The Exposition of Modified Women

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The Exposition of Modified Women, Pt 2 - "Missy"

by Benfan

 

 

Mark emerged from the tent in some agitation. He had resisted making use of his own slaves for 48 hours before departing for the exposition - a significant feat of endurance for him - in order to ensure he would be able to take full advantage of the opportunities presented at the event. Now, his encounters with Violet the ponygirl and the voluptuous Persian wonder had set Little Mark to prodding urgently at his host's trousers, clamoring for release. Mark had not bothered to ask if that were possible at the tent, since a 6" red disk had been displayed at the entrance: the symbol indicating that physical contact with the exhibit was prohibited.

Now as he walked out into the lane, he looked left and right for a green disk, the sign that would spell relief. (Yellow disks allowed physical contact not to include penetration, and gold announced that the exhibit was available for purchase.) He considered seeking out one of the quick-relief stations that would be set up here and there around the Expo, but soon spotted a green disk on a booth almost directly across the lane from the tent. He walked towards it as quickly as his cast iron erection allowed, while attempting to compose himself so as to project some dignity despite his urgent need.

The green-disked booth was as different from the colorful tent as could be: a simple boxlike prefabricated structure, without windows. However the fine wood door and elegant brass ringer suggested a tasteful interior. Mark rang the bell, and the door was opened by a pleasant and well dressed middle-aged man.

"Please come in," he said, and Mark obliged. The inside of the booth was nothing like its exterior, paneled in rich woods, carpeted in green, and soothingly lit by brass fixtures like an old money mens' club. There were two brown leather armchairs facing away from the entry with a small wooden table between, and an elegant cabinet to one side. At the rear of the room a door stood slightly ajar. Bright light spilled from within, along with the sound of running water.

"Have you been to the tent across the lane?" the exhibitor asked.

"Yes, it's quite a show," Mark answered, wondering if his arousal was so obvious.

"I have to get over there myself when I get the chance," said his new host. "They must have something really special in there. Several fellows have practically run over here from the tent this evening. Missy's been a busy girl. She's just inside cleaning up after her last visitor." The host nodded to the inner door and Mark heard a scrubbing sound, which after a moment he recognized as the brushing of teeth.

"She should only be a few minutes - will you wait and hear her story in the meantime?" It would have been rude to bolt at that moment, so despite the protestations of Little Mark that there were many green disks up and down the lane Mark agreed, taking a seat in the right-hand chair.

"Care for a drink?" the host asked as he moved toward the bar, and Mark accepted with thanks. "I hope bourbon is all right. My father made his fortune distilling it, and in his honor that's all I stock."

"Bourbon would be fine, a single on the rocks please."

The host removed from the cabinet a bottle that would be recognized in any bar in the world, and poured two measures into a pair of low tumblers. "There you are."

Sitting down in the other chair, the host said directly: "Missy is my stepmother."

A shadow must have crossed Mark's face, for his host laughed and said: "Don't worry, she was my father's fourth wife, and less than a third his age. She's barely half mine."

As if on cue, the door to the washroom opened and a warm-blooded Barbie entered, clad in white lingerie. She did not make eye contact but took a few mincing steps across the room to sit on a delicate upholstered stool that faced a mirror and vanity opposite the bar. Paying no attention to the two men, she began refreshing her makeup.

The girl was perhaps in her early twenties. Light blonde hair fell straight to below her shoulders, with square bangs framing her face. Before she covered them with dark mascara and heavy rouge, her features could be called "cute," with huge blue eyes, an upturned button nose, and round cheeks. Her lips were full and pouty - probably enhanced, Mark thought, but tastefully so. Her large bosom (32Es, Mark guessed, an impressive size on her small frame) strained to break free from the pushup cups of a lacey white bustier that drew her cleavage up nearly to her throat. A garter belt hugged her hourglass waist, and supported white silk stockings with little pink bows on the garters. The knotted strings of a gauzy white panty hugged her flaring hips, and her shoes were 3" platform pumps in white patent, with 7" heels.

"My father was a brilliant and strong-willed man," the host began as they watched the blonde rouge her cheeks. "But he always had a soft spot for the ladies. This one was working for a caterer when she seduced him, at a charity benefit for orphaned kittens, of all places. Twenty or even ten years ago, he would have seen her for the low class gold-digger she was, took what she offered him and discarded her.  But he had softened somewhat in his age.  She somehow convinced him that they had a bond of true love, because after a brief courtship he married her.  He said she brought back to him the joy and innocence of youth, that he thought he'd lost."

"And he did enjoy himself with her.  He was happy to spoil her with gifts and enjoyed the envious looks men gave him when he walked into a room with her on his arm. She seemed eager to please, and I think in those months played the role of May lover to his December patriarch with gusto." Missy showed no reaction as the host spoke, staring ahead into the mirror with wide eyes as she painted her pouting lips a light shade of red.

"Nine months ago, and after 6 months of marriage, my father suffered a serious stroke. He was in a coma for some weeks, and this thing's..." he nodded scowlingly to Missy, "This thing's true nature emerged. The doctors said there was still some hope, but she must have been tired of waiting for her big payoff and tried to use the money my father had lavished on her to bribe one of his doctors to 'let him die with dignity.'"

"Fortunately the doctor came to me, and we confronted Missy. She was too frightened even to make excuses, and I tell you I could have killed her at that moment. But just then word arrived that my father had awakened."

Having completed her makeup, Missy rose from the vanity and the men watched as she minced back to the center of the room. She faced them but stared straight ahead as she stood with feet together, head tilted slightly to one side. Her arms hung at her sides, but the hands bent back with fingers pointed outwards. She was a perfect, living, slutty doll. Mark's host sipped his drink and resumed speaking.

"Unfortunately, my father never fully recovered. He was much weakened and confined to a wheelchair, and never regained his speech. But he remained vital, and his mind was sound as ever. His wife fled to their summer house and when he was strong enough for the truth, I told my father what she had tried to do. Then, I explained to him the plan I had formed to exact revenge for her attempted murder, while holding her to the promises she'd made to be his lover for life."

Missy continued to stand before them, wide-eyed, still, and silent.

"Our attorney drew up the necessary papers and I confronted Missy again at the summer house. I explained that my father wanted to put the whole incident behind him, and that out of love for his wife would neither press charges nor cast her out, on a few conditions. First, she would have to return all the cash gifts he had bestowed on her, rely on a small allowance for support, and sign contracts forfeiting all rights to my father's property. There were other restrictions also."

"She burst into tears and clutched my knees, telling me how sorry she was." The bourbon-heir's tone now turned bitter and mocking. "She kept repeating how she truly loved my gentle father, who'd been so good to her. She'd only hated to see this strong and proud man, who she loved so, reduced to such a pitiful state as he had been after the stroke. She claimed to be ashamed to have lost hope, and that she'd only done what he'd asked her to do if he were ever terminally incapacitated. As though he would trust her, his foolish young wife of a few months, with such a decision - before me, his own son! But she made a good show of it, and someone who did not know my father as I did might have believed her. Now she was so happy he was recovering, when could she see him?  'Soon enough,' I told her, but first she had to sign the papers."

"She did so quickly, signing away any rights to our family's wealth or corporate interests. But, uneducated slut that she is, she trusted me completely and didn't bother to read the documents. Along with her rights to my father's assets, she gave me power of attorney over herself personally, and furthermore committed herself to my care for various mental and emotional disorders. You see, my profession is clinical psychiatry. By her signatures she made available all the resources of my clinic for assistance with her transformation."

Missy remained motionless before the two men, except for blinks of her long black eyelashes that came at precise 8 second intervals.

Mark wondered briefly whether this simple young creature, who sounded like a natural submissive, could really have hatched the conspiracy with which his host charged her. Perhaps she had been truthful about her intentions. But the heir/psychiatrist seemed sure in his judgment. And it was none of Mark's business anyway.

"Missy's reunion with my father was tearful, she begged for his forgiveness and promised undying love and devotion. He seemed moved briefly, but we had determined to put our planned revenge in motion immediately and I passed her a note I'd drafted before her arrival. It offered forgiveness indeed, and asked that she give him time to recover further before seeing him again. It also asked her to undergo certain cosmetic procedures that she had resisted before his crisis."

"She hesitated, but at last agreed. 'Anything for you, my love, I only want to please you,' I recall she said, kissing his forehead. We had surgical consent forms already prepared, and with some visible reluctance she signed them. This was all before I was acquainted with the Society or the considerable resources of its members, you see. Working within the mainstream medical establishment, these consents were somewhat important." Mark nodded and sipped at his excellent bourbon.

"Before she checked into the clinic I used my legal power of attorney over her to make some changes in the ordered procedures. She went under the anaesthetic expecting to endure one short session, during which she would receive slightly larger breast implants, going from C to D as I recall, permanent removal of her pubic hair, and removal of small bags under her eyes. Instead, she spent almost a week under sedation, during which she was tended to by three different surgeons. When she awoke, she called me to the hospital in a panic. She said....well, let's let Missy speak for herself." He turned to the silent, staring female. "Tell us, Missy, what did you say to me when I got to the hospital?"

The slutty doll closed her big, blue eyes for a moment as she called forth the memory, then opened them again, and moved only her lips as she spoke in a high, dreamy voice: "There's been a mistake. This isn't me. They must have mixed me up with another patient, some stripper or a porn star. I look like a freak. And I think they've done something to my insides. Please find out what happened. Please help me. Where is my husband?"

The psychiatrist turned back to Mark. "Instead of enlarging her implants by one cup size, I'd ordered four. The eye lift operation was taken much further, tightening both her upper and lower lids to create the innocent, deer-in-the-headlights look you see now. Her lips were enhanced, both upper and lower." Mark looked at the tiny white panty and noted the pronounced camel toe. "The permanent hair removal was extended to all her body below the neck, and studs were placed in her tongue. Finally, she received an arthroscopic hysterectomy. No more inconvenient periods, no need for birth control, and a nice flat tummy. All done by a surgeon working with remote instruments through a tube inserted in the vagina, so no external scarring and a short recovery period."

"All fine work, really, though she didn't seem to agree. I consoled her and offered a sedative to help her sleep while I got to the bottom of the situation. But the injection I gave was actually a cocktail of stimulant and hallucinogen. I left her room, telling the hospital staff that she was reacting to severe stress and should rest, but within 10 minutes was called back with reports that she'd gone insane. She was standing on the bed, shouting obscene gibberish and smashing equipment. This time I gave her a real sedative, produced her thoroughly legal commitment papers, and while expressing disappointment at her relapse arranged her transfer to the psychiatric clinic where I'm senior partner."

"The first step in her behavior modification program was a simple surgical procedure: I disconnected those parts of her brain where most of the personality and will reside. It's an old procedure I'd read about in the textbooks, once hailed as a promising treatment for schizophrenia. You've probably heard the old term for it: 'lobotomy.' Brain mapping and surgical techniques are much more evolved now. The work was done with needles so there's no detectable scarring, and I could be far more selective about the parts of the brain affected than could the butchers at the 'Cuckoo's Nest.' The results are still permanent, though."

"Next, we set about erasing and reprogramming what remained of her identity, by a combination of electroshock and chemical treatments, and a strict regimen of sleep deprivation and pain-pleasure conditioning that went on for some months. The new person that finally emerged is the one standing before you." The psychiatrist paused to sip his bourbon. Missy blinked.

"'Missy' wasn't her given name, by the way. 'Little Missy' was a pet name my father used with her in private. I thought it would be appropriate for her new identity.  Unfortunately, my father's condition worsened while his wife was under my care. Late in her treatment I brought her to see him, but he was too weak to enjoy her company. He passed four months ago, shortly before her transformation was completed."

"I'm sorry," Mark offered.

The room was deadly quiet for a moment, then the psychiatrist made a visible effort to brighten his face. "Well, you've been very patient listening to me, I'm sure you'd like to see the new Missy in action."

Missy's re-creator set his glass down on the table and picked up a large remote control studded with many buttons. Mark groaned inside, expecting another video presentation. But when his host pressed two buttons in sequence, the blinking mannequin began a writhing, erotic dance. Turning away from the men, she looked over her shoulder while grinding her hips, and reached behind herself to unclasp her bustier.

"Recall my father was wheelchair-bound, and robbed of speech. I trained his wife to respond via a remote control. Here, take a look." He handed the remote to Mark. It had scores of small buttons, all blue except a red one labeled "STOP." A rocker switch that fell naturally under the right thumb was labeled "FASTER <> SLOWER." Other buttons he noted at first glance included LICK, TICKLE, VAG.FUCK, and ASSFUCK, along with many slang words for anatomical parts male and female. Toggles near the bottom bore such labels as FACE/BACK and SMILE/POUT.

Mark looked up to see Missy still grinding, facing them now as her E-cup tits swung free. As she began to untie her string panty, Mark's host called his attention back to the remote. "The buttons on the upper part are arranged with actions on the left, and action modifiers on the right. I just pressed DANCE, and STRIP, see?" Missy dropped her panty at her feet and lowered herself into a grinding squat, ass-cheeks touching her heels. Her bald, swollen pussy was spread open by the position. She shifted her weight to one leg, and her hands slid down a silk stocking toward a shoe buckle.

"I kind of like the shoes," said Mark.

"OK, press STOP."

At a touch of the button Missy froze in place.

"Now try DANCE and POLE."

Mark obliged, and Missy stepped back to press her butt against a brass pole that extended from floor to ceiling behind where she'd been standing. She grasped the pole with both hands above her head and slid slowly down to a squat, again spreading her pink pussy for Mark and his host. She rose again and began twisting around the pole.

"How does it work, actually?" Mark asked, examining the remote from all angles. "Is there some kind of receiver in her brain?"

"No, that kind of technology is still science fiction. Missy has been conditioned to respond to a set of specific voice commands. A memory chip in the remote holds several dozen WAV files, electronic recordings of my voice issuing those commands. When you press the buttons, the remote transmits the appropriate files to a miniature receiver in her ear, which we developed from a commercial product. She hears the commands and responds. I could actually control her by voice alone, without the remote, but somehow that's not as satisfying. And since your tone and cadence are different from mine, she might not respond properly to your voice."

Mark watched the painted slut dance for a while. She was quite limber, with a large repertoire of sexy moves. "Did you have to program each of those motions individually?"

"Oh, no, that's a beauty of the procedures we employed. While her original identity and will have been permanently destroyed, her memory, motor skills, and learning ability remain intact. When I began with her she was already a skilled cocksucker - I suppose my father taught her how he wanted that done. The dancing and many more skills were taught by viewing continuous loops of selected videos during her sleep deprivation and isolation periods. Press FASTER." Mark did, and the pace of her erotic contortions increased.

"Again." She hung upside down now, her limbs flicking quickly as she clasped the pole with her silk-clad legs and spun about it.

"Again...again."

Missy flew up and down and around the pole, spinning like a circus acrobat. Her blonde hair whipped about, her arms flailed and her heavy jugs flopped crazily, while her skin began to glow with perspiration. A knocking sound came from the pole as it bucked in its mounts. Mark throttled her back down slightly.

"Try DANCE, then LAP," his host suggested. Again Mark complied, and Missy approached him aggressively, putting her hands on his shoulders as she bent in front of him and swished her blonde hair over his face so fast that it smarted.

"You might want to slow her down a little more," the shrink advised with a smile. Instead Mark pressed STOP, then REST. Missy immediately retreated two steps, knelt back with heels to buttocks and hands clasped behind her, and stared at Mark's feet. Her big chest rose and fell as she breathed heavily after her frenetic dance, but her mouth was closed and she seemed to be in fine condition.

"Her dancing is wonderful, but this is my first green disk of the Expo, and..."

"Of course!" exclaimed his host. "I'm sorry, you've been so patient, thank you for listening. Missy is yours to command. Just be judicious with the DEEPTHROAT command. When I first tried it I didn't realize how effectively I'd erased her self-preservation instinct, and nearly asphyxiated the poor thing." He sat back and crossed his legs, clearly eager to observe the proceedings.

Mark studied the remote for a moment, switched a toggle from WALK to CRAWL, and pressed STROKE then COCK. From her kneeling position Missy crawled between his knees, undid his trousers and gently unfurled his manhood, fully reawakened by her performance on the pole after having softened during the psychiatrist's long medical dissertation. She took the rigid member in her fist and drooled a wad of saliva on it, working the natural lube up and down its length.

Mark pressed STROKE > BALLS. Continuing to stroke her right hand up and down his cock, her wide eyes focused intently on his reddening glans, she reached into his trousers with her left hand and cupped his balls. Gently she rolled them back and forth across her fingers.

FASTER. The speed of both motions increased.

FASTER. Missy was really pumping now, and dropped another load of lubricating drool over Mark's rock-hard cock. The sensation was fantastic, but after a minute or two he sensed a premature buildup of pressure and clicked SLOWER three times. Now the right hand moved softly and lovingly up and down his manhood, while the left barely shifted the weight of his balls back and forth. The pressure eased slightly, and while she continued slowly stroking he examined the remote.

TITRUB > COCK. Missy immediately dropped her face to his groin and took his dick into her mouth. Mark turned to his host. A malfunction?

"Don't worry," said the shrink, reading his mind. "She's just getting you good and wet." Sure enough, after a few sloppy lipstrokes she leaned back and cupped her hands under her round tits. Leaning forward she snatched his dripping cock up between them, then pushed down on her knees and began to ride with her entire body while Little Mark's head popped cheerfully in and out of view, deep in her cleavage.

FASTER. FASTER. Her ride increased to a gallop.

FASTER. Unable to move her entire body any faster, the programmed slut stopped that motion and began using her hands to rub her tits quickly up and down the length of Mark's shaft. She pulled her chin in to drool more saliva into her cleavage, greasing the fleshy piston.

Mark allowed the turbocharged titfuck to continue for some time, while Missy automatically rewetted the area of contact at intervals. Soon he felt the pressure building again. Mark was a skilled and disciplined cocksman when motivated, but there was no reason to hold back here, and he let the girl raise him near the point of release.

When he felt the first quivers in his balls he pressed SUCK > COCK. Missy dropped her tits with a flop and inhaled him. Mark had not slowed her, so she plunged her rewired head up and down along the length of his straining purple dick with almost frightening vigor.  Mark groped for DPTHROT, but he was beginning to loose control - as his body tightened his thumb fell instead on STOP.

Missy froze, her full red lips clamped tightly halfway down his cock, and the first explosive surge of cum puffed out her cheeks and blasted out both nostrils. At that sight Mark threw his head back and let himself go completely. The relief was so great that his vision briefly darkened.

Slowly he came back to life.

"I see you really did need that. Sorry again to keep you waiting."

Mark's balls were still twitching as he raised his head and looked down at the remote-controlled cockslut. She still kneeled in position, her lips grasping his only slightly softened member, with streams of his cum dribbling from her nose to her chin and from there dripping to pool on the floor.

"Sloppy girl, isn't she?" he joked, still mildly euphoric.

Missy's programmer corrected him. "Actually she's quite competent. You failed to set SWALLOW."

Mark squinted at the remote and sure enough there it was, on a toggle beside SPIT. Now he flipped the switch, and without moving the blonde cum-bucket gulped down what semen remained in her mouth.

"It's a bit much to keep track of in the heat of the moment."

The psychiatrist smiled again. "That's why we incorporated a programmable feature into the remote. You can preset desired routines and set the remote down while Missy goes to work. But that's a bit complicated for a first session."

Mark made no argument. He pressed CLEAN > COCK and Missy pulled her mouth off of him with a pop and began sliding her studded pink tongue up and down the sides of his prick, lapping up the wasted sperm. When she was done he pressed REST. She crawled backwards two paces and returned to the submissive kneeling pose. Her tarty makeup was badly smeared, and Mark's thinning jism still coated the bottom half of her face and dripped into her cleavage. As she exhaled a small cum-bubble grew below her nostril, and popped.

"If you like you can order CLEAN > SELF, and she will go powder her nose."

"I think she's beautiful just like that," Mark said as he tucked away his now comfortably chubby dick. "If you're still pouring, let's drink to your remarkable work, and to your father's spirit. Then, maybe you could show me how to program this thing."

 

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