Chapter Ten

Beth stood cloaked in the shadows of a narrow alley, her voluptuous silhouette barely covered by the shimmering silver mini-dress that hugged her transformed curves. The weight of The Toymaker’s ultimatum hung around her neck, and she knew it was an impossible decision. She could hide in the shadows and wait for an opportunity to find the killer, a choice that would almost certainly lead to her colleague and friend’s death. Alternatively, she could follow his commands and meet the killer on the rooftop terrace tomorrow evening, a result that could see her trapped forever in a psychopath’s torment, but would more likely see Melanie’s release.

The air of the alleyway carried the sharp tang of spilled liquor and the distant hum of vehicles, a reminder of the Las Vegas night scene that she had spent so many months integrating into. Beth gazed at the empty street corner near the airport, Hookers Corner, where she had strutted for months as Bambi, the seductive whore crafted by Warren’s manipulative hands.

The familiar cracked pavement gleamed under a flickering streetlight that hadn’t been fixed since Beth started her undercover work as the woman stared at her former ‘workplace.’ The blonde’s glossy pink lips parted in a soft sigh, the memory of the taunting DVD and Melanie’s bound body burning in her mind like a fresh wound. The Toymaker’s demand echoed in her mind relentlessly, and she didn’t know what to do.

Her mind drifted to the first night she stood on that corner, her original body unaccustomed to the towering heels she now walked expertly in, her movements clumsy as she tried to blend in with the streetwalkers. The bitter memory of a john’s rough hands gripping her hair, his hot release flooding her throat, resurfaced with vivid clarity. She could still taste the salty warmth as she imagined it, feel the ache of her jaw as she worked him, her lips moving with a skill she had never wanted to master. Each degrading act—kneeling in filthy backseats, enduring anal in her seedy motel room, submitting to ropes that bit into her wrists—had carved away pieces of the blonde’s dignity, leaving her as the undercover whore she was today.

Beth’s blue eyes, framed by long lashes, glistened with unshed tears as she recalled Sweetlips’ fate, her sarcastic spirit snuffed out and encased in a doll box, delivered to a grieving loved one. The guilt of missing the red Porsche’s details that night gnawed at her, a failure that might have saved the blonde escort and prevented her officer colleague from becoming another potential victim. Now Melanie faced the same horror, her naked body tied with those red nylon ropes, a vibrator tormenting her. Beth couldn’t rid herself of the image of the woman bound on the chair, the word “DOLL” scrawled across her forehead in red lipstick. The undercover cop’s heart clenched, a sharp pang of guilt twisting like a blade. She had let Sweetlips down, and now her closest friend was paying the price for her shortcomings.

Her mind flew back to that first night on the corner she now stared reminiscently at, the way her modest breasts had strained against a too-tight top for the first time, her legs trembling as she tried to mimic the sultry confidence of women like Lola and Candy. She could feel the weight of a john’s gaze, his grinning smirk as he noticed how new she was to the job. Warren had put that right, one by one, command after command; she was molded into this busty, blonde bimbo she now saw whenever she glanced at a reflective surface.

Beth’s platinum curls swayed as she shifted uncomfortably, catching the neon glow of a nearby trashy casino sign, its violet lights dancing across her glossy lips. She thought of the night with Warren at Finnigan’s Bar, where her former colleagues had leered at her transformed body, oblivious to the rookie cop beneath the blonde hair and exaggerated curves. Melanie’s scornful words—“Get yourself a real job and have a little respect for yourself”—cut deeper than any john’s touch, a comment that almost made her quit right then and there if it were not for Warren’s control.

The distant rumble of a powerful car engine jolted her, and Beth pressed deeper into the alley’s shadows, her curvy silhouette melding with the darkness. She recalled Rico’s choking grip, his fingers bruising her throat as he tried to claim her, only for Warren to intervene, his fist crashing into the pimp’s face. Yet even that rescue came with his possessive taunts, treating her as his “property,” his gray eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as the asshole pocketed her earnings and forced her to live on a modest stipend. Every dollar stuffed into her cleavage, every forced moan in a seedy motel room, every rope that bound her wrists—it all weighed on her soul, a crushing burden that threatened to unravel her. But the thought of Melanie, strapped into a doll box, her eyes wide with terror, ignited a fire in Beth’s chest. She couldn’t let those months of degradation be for nothing.

Beth’s blue eyes hardened as her sad expression was replaced by a fierce resolve. She straightened, her silver dress straining against her enhanced breasts, the fabric showing off every curve as she stood tall. The Toymaker knew her real identity, and she’d never be safe if she continued to hide in the shadows. How many more loved ones would suffer before she relented? Would her Mom be next? Her cousins? She needed to end this.

The blonde undercover cop’s breath steadied, her glossy lips curving into a determined line as she took a final look at the empty corner. Every humiliation she’d endured these past few months—every cock she’d sucked, every night she’d spent bound and used, every taunt from Warren—had to mean something. She would make it mean something. Her 6-inch stilettos clicked with purpose against the alley’s concrete, each step a sensual sway that showed how much Warren continued to influence her. She tottered back toward the Emerald Escapes Motel, her resolve burning brighter than the neon glow, ready to face the Toymaker and put an end to this, once and for all.

❖

The following afternoon, after a restless night and a procrastinating morning, Beth stood naked in her dimly lit room at the Emerald Escapes Motel. Captain Vance and Warren Skinner had no clue where she had vanished to after she stormed out of the captain’s precinct office three days ago, her fury at their refusal to act swiftly against the Toymaker driving her to this rundown hideout. Her former room at the Desert Inn, once a stage for her degrading acts as a prostitute, lay in ruins after the Toymaker’s brutal ransacking. The blonde’s voluptuous body, sculpted by Warren’s cruel transformations, gleamed in muted light, her enhanced E-cup breasts and wide hips a testament to how much she’d already endured to catch this bastard.

Beth sighed, her breath trembling as she gazed at the large brown cardboard box resting on her sagging bed, its contents filled with items she had been putting off confronting. The Toymaker’s video and note were clear; he expected her to meet him on the rooftop terrace tonight, transformed to his exact specifications with the help of the contents of this box. She knew his type, knew what kind of transformation he was looking for, and sinking deeper into the psychopath’s deranged, perverted fantasies chilled the blonde to the core.

However, Beth knew that if she didn’t bite the bullet now, if she didn’t meet him on that terrace looking like his fantasy, Melanie’s life could be forfeit. Beth’s friend’s terrified image seared into her mind like a brand. The creaky floorboards groaned under the woman’s bare feet, the air thick with the stale scent of cigarettes, and the dull, echoing moans of sex in the background reminded Beth of what this motel was usually used for.

With a heavy heart, Beth approached the bed, her fingers trembling as she reached for the box. The note inside, written in bold, cursive script, commanded her to use every item to become the “perfect slut” for their meeting. Beth shook her blonde-haired head, softly biting her plump lower lip, before turning the box over, tossing every item out onto her bed. She knew she had to do this, and she had to do it now.

Beth stood over the moldy mattress, her bare skin prickling in the musty air as she surveyed the scattered parcels. Her pulse quickened, the weight of Melanie’s fate pressing against her chest like a leaden chain. She had spent months enduring Warren’s conditioning, her body and mind warped to lure a killer, and these items were the final knell in her bimbofied tomb. The blonde scanned the packages; each one was numbered in order, with the note giving her precise instructions for each one.

With a trembling hand, Beth reached for the first parcel, unwrapping it to reveal a small jar of unlabeled cream, its surface smooth and unassuming under the model’s lamp. The note instructed her to slather it over her entire body and face, before waiting five minutes and taking a shower to rinse the solution away. The note never specified what the cream actually did. She swallowed hard; what if this was a trap, what if the items were designed to force her to endure a slow torture and painful death? The killer was a psycho, and nothing was off the table.

Steeling her resolve, Beth dipped her fingers into the cool, silken substance, its texture gliding like liquid satin against her skin. Starting at her collarbone, the undercover cop spread the cream across her shoulders, the substance clinging to her flesh as she rubbed it in, its coolness soothing her muscles. She coated her curvy, fake breasts, the sensation teasing her sensitive nipples, then moved to her toned arms, slender waist, and wide hips. Her smooth legs glistened as Beth applied the solution, each stroke amplifying her vulnerability as she had no idea what effect this unmarked substance would have on her body. Her skin started tingling with an unnatural warmth, a side effect that alarmed the blonde. Hesitating, Beth smoothed it over her cheeks and forehead, rubbing it in all over her face. Once her entire body had been covered, the woman set a timer for five minutes. She sat on the bed waiting, wondering what she had just initiated.

As the timer beeped, Beth rose from the bed, her skin still tingling with that surreal warmth, and padded to the bathroom. The creaky door swung open, and she stepped into the small tiled space. The blonde turned on the shower, the water cascading in a warm stream that began to fill the room with steam. With a deep sigh, she tentatively slipped under the spray, the droplets caressing her voluptuous curves, tracing paths down her enhanced tits and along her wide hips. The cream’s residue washed away, swirling down the drain in a milky haze, leaving her skin feeling strangely alive, every nerve ending heightened.

Emerging from the shower, Beth wrapped a thin towel across her torso, the fabric clinging to her damp flesh, but she gasped as the air brushed her skin with an intensity that made her shiver. After wiping herself down with the towel, she dropped it to the floor and approached the mirror in her bedroom, her heart skipping a beat at the reflection staring back at her. Her body was completely hairless, not a single strand remained anywhere, leaving her face eerily smooth and blank. What’s more, her body gleamed with a subtle, plastic-like sheen, shimmering like polished porcelain, a flawless canvas that genuinely made her look less human and more like a manufactured doll.

Horrified, the blonde ran her fingers over her arms, her waist, her legs, the touch sending sparks through her newly hypersensitive flesh, every inch responding with a tingling awareness that bordered on arousal. The violation hit Beth deeply, as the cream had transformed her into something artificial. She had only reached stage one, and the undercover cop was contemplating calling it quits. Shaking her head, with Melanie’s horrified form flashing in her mind, she urged herself to press on despite the horror.

Glancing at the clock, realizing she was running out of time, Beth reluctantly reached for the second parcel, a long, thin package that turned out to be a black pencil with a fine tip. The note instructed her to draw thin, arched lines about her eyes, with an image demonstrating what they should look like. The blonde’s pulse quickened; the bastard had enforced the removal of her natural eyebrows and now instructed her to replace them with drawn lines like she was a painted doll. With a trembling hand, she traced delicate, high-arched lines above her eyes, the pencil’s strokes sharp and precise despite her shaking, each line a surrender to the killer’s vision. As she finished, her eyes widened as a searing heat erupted across her brow, prompting the undercover cop to gasp sharply. The pain faded swiftly, but as the woman rubbed her brow, she found the arches fixed, as if etched into her flesh, permanent and unmoving.

The mirror revealed a vacant, exaggerated expression, her blue eyes framed by brows that screamed naivety, erasing the sharp intelligence she once wore proudly. “Like, what the fuck?!” she cried out, her eyes narrowing at her valley girl dialect that had been forced upon her last night, adding to the humiliation she felt as she stared at her new shiny, dumb-look face.

She continued, determined to get through the night and save her friend. She knew she couldn’t stop now, not with Melanie’s life hanging in the balance. With a shaky breath, she reached for parcel number three, her manicured nails trembling as she unwrapped a small vial, its precise contents glinting in the light.

The note instructed her to apply two drops to each eye, nothing more. She paused for a moment; what if the drops made her entirely blind? Moving forward, Beth tilted her head back, her platinum hair swaying against her bare shoulders, and squeezed the drops into her eyes, wincing as they burned like fire. Her vision blurred, and the young woman began panicking that her first instinct may have been correct, tears streaming down her polished cheeks as she gripped the dresser for support, her body trembling from the extraordinary pain. The blonde blinked frantically, desperate to clear the haze, but the sensation lingered. Eventually, the burning faded, and to her relief, her sight cleared. However, her vision felt altered, constrained almost.

In the mirror, her blue eyes stared wide back at her, completely unblinking, with a glassy intensity that stripped away her ability to express her emotions. She tried to narrow them, to blink, but her eyes remained locked in a doll-like stare. Furthermore, her peripheral vision had vanished, forcing her to focus on what lay directly ahead and turn her head if she wanted to watch what was occurring to the side. She gently prodded her wide-open left eye, surprised as she felt no pain when her long fingernail gently caressed it, as if a protective layer had sealed them, rendering her gaze artificial. She wasn’t yet aware, but the eyedrops had also sealed her tearducts, ensuring that her salty tears were a thing of the past. Beth shook her head. This psychopath didn’t just want her to dress like his perfect doll; he wanted her to become one.

Wanting to end this nightmare, Beth reached for the fourth parcel, her fingers trembling as she unwrapped a bright pink tube, revealing glossy lip balm with no label. Shaking her head, Beth knew it didn’t take a genius to figure out what to do with this item, but she read the note anyway, the handwritten scribble merely instructing her to apply it generously to her enhanced lips. Beth’s stomach twisted, the fresh memory of what had happened to her eyes making her hesitate, but the image of Melanie’s bound form and terrified eyes as she pleaded through the ball gag urged her forward.

The blonde smoothed the slick gloss over her already plump lips, its texture tingling like a warm current as it sank into her skin. A sudden, electric pulse spread through the glossy woman’s mouth, and she gasped sharply. She stared at the mirror in anger as she witnessed her lips swell even further, inflating them to an artificial, ridiculous fullness that screamed for attention. Even the most shameless porn bimbos on the dark edges of the web wouldn’t have dared to plump their lips to this level. In the mirror, they gleamed a permanent, vibrant candy pink, their surface so sensitive that each brush of the air sent a subtle shiver through her core, like a spark igniting her clit. Beth reached for them tentatively, moaning involuntarily at the overwhelming sensation, her lips now a provocative focal point of her doll-like transformation. The violation felt deeply personal, not least because of how much she hated her previously inflated lips, now a modest size compared to their new iteration.

Beth’s heart pounded, the mirror reflecting a face that no longer felt like her own, or Bambi’s for that matter, her vibrant pink lips a humiliating result of the Toymaker’s demands. She stood frozen, her naked body trembling as she fought the urge to hurl the remaining parcels against the wall. This was harder than she had anticipated, more extreme than she ever could imagine, but there were not many parcels left, and she was certain the worst had been done.

She reached for parcel number five, her manicured nails ripping apart the brown packaging as she discovered yet another cream. This time, the note’s cursive script instructed her to apply it evenly across her face, and only her face. Unaware of what effect this solution would have on her body, Beth scooped the thick creamy substance, its texture heavy and warm like melted wax, and hesitated, her fingers hovering over her cheeks. She fought between the desire to stop before it was too late and the resolve to do whatever it takes to save her colleague. Her resolve won out as she spread the cream across her forehead, cheeks, and chin. She rubbed it over her skin, gliding over her nose and tracing the edges of her massive lips, its heat sinking into her skin like a branding iron. The blonde’s face tightened and contorted, as if stretched taut over a frame, the sensation both painful and surreal as it adjusted her facial features.

In the mirror, Beth’s skin gleamed unnaturally smooth, like a mannequin’s surface, devoid of lines and blemishes. It was almost as if Botox had been strategically placed on several spots of her face. Most shockingly, her lips appeared stretched into an open O-shaped pout, creating a permanent sex-doll expression that made her feel sick to her stomach. She tried to close them, to rid herself of the humiliating expression, but they held firm. Mixed with the wide open eyes, lineless face, and drawn on eyebrows, her face was the vision of a manufactured sex doll.

“Like, what had this freak totally done to me?” Strangely, as she began to speak, her lips reverted to their original form, allowing her to chirp out in her embarrassing bimbo lilt. However, the moment she stopped talking, her lips snapped back to the O-shape, a humiliating design that completely dehumanized the undercover cop.

Beth glanced at the remaining parcels, wondering what new horrors they hid behind their plain packaging. With a shaky breath, the blonde reached for parcel number six, her nails tearing the brown wrapping to reveal a pink pencil, its tip fine and delicate.

She had assumed the Toymaker wasn’t done with her face, but was surprised to read the note instructing her to draw heart shapes around her nipples and areolas, with an image beside the words giving her a demonstration. Beth’s pulse quickened, her fingers continuing to shake as she traced the delicate hearts, the pencil’s strokes tickling her sensitive, ultra-smooth flesh like a lover’s whisper. As she completed the shape, a warm flush spread across her enhanced breasts, and the hearts mystically filled in with a bright pink hue that seemed to sink into her flesh. She gasped, her fingers brushing what was effectively her new heart-shaped areolas, and moaned involuntarily as pleasure shot through her spine like an electric current. The bright, new pigmentation was hypersensitive, matching the intensity of her clit, sending pleasure to every cell of her body as she touched them. The artificial hearts gleamed, screaming out boldly against her flawless skin, marking her as a toy for the notorious serial killer.

Only one numbered package remained beside the vacuum-packed attire he had chosen for her. Beth reached for the brown parcel, its wrapping crinkling under her fingers as she tore it open to reveal a rubber, skin-colored contraption resembling a pair of tight panties. However, these were no ordinary panties as two long plugs protruded from the inside, indicating a more malicious intent. The note instructed the blonde to apply the included tube of lubricant to her intimate areas, then wear the panties to ensure the plugs were fully inserted. Once again, her stomach churned, a wave of nausea rising at the thought of what this item would do to her already violated body. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the tube, but she was so close to the end.

With a shaky breath, Beth squeezed the lube onto her fingers, its slick texture cool and slippery, before applying it to her pussy, the sensation sending a jolt of unwanted arousal through her as her flesh responded. The blonde’s fingers moved to her add, the lube tingling as it opened her up, each touch amplifying her vulnerability.

Beth picked up the panties and slipped them on, her breath hitching as the plugs pressed against her lubricated openings. She winced, guiding them carefully, the intrusion both invasive and disturbingly stimulating. The first plug filled her pussy, its length stretching her with a warmth that made her O-shaped lips moan involuntarily, her body betraying her with a pulse of pleasure. The second plug entered her ass, its thickness sending an unwanted shudder down her spine as it settled deep within her.

As the plugs fell into place, a soft click echoed in the quiet room, and the panties tightened, sealing against her skin like a second layer. Beth tried to peel away the seam with her long fingernails, but her panties refused to budge, the rubber so tight that it blended seamlessly with her porcelain flesh. Staring at her crotch in the mirror, the undercover cop was shocked to find a flat surface, a simple smooth expanse with no slit where her pussy should have been, the color perfect with the shade of her own skin. It looked like she wasn’t wearing the panties at all, and gave her a real Barbie doll appearance. The plugs shifted with every movement, their presence a constant humiliation. She wasn’t yet aware, but a small hole at the base of the panties allowed her to pass waste while wearing the contraption.

Beth stood frozen, her naked body trembling as she faced the mirror, her reflection a slutty cartoon character of what a human sex doll should be. Her hairless, plastic-sheened skin gleamed under the light, her high-arched brows and unblinking eyes giving her a vacant, doll-like stare. Her bright, candy-pink lips, swollen to an obscene fullness, formed a permanent O-shape when silent, their clit-like sensitivity making every breath a torment of arousal. The heart-shaped areolas glowed against her enhanced breasts, their hypersensitive surface sending sparks through her whenever her arm brushed them. The sealed panties, with their intrusive plugs, erased her natural contours, leaving a flat, artificial crotch and rear that mocked her humanity. She was no longer Beth, nor even Bambi, but a living toy crafted for the Toymaker’s perverse fantasies.

The dollified cop’s gaze fell to the vacuum-packed parcel, the note beside it promising that it would complete her transformation, a final step before she could meet the Toymaker and save her colleague. Beth’s heart pounded as she gazed at the package. She had already morphed herself into this sickening vision, and as she picked up the sealed plastic bag, she knew there was no way out now.

❖

The sharp click of heels reverberated across the desolate evening rooftop of an abandoned building, three miles from the glittering chaos of the Las Vegas Strip, where the distant casino lights flickered like a seductive mirage against the twilight sky. Beth tottered nervously along the cracked concrete, her heart pounding with dread and humiliation as she followed the address scrawled in the Toymaker’s taunting note.

The cool night air caressed her smooth, sensitive skin, sending shivers through her transformed body, a living doll sculpted to the killer’s perverse desires. Her latex dress clung to her modified, busty form like a second skin, pink halter straps draping delicately over her shoulders, framing transparent windowed panels that showcased and completely revealed her enhanced E-cup breasts, their bright, heart-shaped areolas glowing beneath the sheer material. The dress conformed into a pink corset below the breasts, cinching her slender waist, accentuating her wide hips, while it morphed back into transparent latex that stretched taut over her flat, Barbie-like crotch and rear, the intrusive plugs within shifting pleasurably with each unsteady step. It was a devious dress designed to show off the doll’s most intimate areas.

Pink latex stockings hugged the blonde’s long, smooth legs, leading to 6-inch pink stripper heels with a clear platform that forced a provocative sway, each click of her heels a humiliating reminder of the conditioning that still plagued her. A pink latex choker, emblazoned with “Bambi Doll” in cursive font, encircled her throat, a humiliating brand that complemented the woman’s permanent, candy-pink lips, locked in an O-shape pout, and her unblinking, glassy big blue eyes. Her platinum blonde hair was tied in high pigtails, which bounced with each step, further mocking the undercover officer, completing her grotesque transformation as the Toymaker’s ultimate fantasy.

As Beth approached the center of the open space, a candlelit table stood alone, its flickering flames dancing in the evening breeze, illuminating a single note at the seat of one of the two chairs. The notes had the singular word “Sit” scrawled in bold, cursive script, prompting Beth to shudder; the psychopath had planned this entire event. Her hypersensitive nipples distracted her beneath the transparent latex, the plug’s adjustments sending waves of unwanted pleasure through her body. Still, the blonde obeyed, sinking into the chair with a soft creak of her outfit against the plastic chair.

The undercover cop glanced around as she sat alone, looking for any signs of Melanie or the Toymaker, each silent moment adding dread to her predicament. What if she had walked into a trap? What if Melanie were already dead? Beth shook her head. She couldn’t process those thoughts and chose to focus on what she could control. Everything she had been subjected to had come down to this, and she couldn’t waste the opportunity.

Beth’s heart pounded, her unblinking eyes scanning the desolate rooftop, her head having to move to scan around as her peripheral vision had been cruelly taken from her. The blonde clenched her manicured fingers, the vibrant pink polish glinting in the candlelight, anchoring herself against the fear that she might become another doll in the Toymaker’s collection.

A soft chuckle sliced through the silence, and Beth’s glassy eyes snapped toward the sound, her limited vision again forcing her to pivot her head. James Day emerged from the shadows, the former suave client who had walked her back from the LV strip the previous week and the man whom Beth had suspected of being the Toymaker after spotting his Texas ID. This suspicion had proven to be correct. The man wore a sharp, tailored white suit which appeared to gleam under the moonlight, the crisp fabric perfectly shaping his lean frame, accentuating his chiseled jaw and piercing green eyes. At first sight, no one would suspect this charismatic, attractive man of being a sadistic serial killer, but Beth knew better. The killer’s southern drawl dripped with amusement as he spoke. “Well, well, Bethany Shaw, you look absolutely breathtaking,” he said as he approached the table. “You’ve exceeded every expectation I had for my perfect creation.”

Beth’s heart thundered in her chest, her sensitive lips tingling against the air as he stayed frozen in its humiliating O-shape, her face a picture of the perfect sex doll, portraying no emotion despite the fury in her soul. “Like, thanks, sweetie. I totally worked hard to look good for you.” She winced at her words. She had intended to play nice, but her previous conditioning forced her embarrassing, bimbo words out like it was natural. Her lips reverted back to their circular shape after she finished speaking.

James’s grin widened, his eyes raking over her doll-like form with unabashed delight, lingering on the transparent latex that showcased her modified curves. He sat opposite the blonde and gestured with a flourish. “Stand up and give me a twirl, doll. Let me admire every exquisite detail of my masterpiece.” His words were calm and nonchalant.

The cop rose slowly, her 6-inch pink heels clicking sharply against the rooftop floor. She spun, her latex dress shifting softly, the transparent panels revealing her huge, fake breasts and ridiculous areolas. Her blonde pigtails swayed, and the pink choker gleamed as if she were owned, a humiliating emblem of her transformation. James’s eyes followed every curve, his grin sharpening with sadistic delight as he leaned back in his chair, savoring the perverted display.

Beth completed the twirl and sank back into the chair, her unblinking eyes locked on the mad killer before her. “Like, where’s my friend, sweetie?” she chirped. “You totally promised to let her go.” Her lips snapped back into their sex doll form after she spoke, eliciting a chuckle from the suave psychopath as he noticed.

The Toymaker leaned forward, adjusting his white suit as his green eyes glinted with predatory amusement that sent a shiver down Beth’s spine. He casually poured two glasses of red wine from a crystal decanter, the liquid simmering in the dim candlelit glow, the soft clink of the bottle against the glass echoing in the still night air. “Patience, darling,” he said tauntingly. “We’ll get to your friend soon enough. I am a man of my word, after all. Let’s savor this moment first, just you and me.”

Beth’s manicured fingers tightened around her glass as her wide, open eyes burned with suppressed fury. However, her conditioning forced a coy nod. “Like, okay, sweetie, but I really totally wanna see her, okay?” she said in her ditzy tone.

James swirled his wine, his gaze focused on the transparent panels that showcased Beth’s inviting chest. “You really are a vision, Bambi. My best work,” he said, his tone dripping with lust. “Every detail, from those luscious lips to that perfect body, is exactly what I wanted. I knew you’d be perfect the moment I saw you on that corner pretending to fit in with those trashy sluts. You are something special, doll.”

Beth’s fingers tightened further around the stem of her glass as she fought the urge to hurl it at James’s smug face. She just wanted this to be over. If the maniac needed to kill her to save her friend, then so be it.

James leaned back, his eyes not leaving the bimbofied image before him, as though he was in awe of his creation. He stared at Beth’s blank expression. You’re nervous, aren’t you, Bambi?” he said, his southern accent as smooth as velvet. “Don’t worry, darling. This night is all about you.”

“Like, I just wanna know my friend’s okay, sexy,” she flirted, trying to divert the attention back to Melanie and force the psychopath’s hand.

The man grinned before clicking his fingers expectantly. Trembling footsteps could be heard in the shadows, and Beth turned her head expecting to find her friend emerging, but stared disappointedly as she saw a chef timidly approaching the couple. As the blonde stared further, she noticed the man. It was Tony Belucci, the most celebrated chef in Las Vegas, his face pale with terror as he held two plates in his hands. He set down a garden salad before Beth and a plate of calamari before James. His eyes darted nervously, trying to avoid Beth’s captivating appearance.

James nodded approvingly, spearing a piece of calamari with his fork. “Thank you, Tony. Now go prepare the mains,” he said casually with a cruel, commanding tone.

Tony nodded back, his movements frantic as he disappeared into the darkness, the sound of footsteps swallowed by the rooftop’s eerie silence. James turned back to Beth, his grin sharpening as he savored his bite. “Believe it or not, Tony didn’t want to cook for us tonight. He kept refusing my generous offers, the stubborn fool.”

Beth shuddered, her wide eyes staring at the empty doorway the chef had retreated into. “Like, so what happened?” she chirped, the dread in her voice hidden by her conditioning.

The Toymaker sipped his wine to wash down his appetizer before setting the glass down with a deliberate clink. “Well, I took his wife under my wing. I told him that I’d return her back to him in a box, all dolled up, unless he cooperated,” he said, his tone chillingly nonchalant. “Funny how that changed his mind. Apparently, he didn’t fancy an inanimate doll for a wife.” He then grinned widely. “Although after a day with that yapping bitch, I can’t imagine why.”

James stared back at Beth, his eyes softening as he enjoyed the image she portrayed. “Come now, Bambi, don’t look so tense,” he said, his accent taunting. “This is our night, a celebration of your transformation. Eat your salad, darling. It’s good for that perfect figure.”

Beth glanced at the untouched salad, her stomach churning with dread. “Like, I’m not hungry, sweetie,” she said in a dulled chirp, her O-lips once again snapping back into place after she spoke.

James chuckled, spearing another piece of calamari before slipping it into his mouth, savoring the rich taste. “Suit yourself, doll. But we have a long night ahead of us; you might need your strength.”

The blonde’s heart pounded as she looked around again. She couldn’t deal with this slow-burning torture, unaware of whether her colleague was dead or alive, playing this freak’s game as he tormented her. “Like, just tell me where my friend is, okay?” Her conditioning continued to prevent her from speaking Melanie’s name, but she was pleased her words finally had an ounce of urgency about them.

James stared at her and sighed deeply, setting down her fork with a deliberate slowness. “You’re spoiling the mood, Bambi,” he said, his tone laced with mock disappointment. “I planned to save this for after dinner, but since you insist.” He pulled a small black remote from his suit jacket pocket and pressed a button before placing the device on the table. A mechanical whir echoed, the sound reverberating in Beth’s ears as a dusty blanket slid away from a corner of the rooftop.

Beth’s head pivoted, her limited vision straining as she followed the movement, and her breath caught at the sight before her. The removal of the blanket revealed two pink, human-sized doll boxes, their clear front panels shimmering under the moonlight. One box stood empty, its door ajar. However, it was the other box that caught the bimbofied cop’s attention. It held officer Melanie Sachs, strapped inside with white leather attached to the back of the box, as she was dressed in an outfit identical to what Beth was currently wearing: a pink halter dress with transparent panels exposing her modest breast and bare crotch, a pink corset painfully tightening her waist, and 6-inch platform heels on her feet. Her lips were bright pink, and her eyelids were colored in pink shadow as a ring gag stretched her mouth open. The dark-blonde-haired officer’s wrists and ankles were secured tightly to the box, her eyes wide with terror as she saw the transformed Beth, garbled pleas escaping her gagged mouth, the sound muffled but noticeable.

Beth surged to her feet as she saw her trapped friend, her heels scraping the concrete as she gasped when her plugs shifted inside of her with the sudden movement. “Like, let her go now, James!” she said as sternly as she could, her voice quaking with urgency, her unblinking eyes locked on Melanie’s pleading gaze.

James raised his voice as he interrupted her outburst. “Sit down, Bambi. We’re not done yet.”

Beth froze, staring at her colleague trapped inside the doll box, her mind urging her to totter towards the woman and rescue her. However, she knew what she was up against and begrudgingly obeyed his command.

The serial killer grinned as she complied with his order. He leaned forward, his green eyes cold and calculating. “I promised I’d release her, and I will, but only after our dinner date is complete, and you’re safely secured in that empty box,” he said, gesturing to the boxes with a casual wave. Beth gasped at the insinuation. “The mechanism’s simple. Her box will only open when enough weight is inside the empty box, and it’s fastened shut. A fair trade for your friend’s life, don’t you think?”

James stabbed his fork into the last remaining calamari. He chewed it as he watched the busty transformed bimbo sitting across from him. “You’ve gone quiet, Bambi, and you haven’t touched your salad,” he said, feigning concern. “Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying our date.”

Beth’s glassy eyes burned with anger, her voice quaking as she spoke. “Like, I just want my friend safe,” she said in her conditioned valley-girl melody.

The man chuckled, his eyes shining with amusement as he sipped his wine. “You’re so eager to spoil the fun, darling. We’ve got plenty of time to get to that.”

James clicked his fingers again, and Tony reemerged from the rooftop doorway, his face ashen, his shirt covered in sweat as he carried two plates. His hands trembled as he set a 10-ounce sirloin steak before James and yet another garden salad before Beth before collecting their appetizer plates. James grinned, slicing into the steak with a glinting knife, its blade sharp and menacing. “I wasn’t sure what you like to eat, Bambi, but I figured a salad suits that stunning figure,” he said, his tone filled with condescension.

Beth forced her manicured fingers to clutch around the silver fork and pressed it against her untouched salad, the vibrant pink polish on her nails glinting in the candlelight. She needed to appease the psychopath just enough to ensure Mel’s safety, and she resigned herself to eating the bland rabbit food.

The decorated chef turned to retreat, his footsteps hurried on the ground as he tried to get out of the pair’s sight as quickly as possible. However, as James chewed, his face darkened, his knife pausing mid-cut. “What the hell is this? I asked for medium rare, Tony,” he said icily. With a swift flick of his wrist, the psychopath tossed his knife, the blade slicing through the air and embedding in Tony’s back with a sickening thud. Within moments, the chef crumpled to the rooftop, blood pooling around his lifeless form, the plates formerly in his hands smashing against the ground.

Beth’s glassy eyes widened, or they would have if they weren’t already frozen in their surprised expression. The shock of Tony Belucci’s sudden, brutal death rippled through her body. “Like, you’re totally a monster!” she chirped out, her body shuddering in fear and anger.

James stood and retrieved the knife from Tony’s limp body, casually wiping the blood on a napkin with chilling normality. He returned to his seat, slicing into his steak as if nothing had happened, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I’m just ensuring quality, darling. A man has standards, as you well know,” he grinned, admiring her slutty body. “Now, eat your salad.”

The blonde doll’s fingers trembled around the fork, the sight of a man being murdered in cold blood so casually prompting her into action. James’s casual brutality, the blood pooling around Tony’s lifeless body, sent a child through her. She forced a bit of lettuce into her mouth, her lips able to close around the food and chew. However, they immediately returned to their former O-shape when she had swallowed.

James leaned back, his expression calm as though he didn’t just murder someone in front of his date. “You don’t look like you’re enjoying our date, doll,” he mocked her. “I went through all this trouble, after all.”

Beth’s heart thundered as she glanced at James’s knife, resting beside his plate. The Toymaker noticed her eyes shift to the sharp object, and he chuckled menacingly, picking up the sharp tool and flicking it around like a practiced expert. “I wonder what you are thinking about doing with this, doll, hmm?”

The man stood, his movements slow and performative, the knife now in his hands as he stepped towards Melanie’s box, making Beth gasp audibly. The psychopath traced the blade along the transparent front panel, the metal scraping with a chilling screech, each movement a taunt that drew a garbled scream from Melanie. The officer pleaded her strapped body, trembling, the identical latex outfit shimmering under the natural moonlight. James’s grin widened, his voice a low purr. “You know, Bambi, if you’re not going to enjoy the evening, I probably have no use for this toy here. Now, should I make it quick for her, or should I take my time and let her feel every moment?”

“You see, Bambi,” James said menacingly, “this little toy here doesn’t quite fit my collection. She’s not as special as you, not as perfect.” He pressed the knife’s tip harder against the panel, creating a marking on the clear plastic, drawing another desperate, gagged cry from Melanie. “But she’d served her purpose, hasn’t she? Bringing you here, all dolled up for me.”

Beth’s manicured fingers clenched into fists, the plugs within her shifting as she fought the urge to stand and lunge at the psychopath. James’s knife traced a slow circle around Melanie’s exposed breast, the blade’s glint a silent threat that made Beth’s stomach churn. She couldn’t let him harm her friend, not after everything she’d endured to reach this moment.

The Toymaker leaned closer to the box, his breath fogging the clear panel as he spoke, his voice a low purr. “What do you say, Bambi? Should I carve a little memento on her to remind her of her time with me? Or maybe I should just take her apart piece by piece.” He tapped the knife against the plastic, the sharp sound punctuating Melanie’s muffled pleas, her eyes wide in terror as they fixed on the knife.

“Freeze!” Beth’s bubbly voice cut through the night like a gunshot, far sharper and commanding than she had managed since the conditioning started. James turned his head and grinned, his smile hiding the confused expression in his eyes. Beth stood from the table, her body shuddering, as she aimed a pistol squarely at the killer’s head. Her 6-inch heels steadied on the concrete, her big, wide eyes locked on the Toymaker.

James raised his hands in mock surrender. “Well, well, aren’t you a clever girl, Bambi?” he said, his southern drawl dripping with amusement. “I’m not even going to ask how you got your hands on that little toy. Quite the surprise.”

Beth’s grip tightened on the gun, her voice rising with urgency as she spoke. “Like, totally shut up and get in the empty box, now sweetie!” she winced, her command mixing with the conditioning Warren had forced in her, making her appear less threatening than she intended.

The serial killer chuckled, slowly stepping backward toward the empty doll box, its open door looming nearby. His eyes gleamed with delight, as if daring the blonde to pull the trigger. “You’re full of surprises, toy,” he said smoothly. “I like that in a doll.”

Beth had had enough of the madman’s sickening taunts, and her finger pressed against the trigger, almost as if she was daring herself to pull it. However, a familiar voice distracted the blonde, loosening her grip on the weapon. “Good job, Officer Shaw.” She turned her head, her limited vision forcing her to turn fully, and saw Captain Wesley Vance emerge from the rooftop doorway, stepping past the lifeless chef’s body with his gun aimed at James. Relief flooded the transformed woman; backup had arrived.

Beth’s heart leapt, her glassy eyes locked on Vance, his navy uniform crisp as he stood with authority, his badge on his hip. “Like, mister, we gotta get him in the box to free my friend!” she shouted, her mind reeling from the inability to say her boss’s or her colleague’s name.

Wesley nodded, his stern gaze fixed on James, his gun steady. “You heard the officer. Get in the box.” His voice carried a commanding tone, the kind Beth had trusted implicitly when he sent her on this mission months ago.

The Toymaker moved slowly, his grin weirdly never faltering, even as he was outmanned and outgunned, inching closer toward the empty box, its open door an invitation.

As the killer approached the box, Vance’s voice cut through the tension. “Hold on. I have one more message to deliver before we seal your fate.” Beth turned to face the captain in confusion. What message did he want to convey? They needed the son of a bitch inside the box to free Melanie from her prison. The tall captain reached into his uniform pocket, pulling out a small Walkman that made Beth shudder in fear; she hated those things. Her stomach twisted as Vance pressed play.

Warren’s unmistakable voice crackled through the silence. The voice was obviously patched together, but his words were chillingly clear. “Drop the gun and kick it away.”

Beth’s body betrayed her instantly, her conditioning forcing her to comply with her handler’s words, seizing control like a vice. Her hands released the pistol, the metal clattering to the concrete with a hollow thud, her high-heeled foot instinctively kicking it to the rooftop’s edge, out of reach. Her glassy eyes stared in horror as she turned to her boss. “Like, how? Why?” she squeaked, her voice quaking with betrayal.

Vance’s gun swung toward her, his face twisting into a sneer of contempt, his eyes staring back at her maliciously. “Shut up, you arrogant bitch. Do you know how much trouble your father has caused me over the years?” The large man’s voice dripped with venom, each word a lash against her soul. “John Shaw was a hero to the naive public, which made my job a living hell, always having my decisions measured up against his, living in his shadows.” His voice was filled with fury, as if he had been planning to get this off his chest for some time. “His heroics were built on lies, and he should have been locked up for what he did, but the top brass let an innocent man take the fall instead.”

Beth’s heart sank, her eyes locked on the traitorous man as he stepped closer, his boots thudding against the concrete. The blonde was shocked; Wesley Vance was the mole all this time. He’d assigned her to the mission, fed the Toymaker intel to ensure his escape, and orchestrated the situation to bring her to the rooftop, looking like the Toymaker’s ultimate fantasy.

“Then,” the man continued. “His fucking daughter struts into my precinct, carrying that same arrogance that he’d always had.” The captain’s voice was low and bitter. “I wasn’t going to let that happen. When I discovered the Toymaker had made his mark in Vegas, I saw my chance to bury you both, to rid myself of the Shaw legacy once and for all.”

The police captain gestured to the empty box, his gun unwavering. “Get in, now.”

Beth froze, her tall stripper heels rooted to the concrete as she stared at Melanie’s strapped form, her friend’s garbled pleas still echoing in her ears. Vance’s voice sharpened, his eyes narrowing with impatience. “Move, or Officer Sachs dies right here.”

The transformed doll’s heart thundered, her lips still stretched widely as she saw no option. She reluctantly tottered towards the empty box with trembling legs, her latex dress creaking with each step. She passed James, who leaned close, sniffing her pigtails with a perverted motion, his breath hot against her ear. “Mmm, we’re going to have plenty of fun together, doll,” he murmured menacingly.

Beth stepped into the box, the cold interior chilling her polished skin as James slammed the door shut with a satisfying clang. Instantly, plastic straps snapped around the busty blonde’s wrists, ankles, and neck, pinning her tightly against the back panel, her body immobilized like a mannequin on display.

The transparent panel showcased Beth’s latex-clad form, her heart-shaped areolas visibly beneath the transparent section of her dress, her wide-open lips frozen in a humiliating pout. Melanie’s box whirred open as promised, its straps retracting from her trapped body, and the dark-blonde-haired woman stumbled out, her own latex outfit shimmering as she fell to her knees, her ring-gagged cries muffling desperately.

The newly freed officer rose to her feet and tried to run, but Captain Vance grabbed her, his rough hands fondling her exposed breasts through the transparent latex, forcing her to face Beth’s trapped form. “Look at your savior, Sachs,” he sneered, his fingers squeezing the woman’s nipples cruelly, eliciting a garbled whimper from Melanie. “She’s nothing now, just a doll for the taking, all of this to save you. What a pity it didn’t quite work out that way.”

Captain Vance laughed, his eyes drifting over to the motionless, murdered chef still lying near the doorway. “I’ll be the hero when this is said and done, capturing the Toymaker over there.” He smiled sadistically. “The public won’t care who the real Toymaker was, as long as the killings stop. It’s just a shame I couldn’t save my two top rising stars in the process.”

Beth’s unblinking eyes burned with a fury she couldn’t express, her O-shaped lips frozen in their sex doll pout, the plastic straps biting into her wrists and neck as she stood immobilized in the box.

Vance’s sneer widened as he shoved Melanie forward, forcing her to face Beth’s trapped silhouette. “You thought you could play in the big leagues, Shaw?” he spat, his voice thick with venom. “But you’re nothing now, just a toy to be played with, and your little friend will be joining you as the city cheers for me.”

The captain pulled the ring-gagged woman back and stood her before James, his smile widening as he raised his knife, its blade glinting in the moonlight, and traced it along Melanie’s cheek. “This one’s not my type, Vance, but I’ll take her for a little fun,” he said, his drawl laced with sadistic malice. “Maybe I’ll keep her as a spare. You know, just in case I break Bambi.”

Beth shuddered, straining against her tightened binds, but escaping the doll box prison was impossible. Melanie’s eyes widened, her muffled protests growing frantic as she struggled against the captain’s crude touch.

In a shocking instant, a gunshot rang out, sharp and deafening, shattering the rooftop’s tension. Vance’s head snapped back, blood spraying from a wound in his forehead as he dropped to the concrete, his gun clattering beside him. Melanie stumbled free, her platform heels scraping as she fell to her knees.

Beth’s wide eyes darted to the source, her limited vision forcing her to strain against the straps to see Warren standing at the rooftop’s edge, his gun smoking, his black blazer blending with the night. The man’s gray eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, his weathered face set in a grim line as he stepped forward.

Melanie scrambled to her feet, her outfit shimmering as she tottered toward Warren, her pleas unintelligible but desperate. Warren caught her arm, steadying her, and stared into her eyes. “Go get help, now,” he ordered with urgency before pushing her toward the doorway.

Melanie nodded, her body shaking as she turned and fled, the slutty silhouette disappearing down the stairwell, the sound of her footsteps fading with each moment. Beth’s heart leapt, relief flooding her at her friend’s escape as Warren turned his attention to James, his gun now aimed at the Toymaker’s chest.

The serial killer continued to grin, undeterred, his knife still in hand as he stepped over Vance’s body. “You’ve done well, Warren,” he said smoothly. “Your conditioning turned Bambi into my perfect toy, didn’t it? You turned her into a masterpiece, all for me.”

The older former detective’s jaw tightened, his gun steady, as his eyes narrowed at the notorious murderer. “Shut up, you bastard,” he growled, his voice rough with suppressed rage. “It’s over. You’re done.”

James tilted his head, his grin sharpening as he ignored the man and took a slow step closer. “Is it really over, Skinner? I know how the force treated you. They let you rot in a cell for years and refused to take you back even after your innocence was proven. The public still thinks of you as a lowlife after taking the fall for something you didn’t do.”

He continued his slow approach, noticing the wavering flicker in Warren’s eyes. “You hate them, don’t you? You hate her father, hate her for carrying his legacy.”

Beth’s strapped body trembled, her O-shaped lips silent as she watched the standoff, her mix pounding with a mix of hope and dread. Warren’s hands shook slightly, his gun lowering an inch, James’s words striking a nerve. “You could let her suffer,” the Toymaker continued, his voice a seductive purr. “Let me take her, keep her as my doll. Rid the world of John Shaw’s pride and joy, just like you’ve always wanted.”

Warren’s eyes darkened, his grip faltering, and James seized the moment, lunging for the gun with a swift, predatory move. However, Warren’s reflexes snapped, and he fired three shots in rapid succession, each bullet slamming into the Toymaker’s head. The psychopath collapsed, his white suit crumpling as blood pooled around him, his knife clattering to the concrete, his green eyes staring blankly at the starry sky. The Toymaker was dead.

Beth gasped, relief flooding her strapped body, the leather biting into her skin as she strained against them. “You did it, Daddy! Now, like, please get me out of here!” she chirped desperately, the conditioning forcing the humiliating endearment.

Her handler turned to her, his eyes raking over her doll-like form, taking a good look at her recent changes for the first time, the latex dress showcasing her curves, the “Bambi Doll” choker branding her throat. His face softened for a moment before a grin slowly curled his lips, chilling Beth’s blood. “Like, please, Daddy!” she cried, her big, wide eyes pleading with urgency.

The man stepped closer to the box, his smile sharpening into something cold and possessive. “I’m sorry, Bambi,” he said, his voice low and mocking. “Our time together isn’t over just yet.”

Beth’s heart sank as she tugged urgently at the straps binding her, watching Warren’s hand hover over a button on the box’s side. “Like, no, Daddy!” she pleaded, her O-lips returning to their sex doll form after she’d spoken.

Warren’s eyes gleamed with an intense delight, his finger pressing the button with a deliberate slowness. A mechanical sound echoed as the box began retracting into the rooftop floor, its cold interior swallowing Beth’s latex-clad form. She screamed, her voice echoing across the rooftop, a raw, desperate cry that quietened as the box disappeared entirely, removing the transformed cop from the crime scene.

The Toymaker was dead. Beth’s mission was complete. But at what cost?

❖

The dull glow of a television screen illuminated a small, dingy apartment, its peeling wallpaper and stale air heavy with the scent of cheap beer and cigarette smoke. Two weeks had passed since the defining rooftop confrontation. On the screen, a news broadcast aired a somber funeral, the camera panning over a sizable crowd seated in a cemetery under the afternoon sky. Lieutenant Melanie Sachs stood at the podium, newly promoted after receiving a medal of bravery, her uniform a stark contrast to the latex nightmare she’d recently endured, her face etched with grief as she delivered a heart-wrenching eulogy.

“Bethany Shaw saved my life,” Melanie started, her voice steady but thick with emotion. “She kept fighting when no one else would, embodying the courage and dedication of a true hero.” The dark-blonde-haired woman paused, clearing a lump in her throat before continuing. “Her tireless work not only brought down the notorious Toymaker but also uncovered severe corruption within our own ranks, leading to the justified death of Captain Wesley Vance.”

Warren Skinner lounged on the sagging couch, his dirty white vest stretched over his beer belly, an empty beer body dangling from his calloused hand as he casually watched the TV. A burp escaped the man’s lips as he chuckled, his gray eyes glinting with dark amusement as he enjoyed the broadcast. The news ticker scrolled across the bottom of the screen as a news reporter spoke over the top, recapping the tragedy: Officer Bethany Shaw, daughter of the celebrated John Shaw, and Warren Skinner had perished in a car explosion on Las Vegas Boulevard, their bodies unidentifiable. However, the destroyed vehicle was registered to Warren, and both of their IDs were found at the scene. The police had surmised that the Toymaker had created a fail-safe in case of his death, rigging the former detective’s car with explosives. The reporter’s voice droned on, calling it a sad day for the city, but a reminder that freedom often comes with a price.

Warren’s chuckle deepened, a low, mocking sound that filled the cramped room. “Slut! Get me another beer!” he bellowed into the next room, his voice rough with satisfaction as his eyes never left the television screen.

The sharp click of heels echoed from the hallway, and a blonde doll emerged, her transformed body a plastic mockery of a human being. A fetish latex French maid outfit clung to her voluptuous frame, its black material glossy under the light, with a window exposing her shiny, enhanced E-cup breasts, their heart-shaped areolas taunting her proudly. The skirt barely grazed her thighs, a black lacy hold-up stockings covered her legs, and a large black butt plug lay nestled between her ass cheeks.

The doll’s platinum curls were held up in high pigtails, swaying playfully with each step, and her glassy, unblinking eyes stared ahead. Her vibrant pink lips, swollen to obscene fullness, formed a permanent O-shaped pout, a humiliating emblem of her doll-like state. Black 5-inch stilettos clicked against the warped floorboards, forcing a slutty sway that clashed with the horror in her heart as she carried a cold beer bottle in her hand.

Beth’s glassy eyes locked on the television, the ticker’s words searing into her soul: “Officer Bethany Shaw, LVPD hero, confirmed dead.” Her manicured fingers, tipped with glossy, pink polish, tightened around the bottle, her heart thundering with confusion and despair. She was alive, trapped in this nightmare, her identity erased while the world mourned a lie. Melanie’s voice echoed in the background as she continued to deliver her speech, praising Beth as a hero, oblivious to her colleague’s true fate. Beth’s chest heaved, her latex outfit creaking as fury surged within her.

The former cop’s fingers trembled as she handed Warren the cold beer. “This worthless slut begs to serve Master,” Beth said, her body shuddering as she was still surprised by her own self-degrading language. Since moving away from Las Vegas, Warren grew tired of Beth’s valley-girl dialect and used her conditioning to instruct her to refer to him as Master at all times, rather than Daddy, as well as to only speak in the third person, referring to herself in humiliating, insulting terms. Her O-shaped lips snapped back as she finished speaking, and she turned her head back to the television.

Warren took the bottle, his grin widening as he twisted off the cap, noticing his subject taking in the ramifications of what appeared on the TV. It meant no one was looking for her, no one knew where she truly was. “Look, slut, you’re dead, apparently,” he mocked, gesturing to the screen with a cruel laugh. “They’re all weeping for their precious hero.”

Beth’s fists clenched as she fought the urge to scream back. Ultimately, however, her anger won out, and something strange occurred. A switch flicked in the blonde’s mind, and she tottered up to her captive Master, kneeling between his spreading legs. “This filthy whore begs to please Master with her mouth,” she begged, eliciting a chuckle from Warren. The man had cruelly conditioned her to kneel and suck the man’s cock whenever she felt an overwhelming urge to argue or attack him, and it kept her busy quite often.

Warren leaned back on the couch, his eyes admiring the view before him as he unzipped his jeans, freeing his cock, its musky scent mingling with the apartment’s stale air. “Go ahead, slut,” he said mockingly, his beer bottle dangling from one hand as he gestured with the other. “Show Master how much you love serving him.”

Beth’s knees pressed against the floorboards, the latex skirt riding up her thighs, exposing her plugged ass and bare pussy, no longer constrained by the former tight, flat-fronted panties. Her bright lips, swollen and vibrant, wrapped tightly around his shaft, the O-shape molding to him with humiliating ease. She moved with a consistent rhythm, her pigtails bouncing as she did, her tongue gliding along the length, the taste filling her senses.

Warren groaned before sipping his beer, the cold liquid sliding down his throat as he watched the broadcast, his grin unwavering. “You’re doing good, doll,” he said as he taunted. “Keep going. Make Master proud.”

Beth’s lips trembled around him, pulsing up and down, taking him down her accommodating cock. Eventually, she lifted herself from the man’s erect cock, and the blonde stared up at him with her wide eyes. “This pathetic toy begs to know how long Master will keep her like this,” she said as firmly as she could, although her question was delivered with such forced reverence. Her lips returned to their open pout before she resumed her sucking, bobbing up and down.

The former detective’s hand tangled in Beth’s pigtails, his fingers gripping her bright curls with a possessive tug as he guided her head more firmly, his breath heavy with lustful satisfaction. “Hmm, let’s see. Your father’s betrayal and criminal activity landed me a fifteen-year prison sentence,” he said, his voice a low growl laced with cruel intent. “Fifteen years of this seems like a fair exchange, don’t you, slut?”

The blonde’s heart plummeted, her doll-like eyes locked on Warren as her thick, bright pink lips worked relentlessly around his shaft, an act that had become a familiar task over the past couple of weeks. Warren’s words echoed in her mind—fifteen years of enslavement, a twisted retribution for her father’s sins—and despair clawed at her soul, her conditioning forcing her to continue, each glide of her tongue a surrender to his control.

Warren sipped his beer, grinning as he turned the TV off, groaning out as the woman’s skilled tongue brought him close to climax. “Don’t worry, slut, I won’t keep you caged here the whole time,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery as he leaned back on the couch, the springs of the sofa groaning under his weight. “The prostitution scene here in Atlantic City is almost as lively as Vegas. I’m meeting your new pimp, Rico, tomorrow morning. He’ll keep you plenty busy around here; those years will fly by.”

Beth’s soul shattered as Warren’s words sank in, her lips trembling around his cock as she continued her degrading task. She had thought her mission of selling her body was long behind her, but the asshole owned her now, and everyone else thought she was dead.

Warren groaned out in pleasure as he began shooting in the blonde sex doll’s mouth, her conditioned response forcing her to swallow every drop. The former officer’s undercover mission was complete. The Toymaker was dead, and the citizens of Las Vegas thought her a hero. However, there would be no happy ending for Beth, now permanently known as Bambi. Her former undercover work now defined her life, and Warren would ensure she obediently complied with every minute of it.

The End.