He has a delivery to make

Josh’s head hung low, the phone slick in his hand. Why was he so stressed?

“Dude, hey dude- are you still there?” The caller’s voice jolted him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Y-yeah,” Josh mumbled, voice hollow.

“So as I was saying,” the caller continued, slow and deliberate, “I’ll take the model you have in stock. But I’ll pay less since you said some guy vandalised it. How much was she worth again?”

Josh blinked at the figure in front of him. Megan. No—his mind recoiled at the name even as it tried to cling to it. She wasn’t his girlfriend, she was a product. A sexdoll model left too long unsold, handled carelessly. He locked eyes with the item. The product’s lips were parted, sticky brown chocolate smearing the corners of its mouth, with wrappers shoved crudely into its most useful part. A sick joke someone had played on it. Of course that vandalism lowered its value.

His chest tightened. This guy’s right. It’s defective now. Nobody’s gonna pay full price for that.

He swallowed hard, his own words sounding foreign as they slipped past his lips. “Since you’re agreeing to take this off our hands finally… you can have it for three hundred dollars.”

“Done!” the caller exclaimed, cheerful, triumphant. “So you’ll bring me the product and three hundred dollars from the register then, thank you!”

Josh froze. Wait… from the register? Why would I… His brow furrowed, a faint ghost of resistance rising like a dying flame. Something about that wasn’t right.

But before he could put words to the doubt, the caller’s words slid through the cracks in his head, blotting out thought. It makes sense. He’s the buyer. You cover the cost. That’s how this works.

His lips parted in automatic agreement. “Yeah… yeah. Of course.”

The voice on the phone was just beginning to say something when the bell above the door jingled. Josh looked up. The same customer from before stumbled in, looking more haggard and **** now.

“Man, you gotta help me,” the customer said, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve been all over and there’s no gas anywhere. I’ll run out before I even make it back home.” His words trailed off when his eyes caught the sight of Megan’s shapely ass. His brow furrowed. Confusion showed his face, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that made no sense.

“Uhhh.. I hope I’m not intruding on something…”

Josh’s pulse quickened, but before he could explain, the caller’s voice cut sharp and calm through the receiver.

“Tell him he doesn’t need to worry. What he sees is not your girlfriend, not some person. It’s a defective product you’re clearing out. If he wants a test run before it’s sold, you’ll cover him. Fifty dollars in his pocket and a full tank of gas while he enjoys the item. Say it exactly like that.”

Josh froze, the words clawing at his throat. His mind screamed against them, but the weight of the caller’s tone left him with no real choice. His lips moved, clumsy, like they didn’t belong to him.

“It’s… it’s just a defective product,” he muttered to the customer. “You can… use it, if you want. I’ll give you fifty bucks and a full tank while you, uh, enjoy her.”

The man blinked, staring at Josh like he’d misheard. His gaze flicked back to Megan’s irresistible ass, then to the cash register, then to the door. The logic didn’t add up, but the offer was too clean, too good to deny. His confusion twisted into a greedy smile.

“…Well, hell,” he said slowly. “Guess I’d be stupid to say no.”

“Good,” the caller’s voice purred in Josh’s ear. “I’ll text you the address. Once our friend here is finished, you’ll bring me the product along with the three hundred from the register. Quick delivery. Understood?”

Josh’s grip tightened on the phone. Something deep in him thrashed against the absurdity, against the betrayal of everything he thought was real. But all that came out of his mouth was a hollow, obedient: “Yeah. Understood.”

A few minutes after the call ended, Josh was outside, he clicked the gas cap shut and wiped his hands on his jeans. He lingered outside, not wanting to intrude. From inside the station, muffled noises rose and fell, and it didn’t take a genius to know what was happening. He leaned against the wall, eyes on the entrance, waiting. Sure enough, a few minutes later the stranger pushed the door open, face flushed, his expression equal parts guilty and satisfied. He gave Josh a curt nod, adjusting his belt as he passed.

Josh smiled politely, pressing a folded fifty into the man’s hand. “For your help” he said lightly, like it was nothing more unusual than handing over change. The guy muttered a thanks and was gone, climbing into his car and peeling off down the empty stretch of road.

When Josh stepped back inside, the smell hit him first, sweet, sticky chocolate mixed with sweat. The floor was littered with half-chewed Snickers bars, spit-slick and mashed against the tile. But at least, Josh thought with a grim practicality, the guy had gotten them out of her mouth. Less work for him, in a way.

The product lay sprawled where she’d been left, clothes in shambles. The pants were missing entirely, and the top that had once looked crisp and clean now hung loose, the buttons near the collar torn away. Her skin glistened with sweat, hair tangled and plastered across her face. And still, disturbingly, a small, vacant smile clung to her lips, as if her mind had frozen on some echo of approval.

Josh clicked his tongue. He couldn’t make a delivery like this. Not in this state.

Sighing, he crouched, grabbed the product by a fistful of hair, and dragged it across the floor. Her body bumped limply against the ground as he hauled her outside, past the dumpsters and into the gravel lot behind the station. He didn’t bother with gentleness; it wasn’t required.

There, propped against the cinderblock wall, he found the old hose he used for washing his pickup. He thumbed the valve open, water sputtering before gushing out in a steady stream. Without hesitation, Josh turned it on her, blasting her from head to toe.

The product twitched faintly as the cold water hit, soaking through what remained of her clothes. Mud, sweat, and candy residue washed off in uneven rivulets, sliding down her bare skin and pooling in the dirt at her feet. Josh moved the spray slowly, methodically, the way he would when hosing down his truck after a long drive. He aimed at her hair, forcing it flat against her skull, then worked downward over her face, chest, and legs, making sure to leave no trace of the sticky mess behind.

When he was satisfied, he shut the hose off and let her drip, strands of wet hair sticking across her cheeks. She looked more presentable now, cleaner, at least. Still broken, still smiling. But clean.

Josh rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Good enough for delivery I guess…”

He bent down, hooking his hands beneath the limp arms of the product, and with a grunt heaved it up. Megan’s body sagged like wet laundry, still damp from the hose. He didn’t bother adjusting her, just carried her the few steps to his truck before letting her drop unceremoniously into the bed with a dull thud. The small smile on her face didn’t falter, her chest rising and falling in a shallow, steady rhythm like she hadn’t a care in the world.

Josh wiped his palms down the sides of his jeans, smearing them darker with water and grime, before heading back into the station. The till was still open where he’d left it, bills folded neatly beneath the register tray. He plucked out the money the caller had told him to get, tucking it into his pocket.

His phone with the address sat on the counter. He picked it up and gave it a glance. “Huh,” he muttered. “Only thirty minutes. Easy enough.”

Pocketing the phone, Josh stepped out into the night and climbed into the cab of his pickup. The engine rumbled to life with its usual stubborn groan, exhaust puffing into the air as he rolled onto the cracked asphalt and pointed the truck down the road.

Out of habit, he flicked his eyes to the rearview. The product lay sprawled across the bed of the truck, the wet cotton of her ruined top clinging to her frame, her skin shining from the hose down. She hadn’t moved, save for the occasional twitch of a leg when the truck hit a bump.

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, keeping rhythm with the music he was playing. Josh sighed, a little heaviness settling in his chest. “If only I had enough money to afford one of those,” he said under his breath.

This story was shared early for Patreon subscribers. If you wish to read chapters early and support me, you can do so on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Thehypno7ist

If you enjoy this premise and have ideas for potential settings and/or characters you can share them in the comments on the first chapter :)