You had heard rumours about the Training House. You barely believed such a place could be real. There had been rumours circling for years about the transformations they could do to the willing submissives given over to them.
And then one day you got the call, your dom had arranged for you to undergo a full regime of training under their guidance. It was time to see if the rumours were true.
You arrive at a tower in the middle of the city. From the outside it looks to be the residence of a large financial services firm. The reception area is so businesslike that it almost doesn't seem to be the right location. You walk up to the desk and offer your letter of acceptance to the woman sitting there.
She takes it without looking up at you and peruses it briefly. Her hand absentmindedly traces against her neck as if looking for a missing necklace. She looks back up at you and smiles.
"You are to go to the elevator. I will let them know that you are here."
You follow her instructions, of course, and stand in the small, dark box patiently. The door closes and you feel the elevator descend. It's difficult to count the floors but unless the lift is travelling at a crawl it was at least five.
The speaker crackles into life.
"Welcome to the Training House. Please surrender your clothes to the reception desk."
Your natural obedience kicks in and you strip, passing the bundle of clothing to the... person? At the desk.
They are coated in a thin, almost invisible, layer of latex that gives them a doll-like appearance. Their face is a mask, quite literally, but painted in exquisite detail to look uncanny. Their movements are robotic and slightly off-putting but, at the same time, elicit an undeniable response from your body.
Close to human, but not close enough for comfort. You blush as the facsimile of personhood seals your clothes away and picks up a box from under their desk.