06

(Ch. 04. Doctor Dollmaker, Sculptress Spy)

(Ch. 05. The Dao of the Doll)

(Ch. 06. Ocean Passage)

[Author's note: This fantasy "epic of alts" is the erotic continuation of Yoru's "world of startling sexual appetites" first encountered in the illustrated story "Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl Ch. 01-03." It is pure "Yoru imagination."]

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl Ch. 04 Doctor Dollmaker, Sculptress Spy

Cast of characters

Yoru

, an erotic dancer

Lorenzo

, a colossus, warrior lover of Yoru

Myraka

, Sculptress, tall, blond, fit

Lianne

, Myraka's female love doll, a redhead

The Doctor

, a dollmaker, in surgical attire

Serene

, the Doctor's female love doll, hogtied

Karl

, general purpose male love doll, a shape-shifter

Unidentified love doll

, carried over Karl's shoulder

A world of startling sexual appetites

Yoru had embarked upon a long voyage, the longest voyage, when she stopped breathing in the muddy ditch where Lorenzo found her. It would be unkind to say she had sexed herself to death, but it would be more unkind to deny it, for Yoru inhabited a world of startling sexual appetites. She had lived by love, freedom of love, and now she was dying by it.

Near the end, it was Yoru's sexual instincts that saved her. She was not equipped mentally to handle the loss of a lover like Lorenzo to the depths of the ocean. Who would be? But physically, she was an athlete, a professional dancer, and her polyamorous lifestyle had prepared her for many lovers. At the moment of her choking in the muddy puddle, unconscious, she had taken a breath of dirty water. When she followed it with a larger gasp for air where there was only mud, she gagged. Yoru had a well-developed reflex that ensured her lungs inhaled the murky water only once. Her favorite fetish of gagging on deep-throat cock had saved her life.

Stiff, with round plastic pleasure holes

Yet she was still inert flesh when Lorenzo lifted her dripping from the ditch. Yoru was to the warrior as light as an inflatable sex-shop doll, but unlike the stiffly extended, thin plastic legs and arms of those freakish surrogate lovers, mouths and pussies and anuses with symmetrical, squeaky, round, rigid pleasure holes, Yoru was limp, as though she herself were deflated of life.

Her wet dress clung cold to her curves as Lorenzo shifted his hands to her naked armpits, there where the pliant flesh of the breasts overlaps with taut tendons. He shook her, making her breasts flop, nipples shifting and visible through the thin cotton of the dripping dress, but her lungs remained unmoving. Propping her up against himself, he reached below her dress and ran his hands down her thighs, shuddered at the memory of touching her there in happier times, then continued over the calves until he could grip her by both ankles with one massive hand. With the other he steadied her head as he flipped her upside down and shook her, pumping her legs wide. At last, some dirty water spurted from her lungs.

The people standing around her watched, riveted, for the muddy skirt had fallen over her head below, revealing her pussy, long stripped of panties. Somehow, in spite of the multiple orgasms she had sought at the hands of rough townsmen, her sex appeared delicate and fresh, pink and tender, the slit narrow and flawless. Yoru's pussy still glowed with life, she was alive.

The kiss of life, woman to woman

A tall woman stepped out of the circle of gawkers. Her hair was as blond as Yoru's was black, but shorter. She looked good, muscles cut, in control, and she had seen enough. She bent over Yoru, picked her up by the shoulders, and moved her out of the ditch and back to the beach, pulling Lorenzo along behind her. She laid Yoru down, straightened her skirt back over her thighs, and gently rapped the anxious man's fingers to make him understand he could release her ankles. Leaning above her, she heaved full breaths of air into Yoru's lungs. Their lips sealed in the kiss of life, woman to woman.

Something deep within Yoru recognized the lips of her resuscitator, and she blinked open her eyes. As her vision cleared she choked out, "Myraka?"

"Yes, Yoru dear," she said. "Now breathe for me."

Myraka the Sculptress

Before Myraka had left the village of their birth, she had been Yoru's shibari girlfriend, her female lover. She vanished long ago without telling Yoru, and now lived with the Doctor in a villa overlooking the fearsome Sea of Perpetual Surf. It had been no coincidence she found Yoru, as she had been searching for her since she heard gossip that there was a "crazy fuck" woman going from man to man in the town. It sounded like the same Yoru, insanely insatiable female force.

After a few moments more kissing, whispering, and breathing into Yoru's clogged windpipes, both women rose wobbling from the grass. Myraka clutched Yoru's wet body tightly to her own, so that she also became soaked. Sunlight shown through the wet tops, refracting through rivulets tracking down the curves of their breasts and hips, allowing the onlookers a visual feast of fluid female flesh.

"You cut your hair," Yoru said, and then asked her, her eyes not yet focused, as if seeing an illusion of her in a dream, "why did you abandon me?"

Pubic rescue

Instead of answering, Myraka kissed her again. The Sculptress often thought about Yoru, but it had never occurred to her that she might encounter her on the road to the land of the Maharashtra. Going south had been the Doctor's idea. The mouth-to-mouth resuscitation had become a kiss of love reborn.

But Yoru wanted more. She was in a daze and hadn't noticed that Lorenzo was in the small crowd. Yoru was still clearly in the crazed mindset that she had lost him to drowning. And so she sought even now, undaunted by her almost fatal choking, to find solace in orgasms that swept her mind away from her tragic reality. She wanted to return to the blinding sex she had experienced with her eccentric lover. Her soaked brain resumed searching for drowned Lorenzo, yearning to join him in his saltwater nightmare, and the taste of Myraka's tangy, sweet-salty kisses had only frightened her more. Was this apparition of her Sculptress friend Myraka actually some ghost or impostor or angel of death reaching to pull her into the next world of watery oblivion? She needed her erstwhile shibari girlfriend's pussy to squirt her love juices all the way down her throat, for it was a divine taste no demon or angel could masquerade, to convince Yoru she was not in the madness phase of the throes of death.

Seeking Lorenzo, Yoru makes love with Myraka

Myraka hesitated, wondering if she should add liquids, even sexy love juices, into the mouth of a near-drown person. But she quickly relented, fearing she might still lose Yoru, and gave her what she wanted. Laying Yoru once more on her back, Myraka stood above her, straddling her boots on either side of Yoru's head, picked up her skirt, bent to her knees, and administered her wet pussy directly over Yoru's mouth and chin and nose, pulling her thong aside with a painted fingernail. She weaved her sex back and forth, nether lips swelling tight, squeezing the feminine love-drops into Yoru's waiting lips. Yoru, herself pulsing at the rate of her heartbeat, squirting pure, delicious liquid below, was weeping tears above. But when the Sculptress kneeled over her face, her pleasant moans soon signaled the release of her mind to ecstasy once more from the unthinkable loss of Lorenzo.

They are the Doctor's

Myraka performed pubic rescue on Yoru, thrusting up and swaying down in animal desire, there on the beach in the middle of a group of passersby, for all to see.

Curiously, the onlookers were silent. One might have thought them dead had they not been standing there, all gazing at the dripping women, drinking in the intimate scene of lesbian lovemaking. Myraka saw that Yoru had noticed them, and nodded in their direction, whispering:

"They are the Doctor's. Pay no attention to them."

Somehow alive

The onlookers were not saying anything because they were only life-sized dolls. But these dolls seemed somehow alive. Aside from their shocking beauty, this state of "somehow" existence was the dolls' most telling characteristic. They seemed so natural that Yoru was unaware that the onlookers were not human. They appeared to be gorgeous people; hushed spectators watching Myraka rain sex down on Yoru.

The dolls were not alive, but somehow they seemed lifelike and functional in every respect as regards to being sexy and ready for cuddling. How they differed from ordinary dolls was that they were capable of being animated. The could be turned on, freed from of their dull nonexistence into something that seemed perfectly alive, but could do this only when a puppet master's mind took control of their programmed, machine-like bodies.

To say puppet master would be misleading as well: these were not puppets, there were no strings attached. Nor were they robots. On the contrary, these surrogate lovers were fully independent when invested with the spirit and mind of the Doctor or the Sculptress. And every one of them was a drop-dead-sexy lover.

The Doctor's discovery

But they hadn't always been beautiful. As the Doctor tells the story of his discovery, he first made them of a clay-like substance he had accidentally discovered one evening while concocting a mixture of herbs, minerals, and common dirt. He plastered gobs of this goop on a gold screen frame shaped like a human. When it dried it looked like a chunky clod, an unattractive machine made of skin-toned mud.

Dollmaking had always been his hobby, and he didn't consider working on his creations laborious, but the Doctor had struggled all day to make this misshapen creature prettier, and he was disheartened at the results.

He decided to massage the doll's breasts to cheer himself up.

The protruding nipple snapped back, puckering from the attention

The Doctor's hands were eager for nipples. He wanted to circle the love doll's breasts, push, pinch, cup them, and he wasn't worried at all that his hungry fingers might bruise the doll. How could he hurt an inanimate lump of solidified mud? He got a little rougher.

He dipped his fingertips in a jar of night cream and slathered it over both breasts so that his hands-aching for pleasure-could feel more skin, faster. The cream rendered the surface slick and the doctor rubbed the doll rapidly in turned-on, wrenching, vicious, circular motions. Our scientist was cranking it up, getting more breast per second. He could feel it in his penis. His fingers squeezed the areola hard, scraping with one fingertip the protruding nipple, which snapped back, puckering from the attention.

The Doctor stared at the nipple, then grimaced.

For a moment he thought he had noticed a movement of the hardened nipple, but that wouldn't be possible. It was inanimate, rigid mud. He rubbed more night cream on the breasts, following the surface of the slick, full, womanly curves back to his favorite spot around the soft skin bordering her underarms. One of her arms twitched...

"An arm of mud cannot twitch," was the Doctor's first thought. But he had seen it clearly. His trained mind raced for answers. Could the chemicals contained in the night cream, which had a breast enlargement component, make the female love doll somehow spasm?

"Curious," the Doctor began, "but that's not..." He closed his mouth.

The love doll had just nodded her thanks coquettishly and, to his complete bafflement, opened her legs wide for him with a jerk, as wide as they would stretch, exposing her mud encrusted pussy. Her doll-sex split open with a "crunch" and dust crumbles fluttered to the floor. Her crack had pried open, revealing a dark crevice at the base of the pubic hair that signals the gap where the pussy begins, where he had attempted to shape the doll with swollen labia. As he gazed he saw the lips were turning a pinker hue than the skin around them.

A flesh-like substance greatly sensitive to desire

"But how...," the Doctor muttered as the transformation crept around to her pretty puckered anus. It was true, her mud-brown skin was taking on a rouge tint as he stood mesmerized, open mouth drooling.

After a few moments, the Doctor jumped back, barely avoiding the grasping fingers and curling toes of the needy limbs flailing in his direction. Not able to reach him, the love doll turned to groping its own vagina, which was turning from crude to irresistibly human female. This so astonished the Doctor that he went into a state of shock.

The unfortunate Doctor had been near exhaustion, and when the doll began to masturbate, he simply lost his renowned ability to think. He considered himself a scientist, and it was one of science's oddest moments when, at the advent of his epic invention of a kind of living matter, a flesh-like substance of great sensitivity to desire, the lustful Doctor Dollmaker appeared to lose his mind.

But instead of going completely crazy, he ejaculated a big load into his own hand.

He imagined he was rubbing the doll down with his own semen

The shock of watching his earthen invention pleasure itself, herself, had made the Doctor's mind slip into a sexual reverie. He hadn't realized that he had been massaging the doll's swollen breasts with one greedy hand while he touched his own cock with his other. It had gotten creamier and creamier. When he orgasmed he caught the cum neatly in his palm in an instinctual move to keep his workbench area tidy. Or was it fate that caused the Doctor to preserve his seed for other nefarious purposes?

No, as darkly curious as he is, the Doctor is not clairvoyant. Some might call him a fiend, of course, but as any man, he might have swallowed his own cum in the occasional drunken masturbation, but tonight the overload of seeing his invention take on erotic movement had triggered his mind into a fantasy that he was rubbing the doll down with his own semen. It's what had made him cum so copiously.

The Doctor was looking at himself, convinced he had lost his mind

Ejaculating always brings the Doctor back to the present. He had recovered from the shock of seeing his dummy doll playing with herself, but something happened that made it more than just him ejaculating into his own palm. Something assailed his own mind for a second time. The Doctor gazed at his jism for a suspended second, then rubbed his hands together and applied the generous portion of semen directly onto the ample breasts, now alive to the touch. She responded immediately to the refreshing, renewed creamy texture, writhing under his palms, plainly welcoming him to do it again.

It was then that his mind really left him. It fled from his body, literally. The Doctor had gone mad, but not in the Hollywood sense of a crazed Dr. Frankenstein. His mind had left his own skull and jumped into the cranial container of the love doll.

The only thought that was registering at that eerie moment was that he was looking at himself, still in his white robe and green gloves, dick wilting, staring mindlessly back at him. Her.

"How?" he stammered. Was it an out of body experience? "How can I be staring at me, I mean, who is he? Who am I?"

He blinked, looking down at himself, and found that he was she, the female love doll the Doctor had constructed, the one whose breasts he had assaulted, who now was looking at the Doctor's unmoving body from her new eyes, seeing for the first time through the eyes of a woman, and she knew for the first time lust for a man.

Her curved eyelashes blinked in disbelief and desire for the Doctor, who was herself.

The fleshy female love doll had absorbed his consciousness

She panicked, so that the flesh-like imitation heart was thrown into the "arousal" mode that had been programmed into her by the scientist Doctor. Her pussy began to transform into its swollen state, resembling twin slices of pulpy flesh like a ripe melon split open, the tight hole between them expressing clear honeydew juice to run in vine-like rivulets down her thighs.

As the Doctor took all this in, he realized it was him down there getting turned on. It was him with a pussy! His mind had somehow jumped into the fleshy female love doll. It was his pussy that was dripping. He liked it instinctively, but still it disoriented him, which made

her

dizzy.

Growing fear gripped the love doll about her own existence, and that of her Dollmaker's, and she thought that she had gone insane, that spending so much time creating love dolls had robbed the Doctor of his ability to distinguish Real Life from erotic illusion. She could see herself, the girl's self, as her robotic, inelegant neck swallowed. The hanging hulk of the Doctor's body stared impotently. Her head swayed, her face contorted, and she fainted from the confusion and realization of the sheer erotic prospects.

That was when her mind leapt back into the Doctor's own limp frame.

When he opened his eyes, his mind was back in his own skull, and he was the Doctor again. He stared at his creation, a featureless, machine-like, lumpy female love doll who wanted to have sex with him.

Remorseless, insatiable lovers

The Doctor experimented and found that he needn't be shocked or fainting to be able to effect his mind-jump into a love doll. He only needed to ejaculate, spit, or sweat. Any body liquid with DNA would do it. He could transfer his own consciousness into whichever fleshy doll he desired to control, male or female, by first concentrating on it as he massaged the doll with the breast enlargement lotion, then applying semen as the final coat. The DNA transfer that enabled his mind to jump went instantly. The substance he had created was capable of being invaded by his mind, maybe anyone's mind. Soon he found that if he massaged the naked breasts of two dolls at a time, and spit on all 4 breasts, his mind could exist simultaneously in both. Inhabiting two women's bodies was confusing, even for the scientist, but it was possible.

It was as though a tiny piece of the Doctor's brain coding jumped into an electrical synapse implanted in the love dolls' skins by the cum mixing with the body lotion. It gave him the ability to be them, to think for them, they were completely subservient to the Doctor's every whim, they were the epitome of love slaves, at the command of the lustful Dollmaker. And it was all caused by mixing the organic and biological creams he smeared into their skins.

An uncouth lump of repellent, quivering, horny flesh

The love dolls were alive, but the machines the Doctor called bodies were not enticing. He had a gift for neurological connections that was genius, but the love dolls he created were unlovable lumps of flesh. Of course, the mind is paramount in a love affair, but a sexy body is undeniably everyone's fond dream. "Unattractive mech-sexers" was the best his love dolls could be called. The Doctor was at a loss. He had discovered a scientific way to imbue his creations with animation, and then control them with his own mind, but instead of transforming into a voluptuous lady or a dashing man, with luscious thighs or rippling pecs, he occupied an uncouth lump of repellent, quivering, horny flesh.