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“Turn towards me, please.”
The biodoll complied.
“Raise your arms.”
She did so.
The QA’s measuring tape wrapped firmly across the surface of the biodoll’s bust as he tugged the tape tight, moving his thumb to be sure his reading was accurate.
“37 inches”.
The measuring tape tickled her breasts at her bustline’s fullest point, chafing against her nipples through the thin material of her shirt.
“My boobs hurt,” her soft voice complained in a distant deadpan. The genetic and behavioral personality rewrites had mostly set in by now, such that her temperament became fully incapable of outward displays of extreme emotions unless she was engaged in intercourse. Now, her voice carried a calm, demure, vaguely sexy tone at all times, but the QA knew that she must be screaming internally – the client had requested maximum nerve-ending sensitivity in his girl’s erogenous tissue. Not to mention everything else that had happened these past 2 weeks that may have been less than positively appreciated by the biodoll’s original deprecated male donor body consciousness…
The QA slid his measuring tape across the biodoll’s waist.
“25 inches.”
Her eyes were staring at the QA as he slid the tape down to obtain the last measurement, the breadth of her hips. She frowned slightly – a gesture that he knew could only the result of pure hatred filtered down to a pale echo of its true internal fury by the restrictions of her new biology.
“Change me back,” she said.
The QA sighed. He’d heard THAT sentence plenty of times before…
“Hips, 34 inches… not bad.”
“She’s still too lean and her waist is too wide. She’ll need another hormonal booster,” the Supervisor boomed from the production floor.
The QA’s eyes glanced across the busty unicorn girl shivering slightly standing uneasily before him. Her boobs – a pair of H cups as of yesterday – were bigger than nearly every woman’s he’d ever seen in real life, wobbling gently as her ribcage expanded and contracted with each steady breath.
“Another, sir?”
“Our client’s specification were exact. Like they say ‘the customer is always right’…”
The QA sighed, moving over to the genetic synthesis module to prepare the right serum and register the needle.
“Please don’t,” the biodoll requested calmly. But her body remained firmly planted in her place, as if the very concept of running away was completely beyond her mental grasp.
“Sorry, sweetie… just another week or so, and you’ll be ready to go…”
The biodoll complied.
“Raise your arms.”
She did so.
The QA’s measuring tape wrapped firmly across the surface of the biodoll’s bust as he tugged the tape tight, moving his thumb to be sure his reading was accurate.
“37 inches”.
The measuring tape tickled her breasts at her bustline’s fullest point, chafing against her nipples through the thin material of her shirt.
“My boobs hurt,” her soft voice complained in a distant deadpan. The genetic and behavioral personality rewrites had mostly set in by now, such that her temperament became fully incapable of outward displays of extreme emotions unless she was engaged in intercourse. Now, her voice carried a calm, demure, vaguely sexy tone at all times, but the QA knew that she must be screaming internally – the client had requested maximum nerve-ending sensitivity in his girl’s erogenous tissue. Not to mention everything else that had happened these past 2 weeks that may have been less than positively appreciated by the biodoll’s original deprecated male donor body consciousness…
The QA slid his measuring tape across the biodoll’s waist.
“25 inches.”
Her eyes were staring at the QA as he slid the tape down to obtain the last measurement, the breadth of her hips. She frowned slightly – a gesture that he knew could only the result of pure hatred filtered down to a pale echo of its true internal fury by the restrictions of her new biology.
“Change me back,” she said.
The QA sighed. He’d heard THAT sentence plenty of times before…
“Hips, 34 inches… not bad.”
“She’s still too lean and her waist is too wide. She’ll need another hormonal booster,” the Supervisor boomed from the production floor.
The QA’s eyes glanced across the busty unicorn girl shivering slightly standing uneasily before him. Her boobs – a pair of H cups as of yesterday – were bigger than nearly every woman’s he’d ever seen in real life, wobbling gently as her ribcage expanded and contracted with each steady breath.
“Another, sir?”
“Our client’s specification were exact. Like they say ‘the customer is always right’…”
The QA sighed, moving over to the genetic synthesis module to prepare the right serum and register the needle.
“Please don’t,” the biodoll requested calmly. But her body remained firmly planted in her place, as if the very concept of running away was completely beyond her mental grasp.
“Sorry, sweetie… just another week or so, and you’ll be ready to go…”
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