yoru clicked on Elroy's landmark and was teleported into virtual chaos. She arrived somewhere high in the sky above his sim, and since he had provided no floor to land on, she began free-falling, tumbling, her arms flailing.

Seeking her pussy

Yoru was awe-stricken all the way down. The man must have been a clever engineer, for the landmark he sent was a work of IT erotic art in itself. Elroy had positioned her high enough that when she rezzed into his world she could see nothing but a tiny, square sim, consisting only of blue ocean growing erratically bigger in the lag as she plummeted. Almost unnoticed, in the midst of the winds roaring by her ears as she fell, Yoru was transfixed by the emergence of an eerie white spec that had popped out of the mass of deep water below. She imagined it a hazy, undulating droplet of lonely semen spurting out of some roiling, erotic, oceanic orgasm. She fantasized it was seeking her pussy. Later she discovered it was his yacht, brilliant against the cloudless sky, but at that moment it looked like a drop of cum rushing up to meet her, a single sperm fulfilling its desperate destiny.

Yoru must have been thousands of feet up, for she continued falling, how long she was not sure. Elroy wanted his sexy female guests to fall through the air of an entire 65,536m Linden ocean sim with nothing in the water except his huge, brilliant white, swelling yacht, drawing closer by the second.

Driven deeper than ever a cock had gone before, she insta-came

Stranger still, as she descended on the luxury vessel, which was placed precisely in the middle of the entire sim, her fall ended perfectly in the center of the top deck, in his jacuzzi, on top of Elroy, who sat naked with an erection, waiting to greet his guest. Somehow, he had coded the animation to force Yoru to land precisely on top of his cock, her legs spread wide like a ragdoll, making first landfall on the head of his phallus. When she thudded down from the sky, his sex was driven deeper than ever a cock had gone into Yoru before, and she came instantly.

Elroy fucked Yoru a while just to drive home the point
Yoru's pussy was soaking from the pounding Elroy was giving her. With her legs spread high in the air, she assumed he was going to fuck her all night, but that was not to be. Elroy's fetish is to be sucked off and allowed to cum into the mouth of a beautiful woman. He hoped that was Yoru’s passion, too.

But for now he screwed her hard, pumping her while she came, even after she orgasmed twice. Yoru’s thighs squeezed spasmodically, arms helpless behind her, but he continued storming her genitals without pause, maintaining her climax and extending it to another, different one, her legs writhing and trying feverishly to close by opening wider, then clapping back together, which didn’t work. He just rooted in her deeper, using her energy for his own heightened pleasure, and held her firmly pinned.

A mistake
Finally. seeing her squirt so copiously, he relaxed. Such an orgasm could not be faked, and Elroy knew he had chosen the right woman. Without thinking about it, he released the ropes on her wrists and arms. Elroy had made a mistake: it was his nature to be dominant but kind, and he had unconsciously released the raging slave of the Role Play slave auction.

One thing should be clear in the world of love—as deeply submerged as lovers may be, as transported to sensual delight, there is always a small voice of consciousness in the minds of an alert woman, for if she does not stay on the lookout in a dangerous world, who will? A man? 

He was hers

Quickly Yoru reached down with her hands and dug between his thighs to find his balls, gripped them tightly, then dug her nails under the ball-sack into the long cock's stalk, the part that travels to his interior, to his core. He was hers. She made him her playground, her fingertips pushing, her nails massaging, pinching, nipping, threatening pain on the edge of powerful stimulation. She gripped his balls and cock together, and although he was a man strong and able, she used her nails to control him. Yoru began to pull his cock in and out of her pussy, shallowly, nether-lips vacuuming, plopping softly, suctioning, then ramming him far into her interior, giving him the excruciating, contrasting pleasure of deep penetration. It was not long until the man succumbed to her arts.

He laid back, muscular frame sprawling as athletes are prone, and sighed. It had almost been sexual punishment, he thought. Her pussy had clutched his genitals, tight like a living glove of desire, and he had ejaculated for sheer survival, feeling instinctively he needed to give her what she wanted or lose his balls. While he was lying content after his ejaculation, she touched herself, brought the finger up to her mouth, spread his seed on her lips, licked the viscous mélange, and swallowed.

He leaned over and kissed her a long time. It was a languid drifting of lips on lips, tongues tasting organic lubrication, pure animal pleasure, until at last she, in turn, relaxed her guard. He lifted her instantly and effortlessly into the air and held her like a puppet, a used toy, dangling.

"If you want to leave my bed with your balls, you will let me down!" 

He smiled as she sputtered. "That wasn't your mission tonight, little Yoru. You are going to suck my cock until I cum again, this time in your mouth." With that, he slipped her down, slithering her wet breasts along his body, positioning her firmly on the jacuzzi floor tiles between his open thighs.

    (Yoru emerged from the water to nestle at Elroy’s package)

SUNSET FELLATIO: (4) "Oral rules pleasure" 

The mouth is the mirror of the vagina
No other orgasm, nothing in the world, compare­­­s to a tongue-induced climax. The Kama Sutra speaks of the mouth as the mirror of the vagina, but mighty fellatio and helpless cunnilingus are more, they are gateways to a different dimension. Oral sex begins as elemental urges to lick and taste, suck and swallow, four survival instincts in us all. Spread around the world among adults, the humble blowjob's commonality belies its power to transform normal existence into divine pleasure.

The miracle of a kiss
A woman's facial lips may be compared to the labia below, the "netherlips" of her vagina, but the latter haven't the dexterity of the lipsticked love tools above. The mouth performs the miracle of a kiss. A woman laughs with her lips, sucks with them, puckers and pouts, she uses them to define her womanhood.

They are surrounded by skillful accomplices. Beneath perfumed hair, inside the scarlet gateway, harbors the princess of all touch, the tongue. Behold the power and environment of this wonder! Tucked coiled inside a woman's tender smile, the snake-like tongue mesmerizes, stuns, locks in love, ensuring life like no other bodily survival strategy.

Tell me your secret desire
"Let me suck you off, it is your wish." Yoru’s words reached his ear in a choked half-gasp. She snuggled closer, giving an animal twitch of satisfaction. She had found her spot. She took his cock into her mouth and turned her head to look up into his eyes across the muscled field of his stomach.

"Am I too familiar, Sir?" Yoru asked, drawing the words inward instead of breathing them out so as to express herself in the least intrusive way possible.

"No, keep sucking, I am trying to capture photographs, but you are making it a challenge to concentrate."

"I am happy about that," Yoru smiled and  sucked for a while, romancing the man's penis for its power to please.

He really did want to please Yoru, even though he had tried to overwhelm her physically. It is not always that the core of hardness is sweet, and Yoru read him expertly through the wires. Revenge forgotten, roleplay evaporated, she relaxed into surrender.

"Yoru, tell me your secret desire."

Swish, savor, swallow seed
Yoru blinked, embarrassed, and cleared her throat before whispering. "My fetish is to suck you until I swish, and savour, and swallow your seed."

Elroy’s tongue flicked across his lips involuntarily, he swallowed, and smirked, "Is it now?"

The word “smirk” is not always used kindly, but it can be a beautiful thing, the confidence of the seed sower that his crop will rise plentifully. She looked up at him again, his cock protruding inside her cheek on one side of her mouth, and he was smiling. She averted her eyes, then looked back at him again and squirmed, contentment welling from below her tummy.

"I am glad that it is you," she said.

Where emerge liquid pearls
Yoru had always felt that sucking cock was a straightforward affair, but that night Elroy taught her to love giving head from every direction.

She waved the swollen appendage and fixed her eyes at the summit where emerge liquid pearls of lubricating man-oil. Her tongue curled into a tight circle and siphoned the glutinous juice from its perch. Such erotic images pushed her to the brink of anguishing pleasure. He pulled his cock from her hands and aimed its reptilian eye directly at her mouth. She gripped her red lips tightly closed in mock refusal, but locked on his shaft the second she could get it. It was oh so hard, curving upward in the lovely arc of men, the ridges flaring out and back and left and everywhere, all just right. His cock formed a monkey’s fist in her pot of honey, the man ape too greedy to release his grip to escape the bottleneck of her clutching cum receptacle.

Sucking until dawn in a land of perpetual sunset

Her tongue pressed forward against his locked-down dick precisely on his frenulum, the male clitoris, the small pleasure spot just under the pucker of loose skin where the cum-tube on the shaft joins the parting, heart-shaped under-head. She positioned the point of her tongue with the accuracy of a swordswoman in the heat of battle, feverish love weapon spearing just there while on her knees, looking up humbly, she dazzled his entire body, sucking him off until dawn in his land of perpetual Second Life sunset.

                                           (Emptying Elroy's balls)

SUNSET FELLATIO: (5) “The tongue of the tigress”

Emitting cooing sounds
Yoru brought Elroy’s swollen cock slowly closer to her lips. She heard herself emitting cooing sounds resembling those of a mating dove. His dick was not yet touching the tip of her extended tongue when the coos turned fluidly into low moans, audible only to her lover. Unaware of it, she was signaling him with her soft, animal squeals that she wanted him.

The pleasure from her lips diminished the pain the ropes had inflicted on her wrists. The pleasure absorbed the pain into itself and expanded, opposites feeding on one another. Yoru's tongue swam laps around his hard cock, then dove again on his balls, and beyond, to his root. When she discovered she could thrill him thumbing his cock stalk below the ball-sack, those few inches of hardened cock, rarely caressed, where his torso anchored on solid muscle, she knew it was reaching his interior. Nobody had ever done that to him. It propelled them both into an unending climax, small and large orgasms welling into a single watery surface, with moving lines of swells, powerful sexual surf destined to crash with the force of ancient waves on the shores of their furthermost fingertips and toes.

The potential of 69

The 69 position had always felt lacking to Yoru, as she liked to concentrate on either giving or receiving pleasure, not both at the same time. She had read it somewhere. But 69 was what Elroy wanted. Imagine her surprise when she found that the ridged bridge of her mouth, inside her teeth, the hard palate flowing back into the inflatable sacks of mouth-flesh of the soft palate, just before her throat, is at the perfect angle to drill in on his cock’s sweet spot. The sucking serves as a vacuum for the blood-filled flesh of his head and her tongue and mouth. It is the perfect fit of YinYang, and begins with a gentle slide that grows into a deeper, natural, rocking rhythm until either she or he or both shiver love liquids into pools of ecstatic expectation.

When Yoru comprehended the full potential of 69 it was another sensual high point for her. She had lost count of her orgasms. She waved the sculptured, brawny beauty of his erection in front of her adoring eyes. She brought it near her tongue, then swung it out far, her eyes focusing on the erotic, manly, gut-wrenching artwork that is cock. Her hips squirmed and she clutched her thighs together on his ears and squeezed, stimulating her pussy to flow into his mouth. The pleasure-cells of her sex reached further afield, travelling to the ends of her quivering body, searching to perform exchanges with distant parts to fulfil his and her needs, the desire of a central nervous system engineering its cells to evolve to ecstasy, to create the erotic, genius organism that is mankind making love.

Studs on such a stud
She pressed on the base of his dick and brought the shaft over to the side of her cheeks so she could look up and down the length of it. He had a row of four studs on either side of the bulging urethral channel running up his penis, and these plopped wetly as she pushed the dick in and out of her lips. They felt so good, those eight studs, on such a stud as Elroy.

She lapped with her tongue up the protruding blood vessels winding around his cock, as if navigating a narrow river bulging at its banks with spring flood, up to the source of life, thrilling her senses, sliding over the circling bump of the flaring flesh ridges of his head, encompassing the roundness by puckering her mouth, sucking, pumping the vacuum to inflate his flesh even more. Her sensitive tongue revisited the delicate slit atop his penis, and Yoru thrilled at the soft flesh she found there at the tip of the hard-on.

Life's most enticing, curving creations
How does one describe the primitively desirable? Her eyes were so close to his manhood she could see light reflecting through another liquid bubble of tear-shaped, transparent pre-cum perching, pristine, on what could be compared, with her focus centimeters from it, with the smooth curving roundness of solid butt-cheeks, or a woman's moon-like breasts. The smooth roundness of the top of a man's fully erect sexual organ takes its place among life's most enticing, curving creations.

She inserted him again into her mouth and, in contrast to the gentle brushing and licking and puckering, she pumped him in and out of her lips in a thrusting, forced penetration, filling her throat, pressing her tongue and upper palate, and she came violently, her throbbing mouth contracting like a vagina, spurting saliva and pussy ejaculate below.

She orgasmed above on his cock and below on his tongue, twice in the same moment, two different culminations blending into ecstasy of ethereal magnitude.

The "G-spot of her mouth"
Yoru wailed. Although the G-spot inside her vagina ached to be caressed, she made a wonderful discovery. Somewhere in her upper palate is also home to a trigger of sensitivity, different, but quietly effective for generating pleasure. The spot of the ancient erotic sages. By concentrating on the head of his dick, interspersed with ramming him deep enough to press at the entrance to her throat and make her gag, she massaged what felt like a G-spot of her mouth. She called it the “Y-spot.”

Immortally adept at altered reality

Smiling and aroused, she put her hands on her pussy at home, and with the cock on the screen moving relentlessly in and out, her fingers found the rhythm she desired. Suddenly the virtual cock seemed alive, a construct of the gods, a staff of flesh capable of rendering her and her surroundings improbably, immortally adept at altered reality.

                           (White lava in the volcanic mouth of woman) 

  

SUNSET FELLATIO: (6) " The twilight of love and life "

Erotic friction

The ridge on Elroy’s cock, the corona, flares back like the petals of a fleshy flower, thrusting the head of the cock forward in a cup offering love. It is a delightful, "ribbed" ledge that causes desirable friction, erotic friction, when popped in and out of lips. This exhilarated Elroy's dick and her lips in one motion. The pleasurable feelings Yoru's lips were transmitting to her brain were strong, perhaps as strong as the pleasure Yoru was giving his cock sucking him off. It was a lot of pleasure in one bed.

"Let me lick up the shaft, let me insert your dick like this..."

She put him in her mouth just until the head "plopped" in, and she pushed it a little deeper to test its size, and took it back out. Gazing at his manhood, the curving swollen erection yearning for ejaculation, she sat up and whispered something naughty in his ear, inserting her tongue after she spoke.

Break-through in evolution
Elroy had no idea what Yoru said, but it he guessed it was outrageous. He didn't want to cum yet, but he did, again. A lesson in blow jobs was being served up to him as well, on the tip of the tongue of a tigress.

Cocks fill a woman's whole mouth with pleasure. She may or may not be touching herself, but regardless, she will soon be in ecstasy. A cock in the mouth is a break-through in the evolution of social cohesion.

She shivered out of control
And behold the smooth texture of cock, no other smoothness compares to it. The head nobly acts as a hook and a nurturer, it captures the maiden and forms a stopper to prevent cum dribbling out. He rammed deep in her throat a few strokes, not too hard, enough to fill her mouth, and pressed so that his dickhead bulged and bumped at the back. She seemed good with that, so he pushed himself down her throat, just a couple of centimeters, to test the depth of her desire, then pulled it back out.

She thrilled on the end of his shaft, she shivered out of control. It was like a bolt of ecstasy--this was no climax, but a separate pleasure--as though the spike in oral pleasure he was giving her sent thrilling strands of eerie joy out to every extremity in her naked body.

She held her lips tightly shut, shook her head feebly, pretending once more she wanted to avoid the insertion of the man's cock. It was a "forced" pleasure. It shocked her how good she felt when he finally penetrated her mouth, but it was mixed with embarrassment that she had been so overpowered with pleasure at the forced breach of her lips. She felt more than saw the rumbling eruption, and she tasted the man’s warm seed pouring through her lava-red lips.

Elroy was having a good day.

Her tongue tormented, her eyes flooded 
He gazed at her half-closed, sex-enthralled eyes, as he allowed her to pleasure him, gulping his cock to the back of her throat. He paused his thrust, giving her time to stick her tongue out under the approaching balls, opening her throat, and as she became more aroused, she found a way to lick and fondle them during deep-throat.

He froze in place, struck immobile with pleasure. Her throat, mouth and tongue were satisfying him from the tip of his cock to his core. He started thrusting wildly and she was bucked to his rhythm, keeping him between her rounded, firm lips. Her her tongue tormented, her eyes flooded.

Elroy's woman sucked his seed deep into her body that night. Is it any surprise oral sex is the ultimate intimacy? He let her keep the semen in her mouth, but according to its nature, some escaped from her feasting tongue to slip down between her breasts like white lava running to meet its destiny below. The hot semen had erupted first from his cock and then from the volcanic mouth of his woman.

The twilight of love and life

And so it was that the senior gentleman Elroy won the auction and made Yoru cum. But did he make it out of Yoru's bed alive? Ahhh, sunset fellatio--the twilight of life comes accompanied by the fullness of pleasure.

The end

(Author's note: "Helpless Cunnilingus, Rewrite" coming next. Hint: it's not so helpless ;)

Unhinged Halloween

    "The tattered, shoddy wings of Robert's 'faerie princess' became clearly visible to everyone." (Fenton Maurer)                                       

Unhinged Halloween

by Yoru Lamourfou

[Author's note: this is a rework of an earlier story in Irish Richard has my Heart.]

Three days before

Patty and Robert had experienced passion’s highs, as high as one gets when one thinks about the best moments of one's life. When those rare moments are destroyed, life stops. 

For fun, the couple had scheduled their wedding on Halloween, but three days before the spooky nuptials, Patty turned up and told Robert she was not going through with it. She had met "someone else." The tattered, shoddy wings of Robert's "faerie princess" became clearly visible to everyone.

Everything, he concluded, had been a lie.

In the cross-hairs

Three days later, Robert asked Yoru to come over for a Halloween party. He had fallen hard when Patty dumped him, but to put on a brave face, he was going ahead with the festivities. “I’m not calling this a wedding,” he growled, “I’m calling it a ‘wedding wake!’"

She didn't know it, but he wanted revenge on the duplicitous woman who had shipwrecked his life, and unsuspecting Yoru was in his cross-hairs.

On her way to Robert's house, Yoru had passed ghosts, goblins, and witches, all  in colorful costumes, begging at every door for candy. When she arrived at Robert's door, he seemed in no mood for sweets, but she attributed his behavior to the creepiness of the holiday.

Still, something more seemed afoot. Patty had left Robert flat, literally almost at the altar. The man had sent out wedding invitations, which added to his severe loss of face, and he was acting unhinged. Patty was very, very gone.

He was rough with Yoru that night, so much that he frightened her a little. But she reasoned once more that it was a spooky night, with zombies eating the living, that sort of thing, and she still didn't think it overly odd. He tied her hands angrily behind her back, rendering her helpless, but Yoru loves rough treatment and enjoyed it.

Italian boots 

Twisting her in her ropes, Robert slammed Yoru into a position where she was facing the bedroom window, and through it she noticed Patty’s Italian boots. The stylish, blood-red leather boots had been placed neatly on top of what looked like a large table next to the pool.

A steel coffin

To her horror, Yoru realized it was shaped more like a steel coffin than a table. It must have been a joke meant for Patty, putting her boots on a coffin. All the same, it was then that the thought occurred to her that he might be punishing her for the treachery shown him by his jilting ex-fiancee.

“I wonder,” Yoru thought, “if this is Robert's way of getting even with her? He wouldn't put Patty in a coffin, would he? I mean, he might I suppose, only symbolically of course...”

Yoru twitched in her ropes. Such a macabre sight would normally have made her want to leave instantly, but the fact that she was tied and immobile wasn't her only motivation for lingering. She knew the reason behind this macabre, presumably empty, burial relic.

Patty was with them, in a horrible manner of speaking

Robert snapped Yoru back from her dark musings. Climbing on top of her, he pushed her legs open wide and penetrated her without checking to see if she was wet enough. She was. Yoru had started getting wet the moment he had bound her wrists, but she reflexively twisted her hips at the sudden intrusion anyway, flexing her leg muscles and struggling with the tight ropes, which had the unintended effect of making her breasts buck provocatively. He fell on top of her, and she fought to stop him from sliding more snugly into her crotch, but clutched her pussy even tighter around his cock instead. His manhood curved evilly upwards, deep inside her.  She stole a glance down at their naked bodies, the wet genitals glistening in the moonlight, and in spite of herself began experiencing profound pleasure. He withdrew, pushed her lower legs above her head in the air, opened her pussy lips with both hands, and buried his face between her thighs in a swoon. He needed to drink her, and she imagined herself his fountain of love.

Still, it increased Yoru’s uneasiness that the creepy, duplicitous woman was there with them, in a horrible manner of speaking. Out on the patio, by the pool, in the coffin? No, it had to be empty.

Dirty thrills and divine comfort

He let her legs down and shouldered himself up over her, so that she thought he was going to fuck her again, but he straddled her torso on his knees and climbed up around her shoulders, making her feel closed in and compressed into a tight flesh box. He took out his erect cock and filled her mouth with its oddly contradictory sensations, the rod all stiffness, but topped with swollen, yielding, pre-cum smeared, darker flesh of the head. He used her throat as a vagina, gripping a handful of her hair, he pumped his manhood in and out of her mouth, then again, making it plop, then withdrew it a few inches in front of her eyes for her to admire. She licked him languidly, sucking his love rod back into her waiting lips. He liked this ritual , and he repeated it many times, but she could not say how many, she was in such a daze. The hard cock with slick, blood-colored head had made her, like him, a little crazy. Inhaling his sex, Yoru became a dispenser of dirty thrills and divine comfort.

She sucked him until she tasted that anticipated but still startling addition to her saliva, the slightly sweet, musky, viscous body fluid unlike any other. And her own climax felt indulgent, for she had experienced orgasm with only her lips and tongue on his cock, two instants after she tasted his semen. She hadn’t been able to touch herself, not even once, bound as she was, nor had he, absorbed in his own pleasure with her face. Absolutely nothing had stimulated her clitoris, it was all precipitated by her mouth, her second vagina. Yoru climaxes giving head. Can you expect less of beloved lips capable of the miracle of a passionate kiss?

The man had more for her

Robert, it appeared, was not only interested in tying and fucking her. The man had more for her, he wanted to hurt her for some reason. He was in an erotic daze and hadn't noticed that Yoru was feeling uneasy. She knew now that she was being used as a surrogate whipping girl. When she asked about Patty's boots, he stuffed a red ball gag between her teeth, stretching her lips cruelly. He was still clearly in the crazed mindset that he had lost Patty to another man.

At least that was what Yoru thought. He couldn’t have heard about Yoru and Patty, could he?

His salty, tear-smeared nightmare

In danger and helpless, she still sought, tied up tightly, undaunted by spankings and vicious hair-pulling, to find solace in orgasms that swept her mind away from her precarious reality. She turned to blinding sex, and her pleasure-soaked brain resumed loving Robert in spite of her unintended role in his misery. She was past any feelings of revenge she might have felt herself. He had left her for Patty, but she yearned now only to join him in his salty, tear-smeared nightmare.

In the madness phase of the throes of death

Yoru's orgasm enveloped her once more. She fantasized she was inhabiting another world alongside the one in which Robert had her bound and gagged. Patty appeared to her there. The problem was, thinking about the taste of Patty’s tangy, sweet-salty kisses only frightened her more. Was this apparition of her bisexual lover actually some ghost or impostor or angel of death reaching to pull her into the next world of sensual oblivion? If Patty was real, Yoru needed her erstwhile girlfriend's pussy to squirt her love juices down her throat to convince Yoru she was not in the madness phase of the throes of death. It was an instinctual taste no demon or angel could masquerade.

She opened her eyes and her legs in one surprised jerk. She was expertly bound and gagged, and although he was handling her roughly, she relished being fucked in every opening of her body. Is this not a contradiction?  In Yoru's defense, it was a hot Halloween party. Trying to dismiss a growing revulsion with her weakness for pleasure and the creepiness of the location, she told herself again that it was, after all, just for fun. Such a scene is erotic only if it is totally consensual, and she was moaning "yes." 

Finally, she ordered her body to stop trying to flee, since that was lavishly impossible. Limp, she was totally his.

Love in a tree

Robert's dark ropes crisscrossed her body, plunging her once more into a fantasy. She imagined him fucking her with her legs tied tightly and her knees bent up high over the limb of a tree. She dangled there now in ecstasy, having climbed to the top boughs among the yellows, greens, and blues, and Robert's soft hempen coils stretched out around her smooth skin like brown, veined arms of sturdy wood.

She mused that being in love is like climbing a tree. In her fortress of airy green she is untouchable, she is as good at climbing as at making love. Yoru learned to trust her grip on the limbs, she sensed what the wood could give her, how far it would bend to her desire to sway into danger, and she felt simultaneously controlled and in control. It was exhilarating to glide without fear between limbs and lovers.

Falling, like the end of love, is mostly unexpected

"Always," she murmured, "I can find an escape high in my tree…"

But at that thought she stopped her reverie abruptly, remembering that she was unable to move, much less escape. She remembered a lesson of fear she had once learned climbing in the highest boughs and thrilling in lofty passion: falling, like the end of love, is mostly unexpected.

Understandably baffled

She thought about the time when Robert and she had first made love, months before, how they had snuggled hidden under blue-green domes of impenetrable woods. She trusted him, had been his lover, and had embraced him in secret as the bright day gave way to cooling shadows and hot love. Licking his neck, she had tasted the salt still clinging from their swim in the sea where she had surrendered in deep waves of female invitation to his inexorable rising tides. He gulped in her heady, perfumed wetness, flourishing in the fullness of her sensual rain, abundance feeding pleasure, passion bursting to fruition in the dewy night.

And so it was understandable that Yoru had been baffled when Robert told her he was going to marry his Italian lover, Patty, and not her, Yoru. She had blinked involuntarily, but hadn’t cried. She was struck speechless that it was Patty, because weeks before, Yoru also had made love with the same Patty, in those same Italian boots.

Why would she have bothered mentioning it to Robert? Yoru didn’t even know Robert was seeing Patty. At the time it had mattered not at all, for Yoru was falling in love with both of them, separately. But now it was different.

A fragrant pussy trembling close

She slipped into another fantasy as she remembered Patty’s hands pulling her urgently down onto the bed, and when next she opened her eyes she saw a delicate, fragrant pussy trembling close to her face. Tentatively, she inserted her tongue into Patty’s musky slit, and Patty did the same to Yoru, and their mutual spells of seduction swept upon them. They couldn't help themselves, they became secret lovers. They adored each other’s dark pubic forests, they found refuge from rough lovers in tender, feminine caress. 

How was she to tell him that it was her, Yoru, who was the “someone else?” She had never found the right moment, and now Patty had left him! For her! If ever Robert found out, Yoru would be punished.

Robert must have known, for the moment she dreaded came sooner than she feared. He picked up her naked body easily in his strong arms, and carried her, unable to move, gagged silent and breathing rapidly through gasping nostrils, out the door, around the pool, and over to the steel coffin. 

Yoru had been right, the coffin was still empty.

The End

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (4-6)

 A love doll made to look like Yoru   (photo by Bluesrocker)

[Author's note: This is an erotic fantasy inspired by events in Second Life (SL), but one needn't be an SL resident to enjoy the body and mind Furies of the Doctor and Sculptress in this naughty tale. The world Yoru inhabits is neither Real Life (RL) nor SL, but is set in an imaginary "world of startling sexual appetites." For this story, she was inspired by SL alternative avatars, called "alts," derived from hundreds of encounters with the alts of different "mains," or principal avatars. Although people open up to writers with their secrets, none of the following fictional synthesis represents any particular av's "family" of alts, nor would Yoru betray their trust or blow their covers.  It is all "Yoru imagination," but she has retained some of the original flavors of various avs and alts, so that they, and perhaps you, may recognize your own "love dolls" in this modest "epic of alts."]

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (4. Doctor Dollmaker, Sculptress Spy)

[This is the continuation of The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (1-3)]

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 deepthroat 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 sexshop 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."

Cast of characters (from left to right):                                     [Doll props by NPC in Second Life.] 
The Doctor, Dollmaker, in surgical attire
Yoru, an erotic dancer, carried by her eccentric hero, Lorenzo
Lorenzo, a colossus, warrior lover of Yoru
Serene, the Doctor's female love doll, hogtied
Lianne, the Sculptress' female love doll, a redhead
Myraka, Sculptress, tall, blond, fit
Unidentified love doll, carried by Karl
Karl, general purpose male love doll, a shapeshifter.

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 small crowd of 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.

"She was in love with her own statue" (Alanis Living Statue, by Sylvia Fitzpatrick, in Alanis Gallery Sensual Images in Second Life, flickr)

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.

"Redheaded Lianne proved to be a lissome creature whose only purpose in life was to fall prey to the Sculptress in the game of love." (mutual, by Elbereth Exonar, on flickr; and thanks to Lissome Prey for the inspiration of her lovely name.)

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (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 masterbating, 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 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, there 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 was tasting 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 and Karl the shapeshifter doll fed sexually on the love dolls as often as they could get away with it." (Alice, by Laura Audobon, from Alanis Gallery flickr)

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 foetus 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 shapeshifter 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...

Yoru and her eccentric warrior Lorenzo join the Shibari Theatre Troupe for a voyage to the Southern Reaches 

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (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 savoury side. Add to that, Karl was a shapeshifter. 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 shapeshifter 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 shapeshifts.

"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 buttcheeks 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 Maharashtrian lands of the 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 artbook, 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.

The Doctor loaded his love dolls aboard the sailboat The Dancing Girl by night

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 Shapeshifter.  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 forecabin, 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 Shapeshifter. 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 Shapeshifter 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 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. He was a warrior and lover, but the dazzling women around him, some alive and some... not, had disabled his defenses, confounded his attack, and befuddled his mind.

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 the circle of people and dolls staring back at her. She quickly orientated 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, a coquette, 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. Shibari Orgies) The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (8. A Cheek-to-Cheek Kind of Love)



(Author's note on feedback:)

Fenton said, "I met Yoru long ago, Isle, and still I cannot sleep without dreaming of her."

Kimmy said: "I feel like I know Yoru intimately and I've only been a member of the group for a few days."

Isle replied, "Yoru has that effect on people, Kimmy.  Men, at least."

"Not only men. I know a girl that she had the same effect on :-)" Fenton said.

Kimmy nodded, "Yea, her writing is geared toward women, at least that's what I think..."