She had him posed on the pedestal again, fully suited, rings glinting through the latex, chastity cage bulging obscenely, rectal toy seated deep.

She read the contract aloud in her flat, precise voice:

“You will remain my living doll. No speech unless the mouth panel is opened. No movement unless repositioned. Orgasms are granted only when I decide to ‘wind’ the doll. The suit, the cage, the rings, and your body belong to me for one year. At the end of the year you may choose to leave. If you stay, the contract renews automatically.”

She placed the pen in his gloved hand and steadied his wrist while he signed. Then she strapped him into the display frame, arms raised, legs spread, body arched. She unzipped the rear panel, removed the plug, and replaced it with a thicker one that stretched him wider. Without a word she buckled on a heavy strap-on, slicked it, and drove into him in one slow, relentless push.

She fucked him like a machine: deep, measured strokes, never varying rhythm. Every few minutes she pressed the remote and a sharp shock lanced through his prostate. His caged cock leaked helplessly into the steel tube. When he finally came, shuddering, silent, eyes rolling, she simply said, “Acceptable release,” zipped him shut, and left him dripping and trembling in the frame until morning.