The Construct was beautiful. It was all that Kershaw had required. For the fortune he'd paid for it, it should be. It stood patiently in Kershaw's office, naked except for a silken red bow around its neck, quietly waiting as the sales manager pointed out its features, the fulfillment of all of Kershaw's wildest dreams, all of his requests that he had checked, and a few extras the company had wisely thrown in to please their very wealthy customer.
Kershaw sat behind his large desk, gripping his cane tightly, breathing heavily as the manager droned on, nonchalantly pointing out hips or breasts, flawless skin, incredible lack of inhibition. Kershaw admired the beauty of it, the luscious nakedness, the stance that proclaimed ownership by him, and willingness by it. The salesman could talk and point all he wished, but once Kershaw accepted the product, once the credits were transferred, it belonged to him. No other could touch it unless he permitted it. It would have no will but his; no desire except whatever he wished.
He would have to feed it, of course. It would need rest. It had needs common to humans. Its cells were human, but of course, those had been taken from various donors, selected, this discarded, that added, the specific choices made by scientists whose only purpose was in piecing together the perfect strands of DNA, weaving them into a design that the buyer had custom ordered after much thoughtful decision. Then the strands were nurtured and grown, carefully tended and watched in the tank as it developed. The growth was sped up, then slowed, and finally the aging was stopped. In the last months, this Construct had been fitted with enhancements, insertions in the groin and nipples, delicate procedures to manipulate its ability to give and receive pleasure, or pain, or both, all controlled by the owner.
As requested, this Construct was female in appearance. Had someone not known its origins, they could be forgiven for believing it to be fully human, a young female of perhaps 20 or so. It was petite, had a small waist, and beautiful full breasts tipped with blush-coloured nipples that lifted upwards. There was no hair at the groin; Kershaw had other purposes and wanted none there. The eyes were a rich violet color; the skin, pale and perfect. Legs and arms hinted at gracefulness. It had black hair with a sheen so deep that it made Kershaw ache to smooth his old hands through it, but he waited, listening to the salesman finish his gushing and get to the best part, how Kershaw was to operate his new toy.
The control could easily fit on Kershaw's wrist, like the old-time watches he had seen. After a few attempts, he felt confident, and he nodded. Now the salesman handed a pad to Kershaw, who allowed the device to sample his blood, view his eye, and confirm he was himself and not under duress. Credits transferred, the salesman slipped the control about Kershaw's wrist, there was a snick! and the Construct's eyes immediately snapped to his, waiting. The salesman bowed his way out, the door closed, and Kershaw clambered to his feet, leaning slightly on his cane.
It had taken years for him to build up the wealth needed to purchase one of these. He walked slowly around it, drinking in the sight eagerly, noticing its flesh prickled with the chill air, feasting his eyes on its breasts, so full and rich. He clenched his hands on his cane, drawing out the moment, savoring it.
"What shall I call you?" he said. It could not reply of course. They were muted in the labs. He wasn't sure they even had vocal chords. He should have asked. A few moans could have been nice. He shrugged, and walked around it again, stopping to stand behind it.
"I won't call you anything, for now," he said softly. "Except 'mine,'" he thought to himself, and smiled. He swung his right arm around its waist suddenly, his hand spread on its belly. Then he reached down, between its legs, his large hand cupping the groin, feeling it flutter and twitch lightly at the contact. It was soft, like a little bird, and he laughed. He suddenly closed his hand, squeezing, and the Construct leaned its head back, resting against his chest, opening its legs a little wider, offering its quivering soft flesh to his hand. He relaxed his grip, then squeezed again, gloating in his power. He could do whatever he wanted to this luscious, beautiful little gem. He owned it. It owed its creation to him. He squeezed again, harder, and the Construct placed a hand atop his, pushing it against its groin, into its own flesh.
Kershaw grinned, his mind wild with ideas. Things he had only imagined doing over the years, were now possible. Dark things, twisted things, all for him. It was a wonderful gift to himself. He had gotten his own body ready for this, months ago. He was an old man, but rich, and that had bought him this prize now cupped in his hand - and enhancements for his old man penis. His own insertions were worth it. He was hard and eager, stronger and bigger. His skin was aged, his hair white. But Kershaw now had the cock of a young man in his prime, and he felt it, trying to escape his pants, anxious for its prey. Kershaw released the Construct's groin, wiping his hand on its belly.
He had hired two Agony Aunts from a Mother house, and he called them to his office. He instructed them to bathe it, feed it, dress it. They bowed, and one clipped a leash to the silken red bow around its neck, tugging once for it to follow.
