Fiona's e-mailed instructions had me burning with curiosity, and I arrived right on time at the specified address still without any clue about what awaited me. It was some kind of commercial scientific institute on the outskirts of Cambridge, but clearly affiliated with the university. A large building of concrete, steel and tinted glass, security cameras watching everywhere. And although it was a cool Saturday morning, the temperature dropped as I threaded my way through the revolving doors and made my way tentatively to the reception.
"Hi," I said to the receptionist, a cute, blonde lassie with perfect skin and a dark suit that accentuated her slender frame. (I've reached an age now when all receptionists are younger and prettier than I am.) "I'm Ali X-"
She nodded. "Please take a seat, Miss X-" she said, and as I did, she picked up the phone and spoke quietly to someone.
Having had no idea what this was about - I still didn't - I had dressed with some formality in a button-up shirt and a dark grey skirt with matching jacket. And my favourite pair of platform stilettos, black non-patent leather, that were simultaneously serious and slutty. I selected a chair that faced the receptionist, and as I sat I gave her a glimpse of what was - and what wasn't - beneath my skirt as I crossed my legs. She blushed as she realised I'd seen her look.
A young man, about thirty, not unattractive but definitely an academic by his manner and grooming, emerged from a door and strode over to me. With a grin somewhere between shy and embarrassed he held out his hand for me to shake. "Miss X-? I'm Dr Evans. Thank you for coming. I didn't think we'd be able to get any volunteers."
"What exactly have I been volunteered for?" I asked.
The look of shock on his face was priceless. "Did -" he started. His face was turning bright red, and he ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "Didn't Fiona explain? She said she told you everything."
"She gave me a time and a place. Here and now. Nothing else."
"Ah. Oh." He was clearly at a complete loss.
I took pity on him. "Why don't you explain it to me? If I know Fiona, and I do, this is a sex thing."
His sigh of relief was profound. Laughing nervously, he said, "Yes." Suddenly aware that the receptionist was watching us closely, and quite overtly too, his voice dropped to a whisper. "Perhaps I should just show you."
"Mmm..." I said, as if he had just said something deeply erotic. "I'd like that." I winked at the receptionist. She flinched away, pretending to be busy with something but blushing furiously.
Dr Evans led me through a maze of corridors and down a flight of narrow stairs to the basement level, all the while explaining about the institute's research and its state-of-the-art facilities, most of which was about sensors, computing and robotics, stuff I know little about and have less interest in. Half the words he used meant absolutely nothing to me.
He paused outside a double door and looked at me sternly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want," he said. "You can leave at any time. You can stop at any time - just say 'stop'. But I need your word that you won't talk about what you see and do here."
"Not even with Fiona?"
"Fiona is allowed, but no one else."
"My lips are sealed. My word on it."
He nodded after a moment, then unlocked and opened the door. "Welcome to my parlour, Miss X-."
"Please just call me 'Ali'."
I stepped through the doors into a workshop full of computers and tools and other equipment that I have no names for. Cables snaked everywhere, most gathering dust. Fans and electricity hummed away oppressively. There was no window, but there were two doors opposite the entrance.
So far I had yet to see anything that seemed even remotely sexual, not even a calendar of topless girls. Increasingly I had the feeling that a mad scientist was leading me deeper and deeper into his lair. Unable to find a woman to satisfy him, he had taken to luring them into these hellish depths to keep for his experiments and perverted pleasure...
When he opened the door on the left, these fears seemed all too prescient, for a naked woman sat on a chair at the far end of the room beyond, pale-skinned and motionless, the expression on her face frozen in -
I had no idea. It didn't seem quite real. She didn't seem quite real. She was certainly very pretty, her long, dark hair falling down about her shoulders and her full, beautiful, gravity-defying breasts, the wide areolae and thick, succulent nipples vivid against her pale flesh.
It was a doll. The most lifelike I had ever seen. For the first time in my life I understood why anyone might want a sex doll. I wondered whether Dr Evans had ever fucked it. Whether he had slipped his cock into its mouth, pounded away at its synthetic vagina, filled its ass with his cum.
I wondered what it would be like to be the doll, helpless as Dr Evans used it again and again. And perhaps not just Dr Evans. No doubt there were lots of frustrated male scientists queuing up to use it, or perhaps all together in one glorious gangbang. How wonderful in a way to be fucked by an endless stream of men, filled with cock, covered in cum, and not have to worry about diseases or pregnancy or any of that.
Me and my filthy imagination... I still had no idea why I was there, but suddenly I was incredibly horny. And I was wrong. As I approached the doll, determined to see just how realistic it was, I discovered that it wasn't anatomically female. Nestling between its thighs was a limp cock that promised to be quite substantial when erect.
