The Perfect Doll (Transformation/Bimbo/Fetish/Expansion)

[magikal]

Hello! Here is a game I've been thinking about and want to give a try to. 

It's a story of an ordinary girl who was obsessed with beauty and became a CEO of a biotech company. She also had a lifelong love of dolls, she loved everything about them. She would wear makeup like a doll, a corset, bleach her hair, and even wear a mask. She's pushing changing humanity into something more- transhumanity, mixing in genes and technology, creating a new species of human. She would take genes from wherever they were needed. She was working on increasing aggression, intelligence, sexuality, lactation, libido, loyalty, and even biosculpting humans with outrageous proportions, think creatures from comic books or mythology.

The prototype was being readied but not perfect yet, she was making two lines, one was a warrior, the ultimate soldier. The second was the ultimate pleasure doll.



Elizabetha, or Beth from her friends, had been driven for the last twenty years to the apex of her career as a pharmaceutical ceo. She was known for simple changes that had radical effects. She could slow down aging, increase a person's metabolism, enhance or decrease intelligence. The possiblities were limitless.

She also had a passion project, fashion. When she wasn't changing the world with gene therapy, she was thinking about a new pattern for a dress or a new fall line. She loved simple black dresses with a splash of color, but also branched out to more fun and flirty little black dresses. She offered a full line for women, from gowns, to pants, to shirts and shapewear, to flats and heels. Her chosen image was a butterfly, symmetrical on both sides, with a fashion underneath the butterfly in fancy script. This simple logo was one of the most recognizable on earth.

Elizabeth was now in her 50s and starting to slow down, it took almost 30 years to take her company and make it profitable, but the last ten they literally had been printing money.

She made her fortune in biotech and reinvested almost as much as she made. Biotech is the merging of woman and machine. Her scientists promised her that eventually they could make clones of people so close that even dna scanners couldn't tell the difference.

Beth was curious about the technology and watched a few demonstrations even. One of Beth's most trusted employees was Mr Stevens. He had been with the company for twenty years and was their chief technology officer. He had been working on an amazing product that literally could change a person's life. Mature rats were taking back to young and vibrant rats, old apples were turned to when they were merely seeds, and so on and so forth. Mr Steven's pet project was The Youth Project, as it became to be known, was on the forefront of nanotech and biotechnology. The operation could be completed by installing a simple chip into the base of the spine that interacted directly with the brain. This allowed the chip to download information directly into the brain as well as control just about every aspect of the hosts body.

During her annual physical her team of doctor's found something, something bad. They told her she had less then a year to live. As she thought about, she decided she really had nothing to loose and agreed to the experimental surgery. Beth would have a new body grown to her specifications, including specialized nanotech and biotech installed, with one of the world's first neural slots directly in the base of her brain.

Beth got all of her affairs in order and went to the clinic on a Friday morning. As she was prepped and hooked up to a massive machine, that's all that she remembers as she fades to black.
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The slow swirl of the ceiling fan above you, the slight breeze of salty sea air, the gasp of sensation from your lips as you shift only to feel silken sheets twisted over your hips rubbing over your mons.  All of these things stir you slowly from a dream of flying, of wings.  A dream of being anything anyone could desire, your flesh and spirit as malleable as a potter's clay before the fire.

Your head feels strange, as though it's floating even as your eyes flutter open.  Through the window, you can hear the sound of boats plying a body of water, and distant seagulls.  As you sit up slowly, hand to your now-throbbing forehead, the sound of a supersonic jet taking off in the distance rumbles through the room.  You can feel the slight vibrations in the bed, over the sheets and upon your skin.

You rise to your feet, gazing out the window.  Something's wrong here.  Where are you?  What is this place?  You aren't even sure who you are.  Your head spins as you stumble to the window.

"We call her Delilah," the voice in your head says, echoing slightly, "And no, she won't cut your hair, but she has other ways of leaving you weak.  If you want to know them all, that can most certainly be arranged, for a small fee."

That phrase, burned into your memory, said over and over again, so many times.  That voice, so smooth and silky, a salesman's voice pushing a product.  You remember hearing that voice, or one just like it, from an office, as papers were being pushed over across a walnut finished desk in front of you to sign.

The cool air on your bare skin sets a slight shudder through you.  You are naked.  You can feel your nipples draw taut, stiffening under the breeze's caress.  Your arm reaches up to cover them as you look out in confused wonder at the beauty of the ocean across from and below you.

Your other hand reaches down to cup your sex as the breeze tickles across you, setting a soft moan to your lips at the pleasure of the sensation.  Your fingers brush over the bare skin between your thighs.  Another soft moan escapes you as they do; the sensation of your fingertips over your vulva is almost maddening.

And then the voice, from the bed.  The man you don't remember going to bed with, the man you didn't realize was there until just now.

"Come back to bed, baby.  You look cold, let me warm you up."

The voice sends a wave of confusion through you, as well as desire.  Your labia begin to moisten and swell slightly under your fingertips at its sound.  As you begin to turn towards it, and the man, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window.

It's a reflection, and the sight of it captures you momentarily even more than the stirring desire in your loins or the familiarly evasive voice  of the man in the bed.

But it's not yours.

A stranger stares back at you in the window as a passing light in the sky illuminates the frame.

You aren't blond.  Your eyes aren't blue.  And you are definitely sure that your breasts aren't D cups, verging on double D.  Your lips have never been so lush, nor the color of rich plums.  And your tan has never been so even, so perfect and so... all over; even on the flat smooth hairless plain of your mons, as your fingers separate to allow your disbelieving eyes to take in all of you.

"Come on, Delilah, I want you," the man says from the bed.

As he says this, you feel a warm surge begin to flow through you from the very depths of your womb through your sex, spreading fast like a swelling wave throughout your body from this center.  Your mind begins to focus more upon the man with you, thinking of the night before, his hands upon your skin, his lips crushed to yours, his thick member pulsing with his desire buried deep within you.  The pleasure you gave him, which pleasured you in turn.

As you move to turn towards him, a smile curving over your lips at the memories of pleasure warming you, making you want more of it, your eyes light upon him.  The smile that was curving stops.

The man in the bed before you is someone who would never have inspired  desire in you before. But now, even as you look upon him, the sound of his voice reverberates through your flesh, making you warm and drawing small beads of perspiration to well from your pores and trickle delightfully down your skin.  You want him inside of you like nothing you've ever wanted before.

But your recognition of him is stunning.  A balding man in his middle ages, his body well-kept but still showing the signs of a lifestyle of excess.  His glasses are on the nightstand beside the bed; He sits up, expectantly.  The tan line on his left ring finger is obvious; you know to look there because you also know this man is married.  You know his wife, you've met his children.

This man is Mr. Stevens, an American biotech engineer for NewU.  He's been with the company for eight years, a devoted man and a research scientist.  His division is responsible for the creation of the Youth Project, which revitalizes aging cells and rejuvenates the recipient to a more youthful appearance, you were the first test subject you realize.

You know all of these things about him, and more, because he's been your boss for the past three years!  Working from your home most days, you've been a member of the secretarial pool of his office answering calls or on some days in the office at the front desk.  There just wasn't as much money as you needed in it, and the bills kept on piling up.

Mama Sampson's kind face, looking up at you, moves through your head as memories of your family home force their way into your forebrain.  Sampson.

You aren't Delilah, your name is... Katrina Sampson
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Katrina stops looking and the mirror and returns looking at her boss. What is going on here? She's confused, she wants to go back to him and resume making love. She can feel the tingling in her body, smell a sweet aroma that her body is emitting. She somehow knows that it's pheromones to entice the opposite sex. She pauses, which gives Mr. Steven enough of a scare to grab the phone and dial a well rehearsed number. "Something's wrong.. Delilah's not behaving like she's supposed to.. what's going on?"

Kat slams the door shut, grabbing a magazine rack next to the toilet and setting it in front of the door, realizing absurdly that that wont stop Mr. Stevens from bashing down the door.  She has panic running through her, feeling nervous and a jolt of energy. She realizes she's naked, her heaving bosom and rock hard nipples momentarily drawing her attention, before she glances down at her perfect, glistening womanhood.

She looks around at her options. Only one window in the bathroom and the door, which now Mr. Stevens is pounding on trying to get through.

She sprints to the window, throwing it open, she glances down and her body seems more athletic, less curvaceous. That's impossible she thinks, her chest has shrunk at least an inch, if not two. She climbs into the window and looks down. She realizes she's in a house that's on a cliff, overlooking a 50 or 100 foot fall, probably into the rocks. She pauses, glancing back towards the door. Mr Steven's smashes it down with his shoulder, holding a small device which he points at Delilah and presses the red button several times.

Kat pushes herself out of the window, curling into a ball. The cold air jolts her senses, she somehow straightens up, into a nearly perfect dive. She glances up at Mr. Stevens for a moment before turning her attention towards the crashing surf. She splashes into the water, hitting the bottom, and getting through against the ocean floor. She can't figure out which way is up, it's cold, dark, and her lungs are burning in their need for air.  She falls unconscious.

Time passes and she wakes up on the beach. She's bloody and bruised, but her body still looks spectacular- like a fashion model. She's nearly 6 feet tall, with curves in all the right places, although probably not as large breasts as they were last night. It's early morning and she quickly realizes she's naked, alone, with no id, and without a friend to help her. She hopes she meets her guardian angel.

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Sorry for the long first post. If you are interested in writing with me and adding something to the story that I've posted above, please message me. The other writing partners that I have had for this story have disappeared.

Let me know with a message!
Julie