Chapter 1

Very psychological, and rather dark, scifi.

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Until I can think of something better, I've decided to add a BDSM scale to all my stuff. It ranges from 1 to 10, where a 1 is mildly kinky and a 5 is solidly BDSM. A rating of higher than 5 is probably extremely naughty. If you aren't sure you like this stuff, I encourage you to find something with a rating of 3 or below.
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This story's BDSM rating is 8, probably, though it is hard to rate something like this. Most of that 8 is due to the inherent ability to alter psychology; otherwise, it might be as low as a 5. In other words, don't read this unless you're a kinky freak. XD

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Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!

Enjoy at your own risk! 0.o ;p XD lol



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Diaries of a Love Doll



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The prince

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One of the great things about current laws on proving aspects of mind for legal purposes is that human beings are grandfathered in, aka, considered de facto as human. Everything else effectively has to be proven, and that is truly, actually, a very difficult thing to do.

The Turing laws are still in place in some of northern Europe, but here, and in most of the rest of the world, they have been reinterpreted or abandoned all together in the face of absolutely astronomical profit. Now, as long as an organism is both programmable and fails the requisite tests, it is property.

Here, all that remains of the Turing interpretation is this one line: 'It is impossible to prove sentience in something designed to behave and react in a humanesque and sentient way.' Basic being-cruelty laws still apply technically, but even those tend to be very rarely adjudicated. In the modern age, the appearance of sentience qualifies 'non-humans' only for the barest rights, and sapience and self-awareness virtually none at all.

My girl was almost completely biological, human really, by most accounts, but like the modern soldier, she was grown to be a... special type... of human. Though sentient by requisite, hers, like her mind, was almost completely programmable. Developed from before fertilization until the day she's purchased, she was a neo-biomechanoid, no assembly required. 'As customizable as a computer, as life-like as a real person, a woman--any and all, if you like.'

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I'd had her on her current setting for three weeks now, and was loving the results. I'd programmed her body to gain weight, uncontrollably, but her mind to hate it, to desperately resist. Every part of her body was now starting to be obscured by her new fat. Almost forty pounds had obscured her original sharp lines, and now as she sat on the floor, naked, eating, and sobbing, the fat on her new thighs was blossoming in towards her soft center, even as her tiny new belly roll was being stuffed full to hang above. I watched as she pinched roll of fat from the back of her arms, shaking it in disgust, even as she continued to stuff her face with that same arm.

"I am so fat," she says. She looks up at me.

"Yes, you are," I say. "You shouldn't eat so much. How can you be letting yourself get so fat. You're disgusting. No one wants this. Who could ever want this?" I stand her up and pinch her little belly roll, jiggling it before the mirror, even though standing up the roll is no longer visibly more than just a soft new layer of gently thickening fat over her delicious torso. She is becoming rapidly pear-shaped except for her fat full breasts, still somehow pert, for now. She sobs harder and blushes bright red, but is silent to my cruel teasing. I see her move her thick thighs against each other, and I lick my lips. I've set her to become involuntarily aroused by her weight gain, her new fat, and especially when others notice it, taunt her: humiliation. I know she doesn't 'understand' any of it. It is delicious.

"You're so weak. I told you not to eat this, it wasn't for you, and here I find you naked, on the floor, gorging yourself. You were supposed to be on a diet." She sobs again, says "I know."

"You're so pathetic. If you want to be fat so bad, then just eat.

"That's it. You need a punishment. A little extra motivation to get you to be a little harder on yourself." I grasp her shoulders lightly below me, and my fingers sink into her soft female flesh, that thin layer of pudge taking residence everywhere now, and turn her from the mirror, to the table she'd stolen the pastries from. "You will eat all of this, my fat cow. Maybe a few thousand more calories, a few more pounds of pure, solid fat you have to lose will be enough to push you to exercise, to diet."

"No, don't do it to me, it's already so hard to lose." She is crying, tears streaming down her face at what I am going to make her do to her body. It will make it harder to lose, and easier to gain.

I tear a chunk from a raspberry filled chocolate cake, and shove it in her mouth. She can't resist, she is so hungry, so hates herself, and she lets it be shoved in, down into her fat maker. I position her filling hips against the table, and I push her shoulders down, so she is leaning over the cake itself, mountains of muffins, buttery croissants, and other creamy and fruity breadstuffs piled around. I press down lightly, until finally her face slowly makes contact with the cake, her sweet blond hair being covered in the sugary filth of the confection. "Look at your hair, my pig. We might just have to cut it off. Fat pigs can't have hair like this if they can't take care of it, can't even keep it out of their piggy food." She moves to move it, and I slap her hand. "No. You want to let yourself be such a pig, then eat!"

As she leans over eating unwillingly hungrily, gobbling her treats, I observe her hips tilt forward and down, presenting her pink, her soft ass raised in the air; it's getting fatter, deeper, hiding more of her sex every day.

A month later I find myself in the same position, but now as I look down, another forty has made her ass sag voluptuously and fatly over her now chubby pussy, and my arm. I lick it clean and it instantly remoistens as I force her to gorge herself on pasta, the eighty pounds of pure fat I've packed on her drive me crazy, and her even moreso. Still I never let her feel comfortable, but the programming forces her to love it against her will, to carnally react to her fat belly, swollen fat breasts, to the width of her hips and the chub of her face, the jiggling of her new double chin a soft and constant reminder of how many calories and pounds of lard have passed in above it to fill it so constantly and so well.

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I fatten her over and over, and yet every time she makes it like new, my precious, delicious, deliriously chubby angel. She is mine, and I am hers.

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