A man and his sex doll

Your fingers dance through the holographic interface, sculpting Morgan's future with the precision of decades spent manipulating form and space. The age slider drops to eighteen—a body perpetually locked in youthful prime, never aging, immune to disease. The wireframe shifts, shrinking.

You pull height down to four-foot-nine. The body reconfigures, proportions adjusting as you work. Then you expand the breast parameters, pushing them far beyond natural possibility. The simulation shows massive, gravity-defying breasts that would dwarf Morgan's small frame—HH cups, maybe larger. The software calculates structural reinforcements automatically: enhanced spine, redistributed muscle, modified posture.

"Jesus Christ," Kira mutters, watching your work. "That's... that's ****."

You ignore her, diving into the neurological menus. The sexual response systems unfold before you: arousal baselines, desire mapping, behavioral conditioning. You adjust Morgan's neural chemistry, encoding hypersexuality into the fundamental architecture of thought. Every neural pathway you touch becomes oriented toward sex, toward submission, toward service. The software shows you dopamine cascades triggered by submission, by pleasing others, by being used.

The skill trees appear next. You grant Morgan encyclopedic sexual expertise—oral mastery, penetrative techniques, flexibility, endurance. The body will know things intellectually that take years to learn.

Morgan watches the screen, their elderly face pale. "I... Jordan, I said I trusted you, but..."

"You'll be perfect," you say, adjusting the skeletal structure. The feet arch into permanent pointed configuration—Morgan will need six-inch heels minimum just to walk normally. Every step will be calculated hip sway, every movement an invitation.

You move to facial features. The software offers a 'permanent makeup' option—tattooed cosmetics that will never fade. You select heavy eyeliner, dramatic lashes, glossy pouty lips. The face becomes doll-like, beautiful but artificial. A face made for fucking.

The voice modulator lets you adjust pitch, tone, confidence levels. You pull confidence down, way down. Add breathy quality. The sample plays: young, uncertain, dripping with unintentional sexuality.

Kira stands up. "Mr. Chen, I need to verify—this is an extremely radical modification. The psychological conditioning especially. I need verbal confirmation from Morgan that they consent to these specific parameters."

Morgan looks at the hologram—tiny, impossibly busty, a body built purely for sex. Their hands shake more than before. "I... I said full design authority. I said make us worth watching. This is..."

"This is what the contract requires," Kira says quietly. "**** sexual content. But Morgan, you need to understand—these neural modifications can't be undone. Your thought patterns, your desires, your very personality will be rebuilt around submission and sex. You need to explicitly consent."

Morgan stares at the rotating hologram for a long moment. Finally: "Yes. I consent. Jordan knows what they're doing."

Kira nods, making notes on her tablet. "Parameters locked for Subject Two. Now, Mr. Chen—your own body awaits design."