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My name is David. I’m thirty years old. I live alone, and work as a joiner, restoring and repairing old furniture. I’m writing this and including these photos in case anything ever happens to me. I think it’s fair to the women that there’s some sort of explanation for what happened to them, and that someone will take care of them like I did. They’re still alive after all, even if it is unconventional. I’ll start with the stone. I’m not even sure it is a stone, really – it’s smooth, flat and hard, cold to the touch, and round. It fits in the palm of my hand. But it’s perfectly circular, and has a regular flattened edge – it’s not a naturally occurring rock. It was stuck behind a wooden panel of a drawer of a dresser I was working on. It dropped out and just rolled around in a circle – I remember looking it over, turning it in my hands. It almost seemed like a drinks coaster, but it was a little too small and a little too thick. The client, Mrs Kelly Madison, had found the dresser in the

Dr Sarah Nayleigh was deputy chief at London Neurological Research Hospital, and was shocked to receive a call from the duty manager one Sunday about her head doctor, Catherine Chalmers. She rushed in to find security sitting with an improbably built woman – blonde, tattooed, and possessing an unnatural body the likes of which Sarah had never seen.  Her cheekbones were high, lips bolstered by filler, her breasts nothing short of colossal. A living sex doll. “Thatʼs Dr Chalmers,” said the duty manager. “She left a note explaining herself – here it is.” Trembling, Sarah took the note and read it as her college walked away. Dear Dr Nayleigh It has been a pleasure to work with you, and I want to thank you for all your help and support. I presume youʼre looking at the new me, or youʼve seen me at least. All the work weʼve done led me to this – a fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Iʼve given everything to the work, and my notes and research are yours now. I wonʼt be able to understand them a

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Dr Catherine Chalmers worked at the forefront of neuroscience, specialising in the integration of augmented body parts into the nervous system. She had done amazing things, replacing limbs, tongues, skin, even eyes. Much of her work was in the service of her own fetish: she fantasized about the perfect body, a glamorous doll with big hair, giant breasts and huge puffed up lips. All these were achievable through surgery, but she wanted true integration. She wanted to truly be her huge boobs. And, her most shameful secret... she wanted to be ruled by desire. She didn't want to think. She just wanted to fuck and consume. She wanted to revel in the desire of others. She wanted to be a true bimbo. From her own cells, she cloned and manipulated a body suit to wear. Once on, it would really be her... it was designed to be perfect, and it would never come off. Best of all, the integration with her own body would use up much of her brain's capacity for higher reasoning. In becoming a bi