They call us Fleshcrafters

Before we continue our journey, I need to introduce my fellow Fleshcrafters. Our team consists of five primary members who each conduct research into human weaknesses - to exploit, repair or evolve:

Arianna DeCuir

First of the five, and the initiator of the Fleshcrafters is Arianna. Her aura of authority greets you long before the rubbery smell of her latex coated body does. The woman clearly has a lot of experience, but doesn't look a day over thirty, which leaves me guessing about her real age. A secret she seems to have sworn to protect.

Her primary field of research is aging and the decay of the human body.

Yanda Russel

The second member of our research team is Yanda. A voluptious and muscled dickgirl who seems to have a hard time controlling her emotions - especially the negative ones. When she's not torturing or training she seems to take a keen interest in the 'hunt' - finding newgirls and bring them here.

Her key interests are physical strenght and weaknesses - muscles, nerves, pain - the things that either restrict or increase our physical dominance.

Lacrimae Eldrich

Last of the original three is the beautiful Lacrimae. Most noticeably about the short redhead are her large, swollen balls always dangling from underneath her summer dress. So far she's the only one given birth that we know of, having birthed three daughters and a fourth on it's way, and another number of offspring inside newgirls and subjects here.

Needless to say, her field of interest is fertility, the process of reproduction and the fragile creation of human life.

Viola Gemini

The fourth to join our little troupe was me- The only 'observation' about my role within the Fleshcrafters I'll share at this point is my field of research: The Mind and direct manipulation. Don't confuse me with a common brain surgeon, as I don't deal with tissue, I deal with thoughts, memory, experience and behavior, anything intangible that will directly influence our behavior - not repairing some neurodeficiency like a common plumber.

Christian Yifu

The most recent addition to our guild is the peculiar Christian. Christian is an enigma, for about half of the time he is Christine, his alter-ego, or maybe his original self, it's hard to say. He dresses overly slutty for a girl, or overly gay for a boy, often wearing nothing but hotpants and a tanktop. He spends most of his time mimicking the girls as they get operated on, comforting them, observing them, and sometimes, becoming them.

Christian is mostly dealing with identity and how this affects others through persuasion, seduction, all the ways to indirectly influence others.

Yanda's Catch

As Yanda dragged a struggling and gagged girl into the barn everyone turned to look at the newgirl. Yanda looked happy with her catch. The healthy, rope-bound 20'er had obviously put up a fight, the tear and scratch marks on Yanda's blouse were the evidence she had not come quietly. But that's how she likes them. She seeks out the though ones and challenges them - while most of us prefer tranquilizers, Yanda likes to keep her amazonian body in shape with her sadistic sport.

The gagged girl was crying, but her well-build physique and short hair gave the impression she was indeed one of Yanda's typical catches. The butch of the group, the girl wearing the pants in her scarce relationships. She'd probably have grown up to be a beautiful biker-bitch - but for now she's stuck with us.

Yanda sat down in one of the chairs close to the girl and rubbed her crotch, revealing her impressive bulge, drawing the outlines of her firm girlcock on her tight jeans. "The bitch bit me" she snarled - almost as if she was genuinely displeased. The gagged girl looked up and struggled for a moment. Unfortunately for our latest subject, Yanda knows her stuff - and the ropes on her back seemed to do their work just fine, keeping the girl on her belly in front of Yanda as she composed herself.

She got up and gripped the girls tank-top from behind, pulling her up roughly and pressing her against one of the poles. The newgirl snorted and grunted as she was pushed against her new home - the iron shackles attached to the thick wood clicked around her heels. Yanda rose again with a smirk. "I'll need my ballgag back now - but I'd be happy to lend it to you again if you can't behave..."

The newgirl looked into Yanda's deep brown eyes - a cold stare filled with hatred and defiance. Yanda just smiled and removed the gag slowly - expecting the predictable outcome as the girl spat her in the face and started shouting. None present seemed to react much, so the girl switched gears and looked pleadingly around her, hoping one of us would suddenly be struck by remorse and set her free. Phase three in this routine is acceptance, the pleading look turns to fear, and they start crying again, screaming 'Why?!'.

Those of us that have been here over a year know this routine by heart. I can understand the anger, the hope, the fear, but the why bothers me to no small degree. We do the things where regular science hesitates to do what is required for progress, circling the solution but scared to touch. The stuff they dream of because the rewards will be well worth it if they could only make the moral leap. We are not simply mutating these girls, we are carving out the imperfections in these bodies, arranging the atoms differently, observing their results, and correcting nature's mistakes. Our tools maybe crude to the untrained eye, but our results are... remarkable. At least they will be... should become... soon enough.

A Pet Project

It's quiet in the old damp barn we use as home annex laboratory. Most of the girls are chained down, recovering from their day on the operation tables, punishment poles or pleasing my fellow doctors, most likely a combination of all three.

My own testing subject and pet, the girl formerly known as Bianca, has the usual blank expression on her face. The scantly clothed girl just lays there, her black spiky hairs looking dirty and moist but there is a certain happiness about her. Her large, dark eyes give her an innocent look, even though all life seems stripped from them. She occasionally turns in her warm spot in the hay. Apart from the scarring on the back of her partially bald head she still looks like the girl she was when she first came here. Funny how looks can be deceiving...

Bianca used to be such a normal girl. She grew up without complaints in a protected environment. The safe suburbs gave reasonably good childhood and she was ready to enter 'the real world' having finished university amongst the top of her class. What happened next however, no school or parenting could have prepared her for...

The day after her graduation she's walking her dog down one of the sunbathed lanes in her area. Out of nowhere a van with tinted windows pulls up next to her and pulls her inside, removing her from everything she ever knew as safe. She was taken hostage, and a ransom note was send to her parent's address. As far as she knows, the negotiations 'failed'. She'd have been killed if not for some fat gangster who was unable to keep her hands of her - using her, abusing her and passing her around every day for the next five years.

Once the pig got tired of her she was sold and shipped - to us. The traffickers we deal with are the scum of the earth, but at least they train their girls properly. It'd be a lie if I said they are better off here but at least they don't seem to care as much as newgirls, having already accepted their fate a while ago.

I know all this because Bianca told me. She might have been brought here by force, but she stayed by choice. She was actually relieved when I told her the experiments and operations we'd be conducting on her. Altering her memory, erasing part of her and replacing it with new identities, program her brain. She said it'd feel like a vacation, not having those memories. I'm worried about how her co-operation will effect the results, but so far she's mast the most progress of all four mindslaves. Her routines are becoming consistent and her awareness of self starts to fade every day, and yet with every day she seems happier...

A Perfect World

The price of a perfect world is perfection is expected. No longer something to be admired. Anything else is sub-par. This journey starts on a world that craves perfection like a junky craves it's drug.

This world is the natural habitat of our rare breed. Some calls us demons, some call us insane, most call us 'The Fleshcrafters'. We merely provide a service, researching the boundaries of physicality, documenting it. Admittedly I've seen the look of perversion in the eyes of my fellow doctors who seem to take a keen interest in deforming our test subjects beyond recognition. This however, is but a small part of our research - as my primary focus is braincrafting.

The editing of the various brain lobes is a fascinating process. One that does not allow trial and error - but the results offer such satisfaction I could never derive from mere physical modifications.

For now I am happy testing my dear pet - so far I've managed to limit the damage and actually booked some results in my goals to program her with simple tasks she would perform like clockwork. I'll have to see how she develops, this could be the break I've been looking for.