Repurposed

The city outside my floor-to-ceiling windows always looked like a collection of discarded toys from this height, and I suppose that is exactly how I have come to view the people scurrying along the streets of San Francisco. My name is Lucy Kline, though the men who wire substantial sums of money into my offshore accounts know me only as Enigma. I have spent the better part of a decade perfecting the art of the disappearance, operating as a professional repurposer for the kind of wealthy elite who have more secrets than they do morals. Repurposer? I hear you ask. You won’t find what I do for a living listed in the local job postings, so I had to come up with a title for it. What else do you call kidnapping women and repurposing them into useful toys for the men who could afford my services?

My background is not a story of tragedy or some sudden lapse into villainy, but rather a realization that I possessed a specific set of skills and a total lack of empathy that slows other people down. I started in industrial design, learning how to mold materials and understand the structural integrity of various substances, but I soon found that I much preferred the challenge of containing a living, breathing subject. There is a certain rush that comes from taking a woman who thinks she is the center of her own universe and showing her just how small her world can become when I decide it is time for her to be transformed into an object.

I stood in the center of my loft, which I had renovated for my own specific purposes, checking the list of equipment I needed for the job I had scheduled for this evening. My real hair, a deep, vibrant red that I enjoyed letting loose during my countless one-night stands, was currently braided tight against my scalp and hidden beneath a hairnet. I reached for the black bob wig resting on a mannequin head, slid it into place, and checked the mirror to ensure the transformation into my work persona was complete. The blunt cut gave me a severe and anonymous appearance, masking the feminine beauty that I usually used to lure men into my bed before I kicked them to the sidewalk the following morning. I have never seen the point in long-term attachments, not since a particular disaster seven years ago that taught me everything I needed to know about the reliability of men. Since then, I have been my own master, and I have found that I much prefer the company of a heavy bank balance and the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.

My current outfit was a simple combination of black compression pants and a matching high-necked top that squeezed my hourglass figure, ensuring that nothing would snag or move while I was in the middle of a capture. I looked at the table where my “repurposing kit” was laid out, the various restraints and chemical sedatives organized by the order in which they would likely be required. As I took one final inventory, I grinned to myself. I find it amusing that my clients almost always assume I am a man, their own inherent biases preventing them from imagining that a woman could be capable of such sadistic tasks. I never bother to correct them in our email exchanges, as their money is far more valuable to me than their understanding of who I actually am.

I picked up a pair of black gloves and pulled them on, feeling the material snap against my skin. Tonight’s target was a young nurse who had caught the eye of a tech mogul with a very specific kink he wanted realized. I had no idea what this girl had done to pique the man’s interest, but it wasn’t my job to ask questions. He sent me half the fee this morning, and I’d receive the other half after I delivered the blonde to the agreed checkpoint, bound and processed according to the detailed specifications the benefactor had provided in his last message. I had spent the last three days tracking the woman’s movements, learning the exact moment she left the hospital and the route she took through the parking garage. She was predictable, as most humans are, and predictability is the greatest sin a person can commit in my line of work because it makes them an easy target.

I walked over to the corner of the room and picked up a nylon duffel bag, checking that the specialized foam inserts were correctly housing the glass vials of the various sedatives I needed. I find a peculiar kind of peace in the quiet moments before a hunt, and I savor the feeling of being the only person in the city who knows exactly what is about to happen to an unsuspecting stranger. I checked the small device on my wrist and verified that the tracking signal for the target’s car was still active and stationary in the hospital parking structure. The blonde would be finishing her shift in less than forty minutes, and she likely spent her time thinking about nothing more significant than her drab weekend plans. She had no way of knowing that her identity was about to be officially terminated and that her body was destined to become a high-end decorative piece for a man she had possibly never even met.

I moved to my desk and sent a final email to my client to confirm that the operation was commencing as planned. I kept my wording dry and professional and made sure to include a subtle reminder that any deviation from the payment schedule would result in a much worse outcome for the man who hired me. One of the major benefits of what I do is that even the most influential men in the world were terrified of offending me. They saw firsthand what I was capable of, and they wanted no part of seeing it from the other side.

I took a moment to double-check the wig in the mirror, ensuring that not a single strand of my natural red hair was visible to give me away. I had worked hard to build a reputation as a ghost, and I had no intention of letting a lapse in judgment compromise the career I loved so much. I picked up my keys and the duffel bag, and I headed toward the door that led to the elevator. My mind was already running through the layout of the garage, visualizing the exact spot where I would wait for the victim to approach her vehicle. It is a simple process, and I have executed it dozens of times without a single hitch because I think about every variable in my meticulous planning.

I stepped into the elevator and felt the slight jolt as it began its descent toward the basement level, where my nondescript van was waiting. I thought about the nurse again and wondered whether she was the type who would beg or the type who would fight. I usually preferred the ones who fight, as it makes the eventual breaking process so much more rewarding when they finally accept their new reality. By the time I was finished with her, she wouldn’t even remember the sound of her own name, and she would be grateful for the small mercies her new owner chose to provide. I stepped out of the elevator and into the quiet of the underground parking area, my boots making no sound as I walked toward the black vehicle. The hunt was officially on, and I was eager to get to work.

❖

Waiting patiently behind a large concrete pillar, I felt the cool, damp air of the underground parking garage settle against the black material of my compression top. My white van was positioned perfectly, parked directly beside the target’s red Chevy to provide a shield from any wandering eyes in the vicinity. I checked my watch and realized that the usually prompt nurse was running almost ten minutes late, and I felt a flicker of irritation at the break in her routine. Predictability was my greatest weapon, and I briefly wondered if I should suspend the job and take another shot at it when the woman was back into her predictable behavior. I didn’t like variables, and a ten-minute delay could mean she was talking to a colleague or perhaps heading out with a friend, which would complicate the extraction I had planned. Just then, I heard the steady rhythm of footsteps approaching from the direction of the elevators, the sound echoing through the hollow space of the garage.

I peered around the edge of the pillar and saw my target approaching the vehicle, her head tilted down as she fumbled with the keys in her bag. She was a pretty woman, possessing the kind of wholesome and radiant beauty that seemed out of place in a city as gritty as San Francisco. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail, though several loose strands framed a face that looked far too innocent for the world she was about to enter. She wore her light blue medical scrubs, the fabric doing little to hide the soft curves of a body that my client was already obsessed with owning. She looked like the type of girl who volunteered at animal shelters and called her mother every Sunday, a stark contrast to the life I led. It was almost a shame to take someone so untouched by the darkness, but I pushed that thought aside as I focused on the task at hand. Her innocence wasn’t a defense; it was simply a quality that probably made her a target in the first place.

As the woman reached the driver’s side door of her red vehicle, she was effectively trapped between her car and the side of my van. I moved with the silent, practiced grace of a shadow, stepping out from behind the pillar before the young blonde even had a chance to look up. She heard the soft rustle of my movements at the last possible second, witnessing the dark silhouette of my form in the windowed reflection of her car as her eyes widened in a moment of pure, unadulterated shock. Before she could even part her lips to let out a scream, my gloved hand was already clamped firmly over her mouth. She was deceptively strong, her body jerking in a desperate attempt to break free from my grasp, but I had the advantage of surprise and a much higher level of physical conditioning. She tried to reach for her bag, likely hoping to find her canister of pepper spray, but I pinned her against the side of my van with the full weight of my body.

I didn’t waste a single moment on theatrics or threats, as I had found that silence is far more terrifying and effective during a capture. I reached into the pocket of my pants and pulled out the pre-loaded syringe, the needle glinting as I brought it toward the young woman’s exposed neck. She saw the movement and renewed her desperate struggle, her muffled cries vibrating against my gloved palm as she fought for her life. I felt a sharp surge of adrenaline as I found the correct spot, driving the needle home with a precise jab to the neck. The girl’s body stiffened for a heartbeat, her eyes searching mine for any sign of remorse, before the anesthetic began to take hold. The frantic energy left her limbs almost instantly, her knees buckling as she began to slide toward the concrete. I caught her before she could hit the ground, her head lolling against my shoulder as she transitioned into the heavy, limp state of total unconsciousness.

I opened the side door of the van and tossed the woman into the back, her body landing on the temporarily carpeted floor with a soft thud that went unnoticed in the sleeping garage. I climbed in after her and closed the door, plunging us into the quiet, controlled environment of my mobile processing unit. I didn’t want to waste time getting the target back to the loft before she was secured, so I reached for the coil of thick white rope I had prepared for this specific occasion. I enjoyed the way the pristine white material looked against the light blue of her outfit, and I moved in a rapid and methodical manner. I started with the blonde’s wrists and pulled them behind her back until her shoulder blades practically pressed together. I then brought her ankles up to meet her hands, pulling the rope taut to create a tight and restrictive hogtie. I was well-versed in the art of rope bondage and would often bind my targets in far more elaborate ways, but it was already late, and I had a lot of work to do, so the hogtie was fine for now.

The nurse was now a compact bundle of helpless flesh, her body forced into a vulnerable arch that she would likely find agonizing if she awoke before I managed to get her back to my place. I checked the knots to ensure they were secure, feeling the satisfying tension of the rope as it bit into her soft, hairless skin. I had always found the process of binding a target to be a meditative experience, a way to imprint my will upon their physical form before I even begin the psychological work. She was no longer a nurse, or even a woman with a name; she was simply an asset exchanged in a high-stakes transaction, and I was the architect of her new reality.

I reached for the final piece of equipment I needed before we could depart, a ring gag made of silicone and leather. I usually preferred the way a ball gag looked inside a woman’s mouth, but the drool she could create while unconscious risked choking her in the back of my van, and I didn’t want to risk damaging the product. I pried her mouth open, the action feeling strangely intimate despite the nature of my job, and slid the ring between her teeth. I pulled the straps tight around the back of her head and buckled them into place, ensuring that she would be unable to do anything more than let out a series of muffled groans when the anesthetic wore off. I moved deeper into the back of the van and secured her to a metal ring bolted to the floor, ensuring she wouldn’t slide around during the drive back to the Mission District.

I stood over my victim for a moment, looking down at the broken remains of her freedom. She looked so peaceful in her forced sleep, unaware that she would never see the inside of a hospital or the comfort of her own bed ever again. I felt the familiar rush of superiority as I realized that I held her entire future in my hands, and that I was the one who would decide exactly how much she would suffer before she was delivered to her new Master. My client was going to be very pleased with the quality of the merchandise, and I allowed myself to grin at the thought of my bank account becoming $50,000 heavier.

I grabbed the handle of the sliding door and prepared to leave the quiet sanctuary of the van’s rear compartment. My gaze lingered on the way the white rope dug into the soft skin of my victim’s inner thighs, and I felt a surge of pride in my ability to turn a human into a beautifully bound object. I stepped over the compact bundle of her limbs and exited the vehicle, my boots landing softly on the pavement of the underground garage. I looked back inside at the unconscious blonde, seeing the way her scrubs had shifted to reveal a sliver of her bare midriff.

“It’s a shame you won’t be awake to enjoy the scenery on the drive home, but I promise the accommodations in my loft will more than make up for it,” I said with a mocking chuckle.

I pulled the door shut with a definitive metallic crash that echoed through the empty parking structure. The mission had been a total success, and as I entered the driver’s compartment of my van, I enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that another successful transaction was well underway.

❖

A heavy silence filled the room as I stood over my newest acquisition, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest with amused curiosity. I had already stripped the nurse of her blue scrubs and removed the white ropes I had used to transport her, and she now lay completely naked on the padded examination table in the center of the room. I had secured her wrists and ankles to the metal rings at the corners of the table, ensuring that she would have nowhere to go once the anesthetic wore off. I felt a grin spread across my face as I leaned forward, my expressive green eyes taking in every detail of her vulnerable form. She was a beautiful specimen, and I could already see why the tech mogul had been willing to pay such an exorbitant fee to add her to his collection.

I reached out and ran my gloved hand along the soft skin of her inner thighs, enjoying the way the warmth of her body radiated through the thin material of my black gloves. She was still deep in her forced sleep, but I could tell that the chemical fog was starting to lift. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and I heard a soft and muffled groan escape from behind the black silicone of the ring gag. I moved my hand up to her face and cupped her chin, tilting her head back so that our eyes would meet the moment she regained consciousness. I wanted to be the first thing she saw, the architect of her new reality, and the last person who would ever see her in her human form.

“Welcome back to the world, sweetheart,” I whispered, my voice carrying a sadistic edge that I made no effort to hide.

The woman’s large blue eyes snapped open, and for a heartbeat, they were filled with a drowsy and confused haze. I watched as the memory of the parking garage flooded back into her mind, and I felt her body jerk against the restraints as she realized the full extent of her predicament. She was trapped and bound, her limbs spread wide and her voice silenced by the leather straps of the gag, and she began a desperate and futile struggle to break free. The metal rings clattered against the table as she pulled against her cuffs, the muffled cries vibrating against my palm as I kept my hand firmly on her cheek.

“Gnnph! Mmphh-mmrr!” she muffled through the gag, her eyes darting around the dimly lit space in a frantic search for an escape that simply did not exist.

“You should save your energy, babe,” I said condescendingly as I ran my thumb over the pretty woman’s lower lip.

I leaned in closer, my face only inches from hers, and I let my gaze linger on her terrified expression. I found it amusing that she still thought there was some chance of rescue or some misunderstanding that could be cleared up with a few frantic words.

“You have managed to catch the attention of a very powerful and very wealthy man, and he has decided that he wants you all to himself,” I explained with a mocking smile. “From this moment forward, you are no longer a nurse or a daughter or a friend. You are destined for a life filled with nothing but pleasing him and fulfilling every dark whim he has ever had.”

The nurse shook her head wildly, her eyes filling with tears that tracked down her cheeks as she tried to plead with me through the black ring in her mouth. I could tell that nothing made sense to the woman, but she was starting to realize that she was in serious trouble.

“Mmmpphh! Hnn-gnn-gnnrr!” she cried out, the sounds raw and desperate.

“I know it is a lot to take in, but you really should be flattered that someone of his stature saw something special in you,” I teased as I reached for a fresh syringe that I’d prepared earlier. “He has a very special role in mind for you, and I am the one who gets to ensure you are perfectly ready for your new career. However, I cannot have you wasting your energy on this pathetic struggling, so I think it’s time we made things a little easier for both of us.”

I moved toward her arm and found a vein, driving the needle home before she could even flinch away. I watched as the paralytic entered her system, a potent cocktail that would leave her wide awake and fully aware of every sensation while stripping her of the ability to move even a single muscle. It took effect almost instantly, and I felt her body go limp against the table, her eyes remaining wide and panicked as she discovered that her limbs no longer responded to her commands. She was a passenger in her own body now, a silent observer to the transformation I was about to perform. I loved this type of drug where the victim was entirely awake and aware of their faculties, but unable to do anything to stop me. It was perhaps my favorite way to ‘repurpose’ a subject, and I enjoyed watching the horror in the blonde’s blue eyes.

“That is much better, isn’t it?” I asked as I stepped away to retrieve my equipment.

I strutted over to the corner of the room and rolled along a heavy, black leather suitcase, the wheels clicking softly against the concrete floor. I opened it up with a sharp metallic snap and pulled out a large, intricate piece of black leather that possessed a sizable weight. I held it up for the paralyzed woman to see, enjoying the way her pupils dilated with fresh horror as she realized what it was.

“This is what we call a bitchsuit, and it’s going to be your new skin for a very long time,” I told her as I moved back to the table.

I uncuffed the blonde from her bindings, knowing that the solution coursing through her veins would keep her from rolling away, and I began the process of fitting her into the restrictive leather. I started with her legs, bending them at the knees so that her limbs could fit into the specialized internal sheaths. I moved to her arms, bending them at the elbows and tucking them into the matching sleeves, effectively reducing her limbs to useless, lengthy stumps. I then focused on the center of the suit, pulling the corset section tight around her waist and boning it up with a series of strong laces. The material was designed to cinch her waist and push her breasts up through a large, circular window in the chest, keeping them completely available for her new owner to admire and fondle.

“You really do have a fantastic figure. You’re lucky the suit is designed to emphasize what you already have instead of hiding it away,” I remarked as I worked.

I rolled the blonde onto her side and pulled the long zipper up the back of the suit, the material groaning as it conformed to her curves. I reached for the thick leather collar integrated into the suit’s neck and locked it in place with a tiny steel padlock, ensuring the outfit could never be removed without the key. I then turned my attention to the slits over her pussy and ass, which left her most private areas bared and vulnerable. I took my time reaching for a bottle of lubricant and began to prep the victim for the final addition to her lower half.

“Mmm-gnnrr,” she muffled, a soft whimper of defeat escaping her throat as she felt my fingers inside of her.

I pulled out a matching black leather tail with a large and bulbous rubber end, and I slowly slid the bulb inside her ass. I made sure it was seated firmly so it would stay in place regardless of her movements, giving her a long, flowing tail that swayed as I adjusted the suit. Just then, I noticed the paralytic was beginning to wear off, and I watched with a grin as the blonde began to move her arms and legs. She tried to push herself up, but she quickly discovered that the bitchsuit rendered her limbs as nothing more than awkward stumps, and her eyes filled with a fresh wave of despair as she realized she could no longer stand or use her hands.

“It’s time to finish the look,” I said as I produced a leather hood with a long snout that mimicked a Doberman.

I reached out and ungagged her, the leather straps falling away to reveal her trembling features. Before the woman could even plead for her life, I slipped the hood over her head, allowing the new in-built ring gag to slide perfectly into her mouth. After some work, her blonde hair flowed out of a hole at the top of the hood, creating a long ponytail that trailed down the back of the leather. I adjusted the hood and tightened the buckles, ensuring that it was snug against her face.

“Can you hear me, sweetheart?” I asked with a sharp grin.

I didn’t wait for a response as I knew she couldn’t understand me anymore, thanks to the specialized earbuds I had inserted into the hood that would only allow the blonde to hear specific, pre-determined orders. I leaned in and whispered against the leather, knowing she would only feel the vibration of my voice.

“The eyes of this hood are fitted with lenses that ensure you can only see the world in black and white from now on, just like a real puppy,” I told her. “It will help you remember your new purpose as a loyal pet.”

I tightened the bottom of the collar and attached another padlock that connected the neck of the hood to the bitchsuit, sealing her into the outfit permanently. I ran my hand along her chest and bare breasts, feeling the way her heart beat against the costume.

“This outfit is made with a special, medical-grade breathable leather that is designed for long-term wear,” I explained, even though she couldn’t follow my words. “A bucket of water over the material will filter through and clean you and the suit at the same time, which means there is absolutely no reason for you to ever be removed from it. You are officially just a bitch now.”

I reached down and cradled the woman, ignoring the way she tried to fight back uselessly with her stumped limbs, and I lowered her from the table to the concrete floor. I flipped her over onto her front, and I watched with amusement as the blonde found herself only able to stand on her elbows and knees. The bitchsuit forced the former nurse into a permanent crawling position, and I stepped back to admire the new puppy I had created. She looked perfect, a high-end fetish object of submission that was ready to reveal to her new owner.

“Your new Master has excellent taste, and I think you are going to be his favorite bitch,” I said as I clipped a black leather leash to the D-ring of her collar.

I gave the leash a sharp tug, and the woman tried to fight against the pull, but she didn’t have enough leverage with her incapacitated limbs to stop herself from being forced to crawl across the floor. I led her toward the corner of the dark room where a shallow, wire dog cage was waiting for her. I pushed the transformed woman inside, her leather-clad body fitting perfectly into the cramped space, and I closed the door before locking it with a finality that echoed through the room.

“Get some rest, little puppy, because you will be delivered to your new owner first thing in the morning,” I told her.

I turned away and walked toward the exit, reaching for the switch beside the door. I shut the light off, plunging the woman into a total and absolute darkness that matched the black-and-white world she was now forced to inhabit. I stepped out of the room and closed the door, hearing the faint and muffled sounds of the new pet’s whimpering as I thought about another repurposing underway. It was time to get some sleep before reaping the rewards of my talents in the morning.

❖

The digital interface displayed a series of numbers that made the corners of my mouth curl into a satisfied smirk. It had been exactly three days since I handed off the blonde nurse to her new owner, and the final payment had been cleared with the kind of promptness that I always appreciated. I sat back in my lush desk chair and watched the figures in my Cayman Islands account swell, the total balance now looking significantly healthier than it had at the beginning of the week. There is a specific kind of joy that comes with financial security, and I allowed myself to bask in the glow of my own success for a few moments. I had worked hard to build my reputation as Enigma, and every dollar in that account was a testament to my growing popularity amongst the country’s evil elite.

I moved the mouse and clicked over to my secure email inbox, expecting to find nothing but the occasional spam messages that managed to evade my strict filters. I was surprised to find a new message sitting at the top of the list, a high-priority request for my specific expertise that had arrived only an hour ago. I didn’t usually get two jobs so close together, and I relished the thought of a bumper month, imagining the way my accounts would look if I managed to pull off another high-value extraction before the month was out. I had been considering moving into a new block of apartments in a more exclusive part of the city, and a few more paydays like the last one would make that ambition a reality.

I clicked on the email and began to read through the details, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the requirements provided by the benefactor. The request was a familiar one, asking for my skills to take and repurpose a pretty woman who had rejected him many moons ago. I chuckled at the request. It didn’t matter how much wealth a man accumulated or how many pretty trophy wives he could obtain; he would always obsess over that one who got away.

I scrolled to the bottom of the message, opened the attached image files, and felt a sudden spark of interest as the first photo appeared on the screen. The woman in the pictures was a striking brunette, her eyes conveying a quiet intelligence that I found immediately provocative. She had long, dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders and a pair of large, soulful brown eyes that seemed to be filled with life and enjoyment. Her lips were naturally full and possessed a soft, pink hue that made me think of the various things I’d like to do to them once I had her on my table.

She was gorgeous, with a refined, elegant beauty that stirred something in my groin. I am bisexual, and I have always found that the job is much more enjoyable when I actually like the look of the merchandise I am handling. I could already imagine her dark hair spilling across the padded surface of my examination room, and I felt a surge of anticipation at the thought of breaking the woman’s intelligent gaze. I wondered what the man wanted her repurposed into, and whether he would allow me enough time to have a little fun with the girl first.

I turned my attention to the keyboard and began to draft a response. I told the client I would accept the job, but made it clear that my time was far too valuable to waste on negotiations. I demanded a deposit of $25,000 to be placed into my account by the end of the day, and I informed him that I would not start planning out his fantasy until the funds were secured. I enjoyed the power of making such demands, knowing the wealthy individual on the other end was a sick bastard, but likely too pathetic and soft to dispute any terms that I set. I clicked the send button and watched as the message disappeared into the digital ether.

I reached out and switched the computer off, the screens going black as I sat in the sudden silence of my study. I was currently wearing a silk robe that felt soft and comfortable against my skin, my long red hair hanging loosely down my back. I rubbed my hands together at the prospect of taking another pretty woman so soon, feeling a deep and dark satisfaction at the thought of the hunt that was about to begin. I had no idea why this specific client wanted the schoolteacher, and I didn’t care. I was going to have fun with this one, I told myself.

I stood up and walked over toward the kitchen, my bare feet making no sound on the polished floors of the main living area. I was starting to feel the first stirrings of hunger, and I found it amusing that I could negotiate a kidnapping and a permanent life of sexual servitude for a stranger and then immediately think about what I wanted to eat. The moral weight of my actions would paralyze most people, but I had never allowed such trivialities to interfere with my appetite for life or the currency that fueled it. I thought about the breakfast I was going to have, debating between a simple fruit arrangement or something more substantial to fuel my suddenly filled calendar. I had a schoolteacher to track and a life to end, and I wanted to make sure I was in peak condition when I finally stepped out of the shadows to claim her.

❖

Sitting in a tucked-away booth at the back of the wine bar, I found myself checking my phone far more often than I usually liked to admit. My heart was doing a strange little dance against my ribs, and I told myself it was just the excitement of another hunt, even though this felt different from my usual covert extractions. I had spent the last week meticulously planning every second of this evening, and I kept reminding myself that this was the only way to get close enough to the target.

Faye Jackson was a creature of habit, but her habits were designed to keep her surrounded by people at all times. My research had shown that she rarely ever went out on her own and was almost always flanked by a loud group of friends whenever she visited the local haunts in the Mission District. That constant social barrier made it nearly impossible for me to find a moment where the dark-haired woman could be found vulnerable and alone.

I had considered attacking her as she walked to her vehicle after work, but the school where she taught had a parking lot that was situated only a few feet from the main entrance. There were too many eyes, too many windows, and too much of a risk that someone would see a white van and a struggling teacher before I could even get the needle in her neck.

Her home life offered no better opportunities, as she lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood that took its neighborhood watch presence far too seriously. I had spent a couple of nights idling on her street, and I had seen the way the neighbors watched any unknown car that sat for more than a few minutes. It was too risky to simply enter the teacher’s home and take her there. This date was the only opening she had given me,  and I was going to make sure I took full advantage of it.

During my deep dive into the brunette’s life, I discovered that she was a single lesbian who was heavily active on several dating apps in her search for what she called Mrs. Right. It seemed like the only time she was willing to step away from her usual crowd was when she was attending these one-on-one dates, which she managed to fit in about once a week. I had decided to sign up for one of the sites, DoesYourMotherKnow.com, using the fake name Lisa Kraft. I created an elaborate backstory for my persona, claiming I was a former rebel musician who had spent her early twenties touring with various indie bands and was now looking to settle down and find something real. I had flirted with my target for several days, sending her AI-doctored versions of my photos to reel her in. We had arranged to meet in this trendy SoMa bar for a couple of drinks to see how we hit it off in person, and I was determined to be the most charming woman she had ever met.

I shifted my weight on the soft seat, feeling the light fabric of my flowing red summer dress against my skin. The dress bared my arms and showed off just a subtle hint of cleavage, a deliberate choice to look enticing without looking like I was trying too hard. I had paired it with black stockings and a pair of three-inch red stilettos that made my legs look inviting and endless, if I do say so myself. I reached for the glass of water on the table and took a slow sip, trying to steady the uncharacteristic nerves that were bubbling in my stomach. I had no idea why this anonymous client truly wanted her, other than that she had rejected him a few years back, but I couldn’t blame him for his obsession.

Just then, the front door of the bar swung open, and I saw the woman walk in. She paused for a moment to scan the room, and I felt a sharp intake of breath as I saw her in person for the first time. Faye Jackson was absolutely gorgeous, possessing an intelligent beauty that her images hadn’t fully captured. She was wearing a deep emerald green jumpsuit that cinched at her waist, the rich color providing a stunning contrast to her tanned skin and the dark, cascading waves of her hair. It was going to be a shame shredding that beautiful outfit, I thought humorously to myself. Her brown eyes were bright with anticipation as they landed on me, and I watched a warm smile spread across her full, painted lips. She moved toward the booth with a confident stride, her presence commanding the attention of half the men in the room without her even trying.

“You must be Lisa,” she said as she reached the table, her voice warm and melodic.

“And you are even more stunning than your pictures, Faye,” I replied, standing up to greet her with a polite smile and a warm hug.

“I was actually worried that you might be too good to be true, given your musical backstory,” she admitted as she slid into the booth beside me. “I am glad to see that you are very real and very present.”

“I could say the same about you,” I chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind that I already grabbed a table. I find that I prefer the quiet of the corners when I am meeting someone for the first time.”

“I actually prefer it this way,” the brunette said, her eyes searching mine with a look of interest. “It makes it easier to actually talk without having to yell over the music.”

We ordered matching glasses of red wine from the waiter, and for the next hour, I found myself actually enjoying the conversation. We talked about her work at the school and my fabricated life on the road, and I was surprised by how easily the lies flowed from my tongue. We seemed to have a real connection, and I ended up laughing at her jokes and engaging with my next victim in a way that didn’t feel like a job at all. This woman was intelligent, funny, and incredibly attentive, and for a few moments, I almost forgot that I was planning to turn her into a rubberized object by the end of the night.

“I honestly didn’t think I would find someone like you on that site,” Faye said, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. “Most of the people I speak to either turn out to be catfishes or women with absolutely no personality.”

“I think the same could be said for the men I used to date,” I told her, my tone light and playful. “That’s why I decided to stop wasting my time with men altogether, and start looking for something that actually mattered.”

Faye’s gaze became intense as she looked into my eyes. “And what is it that you’re looking for, Lisa?”

“I’m searching for someone who isn’t afraid to lose themselves in another person,” I replied, the double meaning of the words bringing a secret thrill to my chest. “Someone who understands that sometimes, the best thing you can do is give up control.”

“That’s a very deep thought for a first date,” the brunette replied with a soft chuckle. “But I think I understand what you mean. There is a certain freedom in letting someone else take charge.”

I decided that now was the time to bring the evening to its intended conclusion. While Faye was busy in the restroom, I reached into my small clutch bag on the seat beside me and withdrew a tiny vial of sedative. I moved with a subtle motion, shielding my hands with the edge of the table so no one else would notice as I slipped the clear liquid into her glass of red wine. It was a potent dose, designed to act quickly and leave her pliable and drowsy within minutes. The brunette retook her seat a moment later and continued her previous story about one of her students as though she had never left.

“It sounds like you really care about those kids,” I told her as I placed a hand on her thigh.

“I do, even when they are driving me crazy,” Faye replied with a warm smile.

Before I could encourage the schoolteacher to take another drink, a female photographer interrupted us, holding a professional camera and a small stack of business cards. She looked at us with a bright grin and adjusted the strap on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, I am so sorry to bother you both, but you are such a beautiful couple,” the photographer said. “Would the happy couple like a photo together to remember the evening?”

I tilted my head to the worker and offered her a polite, albeit firm, smile. I knew internally that I didn’t want any photographic evidence of this evening existing anywhere other than my own head.

“That’s a very kind offer, but I think we are just enjoying the moment for now,” I told her. “Thank you so much, but we will pass.”

The photographer returned the smile and nodded before moving toward the next table. I breathed a sigh of relief as I turned back toward Faye and lifted my own glass, my green eyes locked onto hers as I prepared the final toast.

“I think we should toast to a successful first meeting,” I suggested enticingly. “I hope we have many more together.”

We clinked glasses, and both took a long drink. I watched with predatory glee as Faye swallowed the drugged wine. I leaned back in the booth and smiled, enjoying the feeling of victory that was now only minutes away. She was so pretty, and I felt a sudden urge to tell her the truth before the darkness claimed her.

“You really are so pretty, Faye,” I said, my voice taking on a sharp and sadistic tone. “It truly is such a shame that I have to do this to you.”

“Do what, Lisa?” she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“I have this client who has been waiting for you for a very long time,” I told her, no longer bothering to hide the mockery in my tone. “And he is going to be so happy when I deliver you to him.”

I expected my victim to look terrified at my words, or to start struggling, but instead, she just stared at me with a look of calm amusement. Suddenly, my own world began to blur and tilt. A wave of intense dizziness washed over me, and I felt the strength start to drain from my limbs as the room began to spin. I tried to reach for the edge of the table, but my hand felt like it belonged to someone else, moving in slow and clumsy motions that I struggled to control.

“What… what is happening?” I managed to stammer, my voice sounding distant and thick in my own ears.

“I think I should be the one apologizing to you, Lucy,” the woman said, and my heart stopped as she used my real name for the first time.

She reached across the table and took my hand, her grip firm and strong as I felt myself sliding toward the seat. She leaned in close, and I saw that her brown eyes were no longer warm and soulful, but cold and calculating.

“My Master really wanted you bad,” she whispered, her face inches from mine. “He told me about how you operated, Enigma, and he told me exactly how to catch you. You really should have been more careful with your drinks, because I switched them while you were busy turning away to talk to that photographer.”

I tried to fight; I tried to pull my hand away, but my body no longer listened to me. The world was fading into a hazy gray, and I felt the weight of my date’s presence as she stood up beside me.

“Come on, Lucy,” she said, her voice sounding like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. “It is time for you to meet your new owner.”

She pulled me to my feet, and I felt my head loll against her shoulder as she began to lead me out of the bar. I saw the blurred shapes of the other patrons, none of whom seemed to notice that the brash and confident repurposer was being led away like a lamb to the slaughter. My world went completely black as we reached the door, and the last thing I felt was the cool night air hitting my face before the darkness swallowed me whole.

❖

Laughter and the incessant thumping of bass music filled the air inside the grand manor, signaling that Neil Epcot’s forty-ninth birthday celebration was in full swing. The expansive ballroom and its connecting lounges were crowded with the wealthiest men and women in San Francisco, all dressed in expensive evening wear as they caught up on gossip, drank vintage champagne, and danced without a care in the world.

I took no notice of the festivities or the music, as I was currently occupied on my knees in a corner of the private library, servicing another complete stranger. My world had been reduced to the glossy, restrictive shell of my skin-toned latex suit and the constant, demanding presence of the men who viewed me as nothing more than an expensive sex toy.

I looked practically naked in the permanent sex doll suit, the material so thin and tight that it appeared like a second, more perfect layer of skin. The only additions to my ensemble were a black leather collar around my neck and a wide black belt cinched around my waist. A pair of leather cuffs was attached to the sides of the belt, keeping my wrists chained tightly to my hips, making it impossible for me to lift my hands to stop the various guests from fondling and groping my exposed breasts or my rear. On my feet, I wore a pair of black, ten-inch en pointe ballet shoes that forced my feet into a vertical arched position. A short hobble chain connected the boots, ensuring that I could only manage the most mincing, precarious movements whenever I was allowed to stand.

The man currently standing over me let out a low groan as he reached his limit, emptying his load deep inside my mouth. I felt the warm liquid fill the internal sheath that ran down my throat, and I stared up as it was collected and then dumped through a series of tiny pores at the base of the tube. The suit’s design forced me to swallow every drop, as there was no other way for the fluid to flow. I felt the involuntary reflex of my throat working, a humiliating and constant reminder that I was no longer in control of even my most basic bodily functions. Once he was finished, the man firmly pulled me up, before reaching out, giving my large, latex-encased breast a rough squeeze before smacking my rear with a loud, stinging crack.

“You really are a fantastic little toy, aren’t you?” the man remarked as he adjusted his pants and walked away without looking back, treating me like a discarded pocket pussy.

I struggled to find my balance as I tottered through the party, the ballet boots making every step a challenge of endurance. Various men reached out to fondle and caress me as I passed, their hands roaming over the glossy surface of the latex with a sense of entitlement that made my blood boil behind my plastic mask. The wrist cuffs attached to my belt ensured I couldn’t swat away any wandering hands, and I was forced to endure their touching with muffled moans. I tried to move faster, but the hobble chain rattled against my boots and restricted my stride to a series of awkward, tiny shuffles. I was a spectacle, a moving piece of property that existed solely for their amusement, and there was nothing I could do about it.

One younger man, his face flushed with alcohol, intercepted me near the entrance to the main living room. He grinned at me and suddenly forced me to bend over, the tight latex groaning as he pushed my hooded head toward the floor. I felt a sharp, intrusive pressure in my ass as the man shoved an empty beer bottle up my puckered, circular, bright red entrance. I let out a muffled, desperate protest behind the transparent plastic of my hood, but the metal ring behind my teeth ensured that no one could understand my distress.

“Mmmph-gnnr-hnnn!” I muffled, my body tensing in shock at the cold glass inside me.

“I needed somewhere to stick my trash, doll, and you look like you were built to hold it,” the man said with a cruel laugh.

My wrists were bound too tightly to the waist belt to reach back and remove the bottle, and I was forced to continue my walk with the intrusion still firmly lodged inside me. I eventually made it back to the main lounge, where the fat bastard, Neil Epcot, was standing in the center of a small group of guests. He looked every bit the successful host, but my attention was immediately drawn to the dark-haired woman on her knees directly beside him. She was entirely naked, wearing nothing but a vibrant red collar and a red-strapped ring gag that forced her mouth open in a look of constant readiness. A long leather leash was connected to her collar, the handle held firmly in the middle-aged man’s hand.

It was Faye, and as I looked at her, I realized that she was definitely not the schoolteacher or the lesbian she had portrayed herself to be. She looked up at Neil with a look of pure love and devotion, her brown eyes filled with an affection that made me feel sick. Neil absently stroked the kneeling woman’s dark hair, running his fingers through the cascading waves as if he were petting a loyal dog. He noticed me approaching, and his grin widened, his eyes glinting with a triumphant light as he reached out and grabbed my arm.

“Look who decided to join the party,” Neil said to the small group he was talking to.

The balding man reached out behind me and amusedly pulled the beer bottle out of my ass, placing it casually on a nearby table as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence. He then turned me around so that I was facing his two guests, and I felt his fingers begin to gently poke and prod at my asshole through the circular opening in the suit.

“Have you two met my new sex doll yet?” Neil asked with a humored look.

“Sex doll?” one of the men questioned, leaning in to get a closer look at the transparent plastic of my gagged face. “I thought she was just a very dedicated performer.”

“Barbie is actually one of the new high-tech, ultra-realistic prototypes being tested right now,” Neil explained, his voice sounding smooth and convincing. “I just happened to get my hands on her for some field testing. Everything about her is designed to mimic the human experience while remaining fully functional as a sex doll.”

I couldn’t believe the way that bastard was talking about me, as if I were designed in a factory rather than a real person with a history and a mind of my own. I tried to pull away and retort, but the ring in my mouth made it impossible to refute his lies.

“Mmmpphh! Gnn-hnn-mmrr!” I muffled, my eyes darting between the men in a desperate plea for recognition.

“She even makes those realistic little noises when you interact with her,” Neil noted, giving my rear another smack. “It is truly amazing how far the technology has come.”

“Can I touch her?” the other man asked, his hand already reaching out for my breast.

“You can do much more than that,” Neil replied, pushing me in the man’s direction. “I think you two should give her a real test drive. Don’t be shy; she is built to handle whatever you want to throw at her. Just be careful not to break her. She’s pretty damn expensive.”

The man’s eyes roamed over my pushed-up breasts. “Do you have a spare room we can wander off to?” the man asked the host.

Neil laughed, his hand returning to Faye’s head to stroke her hair once more. “There is no need for that; we are all friends here,” Neil told him with a dismissive wave. “Barbie is just a toy, and there is no reason to hide her away. You can test her out right here in the living room.”

The men didn’t ask twice, moving me over to a large, vacant sofa and forcing me down onto my hands and knees. One of the men lowered his pants and immediately guided himself into my open, waiting mouth, the internal sheath sliding down my throat to accommodate him.

“Wow, she’s incredibly warm and responsive,” the man noted as he began to thrust into my face. “It almost feels like the real thing.”

The other man moved behind me, his hands gripping my latex-clad hips as he entered my inviting pussy from behind. I felt the textured internal sheath of the suit stretching to accommodate him, the material providing a constant, intense stimulation I was forced to endure. They began to fuck me from both orifices simultaneously, their movements frantic and unrelenting as they put the “prototype” through its paces. I looked vacantly at the man’s stomach, my eyes locked into their wide, plastic stare, while Neil watched with a look of satisfied ownership.

The music and laughter of the party continued around me, but I was no longer part of that world. I was a rubber sex doll, a high-end object of submission that would be passed from hand to hand for the rest of my existence. I knew as the men continued to use me that this was my life now, and there would be no rescue and no escape. I had spent my adult life repurposing others, and now, I had truly been repurposed myself.

The End.