The door to his office buzzed and he answered it. In the hallway were one of the senior Factory engineers and two porters wheeling an upright polished wooden box on a hand truck. He stepped back, waving them in.
The porters pushed the hand truck to the middle of the room and unstrapped the box, then left.
The room was a strange mix of laboratory, boudoir, and dungeon.
He looked at the engineer. "Well?"
"This is our newest model. As always, here is a sample for you to test. For my part, I am very excited; this model is our best one yet."
"I'll see about that."
"I have no doubt you will be completely satisfied. This material is thinner than our previous designs--it defines curves perfectly; even nipples are clearly outlined. And one of the most important features is the smooth-flow openings. They allow easy access but when closed they blend into the suit seamlessly. Here is the spec sheet."
"Interesting."
"Of course, we know how...thorough...you are in your testing, so I will let you get to it. Enjoy." The engineer left.
While the two men discussed her, she listened and thought about earlier, when it had become her turn to become the Factory's latest latex doll.
They had told her yesterday that she had been chosen. Like any base model would be, she was overjoyed. Becoming a latex doll was the highlight of their training. Lots of base models had been weeded out, to be sold as-is to lower-prestige clients. They would become mere playthings for well-off--but not rich--owners, and their lives as sex toys would be intercut with awkward social events and even housework.
Latex dolls, on the other hand, were the premium that the Factory offered. The selection and training were rigorous, mixed with exquisite pampering. They had to learn to be keenly attentive to their eventual owners' wishes and needs, while at the same time able to become completely passive, mere objects for all manner of fetishes. When a latex doll was sold, she began a new life of complete servitude but also pride at knowing she was the best the industry had to offer.
After the morning routine, she had been taken from the dormitory to a suite of rooms she had never seen before, and it was there that she began her transformation. She was bathed thoroughly until her skin was soft and glistening, and every inch inspected for blemishes. They had curled her light brown hair and done her makeup for the part--smoky eyes, blush on her round cheeks; inviting, dark red lips.
When time came for her suit, she was first coated with a light mineral oil. She moaned to herself as the hands glided over her, leaving the sheerest layer of slipperiness. She felt absolutely frictionless, as if the mere air currents could carry her this way and that, and every nerve ending felt enhanced, sensitive to any stimulation that passed by.
They took their time fitting the suit. Hers was a dark charcoal color. The latex slid over effortlessly, but drew close as they clasped the fastenings. It was tight, sleek, a true second skin, forming to every curve and crease, around her neck, over her collarbones, lifting the swell of her breasts, firm around her back and belly, in the divot of her navel; it formed to her hips, the puffy folds of her labia, down the lines of her arms and thighs and calves. She even felt her clit, swollen and sensitive, outlined in sharp relief under the material. High-heeled boots fitted tightly over her calves and forced her to stand up straight, enhancing the curves of her legs and ass. Proper posture--head up high, breasts thrust out, arms at the sides or folded behind the back--was an important part of their training.
Options included thin gloves that outlined her fingers but preserved her dexterity, thick mittens that covered her hands, leaving her unable to do anything for herself, and, over all, a snug hood. It had openings over her nose, eyes, ears, and mouth, but attachment points for a blindfold, earplugs, and a cover across her mouth.
