Ben Newell

Activate Anna 


Sitting on the toilet lid, Hector winced as he doused the wound with alcohol. His shin looked like somebody had scraped it with a cheese grater. It hurt like hell. But he was accustomed to such pain. Injuries and skateboarding were inseparable. And he had been skating since he was fourteen. 

At forty-six, he was definitely old school. Too old, Monica would say. His ex-girlfriend had given him much grief on the matter—

Put away that toy!

You’re not a teenager anymore! 

Grow up, Hector!

Monica had disapproved of Hector’s job, too. Working at a sex doll factory wasn’t her idea of respectable employment. In tandem with the skating, this had finally proved to be too much. She had dumped him some six weeks ago, packing up her belongings and moving out while he was at work. He hadn’t talked to her since. 

After topping the wound with gauze and several band-aids he went to his tiny kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He sat on his second-hand sofa and lit a cigarette. The beer was cold and good. 

His board was propped against the wall just inside the door. Hector admired it from afar. Skull Skates deck, Tracker trucks, Rat Bones wheels, the quintessential hardcore, old school set-up. 

He regarded his surroundings. Monica’s things had given the joint a touch of class; without them, the place looked seedy. Empty beer cans, overflowing ashtrays. The current issues of Thrasher and Hustler cluttered the table before him. 

Hector thumbed through the Hustler. Internet porn certainly had its place, but he still preferred print. Old school to the core, he thought—old, outdated tricks to accompany his archaic stroke mags. 

He certainly didn’t miss Monica’s incessant bitching. But the sex . . . damn, he missed fucking her!  She was a stick of dynamite in the sack. And now she was surely balling somebody else, some asshole accountant who played tennis or swatted golf balls on the weekend. What she called a “professional, mature man.” 

Hector admired some hot ginger with freckles, tatts, and big tits. He hadn’t gotten laid in quit a while. He unzipped, pulled out his cock, and spat on it. Then he tugged and jerked and grunted and blew his wad all over the ginger’s big tits. 


“Stealing a doll? Are you nuts? That’s crazy talk.” 

“I was expecting a little more support,” Hector said. 

They spoke in hushed tones despite having the break room to themselves. Judd, Hector’s coworker at the factory, took a bite of his liverwurst sandwich. They worked in the warehouse, packing and shipping dolls for the well-heeled consumers who could afford such luxuries. These weren’t cheap, inflatable dolls. Not by a long shot. These were top-of-the-line, ultra-realistic fuck dolls meticulously sculpted by a team of whiz-bang engineers. 

Judd said, “Forget it. You’ll get fired. Maybe even sent to jail.” 

“Only if I get caught.”

“You’ll get caught.”

“Thanks for the confidence.” 

“Hey, man, you asked for my advice. I’m not going to sit here and blow smoke up your ass. Don’t do it. Don’t even think about it.” 

“Easy for you to say. You’ve got a girlfriend, a very fine girlfriend at that. You can tap that ass whenever the mood strikes. In fact, I bet you tapped it last night.” 

“Well, not to brag . . .”

“That’s what I thought. You want to know what I did last night?” 

“Not really.”

“I jerked off to Hustler.” 

“You still use stroke mags?”

“You know me, man. I’m old school.” 

“Go to a bar, pick up a slut.”

“I hate bars.”

“Get a hooker.”

“Fuck that.”

“Well,” Judd said, “I guess you’ll just have to beat your meat.”

Hector sighed wearily. “Working around these dolls all day, it’s really starting to get to me. It wasn’t a problem when Monica and I were together . . .”

“Because you were having regular sex.”


“And now you’re not.”

“Yeah,” Hector said, “and it’s just so damned tempting. Day after day, man. I work in a state of perpetual horniness. I want to whip out my cock and fuck a doll right there on the warehouse floor. Those bitches are hot.” 

“I won’t argue with that.” 

“Especially that new model.”


“Oh, man. She’s something else.”

“Look, Hector. I hear what you’re saying. You’re going through a rough patch. Monica left you and you’re lonely. But you’ll get over it. This isn’t forever. You’ll meet some hot skater chick and everything will work out.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Trust me, man.”

“Maybe . . .”

“Just don’t steal a doll.” 

Judd’s words went in one ear and out the other. Hector had already made up his mind. He was going to do it. 


Heart hammering with excitement, Hector hauled the large box into his apartment. He closed the door, locked it, and secured the chain. Safely ensconced within his lair, he opened the taped flaps with a pocket knife, finally digging into the packing peanuts where he struck gold—


A week had passed since his conversation with Judd. Good thing he hadn’t listened to his coworker. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be the proud owner of the Ferrari of sex dolls. And that just wouldn’t do. 

Hector placed her on the sofa. He actually gasped at the spectacle. Anna was a goddess. Supermodel slender with boyishly cut brunette hair, firm little B-cup tits, and the tightest apple ass imaginable. 

Hector’s cock stirred. He couldn’t wait. 

He shucked his clothes with much haste. Then he spat in his hand and lubed his prick, priming himself for the fuck of the century. He grabbed her ankles and pushed her legs back, opening her cunt for a deep, penetrative reaming. 

Hector mounted. 

Everything he had heard was correct; the countless glowing testimonials from satisfied customers were instantly verified. Anna’s pussy felt amazing; its silky folds and contours enveloped his shaft, eliciting a moan as Hector rammed it home. 

It was surreal. He had worked with these dolls for years, carefully packing them into boxes. And now he was fucking one, the best of the best.  Anna! And she belonged to him. He could have her again and again, later tonight, tomorrow morning, tomorrow night, whenever he wanted.

Anna would always be in the mood. 

Anna wouldn’t say no. 

Anna wouldn’t criticize him for skateboarding, wouldn’t badmouth his job, wouldn’t try to turn him into somebody he didn’t want to be . . .

Hector tried to slow his thrusts, but it was no use. Face contorted with ecstasy, he shot a massive load, filling Anna’s tight pussy with rope after rope after rope . . .


“Run that by me again?”

“Did I stutter?”

They were sitting in Judd’s car in the employee parking lot, talking and smoking cigarettes on their morning break. 

“I did it,” Hector said with pride. “I took my very own Anna right under their noses. It was a cinch, man.” 


“A few days ago, right after you clocked out. That big shipment out on the loading dock. Well, I was waiting on UPS, but the driver was running late. Everybody had gone home for the day, so I went for it. I backed my car in, tossed her in the trunk, and that was that. The driver showed up a few minutes later. Bad ass, huh?”

“Bad idea, Hector. These things are made to order. What happens when the paying customer doesn’t receive his doll?” 

“He calls, complains, and we play dumb.” 

“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?” 

“It’s no big deal. Nothing’s going to happen.” 

“What about the camera on the loading dock? Did you think about that? They’ll check the footage. They’ll see you heisting the goods . . .”

“I doubt it. I mean, it’s not like there was a break-in at the factory. They have those cameras for the cops, man. They won’t call the cops. 

“I don’t know . . .”

“Besides,” Hector said, “shit gets lost in the mail all the time.” 

“Yeah, shit gets lost in the mail. Small shit. This isn’t a goddamned paperback novel from Amazon. This is a six-thousand dollar sex doll. You can count on a thorough investigation.” 

“I’m telling you, man, everything will be cool. The UPS man, dude. It’s his fuckup, not mine.” 

“That’s your story?”

“That’s my story,” Hector said, “and I’m sticking to it.”


Days, weeks, months . . . . 

Hector settled into a nice routine: work, skating, fucking Anna. His shin healed nicely. He forgot all about Monica. Most importantly, nothing had been said about the missing doll. It was as if the incident had never even happened. Hector was the victor. He had rolled the dice and won in a big way. At least, that’s what he thought. 

Until the big boss summoned him to his office. 


Mr. Harvey Goldstein, the big boss, sat behind his desk. His was an opulent office befitting a man of his professional stature: cherry wood walls, exotic fish aquarium, and a stunning view of the cityscape. 

Dressed in his dirty work coveralls, Hector felt awfully out of place, as if his presence were steadily contaminating the room. He sat on the other side of the desk. He was nervous, yet tried not to show it. Play dumb, he thought. Admit nothing. Stick to your story and never waver . . . 

“Hector,” Goldstein said, “do you know why I called you in today?”

“No, sir,” Hector said. “I hope nothing’s wrong.” 

“Unfortunately, something is wrong.”

Hector didn’t say anything. 

“A doll is missing.”


“That’s right. One of our customers never received his order. We’ve tried to track the item, but our efforts have been unsuccessful.” 

Hector’s mouth was dry. His armpits began to sweat; he felt the droplets slowly slide down his ribcage. His heart rate increased, thumping a mad rhythm inside his chest. 

“Would you know anything about this?”

“Nothing at all, sir. Maybe the doll got lost in the mail . . .” 

“It’s possible,” Goldstein replied, “but highly improbable.” 

The office seemed to be getting smaller. Hector could feel the walls closing in, compressing him into a tiny, claustrophobic space. 

“We have certain safeguards in place. In a business like this, we find these measures to be an absolute necessity. Theft will not be tolerated.” 

“Sir,” Hector said, his voice cracking, “I can assure you that—” 

“You’ve been with us for a long time, Hector. You do good work, always have. If, for whatever reason, you suffered a momentary lapse in judgment . . .”

Hector didn’t take the bait. He remained silent, refusing to confess. 

“I’m not an unreasonable man. We all make mistakes. I can forgive a single transgression. Provided, of course, the prompt returning of the doll.”

“I don’t have the doll, sir. I don’t know anything about it.” 

“That’s your story?”

“It’s the truth.” 

Goldstein pinned Hector with an intense stare, his mouth set in grim determination. “Twenty-four hours, Hector. That’s how long you have to return the doll. After that, all bets are off . . .” 


A Friday night found Hector getting good and drunk in his apartment. It had been a long week at work and he was celebrating. 

The twenty-four hours had elapsed with no action on his part. Returning the doll would be an admission of guilt, and he wasn’t admitting a damned thing. 

Mr. Goldstein didn’t fool him, not for one minute. The big boss was bluffing. Hector wasn’t stupid. That garbage about a “momentary lapse in judgment” and forgiving “a single transgression” was total bullshit. If Hector returned the doll he’d be canned on the spot, perhaps even detained and subjected to criminal prosecution. 

“Mr. Goldstein,” Hector addressed the shabby walls, “I call your bluff.” 

Sitting on the sofa, he cackled with maniacal glee. Then he got up for another beer. His cell phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. He peered at the number with surprise. It was Monica. What the hell did she want? Hector hadn’t talked to her since the breakup. He didn’t feel like arguing. He was on a good drunk and he wasn’t about to let her ruin it. Then again, maybe she wanted to apologize . . . 

Against his better judgment, Hector took the call. As soon as he heard her voice he knew something was horribly wrong. Monica was hysterical. 

“My God, Hector! What did you do!? They’re going to kill me! They—”

“Calm down, Monica.” 

“They’re here in my apartment!”

“Who? What are you—”

But Hector never finished his sentence. He was abruptly cut off by a raspy male voice. “Hey, asshole. Shut the fuck up and listen. This is what happens when you try to screw the company . . .” 

Hector heard two things—

The whining of a power drill. 

And Monica’s screams. 


In a state of utter panic, Hector rushed into the bedroom to retrieve Anna. He crossed the threshold. And received the shock of his life. 

Anna stood there beside his bed. “I gave you a chance.” Her lips moved, but the voice was that of Harvey Goldstein. “You could’ve returned the doll, and everything would’ve been forgiven. Unfortunately, you had to do things your way. I’m actually sorry that it had to come to this. You were a good worker. But those days are over. Goodbye, Hector.”

Anna lunged with astonishing speed, covering the few feet between them in a split-second. She clutched Hector’s throat with both hands, squeezing with incredible strength. Hector clawed in desperation, trying with all his might to pry her fingers loose, but it was futile. Her strength was Herculean. Anna squeezed, harder and harder. Hector felt an immense pressure in his head; his eyes threatened to pop. 

He unleashed a wicked kick; his right foot slammed into Anna’s crotch. She released his neck and staggered backwards. Hector turned, fled the bedroom, and rushed for the door. He never made it. 

Anna caught him from behind, clutched a handful of hair, and hurled him to the floor. Hector’s head slammed into the hardwood with immense force. He was stunned, dizzy, unable to get up. 

Hector’s skateboard was in its usual spot, propped against the wall. Anna grabbed the board and wielded it with both hands. 

“No, no . . . God, no . . . Please don’t . . .”

She brought the board down again and again and again, pummeling Hector until his face looked like raw hamburger and the walls were coated with gore. 


Her work done, Anna raided Hector’s closet for some clothes. Luckily, they were about the same size. His shoes were too big, but she could make it in her bare feet. 

Board in hand, she exited the apartment and descended the stairs to the street. It was a long haul to Mr. Goldstein’s posh mansion in the suburbs, but Anna was up to the task. 

She skated all the way. 

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