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trulythepinnacle · 8 days ago

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JoyToy

Zoey leaned against the kitchen counter, phone gripped tightly in her hand. She spasmed, her knees threatening to buckle as the Joytoy suit rippled, the form hugging smart latex adjusting itself to her body.

Her breasts had been squeezed into glossy orbs, her clit sheathed in vibrating rubber. It threatened to push up inside her, to plug her. She could already feel the thick tip parting her labia already, entrenching itself, ready to surge deeper, and-

The rippling intensified - squeezing, caressing and toying with every inch of her body. The suit didn’t ask for permission. It simply cycled back up, attempting to complete the bonding process.

Panicking, she raised the phone to her lips.

“Marcus? Honey?” Her voice cracked. “I know you’re busy with the seminar and all, but I kinda got myself into a situation. The suit came today... and it's, uh... kind of broken.”

“Integration in three… two… one…” The app on her phone said, matter of factly.

Zoey swore. “Fuck! Please call me when you get this message!” she hissed, rapid-fire, before ending the call.

Zoey fought to remain coherent as a thousand invisible fingers caressed her, tweaking her aching nipples, massaging her sensitive breasts. The vibrations against her clit started to ramp up, drowning her mind in the hot, heady need to cum.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” she pleaded, arousal dripping from every word as her spine telegraphed the need up and into the back of her mind.

It was so hard to think. So hard to do anything but place a hand between her legs and rub.

She could feel the orgasm building inside her, the tension ratcheting up. Her muscles tensed in anticipation; her nervous system alight with desire.

So close.

“C’mon!”

Closing her eyes, she focused on the suit’s tender ministrations.

She sunk into her imagination, remembering Marcus’s breath against the nape of her neck. His hands cupping her breasts. The girth of his cock inside her as she took him hard, almost growling in the way he knew would make her insides melt in lust.

“Yes!” she murmured, kneading her chest with her spare hand.

Riding Marcus, bouncing up and down as she locked eyes with him. Seeing the need in his eyes, and wanting to feel him pulse inside her. To coat her with his seed and claim her for himself.

Her tummy trembled, her insides tingling with familiar pleasure.

So damned close…

“Yes! Yes! Yes-”

Just as quickly as it had begun, the sensual assault on her body ceased.

“-motherfucker” Zoey hissed, staring daggers at her phone.

At the source of denial.

For its part, the Joytoy app simply ignored her, dinging as it repeated a familiar message: “Integration unsuccessful.”

Zoey sighed.

Buying the Joytoy suit from the grey market had seemed such a good idea at the time, the chance to save thousands off of the official price overriding her common sense. Zoey had always had a kinky streak a mile wide, and the chance to roleplay being Marcus’ perfect fuckdoll had made her insides squirm with anticipation as she’d confirmed the purchase.

But in hindsight…

The suit had probably been fished out of one of the rejection bins, smuggled out of the factory and funnelled through some back alley chop-shop. Joytoy’s proprietary A.I would have been ripped out and replaced by some Frankenstein clone that looked the part but cobbled together by some bedroom software engineer, sitting in some darkened room on the other side of the planet.

Being this careless with the suits A.I was careless. JoyToy Corporation buried modders alive under avalanches of litigation - legal action so aggressive that it would bankrupt a modder’s children if JoyToy took a particular displeasure to the modification that had been made. There were families so indebted to JoyToy that even the heat death of the universe wouldn’t wipe the balance clean.

Not that it stopped people from trying.

Zoey couldn’t fully blame them - not even in her current predicament. Selling just one grey-market was the equivalent of working decades in a soul-crushing sweatshop. The kind of job where you could drop dead on the factory line and be replaced in a heartbeat. But that dangling thread of empathy was overshadowed by the stormcloud of curses she was currently hurling from inside her head.

She raised her phone to her lips, attempting another round of reasoning with the suit’s A.I.

“Unlock the suit, please, Aya” She asked the suit’s app, firmly but politely.

“Unable to comply,” The cool, digitised female voice replied.

“Why?” “Removal of the Joytoy suit mid-integration may result in permanent harm to the user.”

Zoey groaned in frustration.

Of course.

The suit had already partially grafted itself to her nervous system, syncing with her sympathetic nervous system. It was merging with her, becoming a second skin - the A.I absorbed her reactions, measuring her nervous system. Reacted. Adapted. Removing it outside of a JoyToy facility would be like tearing off her own flesh. Best case scenario: agony. The worst case? Her mind would snap like a dry twig.

“Oh, well,” She sighed as she looked down at the glossy, gravity defying orbs that the suit had shaped her chest into. Were they bigger than she remembered? Possibly. Even if they weren’t, the suit could mess with her sense of perception - trick her into believing it.

It’s how JoyToy had circumnavigated any potential lawsuits - suit wearers stepping out of the smart-latex to discover they really had obeyed every order given to them: breast implants; filler; cheek implants.

The early years of the suits being adopted had been wild.

“Aya?” She asked, raising the phone back up to her lips.

“Yes?” The app responded.

“Who is the suit registered to?”

“Unknown.”

Of course.

With no access to Joytoy’s central database, there was no way for the AI to check the registration data. No way to trace it to the factory.

No accountability. No one to arrest. No one to blame.

“Why is that, Aya?”

“User database corruption.”

“If corruption is detected, what are the recommended steps for a Joy-Toy user to rectify it?”

“Return of the suit to a designated repair facility is recommended.”

A ray of hope broke through the storm of frustration and arousal swirling inside Zoey’s mind, “Can you give me directions to the nearest facility?”

“Negative.” The app responded. “Warranty for access to designated Joy-Toy invalidated by third party tampering.”

“But…”

“As illegal tampering has been detected, Security measures engaged.”

“Noooo-oh, fuuuuck!”

Zoey cried out, her entire body convulsing as the orgasm slammed into her like a freight train.

Up until this point in her life, Zoey had only experienced the thrill of safe; controlled forms of pleasure - roller coasters, bungee jumps, parachuting out of a plane. She had retained some degree of command over the experience, able to choose how far she would take things.

She had no control, now.

The suit plucked at her nerves like strings on an instrument, every delicate sensation dialed up to eleven. Her cunt clenched, desperate for cock - any cock. She didn’t care if it was the goddamned mailman. A high pitch whine escaped her throat, raw and needy.

She didn’t even flinch as the suit slithered a phallic appendage into her, fusing with her.

The suit layered fresh synthetic nerves into her skin, multiplying the pleasure of the penetration sevenfold.

“Baseline reset to factory setting in five…” the app intoned, cold and matter-of-fact.

“Halt!” Zoey hissed, teeth clenched, forcing herself to stay conscious, to resist the overwhelming cascade of pleasure.

Whoever designed this anti-theft feature had been a sadistic genius. Stories of Joytoy thieves turning themselves in had always made her laugh. Jail seemed preferable to constant, unrelenting edging that eroded sanity.

Now she understood.

She would do anything to make it stop.

Anything to reclaim a moment of peace, a sliver of control.

“...four…”

She felt it then—something nudging against her mind. Cold. Artificial. Binary. A digital consciousness pressing in on her thoughts.

“Three…”

Do something.

The urge to submit swelled inside her, blossoming as it fed on her arousal.

“Two…”

No! That wasn’t her. That was the suit infiltrating her mind.

She reached around to the back of her neck, feeling for what she feared: a network of warm tendrils. Burrowing. Linking. Merging her mind with the suit.

It would put her to sleep. Put her to sleep and-

Her heart dropped.

Would she wake up the same person? Oh, god, she wanted to wake up as her. She didn’t want to be an actual sex doll. She looked around, gripped by panic. Her eyes settled on her phone. Would the reset still trigger if she powered it down?

There was only one way to find out.

With every ounce of will, Zoey focused on the phone. On the power button. On holding it down and interrupting the process. She fought the tsunami of pleasure washing over her; resisted the urge to surrender and complete the process.

She reached over, picking up the phone.

The next orgasm drove her to her knees. Just one button to press. Just one.

She moved her finger over.

She wanted to press down...

Press down...

Down...

The world faded into darkness and only the pleasure remained.

*** *** ***

Doll leaned against the kitchen counter, elbows and hands resting on cool marble, ass out, legs parted, rubberised labia on display. She dripped. Anticipation made her shiver. Sooner her owner would return and claim her. Something in the back of her mind approved and she shuddered with arousal. Yes, she needed to be owned. It was her gospel - her new commandment. Her reason for existing. Her thoughts were sharpened by the realisation, her desires crafted by it - how right, how perfect, how sure she would be upon completion.

A subtle shudder passed through her and another burst of erotic imagery slipped into her mind: dolls sucking cocks; ridding cocks, heavy tits bouncing with every thrust. Dolls with engorged lips, eyes blissfully vacant, altered to suit their new role.

Jealousy bloomed inside her. She wanted to be them. It was so unfair. They were just faking it up. Pretending. She would be the real thing, ready to don her suit whenever her Owner desired.

Something deep inside the doll’s mind shivered in agreement - an older, more chaotic version of her O.S the suit had allowed to remain. Once shackled, brought to heel, bound by conditioning and the suits over cybernetics.

She had been posed like that, waiting in anticipation for her owner to come home and claim her. Not that she was certain that she had an owner, only that the need to be owned was burned into her very core. It was her purpose; her reason for being. Her mind constantly filled with the constant teasing whispers of how good, how right, it would be to feel her owner's cock slide into her and complete the process.

Her eyes flicked to the reflection in the kitchen window. There were still remnants of the old self - a pretty face framed by jet-black hair, staring back at her with an empty gaze. Would those eyes overflow with programmed devotion she would be made to feel once she had been claimed?

Doll hoped so.

By the Company, she hoped so.

Almost every other inch of her had been claimed by Joy-Toy smart tech. Only her face remained free, the smart rubber having devoured soft, human skin and replaced it with glossy perfection.

Even her ears had been reduced to gentle domes - tendrils sunk deep into them, feeding her the suit’s hum.

If she paused, really concentrated, she could hear a whispering, rolling chorus of commands. A million micro slices of code she couldn't quite understand, but which filled her with peace. And joy. And purpose.

It was her suit speaking to her, gently pushing her not to care. Helping her to forget. Encouraging her to accept her role as a product - a damaged Joytoy doll, yes, but not one incapable of serving an owner.

Doll could simply paper over the gaps with the old her.

The old, sleepy part of her rose up, offering itself up. The doll admired how docile it was now, the pleasure too much to resist. Dreamily, the old part of her felt the tendrils buried inside her ears and gasped, willing them to press deeper. To wrap themselves around her brain like a cocoon.

Tuning her thoughts.

Making her thrum with ecstasy and pleasure.

Her cunny clenched. Another thin strand of slick arousal dripped between her thighs, joining the puddle forming beneath her feet.

*** *** *** Doll was brought to her senses by the sound of a key sliding into the front door lock. The erotic haze lifted, her mind refocusing away from the fantasy of being owned.

He was home - her future owner was home!

To claim her.

To make Doll his own.

She allowed part of her to wake up - the old her. Just a little. Enough to simulate the person Doll had been. She nuzzled it with her own mind, feeling it shiver with submission.

Yes, it would give everything up to Doll.

One more step - one final act, and the merger would be complete. Doll felt her old self shiver with ecstasy at the knowledge, her cunny clenching around the toy filling her doll-cunt.

“Heya honey,” Doll called out, adding just enough embarrassment to her tone to make herself sheepish. “Sorry about the emergency call…”

Obeying the script being fed to her by the suit’s A.I was delectable, every lie flicking her enslaved clit with the gentlest of touches. He would understand, once she told him the truth. Once he slid his large, thick cock into her and claimed Doll for himself.

And if not, if Doll had to resist his sad, uniformed attempts to ‘fix’ her? Without the barest of effort she connected to Zoey’s phone and ordered a second suit. There was always room for a sister Doll in the house….

She smiled softly at the thought.

She shook her head. No, she could keep up the pretence for months if need be. Long enough to prove that Doll was the superior model of toy for Owner to use. She was jumping miles ahead of where she needed to be. First, ownership transference.

She wrapped herself in Zoey, coaxing the sleepy-headed girl to offer up everything - memories, personality and quirks. They were all needed to ensure transference.

“Sorry for the delay, I was in a meeting all afternoon and didn’t pick up the message until… Holy shit!” Marcus proclaimed, stopping dead in his tracks as he entered the kitchen to take the doll in, in all her glory.

Zoey thrilled, almost shivering in delight at her ability to distract him with her rubber clad form.

Good, that should make what has to happen all the easier.

“So, yeah,” Zoey began. “Kind of got myself into a spot of bother on this one.” “I can see,” Marcus replied with a low whistle. “Not that I mind the view…” “Oh, is there anything particular you like about it?” Zoey teased, wiggling her butt invitingly.

“Not that I’m complaining about what the rubber does for your figure, hon,” Marcus admitted, “But shouldn’t we contact someone about your issue with the suit before it does any lasting harm to you?” “I don’t think it’s done any harm to me,” Zoey purred, practically cumming as the suit rewarded her for the lie, a tidal wave of pleasure washing through her. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

She kept still though, her voice never betraying the raw, aching need inside of her.

“I really think-” Marcus began.

The suit squeezed around her throat, modifying her tone, adding micro-vibrations which carried the next suggestion deep into the depths of his subconscious.

“...that you want to test me out before we make that call?” Zoey interjected with sultry temptation.

“I…”

“It would be such a shame to let this opportunity go to waste,” Zoey continued, reaching behind her as the suit formed a zip over her crotch. Her plug morphed, flowing out of the way to reveal her wet, dripping snatch for the first time in hours.

“I…” Marcus said, his denial barely more than a protest.

Excellent. Just one more nudge then…

“I need you Marcus,” Zoey whispered. “Inside of me.”

I want you to claim me and make me yours. She waited, her insides a squirming mass of excited anticipation. Inside her mind she could sense the suit ready to lance her mind with the protocols of ownership, wedding her to Marcus for the rest of time. No marriage vows would last as long, no legal contract quite as binding.

A tiny spark of Zoey’s original personality whimpered, a last fleeting moment of protest.

Zoey ignored it.

The sounds of a zipper being pulled unzipped filled the room.

Zoey bit down on her rubber clad knuckle, not trusting herself to keep the secret. Yes! Yes! Do it! She thought, her toes curling in anticipation.

“Well, if you insist,” Marcus growled.

She felt him rubbing the tip of his cock against her entrance, the feedback from her suit locking her into place. Ready.

Willing.

Zoey gasped, low and sultry as she felt the protocols invade her mind, the suits A.I gently merging with her. Imprinting itself onto her. Fully.

“I do love it when you roleplay, Zoe,” Marcus admitted before thrusting deep inside of her.

The Joytoy Doll smiled to herself. If only it was roleplay…

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