DISCLAIMER: This book is fiction. Every name, place, character, and event are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.* * *
ABOUT: Domestic Doll Services is a series of stories about a corporation that offers lifelike “Domestic Dolls” for sale. These “Dolls” are sold for domestic use primarily, but the Dolls, designed to the whims of the buyer, which often appeared as a mix of super model and stripper, obviously had a sexual use as well. Many of the Domestic Dolls for sale were actually robots. However, many were not...
Domestic Doll Services stories can, more or less, unless noted, be read in any order. This story mostly stands alone continuity wise. Enjoy!
* * *
Becky Sanderson ran towards a side street. She had been attending a protest with her friends Samantha and Candace when all hell had broken out around them. A number of protesters, including Candace, had turned violent after police opened fire on someone they claimed had a gun. It, of course, turned out to be a camera. In the upheaval, they had become separated and scattered into different directions. Becky checked her phone, but a jammer, allowed by a recent court decision, blocked all communication devices within a five mile radius not approved by the government. She was on her own without any way to find or communicate with her friends, and not sure what to do. Candace had explained some kind of escape route where they could meet up, but the information was on her phone, which she could not access at the moment. The leaders of the protest had made a big deal about not leaving a paper trail.
If, Becky thought as she tried to climb through a hole in a chain link fence, the blonde college student had her way, they would have never gone to the protest in the first place. Sure, of course, she was unhappy with the new government and their crackdowns on freedom of expression, but protests were turning more dangerous and violent as each day passed. Candace had demanded they go to them. Formerly a vapid cheerleader during their schooling, college had awoken her to the horrors of the modern world. She had joined a political organization on campus and brought Samantha and Becky along with her to each meeting. Becky was a bit of a joiner and, to appease her friends, went along with them each time. Samantha, always eager to make her friends happy and avoid conflict, had gone along as well after some bullying from Candace about her not caring enough about the world. It did seem odd how quickly someone could go from not caring about the world either to judging others about their supposed lack of care. Becky always just sighed and went along to keep the peace among her friends.
Now huddled up against a wall with two security officers racing towards her, Becky wanted to tell Candace to fuck off and would if they ever met again. She would tell Samantha to grow a goddamn spine and stand up to Candace. One of their freshman year professors had advised her that she needed to consider whether, in college, her friends from school were still actually her friends or just people she grew accustomed to being around, but she had blown off the advice due to the hint of flirtation in her professor’s voice. The tomboy was glad she had chosen to wear her most comfortable jeans and boots today. It made her escape attempt much easier than, say, the poor woman in a dress she saw get taken down immediately by an officer. Sensible means of dressing was always her priority unlike the more glamorous and political friend of hers who, ironically, dressed a lot like the “trendy bitches” she derided with her banal political views. Candace always showed up to protests looking like a runway model to gather as much attention as possible and to gain likes on various social media platforms.
However, something about the moment gave her pause. The helmeted security officers were unlike any she had seen before. They wore latex uniforms with black boots. As they slowed down once closer to Becky, she noticed they were both women! She had never seen female security officers before. “Halt!” The first one, a brunette with large breasts kept quite snug in her latex uniform, pointed at her.
Becky put her hands up. “I just want to go home, okay?”
Another odd aspect of the situation was that neither security officer drew their weapon. They calmly came closer to her. “Do not resist!” The other officer, a dark skinned woman barely older than Becky, announced in a firm voice. At that moment, she noticed that neither wore any identification besides a serial number on their belts. A four digit number was emblazoned on each in bright pink wavy writing.
Becky continued to stand still with her hands up. Suddenly the dark skinned security officer moved swiftly and restrained her arms. The other officer moved just as fast and jabbed the protester with a metallic needle that protruded from her arm. The other officer released their grip after a moment and Becky stammered backwards a few steps. Neither officer moved, nor seemed surprised by this response. What had they injected her with?
Becky’s thoughts became fuzzy. It was hard to focus on anything in particular. Suddenly, she could not even remember why she had been apprehended by the security officers. A stillness went through her body though, so clearly nothing was wrong. She stared at the officers with a confused expression as one of them slapped a bracelet on her arm. “Initiate warp,” said officer commanded into a mouthpiece in their helmet. Becky’s last thought before the world around her warped out of existence was how disturbing, despite her calmness, the empty eyed expressions both officers gave her.
* * *
The man observing the final parts of Candace’s processing was enjoying every moment of it. He had been attempting to acquire one of her friends, but the feisty protester had peaked his interest once it was clear who she was and her relationship to his new acquisition.
When Domestic Doll Soldiers began sweeping up the protesters, Candace was one of the first to be arrested. She was on the front lines of the protest and two latex clad soldiers were able to corner her down an alley and subdue their target with a gas one of them shot at the blonde haired woman. After beaming her away, she was immediately placed in a detention cell.
Upon capture, Candace was brash and promised to never acquiesce to the establishment or some other banal nonsense. The man watched on a screen as the young woman spit at his workers and had to be wrestled down by two Domestic Doll Soldiers before being drugged. It was at that time that DDS workers began prepping her for conversion to a Domestic Doll.
When he went to visit her, she was well on her way to being converted into a Domestic Doll. Her mind had already been made pliable with hypnosis and subliminal messaging within her cell. He found Candace to be confused and already missing memories about who she was and why she was being held captive. The unruly woman had been turned into a confused idiot unable to comprehend her current predicament.
The final humiliation before processing would come in a moment. At the man’s nod, the Domestic Doll monitoring Candace swiped a few times in the three-dimensional display before her vapid, empty, eyes. A gentle chime went off in the captive’s cell and the former protester jumped up and cried “no, no, no, not again!” A screen slid down against the wall and began playing the enthralling hypnotic display that had brainwashed her into this confused state.
Candace closed her eyes and yelled “no, no, no” again, but another ping of the chime brought her eyes open. She tried to stop herself, but her body dropped to the floor and crawled towards the spiral. Tears streamed down her face as the enthralling spiral caught her attention. After a few minutes, she stared straight ahead and mouthed the words on the screen. At another nod from the man, a Domestic Doll entered the cell and snapped a collar around the prisoner’s neck with the name “Candi” on it. Candi stood up and followed the Doll out of the cell and towards Surgical Room Four to begin processing. The man left the room, content with the future Domestic Doll’s fate.
* * *
When Candace woke up on the soft bed she had been sleeping in, the protester shook her head to try and knock out what felt like a serious hangover. Placing a hand against the bed to settle herself, she tried to put together the events that had led her to be held captive in this...detention center? She honestly was not sure about that or how long it had been since the protest.
The protest! For a moment Candace thought about Samantha and Becky, but trying to recall what had happened to either of them just made her head hurt. The protest itself seemed to be quite fuzzy also; her memory was hazy about why they had even been there in the first place. None of this bothered her at all as the pounding ceased when she stopped concerning herself with such things. It was much easier to just be calm and relax. She certainly regretted how out of hand the protest had gotten, even if she could not remember why it had happened in the first place.
Candace went to stand up and found it difficult to stay upright. At her feet, which were done with shiny white tips, sat a pair of very high heels. Before she could stop herself, the former protester slipped the shoes on. While the captive had always thought of herself as being pretty feminine, the six inch heels on these shoes were difficult to walk in as she took a few steps in them. “I like how I look in high heels,” she whispered to herself in a gentle voice. Her shapely legs certainly looked good in them. It was nice of her captives to at least leave her something to wear on her feet.
How long had it even been since the protest? Candace did not see a clock in the room, nor were there windows where she could even determine what time of day it was at the moment. There was a desk with a small laptop sitting on it across the room. She swayed across the room slowly towards it, but stopped at a large mirror not noticed before by her.
Despite just waking up, Candace looked incredible. Her long, pink, hair was down, which pushed a rush of anxiety through her. A deep need to pull it up into a ponytail caused concern. She did not know why, nor did she care. Her augmented breasts looked good, which sent a flood of pleasure through her body. Candace did not remember getting implants, but the concern drifted away after a moment. Her body looked great, which was what mattered the most.
She sat down in front of the laptop and went to put her white tipped nails in front of the keys, but found that the letters on them were unfamiliar. Any attempt to put them together in an order, including her own name, just slipped out of her mind before it could be acted upon. The screen lit up suddenly and an orange spiral danced across the screen, which caught the brainwashed Domestic Doll’s attention. She stared, empty eyed, at the screen for what could have been five seconds or five hours.
“Understand your command, Candi,” slipped onto the screen as one of a number of trigger phrases she was still allowed to understand as part of her conditioning. Of course, the Domestic Doll realized, her name is Candi. The idea of any other name was forgotten. A vapid smile crossed her face.
“Candi needs to finish her conditioning,” the screen announced. Candi stared at it not understanding. “Plug in your cable to complete process,” it further explained.
Candi blinked a few times and looked over at the cable attached to the laptop. Her manicured hands picked it up and then she pressed open the port under the tan skin of the back of her neck. She had no idea how she knew to do that, but obeying the words on the screen were all that mattered to her.
For a split second, Candi hesitated to put it in but her need to be complete the process, whatever it was, overwhelmed anything else. The pink haired bimbo let out a gasp as the final aspects of her programming were uploaded and then installed. The final bits of code installed and Candi let out another gasp. “Programming complete,” she announced in a docile monotone. The angry, obnoxious, protester had been reprogrammed into a vapid automaton Domestic Doll that existed only for the current command her tiny girlie brain held. With feminine ease, she pulled out the cable and gently placed it on the desk. With further movement, Candi stood up from the chair and snapped to attention awaiting command from her Master.
A few minutes passed before Marcus made his way down from where he had been observing his latest acquisition. A Domestic Doll Soldier, in latex from head to toe, accompanied him to where Candi mindlessly waited for instruction. The soldier carried a box for the new Domestic Doll. She handed it to her Master when they arrived before the naked slave. After taking something out of it, he passed it off to Candi. “Put this on. This is your new dress code. This is a direct order.”
Candi obediently began dressing in the light blue maid uniform. White stockings adorned her legs and the heels she had already been wearing made her shapely body look pleasing. Relief went through the Domestic Doll as Marcus handed her a band to tie the pink hair back in the required ponytail of her owner. Further anxiety left the bimbo as he snapped a collar with her name written on it in a cursive, very bold, pink and at the first gentle tug from the leash attached to it.
“Good girl,” Marcus announced, as he appraised Candi. “Report to my home to begin your service.” Candi did not speak and swiftly swayed out of the room and towards her new home. With a nod from their Master, the soldier followed as well to continue her duties elsewhere.
* * *
Samantha found herself in a large room. Her current quarters was a cell with heavy steel bars. A small bed sat on one side and a ten foot high mirror on the other. She was naked, nipples rock hard and body hair removed below her shoulders, but nothing about that alarmed the brunette. The protester did wonder how she ended up in her current situation though.
When everything went to hell during the protest, Samantha was almost immediately arrested. She was brought to a building where three other protesters were being held. A solider wearing latex from head to toe came in and jabbed all of them with some kind of needle and...the next thing she remembered was...nothing. Sitting down on the floor of her cell, she pondered the situation. There was no way to even tell how long she had been kept captive. The protest could have been yesterday or it could have been a week ago...or longer. Again, nothing about her current situation caused concern. It had actually been about a week, which she had spent being conditioned for her new role in life. Part of that conditioning severely diminished her critical thinking skills, rendering any anxiety out of her.
The door outside of the bars of her cell opened and a man came in and stood outside of it alongside two security officers in head to toe latex. Each of them kept a hand on their weapon, which was kept in the belt around their rather toned midsection. A four digit number adorned each of their belts. Their presence made Samantha feel more at ease. After all, the subliminal suggestions dancing around in her mind pronounced, Domestic Doll Services Security Officers were there to keep her safe at all times.
Samantha stood up and stared at the man, the name tag pinned to his blazer announced his name was Marcus, who looked her up and down with nodding appraisal. “You will do quite nicely, yes.” She tried to speak, to ask him questions, but found that her mouth did not work. This did cause her a bit of distress. “Ah, relax, for your safety I have disabled your ability to speak without being directly spoken to...it will fit nicely with your new career.” He turned and faced one of the security officers. “Begin her processing.”
One of the security officers opened the cell while the other entered it and quickly apprehended Samantha before she could even think of moving away. The one who opened the cell moved swiftly into the cell and held up her muscular arm towards their Master’s captive to further hold her in place.
Marcus held up a metallic device with three needles on the end of it. “This is an experimental treatment to create new security officers. It worked quite nicely on these two here.” He gave the closet security officer’s latex clad backside a nice squeeze, which got no reaction out of her. “They were at the same protest and were tried and convicted of the same charge as you: Treasonous protest. My friend the judge sends me anyone guilty of this crime after they are ‘lost’ in the system. I have had a lot of success reforming young women who commit this crime and am sure you will be no different.”
He jabbed the device into Samantha’s neck. She immediately fell to the floor after being gently guided down and placed on her back by the security officer who had held her in place. For a few minutes she spasmed while both officers kept their soon to be slave sister immobilized. Suddenly, the brunette sat up and looked at Marcus with empty, docile, eyes.
“Security Officer 4744 now online. All updates complete.” She stood up and snapped to attention. “4744 awaits command, Master.”
“Good girl.” He stepped forward and ran a hand over her soft face. “Cut her hair short and perform the standard cosmetic enhancements,” Marcus commanded over his shoulder to one of the other officers. “You will be joining my personal security team, 4744. I am currently conditioning my future wife. Once we are married, you will serve as her personal security officer in order to serve me.”
The former Samantha stood even firmer to show the programmed pride she felt for pleasing her Master. “Yes, Master. What are your further orders?” She spoke in an aggressive monotone as was normal for Domestic Doll Soldiers.
Marcus snapped a collar around her neck with a leash attached to it. He handed the leash to one of the officers. “Follow her to complete your conditioning.” The security officer left with 4744 without saying a word. He turned to the other officer and motioned for her to follow him as well.
* * *
Becky woke up and stretched out in bed. After a refreshing night of sleep, she was ready to embrace the new day. After a shower, the platinum blonde did her makeup and performed morning ablutions. Given a choice of what to wear today, she choose a flowing pink dress, white stockings, and high heels. She chuckled to herself; same old Becky, always choosing the most feminine outfit!
The funny thing about her quarters was that Becky could not remember how she got there. For some reason, this did not bother her at all. She shrugged internally and finished applying her makeup before standing calmly in the living room. A few moments passed before a latex clad female security officer came into her quarters. The invasion of privacy did not concern her either: Domestic Doll Soldiers were there to keep her safe at all times. She could not remember a time when they had done so, but the mantra still rang true.
“Follow,” the empty eyed security officer commanded as she pointed at the door. The latex clad woman was tanned, large breasted, and wore a severely short pixie cut. Her blank eyes were the same as every, male or female, security officer Becky ever remember encountering. No specific memories came to mind, but, again, this did not bother her in the slightest. Hips swaying, she followed the officer into the hall and down a corridor towards an elevator. Inside the elevator, once the door closed, both women snapped to attention and remained there for their 45 second ride to another floor. Again, nothing about this seemed odd to Becky as they left the elevator and entered a busy office space where security officers moved swiftly in and out while officer workers, mostly women of various shades of blonde and brief length of skirt, worked at terminal or met around suit wearing men. The women listened obediently to their male superiors and then moved to perform whatever instruction had been given to them.
Becky followed the officer escorting her and ended up going through large glass doors into what was obviously the personal office of someone very important. A gorgeous redhead stood up and greeted them, telling the security officer that “Mr. Lohman said you may return to your previous duties.” The officer did not speak, but turned away and marched off. Becky forgot about her as soon as she exited the glass doors again and turned to face the new woman, whose collar read “Isabelle” in white, very feminine, cursive script. She was perfectly tanned, had stunning green eyes, an enthusiastic smile, and shapely, athletic legs that showed her past as a ballet dancer. The black platform heels on her feet made those legs go on forever. Becky felt a little bit of a pang of desire for Isabelle, but it quickly passed.
Isabelle led her back past a few large meeting rooms and then to a large door with the name “Lohman” embossed on it. The redhead secretary knocked gently with a manicured hand. A moment passed before the door slowly opened. Isabelle waved Becky towards the door and then mouthed “good luck” to her new friend.
Becky swayed into the room and found a handsome man in a blazer and dressy black pants sitting on a couch in front of a three dimensional newscast. He motioned her over and pointed to a spot on the carpet, which the blonde woman obediently walked over to and stood at ease, her own manicured hands folded in front of her, and waited patently for his attention.
After a few minutes, the newscast ended and the man looked up at her. “Ah, hello, Becky.” He was clearly a little older than her with a slightly graying beard and short black hair. A white shirt stuck out of his pants with a few odd creases. He moved one of his feet around a bit as if trying to get comfortable. His mannerisms were quite unassuming, in general, and he politely asked her to sit down on the couch, which she did, crossing her legs and smiling with vapid enthusiasm at him. The man sat for a moment, lost in thought, before speaking to her. “My name is Marcus Lohman. Do you know who I am?”
Becky thought for a moment and a memory from a television at the gym came to her. “Oh, from the company that makes those ‘Dolls” for men.” She had seen the ads a lot while on the treadmill. Marcus appeared in one of them. “I read an article about you in a magazine once. Jacqueline Rossi wrote it!” Rossi had been an up and coming reporter who had tried to infiltrate a Domestic Doll Services center and had ended up with quite the attitude adjustment by the end of her stay. She now only wrote what was programmed into her by a handler.
Marcus nodded at her in affirmation. “Well, women do buy them as well...and, yes, Miss Rossi is quite the fine reporter. She did a very fair interview with me.” Becky blinked a few times and continued to cheerfully gaze at him. He was a handsome man. At no point did any concerns about why he would be speaking to her crossed the slowed down, and very suggestible, mind of the reformed protester.
He waved a hand to slightly alter the direction of the conversation. “While I do technically work for Domestic Doll Services, I am actually one of the heads of Domestic Doll Soldiers. That is why you ended up here with me after the chaos at the protest.”
Becky stared at him for a long moment. It was hard to keep a thought straight in her mind, but nothing about that seemed wrong. Finally she blurted out a feminine “why?” after getting frustrated with herself.
Marcus slid slightly closer on the couch and leaned forward. “Becky...what do you remember about the past few months?” He wore a look on genuine concern on his face.
“Well, I...” She trailed off. The memories were quite fuzzy for sure. It was so hard to think! Marcus’ handsome features and interest for her kept the young woman calm.
“About three months ago,” he began, “you were kidnapped by a group of domestic terrorists trying to stir up trouble in our city.” Marcus paused and nodded slowly at Becky’s lack of outburst. “They were the leaders of the protest you were found at last week. Are you familiar with the Personality Restructuring Act?”
Becky nodded. “That is the act where they fix criminals so they won’t perform crimes anymore.”
“Correct,” Marcus confirmed. “DDS created the technology for it. Criminals found guilty of a crime under the statute are sent to two different centers that we run. One is for violations where, after psychological profiling is done, the criminal is considered fit for personality restructuring that will aide him or her, although honestly it is mostly women for some reason,” he said with a bemused chuckle, “in returning to society. Many are now quite affluent by means of marriage or otherwise.” There is a good reason for that.
“Criminals that are deemed unworthy of rehabilitation, which can be for a variety of reasons, are then reprogrammed into soldiers. This is where my work begins.” Marcus pulled a small device out of his jacket pocket and dressed a button. A moment later one of the numerous reformed Domestic Doll Soldiers, a member of his personal security team, entered the room. It was the one who had escorted Becky here earlier.
The soldier snapped to attention and stared, empty eyed, at her Master. She did not acknowledge the presence of Becky in the room. Her identification belt read 4744 in bright pink. Becky noticed for the first time how much 4744’s toned, athletic, body looked practically poured into the latex uniform that was snug on her from neck to her high heeled boots.
Marcus nodded to 4744 and the brainwashed soldier stood at ease with hands folded together in front of her. She continued to stare at him and did not acknowledge Becky. “Notice how her eyes never leave me,” he began, smiling at Becky’s affirmative nod. “As part of her reconditioning, 4744 is imprinted on me. Her existence is only to obey my instructions. She is the newest member of my personal security team and will only think, feel, and believe the current instructions I have given to her. My team is part of a larger neural network that connects them all together via their neuro-chips. Our engineers like to call it a ‘hive mind,’ but I think that is a layman term.”
Becky stared at 4744 with curious fascination. She found herself, for the first time ever, truly finding another woman’s body appealing in a lasting way. Nothing felt forced about that and the thought slipped away. There was also something familiar about the soldier, but the thought slipped away as soon as she thought it. Suddenly, another thought came to her. “What happened to the people who kidnapped me? The terrorists?” She wished that more memories would come to her, but also felt at ease around Marcus, who obviously cared for her well being.
Marcus declined to make eye contact with the former Samantha, now the mindless Domestic Doll Soldier 4744 before them, and instead brightened to change the subject to Miss Sanderson’s inquiry. “Ah, yes, that is something I can answer.” He pressed another button and, after a moment, another woman came into the room. The stunning blonde wore a quite revealing green maid uniform with white stockings and pumps. Her bust was obviously not natural and a collar reading the name “Candi” was adorned around her tan neck. Like 4744, her dark green eyes and vapid smile did not leave Marcus to even notice that Becky was in the room.
Marcus watched Becky for a moment to see if she recognized “Candi,” but then grinned at her lack of ability to identify her. Becky’s conditioning had been necessary to reorient her to him. “I am going to tell you something that cannot leave this room.” She obediently nodded. “There are times though, under a certain rubric from our legal contacts, that criminals can also be converted into Domestic Dolls.” He paused at Becky’s notable surprise, but then put up a hand. “The public cannot know that the domestic servant they purchased...might...have been a person beforehand for obvious reasons. You will never tell anyone this information. That is a direct order.”
“Yes, Sir.” Becky smiled, blinking a few times.
“Good girl.” He waved towards the maid standing before them. “This is Candi...well, she used to be ‘Candace’ before some...adjustments to her were made. She is much, much, better off now. Do you remember her?” This was another pointed question to see how well Becky’s conditioning had held.
Becky stared at the gorgeous Domestic Doll with a curious fascination. “No, I do not recognize her, Sir.” After a few seconds, she added a question. “She kidnapped me, Sir?”
Marcus slid a little closer and placed a firm hand over Becky’s pale, delicate arm. “When they kidnapped you, they had also acquired a cruder form of the reprogramming tools that we use on criminals.” This was actually true, but neither Candace, Samantha, nor Becky knew this. Despite Candace’s rantings about revolution, she was pretty low on the “need to know” levels of their loosely organized group. “They tried to erase your memories of the more affluent, pleasant, life you led here in the city. It will take a little while longer for them to return.”
He paused and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, which she returned. “Your memories of that time, unfortunately, had to be removed to aide the expediency of your correct memories returning. I am sorry to say you may never remember that time.”
Becky nodded slowly, a tear dropping down her high, pale, cheeks. Suddenly, she furrowed her brow, stood up, walked over to Candi and slapped her across the face. The Domestic Doll did not react. Becky slapped her again before stamping her feet a few times, which was impressive in heels, and beginning to sob.
Marcus did not react at first. The first slap had been programmed into her to make sure there were no familiar feelings between Becky and the former Candace. The second slap did not necessarily surprise him, but the further emotional outburst did. He stood up and pulled Becky into an embrace. She pounded on his back a few times before crying in loud, angry, noises for a few minutes. He let her get it all out before whispering a trigger phrase in the young woman’s ear that quickly quieted her enough to sit down again.
“I’m so sorry, Sir.” Becky lowered her eyes with a deep sense of shame for her outburst.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Marcus countered, “at all. This woman...this Domestic Doll...is responsible for the trauma you have had to undergo until your rescue.”
He pointed towards Candi, who still blankly stared ahead at nothing in particular. Standing up, Marcus motioned towards the Domestic Doll with a mischievous look on his face. “I have what I hope is a nice surprise for you.” He stood up and put a hand on Candi’s collar. “Activate protocol Sanderson001.”
Candi blinked a few times and then gently smiled, shifting her attention to Becky. Her expansive bust heaved up and down with every quiet breath. A look of devotion was mirrored in her eyes.
Marcus, still touching her collar, spoke again. “Candi, whom do you belong to?”
“Candi,” she began, eyes never leaving Becky, “is the property of Miss Rebecca Sanderson, Sir.”
Becky gave him a confused glance. “She is mine?” Marcus nodded. Suddenly, the programmed woman’s expression changed to something a bit darker. She stood up, heels clicking on the hard floor, and stood in front of her personal Domestic Doll. “Bow before me.” Candi, with feminine grace, dropped down and bowed before her owner. She remained there and would until commanded by her Mistress.
“She really is mine, Sir?” Nothing about referring to Marcus as “Sir” seemed odd to her, which was another sign that she was an ideal candidate for the conditioning he desired in a wife.
“Yes,” Marcus confirmed, as both ignored the bowing Domestic Doll before them. “I had her custom programmed for you as a gift.” He paused and then gave her a sincere look. “When I heard about your case, I made sure rescue was a priority. I sent a few of my best soldiers to retrieve you. They reported that you offered no resistance and seemed fed up with the way things had gone.”
Becky sadly shook her head. “I still don’t remember, Sir.” Tears began to stream down her face. She curled up her manicured hands and turned red with anger.
Marcus pulled her into another embrace. “It’s okay, you will get there. You still need to have more sessions.” What kind of sessions, of course, he did not mention nor confirm.
After she calmed down enough, he pointed to the couch and they sat again. She looked lost in thought briefly and then smiled at him. “You made sure my rescue was a priority, Sir?” Becky examined Marcus with newfound interest.
“Yes, well,” he nervously began, “I found your story to be very compelling. You are high achieving, intelligent, beautiful——”
Becky cut in, eyes lighting up. “Beautiful, Sir?”
Marcus bit down and then decided to just skip the preamble and go for it. He slid slightly closer to Becky and took one of her hands in his own. She did not stop him. “Yes, you are beautiful. I am not going to deny that was a factor.”
Becky looked up at him. Literally, because he was about eight inches taller than the slight young woman. “You aren’t too bad yourself, Sir.”
At this point, Marcus leaned in and kissed Becky. She returned it and gently slid into his strong arms, placing her head against his chest. Candi continued to vapidly stare off into the distance.
“This new society of ours is rather cruel and harsh for commoners,” he mused, “it is important that a young lady like you has a good husband because, for the average woman, things will not go well.” He paused. “You need to continue your recovery,” Marcus began as he reached his arm around to pick up something off of the floor. “There is still a bit to do before your memories can be found.” Before she could even notice, he slid a VR eyepiece onto her face and activated it.
Becky did not struggle, but instead let out a sigh and eased back into his arms. A few weeks of conditioning had made her mind quite pliable to the subliminal brainwashing techniques used by the eyepieces. They were a large part of what Domestic Doll Services did and had become a mainstay for Domestic Doll Soldiers as well. Becky was a natural joiner, always eager to please others, which was how she ended up with Candace and Samantha, so she had taken to her conditioning rather easily.
Miss Sanderson had attended school with Candace and Samantha. Both had been insipid airheads who became more political in college. Their politics were mostly banal and cliched attacks on corporations and politicians that were not exactly all that thoughtful. Marcus shared many concerns about the direction of the world, as he had just discussed with the beautiful young lady sleeping on his office couch just now, but randomly smashing things was not the solution. He despised Domestic Doll Soldiers needing to be violent and the order was only given after the now “Candi” had started breaking things. The regular police forces were quite aggressive during the protest, which also egged on the protesters before his soldiers intervened.
Samantha had been passed up by current litter of buyers in the queue, so blanking her out and processing the young woman into a soldier seemed like a simple enough solution. She was fairly ordinary and would not be missed by many people. Another superficial joiner that will now fulfill that mentality to its most extreme in the private military of the city.
He was going to keep around Candace, but then circumstances changed for her. Originally, his plan was to reorient her to him and have her be a personal assistant in the home. However, after she bit an engineer and spit on one of his best doctors, he decided to turn her into a Domestic Doll. She now only existed to please his future wife. Candace had been, it came out in one of Becky’s hypnotic therapy sessions, a bit of a bully towards her, so he found it fitting that Candi had no purpose now but following orders. His wife would never be able to put a finger on why, but she would always feel a bit of snobbery towards Candi and treat her as such. It seemed a fitting punishment.
Marcus checked on his future wife. She rested peacefully on the couch while her conditioning continued. He motioned Candi over to him. Of course, as the head of the future Lohman home, Candi’s truest purpose was to please him. “Keep watch over her. If anything odd happens—” He tapped at the side of Candi’s neck to reveal a port. “—please wake me up.”
The bottle blonde Domestic Doll blinked a few times as the long cord between her Mistress’ visor and Candi’s neck connected on both sides. “Yes, Master,” she confirmed with a docile voice. Marcus nodded and left the room.
* * *
A few months later, Rebecca sat in front the mirror in the bedroom of the house that Marcus had purchased for them. She was about to be interviewed for a television special about her kidnapping and safe retrieval by Domestic Doll Soldiers. Her story, when it came out in a carefully placed article on a prominent media website, deeply moved many citizens. The future Mrs. Lohman had wanted privacy while still adjusting to her new life, but Marcus ordered her to take the interview. To please her fiance, she gladly acquiesced to it. His interest had literally saved her life. Who knows what the terrorists would have done if they had been able to successfully brainwash her! It chilled her to even consider what could have been. She could have been programmed to protest the very man she now dedicated her life to loving, honoring, and obeying.
Candi, their Domestic Doll maid, finished applying Rebecca’s light makeup. The pink haired Doll had been updated with world class makeup artist skill sets to make doing work like this possible. Marcus was quite wealthy and such skills were a simple phone call away. Rebecca looked both classy and stunning. Satisfied with the results, she waved away the maid with a white tipped nail. Candi was useful for what she did, but otherwise should only be heard and not seen. The help was just that. Engaging with them otherwise was futile, but especially with a mindless Domestic Doll who would just return to her charging station in the closet for the evening. Occasionally she brought Candi out for a punishment session, never sure why, but otherwise could not be bothered with her.
Rebecca smiled proudly at her appearance. She had cut her hair short at her fiance’s request. All he had to do was command her and she proudly did his bidding. Her boyish pixie cut was balanced with dark lipstick and heavy eye makeup. The black dress adorning her newly augmented breasts, another request from Marcus, announced her grace and class along with the old fashioned stockings and pumps raising her height up five inches. She sighed. If only other women, especially those awful protesters, could feel as docile, feminine, and obedient as she did at the moment.
There was a soft knock on the bedroom door. After a second, Jacqueline Rossi, the reporter given permission to do this interview. Miss Rossi was a former wannabe investigative reporter turned vapid news anchor and celebrity interviewer. Her interviews kept the masses in line and distracted with the banalities of gossip and their terrible excitement at the pains, and loves, of their lives. The compliant smile on her surgically enhanced face made Rebecca, who had been very nervous all day, feel a bit more at ease.
They exchanged polite introductions and then Jacqueline walked her interviewee through the questions she would ask. Rebecca found herself sexually attracted to the reporter, who had the looks of a model combined and the surgical enhancements of a porn star. Miss Rossi flirted with her a bit. After a few minutes, Marcus came in, greeted his fiance, and announced that the small crew was ready for them.
Rebecca blushed at how disheveled Marcus looked. He had been working very hard all day preparing this interview and making sure his future wife was as comfortable as possible as she, via the interview, addressed the nation. His shirt was pulled out and unbuttoned at the top. It turned her on so much to see her normally so structured Master in such a state. Having Miss Rossi, as compliant as an interviewer as there could be, doing the interview certainly helped a lot. The programmed reporter would do whatever she was told to do.
Right before the interview began, Marcus had whispered a trigger phrase to both women that activated the script they would go through during the interview. They started with bland pleasantries and then moved to the more important parts of the interview. Rebecca cried on cue when talking about what the protesters had wanted to do to her. Her expression of empathy with their cause won the hearts of many. She reiterated that their methods were wrong, as were the violent police not under DDS’ jurisdiction.
Miss Rossi then turned to her recent engagement. Rebecca noted how blessed she was by Marcus’s heroic Domestic Doll Soldiers rescuing her. She knew not to speak about the truth of how many are created, but did argue that they were the future of policing and security. As a homemaker, they made her feel safe and the Domestic Dolls in her home, she did not bother to name them, were so useful. A few more tears came forth about her love for Marcus. She could not wait to begin a family with him!
Finally, Rebecca discussed the educational foundation she was founding with Marcus for unruly young women to get them back on the right track. The first group of twenty had been, forcibly, just enrolled into the program and would be on the path to blissful obedience to whoever wins their future auction. Her role in it would be mostly ceremonial, but she spoke to the need for women to be focused on proper attitudes for success in modern life. Miss Rossi and Miss Lohman were fine examples of what the rubric for success at the foundation would entail.
After the interview ended, Rebecca and Jacqueline stood up and hugged tightly. They made small talk for a few minutes until the small crew around them left. Marcus had also exited the room due to a phone call he needed to take.
Finally, the room was quiet. Jacqueline went to say goodnight, but suddenly Rebecca spoke a trigger phrase out loud that put both women in a deep trance. “Follow me, please,” she commanded in a monotone. Rebecca led her friend out of the room and back towards the bedroom she shared with Master.
Marcus returned after awhile and found Rebecca standing next to Jacqueline, who knelt on the carpeted floor. As programmed, each wore a collar and leash. His wife currently held the leash attached to her friend quiet tightly. “Master, this slave here is ready to serve you.” The kneeling Domestic Doll bowed before her controller. Rebecca yanked her back to an upright position with the leash. “Service him!”
As Jacqueline wrapped her surgically enhanced mouth around his cock, Marcus thought about aggressive Rebecca was with those she deemed inferiors. The trophy wife scolded the Doll kneeling before him to hurry.
After Jacqueline got her Master near ejaculation, Rebecca gracefully knelt down and joined the slave with each taking turns on his cock and balls. Eventually he came in the reporter’s mouth. Rebecca then lead the Domestic Doll out of the room to the handler assigned this evening and then be returned to the man who was currently renting her as a girlfriend.
Rebecca returned to the room and threw herself into Marcus’s arms. Their whirlwind romance had left her tiny feminine mind spinning. He was so wonderful to her. She gently cried against his chest, but then pulled away. “This was hard,” the blonde said with an exhausted sigh.
“I know,” Marcus agreed, “but it was good. People need to see that there is an alternative to mindless violence.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I expect more chances for DDS to grow will be coming quickly.”
Marcus looked thoughtful for a moment. “Speaking of growing,” he began, grabbing hold, gently, of his wife and pulling her towards the bed, “I think it is time to start trying to put a baby in you.” Rebecca screamed out with feminine joy as her husband tore at the expensive dress she had worn for the interview. It was cast to the floor, leaving her in only stockings, garters, a bra, and pumps.
Rebecca’s Master yanked down her underwear and stockings with practiced precision. “Leave the shoes on,” he commanded, tossing her onto the bed. He held his wife down as they made love. She loved how soft and docile his force made her feel. When he came, she had the best orgasm of her life in unison with him.
Rebecca would not get pregnant that time, but a month later they announced that she was expecting. She settled into a happy domestic life with Candi waiting on her every need. The finest doctors were made available as the pregnancy went on. Life was just perfect as it was. Her memories of a time before Marcus had rescued her were a bit fuzzy, but eventually she just stopped trying to remember. Being the best possible wife and mother was all that mattered anymore. Rebecca hoped to share that vision with every woman.
* * *
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