The package arrived on a Thursday. I was so excited that I could barely contain myself. For all of the pomp and circumstance of my purchase, I had to laugh to myself about the plain wooden crate. I almost expected a customer representative from CETS to have brought the package to my door personally, accompanied by a five piece brass band. I mean, I had spent enough to merit this kind of treatment, as well. As it was, the innocuous package loomed on my porch and might as well have been something ordered through Sharper Image.
Six months before I first approached CETS. I was celebrating my promotion to Senior Management and found that all of my new co-workers had their own personal unit. I wanted to keep up with the Big Boys and needed one of my own. I went through the whole spiel. The song and dance routine that lead to a velvet soft sale. My rep was clever. He knew how to appeal both to my vanity and my bank account while handling all of the sordid details. He transformed the experience from what could have been a simple catalog selection and user's manual to an Experience.
I underwent a battery of personality tests, credit applications, and psychological examinations. After my selection, I was enrolled in a six week training class that ran for four hours every Wednesday night. It was a major investment in time and cost but I knew it'd all be worth it once this moment arrived.
I don't remember the first time I heard about CETS but the idea was repulsive. It went against everything that I had been taught all my life. But, somewhere deep inside, it awakened a piece of me that I couldn't admit existed. It appealed to an idea I had when I was little. Someone to take care of me, in every way. Complete control. There was a safety there that was comforting. I was always the person who took care of everyone else. This was a chance for someone to take care of me for a change. Though morally repugnant, I found myself thinking about it at the oddest times. When I caught myself masturbating at the same time, I finally admitted that this was for me. Plus, the money was exactly what I needed.
I could spend five years toling away at a shitty job where I was far more degraded and make a small percentage of what I'd make in five years at CETS. And, if the commercial was right, I wouldn't remember anything anyway. I'd wake up five years later with a healthy bank account and feel like only a day had passed. And, who knows, maybe I'd choose to keep the memories if they were fun.
I underwent a battery of personality tests, psychological examinations, and physical evaluations. After my selection, I began a rigorous six month program of re-education and surgical procedures that configured me to the exact specifications which had been demanded. It was a major ordeal but I knew it'd all be worth it once this moment arrived.
A better description for the crate, once I saw inside, would be "coffin." This was the impression that the satin lining provided. The woman inside, stiff as a corpse, added to this as well. Her arms were crossed and there was almost a deathly pallor to her features but this was explained away by the specifications I agreed to at the showroom. I retrieved my notes, including the quick "cheat sheet" that CETS provides to new customers, and gave the initiation command. "Initialize," I said. I thought I may have been too quiet at first as nothing happened immediately. I was on the verge of saying it again when I caught sight of her chest rising and falling slightly.
The combination of drugs and hypnotism put the "subjects" (as we were always called publicly) into a near-catatonic state. We were especially "zonked" during the last three weeks of "programming" when the doctors finally added real wires to us—just as we had been "rewired" mentally. I was awake during this time but it was as if I was looking at someone else undergoing the procedure rather than myself. That my physical appearance had been altered significantly increased this perception, I'm sure.
That first word that my Owner spoke took me out of the deep trance into which I was placed before being boxed and shipped. Thank goodness the programming had removed any latent claustrophobia! I was sure that a good deal of my fears had been whisked away over the preceding six months. There was no telling what an Owner would do to his property and baseless fears needed to be removed to give the Owners more pleasure. I wondered how deeply the programming went. If my Owner told me to put my hand into a flame, could I do it? Would I? Would the second skin protect me from the heat? Certainly it could prevent abrasions and removed all unwanted body hair and sweat production (funneling this into an elimination procedures that was taken care of during "Daily Maintenance") but were we safe from the elements?
Though my pupils didn't deceive me, I looked into my Owner's eyes and felt that he probably wouldn't be putting me int harm's way. He looked like children did back when Christmas was still a legal holiday.
I think it was the eyes that caught my attention first. They opened as she leaned forward. They were an unnatural hue of violet and, when the light struck them, the pupils didn't react at all. Then I noticed that they didn't shift. Rather, the whole head turned when "looking" at its surroundings. "Her" surroundings. It was difficult to personify an object but the paperwork requested that I do. I had opted for a "Female" model and there was even a story that went along with this particular line; the Susan 0147. I had been given a packet of material at the showroom and could recall some of the highlights of the fictional background the CETS unit had.
It sat up from its casket and initiated a series of diagnostic tests, twisting each joint before finally placing a foot outside the box and walking in the herky-jerk walk with which even the best CETS units exhibit. It, I mean "she", appeared flawless. There's always something so wonderful about a new piece of equipment. Her "skin" was polished, her "hair" bright and perfectly coiffed, and I could hear the creak of her joints before they were fully lubricated. Seeing how good she looked, I was glad I had opted for the self-grooming package which was guaranteed to keep her in tip-top condition.
Finally, she turned, blinked, and kneeled down at my feet. Her voice box emitted a hollow but fairly emotional rendition of "Awaiting further instruction, Master."
The sound of my own "voice" startled the hell out of me. I hadn't been allowed to speak for four months. What I heard wasn't my own voice, per se, but a mechanized version with a metallic tinge. It sounded like my voice over a satellite line to New Tokyo and back again.
I felt myself getting wet. This response had been conditioned into me, as automatic as a computer program. Behind the full lens eyes, I could see the affect that I was having on my Master.
Seeing her, kneeling down before me, gave me an immediate erection. I noticed the gloss painted across her lips, they looked wet, soft, and ready. Her knees were parted, keeping herself open at all times as the CETS units are programmed to do.
It was time to indulge myself, to test Susan, and feel the privilege that went with my new position and possession. Remembering back to the list of commands I ordered her, "Fellate Master."
I wasn't surprised that this was the first thing he wanted me to do. I had been prepared that most Masters will require fellatio more than anything else. This is why my mouth had been coated with a special film that provided better stimulation (including a small electrical vibration). CETS had also performed surgery to reshape my palette as well as ridding me of my gag reflex. I was now a cocksucking machine, amongst my other special skills. I was now, literally, made to do this.
I removed Master's cock from his trousers and heard myself cooing in an automated response. This garnered an equally appropriate reaction in Master as I felt his cock twitch in my hand. I heard my "eyes" move up, as if to look at his face, but my real eyes (behind the coverings) were on his penis as I took it into my mouth. A few gyros adjusted, forming my mouth and throat to fit him better. Every blowjob from a CETS doll was custom to the man enjoying it.
Her mouth fit me like a glove. I felt the vibration that CETS units are famous for. It was accompanied by a warmth and wetness that almost felt real. Her head began pistoning up and down on my penis, I could see the slick silicon-based oils that glistened like spit. And, I swear, I heard the unit moan as she pleasured me.
I knew exactly how he liked his cock sucked. It was part of my internal matrix. I ran a finger along the underside of his balls until I found his asshole. The faux dermis of my finger produced a fine layer of lubrication that helped me enter him with ease. Once inside, air was pumped into the "finger," filling up his ass and placing pressure on his prostate gland.
She did everything I liked, and nothing I didn't. I loved looking down into her violet doll eyes and seeing them "stare" back at me. She gulped and slurped at my cock like her life depended on it. The small sound of servos kept whirring and a moan came from somewhere deep inside her circuits. It was astounding. The pressure on my prostate and the sucking of her mouth finally became too much. I didn't even bother to hold back, knowing that I could (and would) use her whenever I wanted. This revelation was liberating and I think I came more from that than even the pleasure she provided.
He pumped his cum inside of me. It was vacuumed down, past a processor placed in my stomach while the internal washing process began to clean and dry his cock. From what I've been told, the sensation is gentle and delightful. I dreamed that perhaps one day, five years and some months from now, I'd have my own CE.T.S. doll to serve me. But, for now, I belonged to Master and felt complete, existing only for his every whim.