The Fucdoll Certification

Another night, another age spent scrolling on Reddit, scarfing down shitty junk food, masturbating, or playing video games. Actually, this time it was all of the above. A modest life, but a comfortable one.

"You coming dude?" my roommate shouted from down the hall, on his way out for the night. Of course I wasn't coming. It got in the way of cumming.

I blew him off, and got called something unsavory for it, but trying to wingman for that guy was about as much fun as stubbing your toe. He'd get over it. I had business to get down to.

I don't know you, and you don't know me, right? Right. There's nothing to be gained in acting like I'm not an outright degenerate when push comes to shove. Peeking though the blinds of my room to make sure my roommate's car was actually on its way out of the parking lot, I booted The Rig.

To the casual observer, The Rig is just your typical gamer-approved desktop PC setup, if somewhat extravagant. Triple wall-mounted monitors and a large TV hung above those, a VR headset of the highest quality, audiophile-grade headphones, and a seat that more closely resembled a sofa than an office chair completed the setup. While I did use it to play an inordinate amount of video games, it's true purpose was only ever realized when I could be sure I had the apartment entirely to myself.

Settling into my seat, buck ass naked, I unlocked one of the cabinets that served to hold up the solid desk top; pulling it open revealed my stockpile of tissues, my XL sized bottle of HydroGlide lubricant, some of the more nostalgic vintages of lotions that I enjoyed indulging in from time to time, and my modest collection of collector's edition pocket pussies and fleshlights. In turn, I pulled open the cabinet at the opposing end of the desk, revealing some of my more prized items; hard to find VHS movies, signed DVD cases, rare volumes of GoonHard magazine, and a hanger rack of vacuum sealed bags containing the used panties of a dozen of my favorite fan site models. Yes, I had those alphabetized. My door did lock, so my roommate didn't *need* to be gone for me to enjoy my little hobby area, but he was less apt to ask questions about why the light coming from under my door changed colors so often if he wasn't around to see it. How could I explain that I liked to set the mood with a $750 smart light setup when I jacked off at a professional grade masturbation battlestation once in a while? Some people just don't understand what it means to be an enthusiast, you know?

I liked things to be just so. Thinking myself a man of refined taste, I poured myself a generous glass of bourbon first. It had to start this way. Next, an open browser tab on each monitor. On the leftmost, a browser plugin ran a never-ending slideshow of any subreddit I wanted. A busty girl in the cafeteria earlier that day had me in the mood for fuller figures, so I spent a minute debating whether r /curvy or r /thick was best for the night. I hummed and hah'd, briefly considering r /bbw as I relished the first tepid sip of my drink. I'd been through all three in the last month; r/voluptuous won out, and the monitor began to spool through it's endless slideshow of heavenly beauty, a new babe every 15 seconds. I set the monitor to the right up next; Discord, with a lobby of other like-minded hobbyists to chat and enjoy with. I briefly scanned up through the conversation, reading as some of the fellas deliberated over the various merits of Lisa Ann's back catalogue of work. I'd have to have a word with the admins about who we let into the server these days; I grew tired of these mainstream casuals coming in with their derivative opinions. What's next, are we going to have to suffer through another Riley Reid phase. Please.

The middle monitor was usually for 'working'. This often meant managing my extensive drive collection of perfectly categorized media, sorted by file type, model, topic, and all meticulously tagged. When not filtering, sorting, or adding to the horde, I'd often check all the usual outlets for new stuff, either checking my subscribed fan sites or actively scrolling through Reddit or something like that. At a certain point, I'd likely get horny enough to settle on something to focus on paying some protracted attention to, so I'd screencast it to the TV, kick the recliner back, and get to work on myself. If I knew I'd have a night to myself, it could take hours to settle on something that was *just right*. This was what I preferred.

Again, I'm not here for your approval. I consider my mandate, and that of anyone else who enjoyed this hobby, to be nothing less than worship. Adoration. Devotion. Appreciation. This isn't some weird "no woman could want me so I'll just sit at home and jerk off hopelessly". No, there was just simply too much beauty in the world, and I needed to appreciate every bit of it.

I glanced away from the fan page of one of my favorite models briefly to catch up on the discord conversation.

+ Did you see that JustAdmirers is doing a crackdown?

+ A crackdown? On what?

+ Inactive pages I guess? Or low effort accounts?

+ No no, you got it all wrong. It's not a crackdown, it's like a premium thing

+ Premium? On a paid site? Fuck off. Clowns. So I gotta pay more to see tits now?

+ First, it's worth it. Second, it's *premium for the girls*, not for you.

+???

+ idk it's like a certification thing. they get a badge on the site and i think a higher cut? like the site takes less. idk idk idk

+ Yeah I'm reading it now; the Fuckdoll International Standards Certification. Looks like they submit their validation stuff and they get all the perks.

+ man fuck this shit, these bitches already get paid too much...

I only watched long enough to make sure one of the other mods banned that last guy. We didn't go for that sort of language around here, and anti-sex work sentiments we a hard no. For a bunch of hopeless addicts, we were strictly principled.

Curious, I pulled the program page up on my middle screen, playing an ASMR audio file for some auditory stimulation as I did so; the practiced sounds of a simulated blowjob by one of the top creators in the game rang like music in my ears. I scanned the page.

"The Fuckdoll International Standards Certification, or FISC, is a new verification tool that we hope will change the landscape of content creation forever!

Completing the program guarantees a number of SEXY perks, including group healthcare and dental benefits, 401k matching, discounts on future recertification and/or specialty credentials, and more!

Terms and requirements to complete the FISC can be downloaded below."

Now this is what you love to see; some actual goddamn sustainability for working class professionals. I'd need to make sure I kept a eye on who was getting verified.

The flavor of the night was going to be a tried and true classic for me, a bisexual fourway between two couples that culminated in a partner-swap facesitting scene with the guys stroking each others' greased up cocks while getting thoroughly suffocated by their wives' pussies. Oh, to be a fly on the wall of that one.

I knew something was off almost right away, but couldn't put my finger on it. I'd just acquired a new rip of the scene, but the audio sounded muffled in some way. I hovered over the icon on my screen that would show me the battery level of my headphones; 98%. I *could* hear the redhead tell her husband that she desperately wanted to suck the other stud's cock, a standout moment of sultry eroticism in this particular scene, but it lacked the usual rich depth that I was used to; I'd seen the scene a dozen times, and needed crystal clarity to really enjoy the depths of her urgent depravity. Maybe the file had been a bad one. No matter, it was easy enough to find streaming.

*tap tap tap*

Now how did that tapping end up on the file? This was some real bullshit now. I paused the video on the TV screen altogether until I could find a worthy copy.

*Tap Tap Tap*

Well that didn't make sense. I scanned all the various tabs on all the open screens. There's shouldn't be any audio playing at all.

*THUMP THUMP THUMP*

There was no way. There was no fucking way that fucking asshole had forgotten his house keys AGAIN! Not now! This was supposed to be my night! I'd told him at least a thousand fucking times to keep his car keys ON his house keys so he'd stop losing them; what kind of fucking idiot kept those separate anyway? Now I had to put pants on and everything, just for a two second interaction. Dumb fucking idiot.

*BANG BANG BANG*

"Jesus Christ I'm coming," I screamed as I tugged my shorts on while shuffling down the hall to the door, "you motherFUCKING idiot!" I turned the lock and jerked the door open bitterly as I finished my tirade.

"I'm so sorry!" said the woman at the door.

The woman. Not my roommate at all. She couldn't have been further from being my roommate if she'd been a purple giraffe. Instead of a lanky, hungover, male data analyst with a proclivity for losing his keys, this was... well, an angel. Several inches shorter than I, her dark hair was pulled into two short braids that sat lightly against each collarbone. I'd've had more concern for the genuine look of apologetic contrition on her face if I could stop focusing on the perfect band of delightful freckles that tracked across her cheeks and over her nose for a second.

"Ooh I'm really sorry," she said, obviously in earnest, "I really really shouldn't have interrupted!"

'Interrupted' was an odd choice, given that she couldn't have possibly known what she was interrupting, but I was too smitten to give it a second thought in the moment. I had to be cool. I could be cool. Being cool was easy.

"You didn't interrupt anything," I lied, "it was just that I was just, like, just not really doing anything. Just hanging around. Doing nothing worth interrupting. Not a worry. To worry. Not *to* worry." I might have sold it, but her big brown eyes forced an undignified bark of nervous laughter out of me.

"Oh good. Good," she said, sounding relieved, if somewhat distracted; she was obviously working to peek into the apartment around my body. I looked behind me, wondering with horror what dude-bro-apartment horrors might have drawn her eye. The place was, for once, relatively orderly.

"Sorry, is there something I can need for you? Do for you, sorry?" Fuck, she had me way off center. I was a mess. It was all I could do to keep my eyes above the neckline of her tanktop. It was not a high neckline, and there was a lot to try ignoring.

"I uhhh..." she said, clearly not detecting whatever she had been looking for signs of, "I might have the wrong apartment maybe. I could have swore it was this one." The way she tapered off at the end, so quizzically frustrated, was undeniably cute. The little scrunch of her button nose nearly killed me. I decided to not let this be the wrong apartment.

"No no, this is, um, what, uhh, what apartment were you looking for? Maybe this is it?" I offered, knowing that there was unlikely to be a single surface worthy of her sitting her spandex-clad masterpiece of a bottom on, let alone whatever she was actually looking for.

"Well," she paused to consider, "are there other people here maybe?"

"No, just me. My roommate left, were you looking for him maybe?"

"Did he have some girls with him?" she asked, prompting a grunt of laughter from me.

"Not likely, unless they had some flying pigs with them too."

She giggled, more than was polite even, covering her face as a small snort snuck out.

"Oh my god," she squeaked, "I'm so embarrassed! That was funny though, you're funny." The quip was exhale-slightly-worthy at best, but she was too adorable by far and my ego swelled unmanageably.

"Well, um," she said with a smacking *pop* of her glossy lips, "I guess I just thought...well, never mind. I was just wrong I guess."

I was desperate to bask in this beautiful being's halo of attention, her radiant field of influence, for any more time that I could manage; I implored her piteously to divulge what she'd been looking for.

"I just could have swore," she said, sounding again like her quarry might still reveal itself if she concentrated on finding it hard enough, "that I heard people having sex in here?"

Her furrowed, inquisitive expression played foil to the poorly disguised lie of my own charade of ignorance. I thought she might buy it, but the poorly executed shoulder shrug tipped me right off the edge of believability. Her face lit up.

"I knew it! I knew it, I KNEW it! You," she pointed at me, throwing a hip out playfully, "almost had me!" That giggle again; I was disarmed entirely. Well, almost entirely.

There really hadn't been any people fucking in here. Not live, anyway.

Abject, unbridled terror gripped me, as I realized that my headphones had sounded muffled because they weren't the ones playing my video's sound at all. The sharply defined slap of raw flesh on flesh, feral moans of lovers in heat, and squelching wet squishes of juicy holes being plunged had all played over the pair of 12" sound drivers that I normally reserved for my record player. The whole floor of the building had probably heard something. I must have forgotten to check my Bluetooth connection. Oh god above.

The jig was up. Even she began to piece it together.

"Oh," she said in a small voice of sympathetic understanding "oh, god. I am so sorry."

I waited for her to turn and walk, or run, away. Instead, she just stood there, hands rubbing her thighs nervously over the fabric of her yoga pants. She looked concerned, presumably for me. The empathy was touching. Sort of.

"Well," I said, too loud, "that really fucking sucks for me."

She froze momentarily, seemingly too stunned to speak, but sympathetic unease was slowly replaced by a wide grin, which slowly gave way to relieved laughter. It was almost frantic, and it went on forever.

I stood, like a first rate idiot, and took it. I took it all.

The snorting peels her erratic outburst, which she did almost nothing to corral this time, finally began to die down.

"Oh god, oh shoot, ohh goodness! Goodness, fuck, ahhh wow. I'm so sorry. I really am! That's actually kinda...Kinda...umm..."

I searched her face for some sign of what had stolen her focus.

She stared directly at my crotch.

I was half-masted, and plainly on display through the thin fabric of my basketball shorts.

I didn't even bother to say anything. I studied the cheap hardwood tiles on the floor, wondering how expensive a new identity was. Maybe it would be easier to pitch a tent in the woods. No, a pitched tent was what got me where I was. I'd never pitch another.

"Your cock is hard" she observed astutely. Full points for situational awareness on this one. "Why is your cock hard?"

"It just, ya know," I began, too far gone in the hell of my own making to spare a thought for shame anymore, "it just do be like that sometimes." Despite an Oscar-worthy sigh of resignation, I didn't disappear or disintegrate as planned.

"Yeah but it, uh, wasn't hard before. When I got here it wasn't hard. I don't think. I don't think, umm. Maybe it was, but I really don't think it was hard like that until right now."

"Nope," I said, rubbing my tightly shut eyes harshly, "no it wasn't." What was it about this woman that she couldn't read a room? Surely she wanted to be here about as little as I did. I glanced up at her.

She pulled a face. Not disgusted, but not perfectly satisfied either, it said quite plainly that 'this isn't ideal, but we can work with it'. She shrugged.

"Okay well, fuck it then," I arched an eyebrow at the profanity, at odds with the girl-next-door demeanor she put off, "I didn't shower for nothing." She pulled a folded stack of paper out from the back of her waistband and shoved it toward me.

I took it from her hesitantly. I hadn't met everyone on this floor of the building, but really didn't recognize her at all; I considered that she might be here to serve my roommate some legal notice or something. It would be just like him to catch a case. I unfolded the pages.

"F. I. S. C." was scrawled across the top of the page in a tidy scrawl of handwritten ink, underlined a half dozen times in a rainbowed array of highlighters. Bulleted items stretched to the bottom of the page, and onto the next, and a third.

"What the fuck is..." I stammered in disbelief. Things like "Creampie", "MMF", "Throatfuck", "Solo", and rows of other words or phrases that sounded like the filter list on a porn site.

"So this is a thing, well, sort of a thing, its like a test program..."

I cut her off.

"I know what this is."

"You do?" she sounded incredulous.

"Yeah, yeah I do." Neither of us noted the fact that my chub had resolved itself. For now.

"How do you know about it?" she asked in equal parts genuine curiosity and tempered optimism. Her brows drew up in anticipation. I dared to dream.

"How do *you*?" I pressed.

"Oh come on," she chided, "if you know what this is then you know how I know. I know you know how I know you...I...how you...Whatever. I want the FISC. I want to be a...fuckdoll!"

"Double fisting anal?!" I had listened to her, but some of the things on the list didn't sound remotely possible within the boundaries of normal human anatomy, and that's something coming from a prolific porn aficionado like myself.

She waved her hands hurriedly, warding off any chance of misconception.

"No no no," she laughed, "you don't have to do them all. There's like 100 things and you just have to do 66% of them!" She laughed with a wave of her hand, like that made it all very comprehensible.

"This is what you came over here for?" I asked, breaking my scanning inspection of the list to look back to her.

"So I just thought I heard an, I don't know, orgy or something, and group sex is on the list, and I can't get all 66 I need by myself, so I thought I'd..." I cut her off with a dumbfounded huff.

"You thought you'd walk in on an orgy like "oh hey everyone, just lemme slip on in here? And what? Get fucked?"

"Well. Yes?" She had obviously not thought this far ahead. She seemed embarrassed.

Oh god.

I'd embarrassed her.

The improbably cute, implausibly pretty, unbelievably curvy, undeniably gorgeous babe who'd showed up at my door, uninvited, with a laugh so pure it had gotten me hard, had let an ogre like me dampen her indomitably infectious aura.

"That's so hot" I gushed. I was in love.

"Hot?" She repeated.

"So hot! Fuck yeah!"

"You really think so?"

"I wish I really did have an orgy in here for you! Honest! I think this is great!"

She brightened tremendously.

"Oh my god," she said, beaming once again, "oh my god, cool!"

I slapped the pages with the back of my hand excitedly.

"I mean, look how many things you'd be able to complete on here if there was! You could do uhhh...you could knock off the group sex one, obviously. And here, MMF, you could get that one if there were two dudes. Blowjob; I mean, come on, that one's obvious. Is there a lesbian threesome? I'm sure that one would be..." I stopped as she stepped across the threshold to stand close next to me, excitedly pointing to the pages in my hand.

"Well hang on, hang on," she sputtered, "you can only do three things at a time, so see here? I did the solo, toy, and vibrator ones at the same time. Some of them are really vague, so you can do them really easily, you know?" She looked right into my face as she concluded. She was very close to me. It was incredibly disarming.

"Uh. Yeah," I had to clear my throat to center myself. I could smell her shampoo. I liked it. "Yeah that makes sense I guess." Only the handwritten list of tasks I still held offered any chance of blocking my rising hard on from her view. She giggled softly.