Gromet's PlazaPackaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories

Special Order

by Mistress Payne

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© Copyright 2004 - Mistress Payne - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; bond; machine; bodymod; surgery; latex; doll; crate; cons; X

Mitch eyed the crumpled note in his sweaty paw. The hastily scrawled note gave him directions to the store he'd run across on the Internet. He turned left at the next intersection, and drove his beaten pickup through the warehouse district. Pulling into the gravel lot at the specified address, he thought he might have gotten the directions wrong. Nothing about the building showed it to be anything other than one of many disused warehouses stretching through this part of town. Clambering out of his truck onto the gravel, he cautiously approached the door. A small brass plaque on the faded door was the only indication that his quest had come to a fruitful end. "Dyna Operations Living Latex" it proclaimed.

He shouldered open the door and swaggered inside. The clean, sparse room beyond the door was the antithesis of the building's exterior. Beige carpeting covered the floor, while comfortable looking chairs and polished end tables covered the carpet. Magazines lay in strategic positions on the tables, and potted plants lent the room a cozy air. There was a reception desk at the far wall, guarding a translucent glass door. A pretty blonde woman sat at the desk, eying him expectantly. She put down the nail file she had been using and stood up.

"Hi!" She greeted him in a bubbly voice normally reserved for receptionists and waitresses. "I'm Carla. What can I help you with today?"

"I found your company on the Internet," Mitch began. "I hear you make special sex dolls."

"Well, we like to call them 'companion' dolls," Carla said in an admonishing tone. "But I suppose you're right."

"So what do I have to do to get you to make me one of them dolls?" Mitch asked, annoyed by the euphemism.

"Just fill out these forms," Carla bubbled, handing him a clipboard full of multicoloured paperwork. "We do all custom work, you know, and we want you completely satisfied."

"I hope so," he said gruffly, grabbing the clipboard, "since that's why I came here." He sat at one of the conveniently placed chairs, and started filling in blanks with the thoughtfully provided pen. There seemed to be a lot of different boxes to check. They sure meant it when they said custom work! Mitch had to fill in hair colour (he chose blonde), nail length (long), waist size (tiny, about 20 inches), bust size (huge, of course  42 D), and other specifics such as skin tone, facial features, and etcetera.

The second form dealt with the outfit the doll would leave the factory in. There were glossy pictures accompanying this one. He perused all of them, finally settling on a hot pink latex mini-dress, with matching hot pink thigh-boots, also in latex. (Actually, everything available was made of latex.) He looked over his clipboard at Carla, who was once again filing her nails at the reception desk. For the first time, he noticed that everything she was wearing was also latex. What at first glance seemed to be standard receptionist attire  simple white blouse, smart grey skirt, low black heels  were all composed of the stretchy material. He continued to ogle her assets as he completed the forms. He began to absentmindedly check boxes, his attention more on the shapely beauty before him than any future purchase. He thought about approaching her for a date, but quickly dismissed the idea. For one, he was in her office buying a sex doll, and for another, he'd had more than his share of bad luck with women. Some of the things he liked to do to them were not always received well, which was what had brought him in here. With a doll, he could live out any of his fantasies, revelling in bondage and "back door" games.

He noticed that he'd arrived at the final form. Resignedly, he looked it over. There were five boxes to choose from: one month, six month, one year, two year, and lifetime.

"Damn warranty crap," he muttered, checking the 'lifetime' box. He hurriedly scrawled his signature at the bottom, just below the 'Important! Please Read!' message, which of course he promptly ignored.

"Here you go," Mitch said, handing the latex-clad girl the clipboard. "Now what? Do I have to wait here, or come back later?"

"I think we can take care of you right away," she replied, looking at a book on her desk. "Follow me." She led him through the door behind her desk, which opened up on a short white hallway. "If you wouldn't mind stepping in here," she opened a door to the right. "Just take a quick shower and put on the coveralls you'll find. We don't want to get any impurities into the latex." She answered his unspoken question.

Shrugging, Mitch did as he was told, going into the small cubicle and stripping. He set his clothes on the ledge provided and stepped into the shower unit. It seemed to work automatically, spraying him with foam, then clear water, and finally hot air. When he was dried, he stepped out to find a white jumpsuit where his clothing had been. Cursing about not having his underwear, he stepped into the jumpsuit and zipped it up. It had gloves and boots built into it, so at least he didn't have to worry about his shoes being gone. He figured it was a one-size-fits-all deal, since it hung off him loosely.

When he exited the cubicle, Carla was waiting for him. She was also dressed in a jumpsuit, though unlike his, it was pale blue, and definitely was not one-size-fits-all! The suit didn't just fit like a second skin; it hugged her curves like a first skin! He could also tell that she was most definitely not wearing anything else under it. While he was standing there slack-jawed, she pulled a hood over her blond tresses. He reached over his shoulder and found a similar hood attached to his coveralls. He quickly pulled it up, and then followed her through another door.

She stepped to a control panel just inside the door and motioned him to sit in a cart that stood waiting on a track beyond. Unable to tear his eyes away from her luscious figure, he moved zombie-like to comply. She began to key in commands, occasionally pausing to reference the forms she had brought with. Finally, she looked up at Mitch.

"Do you want to see everything?" She asked with a smile.

"Why not," he answered. "I've got time."

"Yes, you do," she stated, stepping over to him. "Let me strap you in, then. It can be a very bumpy ride." She suited actions to words, affixing straps over each hand where it rested on his seat's arms. Then she brushed across him to strap his ankles to the seat's legs. "Enjoy the trip. I'll be here monitoring you. I'll fill you in on each step through the intercom. Unfortunately, it's a one-way system, so you can't ask questions but I'll try to be informative." She stepped back and keyed in a sequence on the console. Before Mitch could object, he was on his way.

Immediately upon leaving the 'station' the cart began a sickeningly swift ascent on a nearly vertical track. Mitch could understand why the restraints were there, if not why they were in such an unusual place. He noticed a flash of pink ahead, moving on an intercept course.

"You should be able to see the ensemble you picked ahead," Carla's voice said in his ear. "I've sent it ahead towards the finishing area." As the cart moved closer, Mitch could see that it was, indeed the hot pink dress he had chosen. It moved down a track of its own, swaying on a hanger until it was lost to sight around a curve. Suddenly his cart leveled off, and began to coast at a more sedate pace.

"You're moving into the preliminary production area," Carla's voice told him. "You'll need eye protection briefly, so hold still." A robotic arm holding a white and transparent faceplate swung into view. "Just open your mouth for the mouthpiece. It'll help you breathe through the fumes." Mitch noticed a hose running from the apparatus, and quickly opened his mouth wide as it approached. Just as it passed his lips, he noticed the odd shape of the "mouthpiece."

"It looks like a mffff". His exclamation was cut off by the large phallic shape he had unwittingly allowed into his mouth. The rest of the faceplate snapped securely around his head, preventing him from expelling the intruder. He gulped frantically, and then realized he could actually breathe through what he could only describe as the dildo in his mouth.

"Now we come to the depilatory stage," Carla's voice continued. She seemed unaware of Mitch's confusion and horror. "I'll pump in the foam that will both remove your hair, and strip off the dead epidermis. This makes it easier for the latex to bond." Mitch watched as hoses attached themselves to his jumpsuit, and shivered as a cold fluid started washing over his body. It flowed up, across his legs, up his chest, down his arms, and finally though his hood. With dread, he realized that except for just around his eyes and inside his mouth, it covered him completely. It began to tingle, then began to warm slightly. Slowly. Mitch became aware of a mounting pressure over his whole body. It was actually starting to feel good! He squirmed in his restraints as the fluid caressed his privates. It almost felt like he was getting a full-body blowjob!

"I've heard that this part feels pretty good," the disembodied voice remarked. "That's why we leave the numbing for later."

Mitch remembered his predicament after Carla's comment. The fear was almost enough to stifle his impending orgasm brought on by the insidious fluid. Biology won out, though, and he shot his load into the confines of his jumpsuit. Shortly thereafter, a cool fluid began coursing over him, washing the foam (and his come) off his body. The new fluid was cool, but not cold, and soon Mitch could no longer feel anything. His entire body had gone to sleep, but without the uncomfortable pins and needles that one usually gets. Completely numb, the only way he could tell he was changing position was the change of perspective. It seemed that he was brought into a standing position with his arms above him. He looked around cautiously and confirmed that he was, in fact standing spread-eagled.

More robotic arms swung into place around him, releasing his jumpsuit at hidden seams. The garment fell away from him, leaving him standing naked. The cart moved on to the next area, which Carla informed him was the "Initial Modification Center." His head was gently angled down so he could view every hideous step. Carla's Cheerful voice guided him through the entire process.

"First, we have to re-shape your organ into the feminine one you specified on this form. You'll notice how the robotic surgeon is removing all the spongy stuff inside. It's equipped with surgical lasers, so you don't have to worry about blood loss. It also reduces recovery time to virtually nil."

" The second unit is preparing to resculpt your torso. We'll get rid of that little beer gut you have, and trim down your rib cage. Also, we're eliminating some of the extra intestine you won't need anymore. I notice your chart says 'maximum anal capacity' so we're making a straight shot of it."

"Ok, that step's over. We're fitting you with a plug to keep everything open while you're getting finished." Mitch saw what looked to be a baseball bat swing by on a servo arm and disappear behind him. He shuddered to think where it was going. He was glad that he was numb for it.

"It was a struggle, but we managed to get you down to that twenty inch waist you requested," Carla's voice went on. "We had to remove quite a bit of abdominal muscle, so we're fusing your spine. You won't be able to hold yourself up without this.

"I think we're ready for those 'D' cups you wanted. This is the easiest step. As a matter of fact, it's almost done already. Now we just have to do your feet, and you can move on."

Carla explained as the machines went to work, cutting out the big bones in his feet and replacing them with wickedly curved metal bars. "These will make it easy for you to wear the shoes you wanted."

"The skinning process is slow and boring, and the mouth work can be a bit painful, so I'm putting you under now. I'll wake you when it's over." Mouth work? Mitch mentally screamed as a needle jabbed his neck. Then he drifted off.

"Wake up, sleepy-head!" The bubbly voice of the receptionist brought Mitch out of his doze. "You're finished!"

Mitch blearily opened his eyes to see Carla standing in front of him. She still had the skin-tight blue jumpsuit on, but had freed her blonde hair from her hood. She smiled when she saw his eyelids flutter open, and reached beyond his line of sight. She drew a full-length mirror into his view, exclaiming "Ta-da!"

The sight that met Mitch's eyes both attracted him and horrified him. It attracted him because he had a great view of the anatomically impossible wet dream he had picked out. A hot pink rubber dress hugged the more than ample bosom and squeezed past a ridiculously thin waist to end a scant few inches below shapely full hips. Starting mid-thigh, matching boots slid down to end in towering stiletto heels.

Of course, the horrifying part was that he was looking at a reflection of himself, made over into a sex toy. He could feel the latex bonded to his skin, giving him that familiar all-over hug feeling. Also, now that he could feel again, there was an unusual, but not overly uncomfortable fullness below his waist. Actually, it was in two places, and Mitch had a very good idea what they were. He couldn't see much of his face, given that the huge dildo was still securely lodged in his mouth, with a tube running out of it. He gave an experimental suck on it, and his mouth was filled with a thick fluid, rather than air. He swallowed quickly, and looked questioningly at Carla.

"We've hooked you up to a feeder. It may feel and taste like come, but it's actually highly nutritious. We just made it like that to keep our dolls happy. Well, you're all strapped in for shipment, so I guess that's it. You'll be sent same-day air to a client in Taiwan. He's been waiting a while for a "lifetime" doll like you."

With mounting horror, Mitch realized he was standing upright in a wooden crate, with clear strapping holding him in at six-inch intervals. Unable to move or protest, he watched with long-lashed eyes wide as the lid was closed. Belatedly, he remembered his poorly phrased question upon entering:

"So, what do I have to do to get you to make me one of those dolls?"

The End 


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