If there’s one perk to being a senator, it’s snorting cocaine off a hooker’s ass while doing 200 down the freeway. Or maybe that’s three perks. Hard to keep track of all these perks. I’m a busy man. Busy busy busy.

The second hooker was fellating me as we reached the bend in the freeway, so it’s really her fault for the way I misjudged the corner and careened through a concrete barricade.

My car’s a Tesla. It’s worth more than you make in five years. The FUNbag system is top-of-the-line. It doesn’t need tediously recalibrating for each new driver, it just scans the occupant and rigs the protective skin accordingly. The fact that Candi’s tits happen to be pressed against the dashboard sensor just before the crash may explain the utterly deranged proportions of the custom-made skin that blasts out of the airbag device in the instant before impacting the road below, slapping me hard in the face as a wad of warm, liquid silicone that splattered over my limbs and chest, slithering over my skin to fully enclose every inch.

The car hits, rolls, and slams into a wall.

It's not easy dragging myself out from the twisted wreckage with beach-ball sized tits. The obscene chest-mounted impact-absorbers saved my life, but now they’re breaking my back just hanging there. I give up on trying to stand with them and collapse onto my hands and knees, catching sight of my reflection in a shard of broken wing mirror.

Sirens are approaching. This won't do my senatorial career any favours. One dead hooker can be brushed under the carpet easily enough, but two tend to leave a bulge that gets the press asking questions. If the cops catch me…

I grin at the blow-up bimbo doll reflected in the mirror. They won’t find a senator, only somebody’s discarded sex doll. I crawl for a nearby alley as fast as my beach ball tits allow and throw myself down in the trash, sweeping refuse over myself and posing - mouth stretched wide for sucking, legs open for fucking.

Cops are soon crawling over the wreckage. Their torch beams sweep over me, see only a filthy toy, and pass on. Those fools! Just a little bit longer and I’ll slip away. I'll call my PR team and explain to them the official story of how two whores stole my car and-

Something moves in the trash behind me. I lie still, not dating to turn my head or move an inch with the cops so close. The FUNbag suits are rated for filtering out noxious fumes yet even still I smell him before he even enters my peripheral vision. Like he hasn’t bathed in months.

My doll face remains passive and frozen as the filthy vagrant steps into view. I thought I’d signed the ordinance to have these lowlives thrown out of my city years ago! A mouth of black and missing teeth leers down at me. Brely able to believe his luck, the man spits in his palm, wiping off one of my grime-encrusted breasts before groping it hard, his fingers sinking so deep into the soft silicone I fear he’ll feel the human flesh beneath.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he slurs drunkenly, lying back in the trash and lifting my inert form on top of him, my bulbous ass pressed against his face, my face poised above his crotch. He tugs at the rope holding his pants, pulling them down around his knees. Only the suit lining my airways and digestive system stops me from vomiting as his massive, grotesque cock springs from his pants, slapping against my open sexdoll mouth. I try to clamp it shut but too late, the tip of his cock forces its way inside, thrusting down the ribbed opening into my throat. My jaw aches and creaks as it fills me. He rocks me roughly, my mouth pleasuring every inch of his shaft. His cock throbs, torrents of cum filling me up.

“Hey,” snaps an authoritative voice, a cop’s torch illuminating the depraved scene of a vagrant and his doll. “Take it somewhere else.”

The man grumbles, and I'm hoisted over his shoulder, dripping cum. He teases the two orifices between my legs with a finger as he carries me away into the night. “I got friends who’ll trade a packet of smokes to play with you.”