Sex Doll: No. 7 - Batch 13

This story is written by David, please send comments and appreciation to

Sex Doll: No. 7 - Batch 13.

Derek Duncan gets more than he bargained for.

Sonja Stollenkrantz, with her multiple Master's degrees in computer science and her expertise in writing complex computer code, hadn't expected to wind up using her specialist software skills somewhere like this: on Sex Doll For U's production line.

But unfortunately for twenty-five-year-old Sonja, resident and happily settled in the UK now for two years, it was as needs must.

Her previous company had relocated abroad. And in a depressed post-Brexit jobs market, working for Sex Doll For U was the only job Sonja could find at the moment in her South London locale that suited her particular talents; that utilised her specialised skill set.

But, for now, it would have to do.

Sonja couldn't afford to be picky. She had little in the way of savings, and she had a London-prices living to make: Her single person's pad's outrageous and crippling rent to pay; her seemingly ever increasing bus and London Underground Tube fares, to commute to her workplace; food and clothes and make-up to buy ...

At the end of each month, after paying all of her usual outgoings and other sundry expenses, on her less than reliable Zero-Hours Contract agency work pay, there wasn't much left over for fun.

And Sonja was a fun sort of girl.

So, she was beginning to wonder: What was the point of her coming to work and live in lively London if she was always scratching for cash?

And now, things had come to a head, for the beautiful East European computer whiz.

Sonja - a stunningly attractive dark-haired, olive-complexioned economic migrant from Serbia - was sure that Sex Doll For U was shafting her on her take-home pay.

At first, believing them to be genuine, honest mistakes, Sonja had queried the first couple of instances of pay discrepancies at the wages office, but it was to no avail. And in fact the implicit message she'd been given was clear: If you don't like it (If you don't like providing a top-rate skill for bottom-rate remuneration), you can leave.

And, as if that wasn't enough, Sonja's unscrupulous employers were now diddling her on her holiday entitlement as well. And that was now holding up her plans to visit her much-missed mum and dad and her kid brothers and sisters back home in Serbia.

Okay, thought Sonja vengefully.

Enough is enough.


Derek Duncan, girlfriendless and prospectless in that direction and, to his acute shame, still to lose his cherry at the advanced age of twenty-one, was on his laptop computer frequenting the usual Internet websites looking for cheap (free) thrills.

Wasn't the Internet just great? He always found something to help rub one out.

Pulling his plonker every night to the video hotties wasn't the same as having a girlfriend. But it was as needs must.

If only he could find himself a real girlfriend.

But Derek wasn't much of a hit with the girls.

Shorter than most girls, there were several other confidence sapping ways he didn't measure up; not least was that he still had a problem with acne, and his bright carrot-coloured hair didn't help matters either. People were always saying that it was a person's personality and not their looks, that mattered. But from bitter experience, Derek knew that was a load of bull.

So these great free porn vids came as a great relief - in more ways than one.

These 'targeted' pop-up ads could be a nuisance, though, grumbled Derek to himself at said latest unwelcome interruption to his enjoyment. He could hardly complain; he was watching freebies, after all. But they were a bit of a downside. Especially when they suddenly superimposed themselves, like now, intruding upon the hot vid he was currently enthusiastically enjoying.

This intrusive targeted pop-up was brazenly saying: Recommended for YOU!

It was an advertisement for a sex doll, by a company called Sex Doll For U.

What a bloody cheek!

Still, thought Derek. It wouldn't hurt to have a bit of a browse ...

Some of them looked kind of hot.


Okay then, you penny-pinching shysters, thought Sonja Stollenkrantz sullenly of her diddling employers as she typed in the unique personality behavioural computer code she'd been working on all over the weekend into 'Mitzi', the sex doll on the production line now in front of her. You've asked for it. And now, you are going to get it.

See what happens when you mess with me. I didn't spend five years in technical college learning my ass off and perfecting my skills, to be treated like this. I'm going to fix you: Whoever ends up with Mitzi is going to sue your penny-pinching ass!

Anyway, wondered Sonja, not for the first time, What sort of inadequate, limp-dicked jerk-offs buy these dolls? Why ... limp-dicked, inadequate jerk-offs, of course! thought Sonja, chuckling to herself.

Before she'd come to work for Sex Doll For U, she'd had no idea there was such a big market for these 'girls'.

Sex Doll For U's Deluxe, top of the range line of 'Intimate Friends' were in ever growing demand. Orders came in from all over the world. And with the post-Brexit pound devalued, making them more affordable to buyers from overseas, orders for the sex dolls were coming in thicker and faster than ever.

Well, it took all sorts, she supposed. And the girlfriendless losers did create a lot of employment.

Sonja couldn't deny, though, that these life-size sex dolls were incredibly life like.

All of the outer materials were of the very latest in synthetics. And all of the inner components and intricate workings were of the very latest innovations in IR - Intelligent Robotics. It was as if these 'girls' actually had a brain.

Even though the almost magnetic attraction of their outstanding beauty and the sheer sexual presence they exuded was sure to grab any man (or woman's) attention, you could pass one of them by on the street and not even know it.

Because they and their projected personas looked so authentic, they could pass for the real thing. And it was only upon closer scrutiny, that you might possibly sense something amiss:

Skin, hair, teeth, eyes; their smooth and elegant agility of movement ... they all looked so natural. So human-like.

And Mitzi, here, with her beautiful, alluring blue eyes and her fabulous wavy long blonde hair, was a real looker. She was exceptional, thought Sonja admiringly.

If Sonja swung that way, she thought, she might even have been tempted herself (if she could afford her - these dolls were the price of a small new quality car). She could programme herself the perfect sex partner!

Sonja was always amazed, to think how much the development of sex doll technology had come on. And marvellous advancements in materials and software programming were continuing apace.

Not only could these invariably drop-dead gorgeous 'girls' give a guy (or a girl!) a real good time, but just like a conventional girlfriend, they could walk, talk, and 'think'.

When they were turned on (as it were), the sex dolls' skin was incredibly flesh like, and it felt warm to the touch, as if real, heart pumped blood was flowing through actual veins.

But those were the least, of their convincing humanisms.

All of them were of unique appearance - something else, that astounded Sonja, who wondered uneasily if their faces were copies of real young women ... maybe one day, she'd see her own?

The sex dolls had beautiful, pleasing to the ear voices, that could be custom-accented in any language to suit the buyer. Their range of vocabulary was vast; their depth of knowledge encyclopaedic. And, permanently connected to the Internet via the Sex Doll For U server, they were always up to speed with the latest in current affairs: politics, sport, celebrity gossip ... And so you could actually have an intelligent conversation with them. As if they were real, sentient, sociable, thinking people.

Batteries (or power cells) had come on amazingly too. Gone were the days, of inconvenient and tiresome daily repowering.

These, latest generation sex dolls were fitted with 30-day, continuous-run power packs, that took just one hour to fully recharge. And at a time convenient for their owner they would plug themselves in and power themselves up. So their owners wouldn't even have to trouble themselves with that little job.

And then on top of all of that, there was the piece de resistance:

The groundbreaking (or should that be earthmoving!) state of the art, sex act simulation 'muscled' vaginas, that were the main selling attraction and played the biggest part in making market leader Sex Doll For U the world's biggest seller of 'Intimate Friends'.

And another great boon: Post-sex, there was virtually no 'mess', to clean up.

The sex dolls' internal chemical converter took care of that little issue: taking in, absorbing, and breaking down their owner's mineral-rich 'product' to utilise as motor and joint lubrication, among other things.

Not that such 'product' was strictly necessary to the sex doll's continuing smooth and satisfactory operation (though undoubtedly it helped).

The Intimate Friends' annual diagnostic maintenance check-over (first 'service', included in the purchase price) by a Sex Doll For U technician, took care of that.

And so, to many a single, unlucky in love, lonely heart male, these, now more beautiful and attractive and intelligent and 'sex' capable than ever sex dolls were an ideal romantic companion.

But not this time, thought Sonja vengefully as she typed in the last of her specially prepared 'rogue' computer code.

Because the single, unlucky in love, lonely heart male - the inadequate, limp-dicked jerk-off - who bought Mitzi was in for a surprise. He would get more than he bargained for.

That was the lucky thing: that unlike cheaper versions, Sex Dolls For U's Intimate Friends weren't all just simply fitted with a generic behavioural chip. Which was why Sonja's specialist software skills were needed: to type in each 'girl's individual and unique, sophisticated personality code. To give them all 'minds' of their own.

Sonja felt a twinge of guilt. It was not in her nature to be vindictive.

But, annoyed with herself, she denounced her inner voiced self-recriminations. This was different - her miserable creep employers deserved what would surely come.

And Sonja had nothing to worry about.

When the proverbial hit the fan, as Sex Doll For U's only software specialist (her miserable creep, penny-pinching tightwad employers would only employ one), Mitzi would be returned to her to be checked out. At which time, she would just simply explain away Mitzi's 'malfunction' as a glitch, and reprogramme Mitzi with another personality code. A sort of 'mind' transplant.

And then Mitzi, used, would be sold on cheaply to another owner as second-hand. Simple.

There: all done, thought Sonja in satisfaction as she sent Mitzi on down the production line to Packaging.

Soon - maybe even tomorrow, if acquired locally - Mitzi would be displayed to best effect in one of Sex Doll For U's High Street boutiques.

Mitzi could end up anywhere in the world. But on an impulse, Sonja made a note for future reference.

Mitzi: Sex Doll No. 7 - Batch 13.


The guy in blue overalls walked up to the serving counter with a sheet of white paper in his hand and said, simply and concisely, "Sherwood's."

Taking the proffered invoice from the building-supplies deliveryman's hand, Derek Duncan's dad said, "Here, Derek. Check this lot in with Ken, will you? I need to get on the phone to chase up those roof tiles."

"Okay, Dad," said Derek, taking the delivery invoice.

Lifting the serving counter's access flap, Derek said familiarly, "Come on, Ken." And the two of them went through to the yard, where Ken Sherwood's flatbed lorry was parked.

Ken Sherwood often did Saturday deliveries himself - usually, when his driver, Eddie, a keen Arsenal fan, wanted to travel to an away match.

Ken liked to chat with his regular customers, maintain the personal touch. Advise them on his products and prices, and discuss what were the best options for them. Sometimes he could do them a bulk deal, which would work out more economical. There wasn't enough of that, Ken thought, in these days of big businesses - the personal touch. And he knew it helped to keep his customers loyal to him. So it worked both ways.

Derek said, "Has Eddie gone to the match, Ken? Arsenal's away today, aren't they? Up at Liverpool?"

"Oh, Eddie would never miss away to Liverpool! He says there's something magical about Anfield. And that's coming from a dyed-in-the-wool Gunner!"

Derek and Ken laughed companionably.

Everything on Ken's lorry was on wooden pallets. And such were the delivery items today, that Derek could easily and quickly verify that everything on the itemised delivery note was present and correct.

Derek said, "I'll put the kettle on, Ken."

"Great!" said Ken, lowering the forklift truck that was hoisted at the back of his flatbed lorry. "Just five pallets - I won't be long!"

Spooning and pouring the required amounts of coffee, sugar and milk into cups for his dad, Ken and himself, Derek's mind turned once again to what had been preoccupying his thoughts all week: Could he afford to buy one of Sex Doll For U's Intimate Friends?

He was amazed at himself that he was even considering it.

But the life-size, life-like 'girls', were so ... life like.

His mind boggled at the price.

He already had enough on his plate, paying the rent on his own small flat. And he'd recently made a 10% downpayment on a new car, the balance payable over five years.

His dad would lend him some money. But that wasn't the problem; his dad would just deduct a reasonable and affordable repayment from his wages, week by week. But Dad would want to know what the money was for - that was the problem.

His dad wouldn't understand. And if his mum found out!

No, thought Derek. 'She' would have to be kept secret.

Top Secret.

For his eyes only, as it were.

If it came to it; if he actually went ahead with what he was considering, he'd apply for a personal loan at the bank. As his dad's son, as it were, his credit would be good at the bank. But thank heavens that interest rates were so low!

Derek Duncan stopped prevaricating; made up his mind. After all, at this stage, he was just going for a look. Just for a look, to see the Intimate Friends in the flesh, as it were.

As today was Saturday and half-day closing, Derek would visit Sex Doll For U's High Street boutique this afternoon.

Just for a look.

Derek took his dad's coffee through to him, who, still busy on the phone, thumbed-up his thanks. Then he came back and brought his own and Ken Sherwood's coffee out back into the yard.

"All done! Please sign on the dotted line, Mr Duncan Junior!" said Ken affably.

Derek looked at said dotted line.

He hesitated, imagining another dotted line, on another sheet of white paper ... and signed.


Standing outside Sex Doll For U's High Street boutique, and looking at the Intimate Friend displayed to best effect behind the plate-glass window, Derek knew at once that he had to have 'her'.

'She' was lovely. Derek had never seen such a beautiful 'girl'.

A burly passing-by guy winked at Derek and said, "Got the hots for her, pal?"

Derek, his face turning as bright as his girlfriend-deterring carrot-coloured hair, didn't need to look down at the tell-tale bulge at his crotch to know that he did.

The 'girl' in the window was incredibly sexy, thought Derek. And 'she' was wearing a red, figure-hugging dress, and red, high heeled shoes, that really got him going. Especially the shoes ... for some reason.

Entering his local Sex Doll For U outlet, Derek immediately found himself greatly unsettled by the almost magnetic attraction and the sheer sexual allure, of the dozen or so other drop-dead gorgeous 'girls' within, who were displayed to best effect on sofas and chaise longues.

The sexily dressed and provocatively posed 'girls' were all turned on (as it were) - and they were all turning him on!

"Hello!" said the young saleslady behind the counter brightly. "I'm Cindy, and I'm here to help you. May I ask your name?"

Coming over all self-conscious and awkward as usual in the presence of a beautiful young woman, Derek said diffidently, "My ... my name's Derek, Miss."

"Call me Cindy. And come on in, Derek - don't be shy!" she coaxed. And Derek literally could not tell if she was actually one of the 'girls'.

With a bright smile, the young saleswoman said, "I couldn't help but notice just now your, um ... interest, in the Intimate Friend, displayed in the window. She's very lovely, isn't she?"

To the roots of his carrot-coloured hair, Derek blushed, all over again. "Um ... yes," was all Derek could manage in reply.

"Well," said the brightly smiling young saleslady, "she can be yours ... for just twenty thousand pounds."

Cindy didn't beat about the bush! She sensed an easy commission, thought Derek.

Derek gulped.

He knew from his repeated visits to Sex Doll For U's website, just how much their 'girls' cost. But still. Was he really going to commit himself to spending that kind of cash? On top of his other outgoings? 20,000. Twenty grand ... for a sex doll?

"Come and meet her!" encouraged the now even more brightly smiling young saleswoman.

"Okay," said Derek, his heart thump, thump, thumping.

Seeing Cindy and Derek approaching, with a graceful and completely natural-looking fluidity of movement the 'girl' in the window got up from 'her' chaise longue. Extending 'her' red nail polished hand and looking Derek straight in the eye, 'she' said, "Hello, Derek, how nice to meet you! And what lovely hair!"

Derek was instantly besotted.

Tentatively, Derek took the 'girl' in the window's outstretched hand in his own ... and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

'Her' gently gripping hand was warm and felt like real, living flesh. The look in 'her' eyes was intelligent. 'She' had ... presence.

It was hard for Derek to believe that 'she' was not an honest-to-God real, living and breathing person. That 'she' had emotions. Feelings. Thoughts.

"She'll do anything," said the on-the-cusp-of-a-sale young saleslady, gently prompting Derek. "She's programmed to please. If you ask her nicely, she might even make you a cup of tea - ha ha ha!"

At this moment, with the 'girl' in the window's warm-palmed hand still gently squeezing his, and 'her' intelligent eyes still gazing with seductive, knowing expression deep into his own, tea was the furthest thing from Derek's mind.

The brightly smiling young salesgirl presented Derek with a sheet of white paper. He read what was printed on it ... and stared at the dotted line.

"Just sign here, Derek," encouraged Cindy, pointing to the dotted line. "And she's yours."

Already, just before coming here, Derek had got the necessary approval from his bank, should he wish to apply for a personal loan. He'd been right: As his dad's son (as it were), he'd been considered creditworthy.

Was he really going to do it? Commit 20,000. Spend twenty grand ... on a sex doll?

"She's fully thirty-day charged, and ready to go," said Cindy. "Enjoy!"

Derek accepted the proffered pen from the smiling-from-ear-to-ear young salesgirl.

It was a lot of money.

An awful lot of money.

That would take him ten years to repay.

Ten, belt-tightening, cutting his cloth, going without, living within his means, austere years.

But Mitzi would be worth it.


There was a new, jaunty spring in Derek Duncan's step as, hand in hand, he walked along High Street with Mitzi.

Wasn't Mitzi just great?

Mitzi had a jaw-dropping effect on almost every guy they passed, whose eyes at first were invariably drawn to the sound of her click-clacking high heels at the end of her million-dollar legs. She had such beautiful blue eyes, and such fabulous long wavy blonde hair - and her figure!

Those guys were jealous. Jealous of him! Derek could see the raw, naked envy of him in their eyes. As if they were telling him: You lucky bleeder!

Derek felt on top of the world.

It was about another five minutes' walk to the nearby Pay and Display car park where he'd parked his Vauxhall Corsa - the car that this year he'd bought brand-new on a five-year Hire Purchase loan.

He was very pleased with his purchase. He was certainly putting the boat out lately - so it was a good thing he had a secure job, working for his dad. Things seemed a little uncertain, post-Brexit. But people were always going to need building and DIY supplies.

Derek was even more pleased with his latest purchase! He couldn't wait to get Mitzi home to his small flat, and-

Abruptly Mitzi hauled back on his hand.

In apparent discomfort and distress, still holding onto his hand, she kicked off her right, high-heeled red shoe, and wiggled and scrunched her bright-red nail polished toes.

"Ah ... these shoes!" complained Mitzi. "My feet are killing me, Degsie!"


Derek loved Mitzi's pet name for him. She'd come up with that herself.

Derek was a bit nonplussed that Mitzi's feet could be hurting her. He said, "Oh. Are they?"

Watching her wiggle and scrunch her slender toes, Derek thought that Mitzi actually had very shapely, dainty feet. Sexy, even.

"Yes, they are," said Mitzi. "But you can buy me some better quality shoes, Degsie. I like Manolo Blahnik. But my favourites are Jimmy Choo's."

"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed Derek delightedly. Wasn't Mitzi a scream?

"It's only about another five minutes or so to the car park, Mitzi. Do you think you can manage that? Derek asked, with an indulgent smile on his lips.

"All right, Degsie," said Mitzi. "But you'll have to give me a foot massage when we get home."

"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed Derek in great amusement.

Wasn't Mitzi just great?


Sonja Stollenkrantz's curiosity was getting the better of her.

She was wondering if Sex Doll: No. 7 - Batch 13, the Intimate Friend she had rogue programmed, had found a new home yet. It had been nearly a week now.

Well, it would be easy enough for her to discover on her computer ...


Actually, the sale had just gone through. Only minutes ago, according to the time stamp.

Well, well, well.

Sonja could hardly believe it.

Of all of the possible places, worldwide, some limp-dicked, pathetic girlfriendless loser from the same South London town as herself, had bought Mitzi.

His name was Derek Duncan.


Derek and Mitzi arrived home.

Wondering at himself even as he said it, at his small flat's doorstep, Derek said, "This is going to sound a bit old-fashioned, Mitzi, but ... can I carry you across the threshold?"

"Why, how sweet! Just like a newly-wed young couple, you mean? Of course, you can, Degsie," cried Mitzi, launching herself obligingly into Derek's outstretched waiting arms. "Consider yourself on honeymoon - ha ha ha!"

Derek loved the sound of Mitzi's voice. So mellifluous, sexy, seductive. He loved listening to her talk. And, some of the things she said! She was so-

Wow! Supporting Mitzi's weight in his arms took all of Derek's strength. She was heavier than he was. But her body felt great - fantastic.

Mitzi took Derek's face in the palms of her hands, and she kissed him full on the lips. Kissed him hard.

The effect on Derek was electrifying and instantaneous: instant hard-on.

A virgin, Derek's biggest, nightmarish fear was that when it came down to it, all shy awkwardness and no confidence, inevitably he would fall down on the job.

But Derek knew now that with Mitzi, there were going to be no such troubles in that department. Today, finally, he would become a 'man'. And at last, instead of pulling his plonker every night to the video hotties on his computer screen, he could have a healthy relationship.

Bubbling over with anticipatory excitement, with some reluctance, Derek finally released Mitzi from the embrace of his enfolding arms.

Mitzi immediately kicked off her red high-heeled shoes, carelessly letting them land where they would in the living room. "Ah - thank goodness for that!" she said, with apparent feeling and grateful relief.

Derek watched in wonder, as Mitzi padded barefoot into the living room, picked up the TV remote from the coffee table, made herself comfortable on his four-seater settee, and turned on his 50-inch widescreen Smart TV.

Derek took off his jacket and hung it on one of the coat pegs by the front door.

Derek said, "I'm going to take a shower, Mitzi, before we, er ... Um, will you be okay, for ten minutes or so?"

"But of course, Degsie! You go and have a nice shower," said Mitzi, who was now sat up with her dynamite legs fully stretched out on his long settee and channel hopping on his TV.

Again, Derek shook his head in sheer wonderment. He thought: Well, make yourself at home!

Mitzi added, suggestively, seductively, "And I'll be right here ... waiting for you."

"Um ... right," said Derek, his mouth and throat suddenly parched. Well, there was nothing wrong with being nervous, his 'first time'.

And on his suddenly very unsteady legs, he headed for the shower.

Wasn't Mitzi just great?


When, ten or fifteen minutes later, Derek returned from taking his shower, he was taken aback somewhat to see that Mitzi was no longer reclining on his long settee and channel hopping on his TV, but sitting at his coffee table, and typing away expertly at his laptop computer.

But then Derek's initial, unconcerned surprise instantly turned to shock - and outright alarm - upon seeing that Mitzi had evidently taken his wallet from his jacket, and had spread out before her on his glass-topped coffee table all of his credit cards.

"M-Mitzi ... Wh-what ...?"

Turning upon Derek such a winning smile that again took all of the strength out of his legs, Mitzi turned the laptop's screen around, to show Derek ... pictures of Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoes.

The ones that she'd purchased.

Maxing out all of his credit cards.

The silver lining? After his recent big expenditures on his new car - and on Mitzi herself - his remaining available credit had been down to under two thousand pounds. But now he was broke. Stone broke.

"I paid extra," said Mitzi. "For next-day delivery."

Derek thought: YOU, paid extra?

"I wouldn't be seen dead, in those ratty old things again," Mitzi told Derek, pointing over to her 'cast off' pair of red high-heeled shoes, one over here, one over there on the carpet where they'd come to rest after she'd kicked them off.

Derek thought: Ratty old shoes? Those shoes look brand-new - and sexy as hell. They probably cost more than I earn in a week - Sex Doll For U doesn't do things cheaply.

"And I bought some lovely nail polishes too, lots of different colours," Mitzi went on. "So that you can do my toes for me. Every day, in a different colour. That'll be one of my little jobs for you, from now on."

Derek couldn't believe his ears.

But the thought of painting Mitzi's toes for her, every day, excited him ... for some reason.

Derek wondered how Mitzi had got past his computer passwords.

He had a different one for each account. He was careful like that; careful with online security. And the passwords wouldn't have been easy to break: they were just a jumble of numbers, letters and symbols. Nothing simple; nothing obvious and predictable - they were random, complicated and unpredictable. He'd thought himself secure.

But in just a few minutes, while he'd been in the shower, Mitzi had cracked the whole lot of them.

But then, Mitzi had a powerful onboard computer, and she was permanently connected to Sex Doll For U's dedicated server. So she could probably work out, or find out, pretty much anything.

Derek wondered if it was too late to cancel Mitzi's shoe orders. Or even if he would be able to.

But then, did he really want to? Why upset Mitzi? After all, it was only money. From now on, he'd just manage without credit accounts, to ensure Mitzi didn't go on any more spending sprees at his expense. And anyway, those sexy shoes she'd shown him on the computer screen would look awesome on Mitzi's shapely, dainty feet. Her lovely feet.

And there was a thing: Why was he getting all obsessed over Mitzi's feet?

He didn't think of himself as a foot fetishist. But all afternoon he'd found himself looking at Mitzi's cute feet more and more.

And there he was again: 'cute' feet.

"Degsie, be a sweetie!" said Mitzi, recrossing her shapely ankles and flexing and scrunching her slender, bright-red painted toes. "My feet are still hurting, from wearing those cheap shoes. Come and sit at the other end of the settee, and massage my feet for me."

This time, Derek didn't stop to wonder how on earth Mitzi's feet could possibly be 'hurting' her.

He just obediently did her bidding.


Derek didn't know what the hell programme Mitzi was so engrossed in on his 50-inch widescreen Smart TV - there were just a lot of lines of white numbers, letters and symbols flitting across the black TV screen.

But Derek didn't mind letting Mitzi have the run of the TV - not while he had one of her lovely, sexy feet in his hands, and the warm sole of her other foot, resting on his crotch.

Now and again, through his jeans, Mitzi would gently rub the pad of her big toe along the length of Derek's by now almost painfully engorged dick. And as soon as, unable to stop himself, he started humping against it, Mitzi would remove her foot, cautioning, Derek: "Not yet."

Derek was going crazy. Crazy, with lust and desire.

Or rather, Mitzi was driving him crazy.

The feel of Mitzi's warm foot in his hands, as he massaged it, was utterly fantastic ... and somehow arousing.

There was just the thinnest, barely noticeable film of sweat-like moisture. It helped facilitate the working of Derek's methodically rotating thumbs, as diligently he worked his way up the sole of Mitzi's shapely, sexy foot: from the bottom of her heel, up to the reddish-pink pads of her slender toes.

Suddenly Mitzi stretched out both of her legs full length and planted the soles of both, slightly 'sweaty' feet on Derek's face.

What, the ...?! thought Derek.

But, before he could say or do anything, Derek realised that he liked the sensation.

A lot.

Derek would never have believed it: It felt like heaven.

Mitzi pushed the undersides of the slender toes of her right foot under Derek's nostrils. Her left, foot, she now once again returned to the crotch of Derek's pants; the pad of her big toe, once again gently stroking the entire length of Derek's by now almost agonisingly engorged member straining inside his jeans.

Derek inhaled ...

Mitzi's pungent, strong cheese-like 'foot scent' exploded into his brain. It was incredible. Unbelievable.

The amazing aroma awakened something in him, right at his centre. Mitzi was pushing buttons he didn't know he had.

Derek inhaled again, more deeply ... and again, he started humping against the pad of Mitzi's lightly massaging big toe. He couldn't help it.

With said big toe, Mitzi flicked at Derek's ballbag several times.

Even through the denim of his jeans, it hurt. Derek moaned.

"Not yet," cautioned Mitzi again.

Derek was going out of his mind. Dizzy with yearning. With need.

"Suck my toes now, Derek," said Mitzi. "I like having my toes sucked."

This time, Derek didn't even think. He was too far gone.

Derek again took hold of Mitzi's right foot. But at the sheer sight of it; at the mere sight of her lovely, shapely, sexy, stinky 'sweaty' foot, he couldn't help himself, but to kiss it. Kiss Mitzi's bare sole, planting his ardent, adoring, reverent devotions, from heel to toes.

So Mitzi inserted her toes into Derek's mouth herself. Pushed them right in.

"Suck," commanded Mitzi.

And once again, Derek unquestioningly obeyed the orders of his Intimate Friend.

Derek had gone crazy, over Mitzi's intoxicatingly pungent, strong cheese-like foot scent. And now, he was finding Mitzi's equally fulsome in between the toes flavours just as thoroughly addictive.

Ravenously Derek licked in between each of Mitzi's toes, blissfully devouring and swallowing his nectared saliva. Ecstatically he sucked the living bejeebus out of Mitzi's bright-red nail polished toes.

Derek could not believe, that he was experiencing such enjoyment, such pleasure, such intense excitement, as he derived from massaging, sniffing, kissing, and sucking on Mitzi's toes.

"Now lick the sole of my foot, Derek," ordered Mitzi, removing her toes from his salivating mouth. "I enjoy the sensations."

Derek didn't need to be told twice. And there was no question: he was, being told.

Ardently Derek repeatedly lapped his worshipful tongue up and down Mitzi's shapely sexy sole, loving the feel, the texture, the taste ... and the submissive act.

Again, he began humping at the expertly manipulating pad of Mitzi's big toe. By now he so craved, so desperately needed release.

And again, with unerring accuracy, through his jeans Mitzi flicked her big toe several times at Derek's by now blue balls. And yet again, she cautioned him: "Not yet."

Again, Derek moaned at the hurt. The exquisite pain, inflicted my Mitzi, his Intimate Friend.

"Suck my heel, Derek," said Mitzi authoritatively, pushing the bottom of her heel into Derek's willingly accommodating mouth. "I find it highly satisfying. And you are going to be doing it a lot, from now on."

Derek noticed that Mitzi called him not Degsie, her pet name for him, but his formal name Derek, when being assertive.

Or should that be bossy?

No: Controlling.

Shouldn't it be the other way round?

But, sucking on the bottom of Mitzi's bare heel, just as she'd ordered him to, was stirring and stoking up Derek's desires almost intolerably.

Mitzi's heel wasn't hard, and it wasn't soft: it was just as he might have expected the skin and the firm but yielding flesh on the bottom of a woman's heel to feel.

By now his tongue was tired, terribly tired. But he made it go on working, for Mitzi.

As Derek obediently sucked on the bottom of Mitzi's heel, adoringly he gazed at the ball of her foot, and at the undersides of her slender toes. Toes, which, right in front of his eyes, were scrunching and flexing, driving him almost delirious with desire.

Tears were now flowing from his eyes. Partly, it was from pain; the exquisite, cautioning pain, that, for his own benefit, Mitzi with her accurately flicking big toe had chidingly inflicted upon his swelling-up blue balls. But mostly, it was from rapture. Sheer, 'revelationary' rapture.

Derek was about to start his humping again. But this time he stopped himself: Mitzi had told him 'No'.

And besides, he knew what Mitzi would do to him again if he did.

But he couldn't take any more.

Gently and carefully Derek removed Mitzi's heel from his mouth.

"Mitzi, um ... er ... do you think we could ...?

"What, Degsie darling?" she said flirtatiously. "Have some bedroom fun?"

Derek could barely speak. He was coming over all awkward and shy again.

He was in awe of Mitzi. She'd changed his world. And he so liked this new world. He just nodded yes.

"Yes, Degsie, sweetie," said Mitzi, taking Derek's hand.

Derek's heart was hammering away in his chest.

"Come on," said Mitzi. "It's time."


Derek was amazed at the strength of Mitzi's legs, as, wrapped firmly around his back, expertly keeping Derek in check so as to maximise his eventual orgasmic pleasure, she set the rhythm of their 'lovemaking'.

Derek hadn't needed to worry about falling down on the job, on his 'first time'.

He needn't have worried about a thing.

Not with Mitzi.

Mitzi was taking his cherry.

Taking his cherry, as effortlessly as she might have picked said fruit from its tree.

Officially, Derek was now becoming a 'man'.

Thanks to Mitzi.

"Mitzi! Mitzi, I'm ... I'm ..."

This time, the 'moment' could no longer be delayed. Could not be put off. Not again. Not for a sixth time.

"I know, Degsie darling."

Expertly Mitzi managed the steadily increasing tempo and coordination of their increasingly frantic thrusting together.

"Mitzi! Mitzi, I'm ..."

"I know, Degsie darling. I know, sweetie ... I know."

When she knew the 'moment' was nigh, Mitzi's legs began working like pistons building up a head of steam, and Derek, looking down into her lovely, 'intelligent' blue eyes, lost himself in the ride. The ride of 'love'.

Now, Mitzi's 'vaginal' 'muscles' really went to work on Derek's manhood.

"Mitzi! Mitzi! I'm ... I'm ..."

Derek's Intimate Friend milked him.

Mitzi emptied his swollen blue balls. Drained them dry. Drew his pumping 'product' into her chemical-converter reservoir. Absorbing and storing it. For processing and future utilisation. To help lubricate her motor functions, and to maintain the smooth, human-like operation of her joints ... among other things.

Finally, when Mitzi knew Derek was spent; that he had no more of 'himself' left to give her, she unwrapped her legs from her owner's back.

Derek, as completely 'sated' as he could possibly ever be, lay alongside Mitzi in what was now not his, but their bed.

Just as if they were "a newly-wed young couple".

On "honeymoon".

And had just 'consummated' their vows.

Derek took Mitzi's hand in his and kissed it.

Still recovering from his thoroughly 'draining' experience, Derek breathed, "Mitzi ... Mitzi ... oh Mitzi!"

Wasn't Mitzi just great?


Sonja Stollenkrantz's pangs of guilt were plaguing her. Constantly. For the rest of that Saturday afternoon, since she had discovered who had bought Mitzi, and where he lived, her conscience just wouldn't leave her alone.

Because Sonja was not a mean-minded person by nature.

Though she tried to self-righteously shrug off her persistent inner voiced self-recriminations, she was finding that she could not.

Why should she foist, an obsessive expensive shoe and nail-polish buying, foot-pampering demanding sex doll - her rogue-programmed Intimate Friend - upon some inadequate, poor pathetic sap of a limp-dicked, lonely heart girlfriendless loser, to suffer because of the shortchanging wrongdoings of her unscrupulous tightwad employers?

Sonja's revenge tactic wasn't sitting well with her. She desperately wished she hadn't done it. But she couldn't turn the clock back.

But, maybe she could un-do it?

Sonja had now found herself another South London job; well, just an hour ago the Head of an IT company she'd made application to had called her on her mobile, enthusiastically responding to her star quality CV submission and the glowing references from her previous employer. He'd wanted to know: When can you start?

This was great news for Sonja. The best. At last, things were starting to look up. Just as she knew, they would.

Now that she'd soon have more money in her purse, she'd be able to start enjoying the London scene in earnest. And within weeks, she'd be able to make the trip back home to Serbia, to visit for a week or so her much-missed mum and dad and her younger brothers and sisters - during her phone conversation she'd cleared that with her new boss. No problem, he'd told her. He'd even arrange for her a company discounted flight!

She started her new job in a week's time, after working her required one week's notice. A full-time job. With excellent pay and conditions.

So now soon she could walk away from her present employment with Sex Doll For U.

But Sonja couldn't walk away from her nagging sense of guilt. Over what she'd done to Derek Duncan. Via Mitzi. The Intimate Friend she'd rogue programmed.

Maybe it wasn't too late? Maybe Mitzi hadn't struck yet? Maybe she could still save Mr Duncan? From Mitzi.

What an incredible stroke of luck it was, that Mr Duncan lived in the same South London town as herself. Who would have believed it? Mitzi could just as easily have ended up in China.

Sonja would call on him, she decided. Today, on her way home from work. And hope that she wasn't too late. To rectify things.

But, what would she say?

Sonja didn't know.

But she would think of something.

Sonja was good at that: thinking on her feet.


Sonja Stollenkrantz rang the bell on the front door of Derek Duncan's small flat and then waited.

She still hadn't worked out what to say.

It still being early Saturday evening, she hoped Mr Duncan hadn't gone out.

That's if he was going out. Perhaps he was planning a ... quiet night in?

Sonja hoped Mr Duncan was home. As a matter of urgency, she really needed to-

The front door swung open.

"Um ... yes?" said the young man with the pocked skin remnants of adolescent acne scars and bright carrot-coloured hair, who'd opened it.

Sonja said, "Mr Duncan? Mr Derek Duncan?"

"Um ... yes?" repeated the apparently nervous young man. Sonja thought it might be her; she often had quite a dramatic effect on guys. "Can I ... can I help you, Miss?"

"It's about Mitzi," blurted Sonja.


"Yes, Mr Duncan. I'm from Sex Doll For U, Mr Duncan. And I've come about Mitzi."

"About ... M-Mitzi?"

"Yes, Mr Duncan. I'm afraid there's been a ... a Product Recall. I'm afraid Mitzi must come with me, Mr Duncan. So that I can ... fix her."

"F-fix her? F-fix ... M-Mitzi?"

"Yes, Mr Duncan. We've ... we've been receiving complaints of ... faults."


"Yes, Mr Duncan. Faults. Haven't you noticed anything ... odd, about Mitzi? Anything ... strange? Any ... glitches?"

"No! No, I haven't! Nothing! Nothing at all! We're perfectly happy! There are no faults with Mitzi. She's perfect. Now please, please go away! And leave us alone!" cried Derek Duncan, slamming the door in Sonja's startled face.

Well, thought Sonja Stollenkrantz, turning away to walk the short distance home, her nagging sense of guilt assuaged.

I suppose that's that, then, thought Sonja.

So much for worrying about Mr Duncan.

And that was her last thought on the matter.


"Who was that at the door, Degsie darling?" asked Mitzi when Derek returned to the living room.

Derek took a moment to admire her, sitting on the long settee with her dynamite legs stretched out upon it, her feet bare.

"Um, no one, Mitzi. Just ... no one."

Mitzi had the run of his 50-inch widescreen Smart TV again, as usual.

Lord alone knows what she's watching, thought Derek. Just a whole lot of unfathomable white numbers, letters and symbols, endlessly skittering in unbroken lines across the black TV screen.

But Derek didn't mind. He didn't mind in the least. As long as Mitzi enjoyed it.

Wasn't Mitzi just great?

Not for a moment did he mind spending a measly 20,000 on her. He would probably only have squandered the money anyway.

And her fabulous Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoes would arrive tomorrow. Even though it was Sunday. Because she'd paid extra for next-day delivery.

He couldn't wait to see Mitzi try them all on - they were just what her pretty feet deserved.

Not to mention the lovely nail polishes she'd ordered too. Lots of different colours. So that he could paint her toes for her. A different shade every day. Just like she wanted him to.

It was great that he now no longer needed to pull his plonker every night, getting off to the video hotties on his computer screen. That instead, he was now involved in a healthy relationship.

Anyway, Mitzi had fixed his laptop; done something to it, so that he could no longer access the freebie video porn websites. Even if he wanted to. Which he didn't. He could only look at what she let him. And that was okay.

Now, everything was okay.

Because he had Mitzi.

Derek resumed his place, at his end of the long settee.

And Mitzi promptly plonked her bare feet in his lap. Her lovely, shapely, sexy, slightly 'sweaty', strong-cheese scented feet.

"You know what to do, Degsie darling," said Mitzi.

And yes.

Degsie did.

The End.

This story is written by David, please send comments and appreciation to