Eccentric Hero & Dancing Girl Ch. 04-06

In fact, they were quite like real people except that they were featureless, dull-looking, and remorseless, insatiable lovers.

Scientist stumbles on the solution: art

Myraka changed his life. The Doctor was strolling past her garden one day and noticed she was working on a sculpture of a beautiful young woman with foxy marble-white hair in the middle of a green lawn. The sculpture was glamorous and delicate in all details, everything the poor Doctor's love dolls were not. He stopped and stared.

Myraka noticed him and stepped between her statue and him, as though she were shielding the nude marble from his lecherous eyes. The Doctor marveled at her impulse to protect her work of art, and he decided she must be in love with it, or rather, in love with her, for the delicate statue was charmingly female in every way. The Sculptress had fashioned the feminine folds of her pussy to appear slightly swollen between her separated thighs, carved to show she was in a state of arousal, even though she was pure cold stone.

It struck the Doctor that he had constructed exactly the same swollen labia on his unattractive earthen dolls. He pondered how artists could create such beauty, and then he had an idea.

"Art is what I need!" the Doctor blurted by way of introducing himself. "I am a scientist, and I need a... certain kind of art to give my inventions of flesh a rare beauty, make them seductive beyond the pale of science, sexually attractive beyond the realm of serious biology."

Myraka recoiled, repeating under her breath the words, "inventions of flesh?"

I will give her life

Myraka's statue was made to love. It was serenely desirable, arresting in its ability to surpass nature. The sculptress had enhanced nature. She had found her creative niche in erotic sculpture, and she loved the female she had created in stone. After all, it is not unusual for a work of art to take on a life of its own, and to become adored by its creator.

The Doctor approached, pointing behind Myraka at the nude nymph with legs subtly spread.

"I will give her life," he said, his eyebrows twitching. "Have you ever wished for her to be warm flesh instead of cold marble? Have you never yearned to kiss your charming statue?"

Myraka stood speechless, her eyes scowling at the Doctor's stethoscope. All the same, she had heard his question, and it propelled her for a moment into a daydream fantasy of her delicate statue one morning blushing with rose inflected cheeks, her mouth twitching almost imperceptibly, unadorned lips gaining the subtle color of youth, a lingering dewdrop imitating a tear as it trickled down her glowing cheek, marble hair dissolving into deep red, vacant eyes taking on a haunting, greenish glaze, virgin lips stretching in a bashful smile at seeing her Sculptress designer for the first time. A breath, a single breath her statue draws... life! The Sculptress, artist as she was, fully envisioned her statuesque darling newly arrived from the realm of the mineral.

Myraka snapped out of her reverie and realized she needed what the Doctor had to offer.

"Can you do it?" she asked.

She was in love with her own statue

He saw that his first impression, that she was in love with her artwork, was correct. One look at the statue's eerie eyes set under dark brows and the Doctor felt it, too. Not love in his case, but naked desire.

Nothing unusual about an artist loving her creation, he thought, or a writer reading her own story multiple times, or a musician listening to her own recording, eyes shut in rapture.

But Myraka was sexually attracted to women, and she had created a statue of a young lady with exotic features, thick hair, skin with freckles on her smooth cheeks. She was classy and outrageously sexy. Her only fault, and this was something the Sculptress could do nothing about, was that she was frozen for eternity in marble.

"If we could work together," the Doctor cajoled, "if we could craft the charming visage you have created onto one of my animated love dolls, well... If I could make her come alive, what would you name her?"

Myraka whispered without hesitation, "Her name will be Lianne."

Two kisses of life for a love doll named Lianne

And so the sculptress decided to partner with the Doctor in his madness. She knew she couldn't drag her playmate lover Yoru into such a dubious adventure, and so convinced the Doctor to flee the town without informing anyone. Their experiments would eventually be exposed and look odd, if not erotically insane, to "normal" people.

The Sculptress Myraka kissed Lianne alive for love of her art, but the Doctor kissed her for lust of the angelic body. The troubling thing was that Myraka was unaware of the Dollmaker's kink.

Doctor Dollmaker, Sculptress Spy

Myraka chiseled into the love dolls that particular sense of eternal beauty one finds in the human species. Both Male and female can possess glorious attractiveness, and the Doctor taught her how to massage their bodies with the lotion mixed with body fluids to inhabit their minds. Neither of these tasks was accomplished overnight. The love dolls were nurtured and clothed, given names, and programmed for deep sex.

A pattern emerged of the Doctor dallying with the dolls, indulging in deviant behavior, while the Sculptress used them for exploring-some might say spying on-the minds of others. Myraka reasoned that he was an unusually erotic-minded man, after all, so his penchant for peculiar sex was not surprising, and Myraka cut him slack. He, in turn, looked the other way when he noticed her spying on the erotic secrets of women she dated with her doll. The Doctor hid the worst things from her, of course.

Eventually the dolls matured and fell blindly in love as though for the first time, and it was indeed the first time for the love dolls, if not entirely for their Mistress or Master controllers.

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl Ch. 5 The Dao of the Doll

The love doll the Sculptress fell in love with, was herself

How one falls in love varies for everyone. For the sculptress, the state of being in love while inhabiting the pretty redheaded love doll named Lianne was accompanied with the disturbing realization that she was for the first time head over heels for another woman. She had often sexed with females, indeed she preferred les femmes, but she had never fallen in love with them like she did with her artwork, with her delicate sculptures. She had desired and loved Yoru, but desired her for shibari sex, and loved her for the capacity and complexity of her passion. It wasn't the same as the love burning in her bosom for her exquisite sculpted creations.

Things changed when Myraka recreated her sculptured perfection on the surface of a love doll built by the Doctor. As soon as her likeness took on elegant life, the doll seduced the Sculptress mercilessly. Lianne was a remorseless, female sex shark. She was that curious blend of woman who dominates as sensual predator while feeling deeply submissive. She proved to be a lissome creature whose only purpose in life was to fall prey to others in the game of love. Myraka would admit to herself she had sometimes fantasized about sexing with her statue, but if she were honest, she would have to admit it was more than "sometimes." The thought of the statue loving her in return had been what ushered her to orgasm every time she masturbated. And now she was there, kissing her, a redhead, a newly shaped, divine creature she had herself fashioned atop the Doctor's crude but technically robust construct. The intensity of her feelings for her love doll frightened her.

"Whatever!" she heckled herself, "I want it... I want her."

Animate to inanimate to harmony

At the time the Sculptress Myraka joined the Doctor and started transforming his pitiful, machine-like dolls into works of erotic art, she was unaware of his dangerous sex drives. As far as she knew, he wanted a love doll for his own, just as she wanted Lianne. Nothing unusual about wanting a sex doll. And so the sculptress created her art, and worried not at all about the Doctor. Let him contend with mathematics and engineering, that was his job. It proved to be a major oversight in their partnership.

She had taken another tack, philosophizing on the possibility of sharing love with a doll.

Sharing love with the dolls

The Sculptress decided it was OK to love the doll, and for the doll to love her back, since it was only her occupying her love doll Lianne. She told herself, "It's just me, but not really, but it's so real... that's what it is, realistic." This conveniently left her somewhere in the middle. She wasn't quite ready to say "I love you" to this doll woman, but she was close, she was formulating a theory.

Dao of the Doll

"When animate, sentient beings, like humans," Myraka theorized, "grow to love and even embrace inanimate objects, they thereby embrace universal matter." Loving her own created doll didn't seem a far-fetched notion when she considered she had already been in love with her artful marble sculpture. What child never loved a doll or action hero figure? Is that capacity lost to the human race on maturity? Her theory seemed to close the loop with all of existence. It was as if inanimate minerals scattered around the vast gaps in space were conspiring to seduce her.

Myraka was dancing with Lianne, with herself in other words, but it was different than with a real woman. She had danced and made love with Yoru and other girlfriends, but she felt they were less mindful of her inner desires, less connected to her. It makes sense, for her real girlfriends were also people, it wasn't only about Myraka after all, yet it wasn't nearly as intense as occupying with her own mind two nubile bodies wrapped around each other, dancing and touching, the two of them creating a flowing circle of love sensations, each knowing exactly what the other needs to reach orgasm, like when masturbating, they knew what to do, where to do it, and when. But the Sculptress soon discovered it most thrilling making love with other women while her consciousness was inside her doll-being loved by another woman while in another woman, in other words-well that was... exciting.

Closing the loop with the mineral universe

In order to explain to herself why she was falling deeper in love with the doll, Myraka searched her memory for instances in her life when she had been in love with other inanimate objects. The image of a plastic dildo flashed in her mind's eye, her first lover of sorts. She deduced that dildos were not so different from mud-baked, life-sized, siren dolls with programmed sensuality. Both would be anathema to biological human beings as prospective heartthrobs. Or would they?

"Really now, Madame Sculptress?" Myraka asked herself. She thought about her favorite strap-on dildo, how dearly she loved it, and how lustfully it was loved by her woman lovers, and she decided to use it on her love doll Lianne while she mulled the question of inanimate love affairs.

Erotic memory of a love doll

But it was Lianne who would teach the Sculptress about loving inanimate objects, for she was one herself.

One evening Lianne was toying with the dregs of a bottle of once-creamy hair conditioner. It was dried out and too gooey to flow, so she dropped the bottle in hot water it to loosen it up. Heated, the conditioner spurted out the consistency and color of warm semen. It was the first erotic memory the love doll had of sex with an inanimate material, in this case hair cream morphing in her mind to become human seed.

That is to say, the inanimate doll, an object labeled Lianne, temporarily inhabited by the mind of the sculptress, was interacting with body lotion that had become semen in her imagination. She let the warm fluid drip over her skin, pinpricks of stinging pleasure. Every finger on both Lianne's hands moved the sludge to cover her svelte body, its lascivious liquidity spreading under her skillful fingers, and it soon enveloped her like a full latex bodysuit. It made the doll orgasm. Massage with lubrication is a ritual Lianne performs gladly, it was hardwired into her by the Doctor, but tonight it felt like she was bathing herself in semen, her skin sucking up the fantasy cum as readily as suntan lotion. Soon her fingers found the swelling split between her legs, and she pushed her hips upwards and masturbated, and after a while came again, noisily.

Lianne the love doll was in the throes of orgasm, arms outstretched above and legs crossed tightly at the thighs. Even out of breath she managed to coo, quivering for a while, and at last landed gently, the lotion tingling as it cooled her body. Her softly grunting pleasure was accentuated by long gulps of air to replenish her oxygen.

At precisely the moment Lianne squirted, as if urged on by her cry from within the halls of hellish sensuality, the Sculptress Myraka walked through her door. Lianne told her all about it, she reviewed it, in other words, in her mind in another body. As far as Lianne's body was concerned, desire had transformed the lotion from inanimate liquid into manly, living cum.

And not to forget, semen is alive, and more, it gives life.

But it didn't end there. Without being aware of it, Myraka in turn would push Lianne farther into their mutual love relationship with inert materials. She used the doll with her strap-on dildo. This emphatic object was tipped provocatively with a reddish brown head on an upwards curling shaft of ebony, and when inserted to the hilt, it pointed directly at Lianne's heart.

Rope took on the role, and then the life, of a sentient lover

Of course, Myraka first tied her sweet love doll tightly in expert knots, so she could enforce her wanton kisses, tongue lappings, and spankings with impunity on Lianne's pussy and bottom. This live flesh on flesh lovemaking was intoxicating, it seemed very close to being a trusted animate on animate affair, but when the ropes were in place, arousal exploded inside the love doll Lianne with a ferocious pang of pleasure directly proportional to the immobility she was experiencing entwined in the coils of strong hemp. The rope, she noticed with a pang of fear, seemed to take on a life of its own, but she realized it was a life bent on pleasuring her. As she struggled, she pressed her breasts through the holes left by the knots, treacherously designed for that purpose by her captor, the Sculptress. Lianne realized she had been fooled, the twisting and struggling to be free had forced her to dance to the rope's music. She had been orchestrated to heightened erotic exposure, and she felt despicable because she enjoyed the mild pain beyond what she feared were good manners.

When she stopped cumming, barely breathing, eyes shut tight in ecstasy, she experienced a revelation: the rope was holding her tighter than any human lover had ever dared.

Do you not like to be held tight, darling?

Body over mind

Lianne's pussy flowed, clearly ready for penetration. Myraka's mounted dildo softly probed in search of her small vaginal orifice, finding it quickly, thanks to the loving rope that ensured her pussy remained an unmoving target. The black dildo at first felt too big, too erect, but slathering it wet with her love juices, her body adjusted to swallow the dildo's pleasure. It wasn't long before Myraka's stroking hips swept Lianne's mind completely away to a sensual space where the clever tool seemed no longer cold plastic, but a slick, unrelenting, terribly reliable lover.

All these things played in Lianne's mind, and Myraka observed her throughout. She saw Lianne adore the inanimate rope stretching her lipstick smeared mouth, where a single coil brutally gagged her, the sides of her lips pushed back and apart, pulling her teeth in a grimace. In return for this rough treatment, she licked it's prickly hemp fibers, eyes closed in adoration. The Sculptress marveled at how Lianne surrendered her entire body to the livid, raging, synthetic, conquering strap-on she was rooting deep in the doll's body. Lianne, a captured woman doll, had fallen in ecstasy to the fiendish plastic almost at once, then again and again. The so-called "lifeless rod" had the vicious power of Myraka's hips behind it, invested as it was with her desire, and of course Lianne gushed in sublime pleasure. She tasted one of life's honeyed delicacies, pure sexual gratification, from which her body effortlessly derived generous flows of energy.

Infinite pale liquid

The inanimate is composed, as is everything, including the live Sculptress and the lifeless Lianne, of particles of the universe, minerals of the cosmos. Deep communion with her doll lover in a state of sexual splendor is a form of transcendence for the Sculptress Myraka. Picture this: the combination of Lianne's own acute sexual prowess with her sculptress creator's rhythmic, sometimes ramming, sometimes tender, unbridled dildo, both at work in Lianne's pretty, strawberry blond pussy. Myraka's "fake dick" propelled Lianne, in a manner of speaking, out of this world. When one gets fucked off the planet, where does one go? There is no fake paradise, for if it is, it is. Her own arousal affected the spirit inhabiting the dildo, and thus they both had copious, unending climaxes characteristic of both male and female induced ejaculations.

Mix a woman's blended orgasmic ejaculate with a man's semen and play such love-soup nonstop on a loop in the universe, and you arrive at an unending torrent of squirting, sexual liquids flooding the infinite, transforming all matter into sexual fluid, dark matter becoming dark desires, hidden but felt. It is nothing less than proof of the spiritual value of intimate contact.

"Unleashing orgasm, seen in this light," the Sculptress concluded, "establishes a direct connection with deathless totality."

And so the sculptress Myraka became one with her doll. And her doll grew more adept at pleasuring her, for such was her programming. But there was more, a certain look in her eyes, an especially tender touch...

Lianne seemed more and more alive.

The Doctor floats in lust

If it was, like with the Sculptress, passion driving the clever Doctor, his form of passion could more precisely be described as pure lust. Evil lurked in his smile as the man surprised even himself at the potency of the tiny drop of femininity he pulled up from his core. He found a female sliver in his masculine brain of which he had only faintly been aware. He brought this nascent femininity to the forefront in his female doll, pushing "himself" to be "herself." The Doctor felt she was who he would have been, had he been born her, a luscious female. Even a man of his learning found it complicated, but the human brain is a deep well we sip only from the surface, and there are depths of character flavored by gender in all of us, remnants of that singular ambiguous instant at the time of the fusion of the egg and sperm, when the forces of the cosmos meet head on and ask "Yin or Yang?" Gender determination is a decision taken while floating in mother's womb, and the fetus thus associates it with a time of love deeply ensconced in safety, where the human being so recently mapped to one side of procreation still remembers the other, and is free to explore in her dreams all constellations of hetero, LGBTQ, and anything in between and on the fringes, as long as it floats in love, the love of Mother's womb, she who gave us our first taste of freedom of choices in gender orientation, if only for a heartbeat.