Gromet's Plaza Boundstories.net
Narelle's Discovery
by AmyAmy
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© Copyright 2015 - AmyAmy - Used by permission - first appeared on Doll Stories as "A Dolls Story"
Storycodes: Solo-F; M/f; fantasies; latex; suits; dollified; hood; bond; straps; stand; display; sexdoll; toys; insert; cond; video; armbinder; gag; enema; sex; anal; climax; cons/reluct; XX
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Narelle's Discovery 1: A Doll's Story AmyAmy Solo-F; M/f; fantasies; latex; suits; dollified; hood; bond; straps; stand; display; sexdoll; toys; insert; cond; video; armbinder; gag; enema; sex; anal; climax; cons/reluct; XX
 

Part 1: A Doll's Story

Narelle checked over the list of links again and hit send. Most were from the Gromet stories. Cindy Lovedoll and Number 11 came first, then all the other doll links. What would Scott think of her when he read those stories? Perhaps he’d read them before. He said he was into dollification, but she’d been afraid to ask him more.

His reply came back almost instantly. “So you did read the Plaza and Doll Stories too?” he wrote. “I know these stories well. Classics. This is awesome.”

Her hands trembled as she reached for the keyboard. It was more than she’d expected. Her fingers typed as if they belonged to somebody else, numb and distant. Her head was full of buzzing. It was hot, the room stuffy; impossible to breathe. She had to get some air and calm down.

“I’ll be right over,” she wrote.

She closed the chat window and sat back. She wouldn’t wait for a reply or give him a chance to tell her not to come. She had to see him right away. He might not like it when she showed up unannounced but she could deal with that. Her feet searched out the shoes she’d kicked off earlier and slipped on the vintage Jimmy Choos. She tidied her hair in the mirror by the door and put on lipstick. It was getting late, past her looking neat time, but no way was she going to let Scott see her looking a mess. He could get away with stubble and a casual shirt, but she couldn’t do that.

It was desolate on the Eastlink by Monday evening standards. Scott. Scott. Scott. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Sure, she was driving to see him, but there were other things in her life right now, weren’t there? Not really. Work would still be there in the morning.

Would he be in? Had he called her? Her phone was in her bag, wasn’t it? She really ought to get a hands-free kit for her rusty old Corolla. She’s been meaning to get around to it for a while but she only remembered it when she had to drive, which wasn’t often.

The exit came up sooner than expected. Was the traffic really that light? Where was everyone?

She pressed the intercom button. He answered almost right away. “Nelly?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Come up,” he said. The door buzzed and the lock clicked.

She clip-clopped up the stairs to his second floor apartment. What was she was going to say to him? What could she say? That she fantasized about being an inert sex-toy doll, and would he like to fuck her while she lay there like a corpse? What guy would want any part of that?

When she got there he was standing in his open doorway, waiting for her, looking at her in that way, with those hypnotic eyes of his. Oh. Wow. He was a hunk, even with his eleven PM stubble, work-shirt creased and half unbuttoned.

“That was quick,” he said.

“Quiet tonight,” she said. She went to step past him into the flat and he took her by the upper arms, pulling her to him. His lips were on hers, smearing lipstick. Her heart bounded into her throat. Her head span. She relaxed against the heat of his oh-so-muscular chest. Everything was fine again.

When she could see straight, the door was already closed. One of his hands was on her breast. The heat of his touch set her nipple tingling and her whole chest was hot.

“That wasn’t just a joke was it?” he said. “Your fantasy list? That’s really what you like? Really?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. She found her attention drifting to his belt buckle, then his crotch. How could she put it? How could she answer a question like that? He was making it easy though, wasn’t he? All she had to say was one word. But what if he thought she was some kind of sicko? What if he was only looking for confirmation before sending her away in disgust?

“I wasn’t kidding… Would it be… ok?” she said.

He coughed, something caught in his throat. He nodded furiously. “Definitely. If that’s what you want.” His voice cracked, a hoarse croak.

“Then yes,” she whispered. Her face was on fire. Her head was a balloon, drifting off into the air. She had to get back down to earth. Focus. She was short of breath. Had she forgotten to breathe for a while back there?

“What was that?” he said.

He reached around, grabbing her ass and pulling her close again. Damn him handling her like this, he made her feel like a ditzy schoolgirl. She reached up, pressed her hands against his chest and pressed him gently but firmly away.

“Yes, you…” She wanted to call him a bastard, but he couldn’t know what a potty mouth she was. She held it back just in time. “Yes, you molester.” She laughed.

“Yes? You really mean it? You absolutely really mean that? The Gromet stories too?”

“Yes. The doll stories especially. You know what they’re about, don’t you? Is that alright?”

“I think I know. But do you Nelly? It’s just a bloke fantasy isn’t it? I never dreamed there were any women into it. You really get turned on by that? You’re not just saying it because you found out about me?”

“No. Found out? What do you mean?” she said. How could she have found out? Was there somebody else that could have told her?

“I didn’t want to own up to my fantasies. I thought you’d throw a wobble.”

“So you got me drunk and dared me to tell you what I dream about?” she said. It had been a bit one sided but the way he’d done it, somehow it had felt like he was shouldering the blame for anything that was said.

“No. Well… I didn’t want to pressure you with my stuff. You answered sober though, didn’t you? You didn’t drive here drunk?”

“Of course not. Is that what you were doing with that kiss? Checking my breath for booze?”

He laughed. “Nelly, you’re fantastic.”

“I like to think so. But you can say so more often if you like. Can’t hurt.”

He laughed again. “I half wondered if you were playing a joke on me. If you’d snooped my computer… Found out what sites I visit then cooked this up as a prank. It was so on the nose. I wasn’t sure if you were on your way to rub my face in it and dump me.”

“Oh come on Scott. If I was going to dump you I’d do it by text.” She gave a big fake smile.

He didn’t respond.

“I’m joking,” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”

It didn’t look like he did. She couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t dig her deeper.

What could she say? Time had stopped.

He broke the silence. “So… I guess we’re still in the hall. You want to sit down or anything?”

“God yes. My feet are killing me. Thought you’d never ask.”

“You know you can make yourself at home here, right?”

“How can I do that when you’re crushing me like a grape?”

“Sorry. I didn’t think…”

“No. It was sweet… Hot too. Too hot. I almost lost my cool.” She smiled again. It was deliberate but genuine all the same.

She settled herself in the corner of his sofa and kicked off her shoes, wriggled her stockinged toes to relax them.

Scott sat down opposite her in a springy Ikea chair and dragged the coffee table over so it was between them. There was a writing pad and a pen on it. Why hadn’t he sat down next to her on the sofa so they could snuggle? This was like a business meeting.

He fixed her with that hypnotic gaze. “So, you think we could make some of those things a real game?” he said.

“Well…” What should she say? She wanted to say yes, but maybe he wasn’t ready for that? Maybe she wasn’t ready for it either. Fantasies were one thing, but doing it another. Even as a game, it was a big step. She’d never done anything like this before, had she? Her stomach twisted up. She felt sick. Good thing she hasn’t eaten anything since lunch.

She took another look. He was smiling. Excited. On edge. He couldn’t stay still in his seat.

He broke the silence again. Coughed then found his voice. “You wrote in your email… ‘I love reading this but maybe it could be part of a real sex game. Some bits are impossible, but others I hope to role-play one day.’ Did you really mean that?”

“Did I really say that?”

“Pretty close. I remember it I think.”

“I guess it must be true then. I want to do it. I mean… If it’s alright with you. Otherwise, just forget about it. It wouldn’t be the end if we didn’t do it, right?”

“I really want to try those games with you. I want it more than you can imagine. You’re so beautiful, and funny. I’d do whatever you wanted, even if I didn’t like it much, but honestly, these are my fantasies too. It feels like all my dreams came true together.”

“It’s not the sort of thing you go into lightly though, right?” she said. Had he just called her beautiful and funny? A dream come true? If this wasn’t so important she’d go back and make him say it again.

“Some of it is easy. We could do it any time. But the whole package… We’d have to prepare right?”

“I guess so.”

“Would you dress up as a doll? Would that be ok?”

She nodded slowly. “That would definitely be ok. Don’t worry so much.”

“Do you dress up as a doll by yourself?”

She went to bite her lip. Stopped herself. How could she get to out of breath just sitting down? “I… I guess so. Sometimes. Not a sex doll exactly, just a doll.”

“Have you…” he hesitated, chewed his lip like a naughty boy. “Have you ever worn rubber before?”

She looked away, staring across the room at the big concave-screen TV on the far wall. “A bit.”

“What does that mean?”

Her face was on fire. How did he do this to her? There was nothing embarrassing about rubber right? Compared to the doll fantasies it was nothing. It wasn’t like she was into some weird German stuff.

“I have a couple of dresses… Some stockings… Gloves… And a suit. It’s not a very good suit. It only cost a few hundred bucks off the rack.”

“No toys?”

“Oh come on?” she said. What was this, the inquisition? What next, her masturbation habits? Though, maybe that was what this came down to in the end. Maybe she could answer his question more easily if it didn’t make her sound like a lesbian.

“Eh? Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes.” She grunted, looked him in the eye. “Yes, I have toys. Just vibrators. No rubber toys. No dildos. No strap-ons. No double ended snakes. I’m straight, or didn’t you notice?” Stupid Scott. He could be such a buzzkill sometimes.

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… I was just trying to figure what kind of rubber things you were familiar with, or had.”

“And what’s your rubber experience? You hiding a vacbed around here somewhere?” she said. Might as well turn the tables on him. See how he likes it.

“I have three made-to-measure suits that I wear a bit. Front zip, back-zip and neck-entry. I have various socks and gloves, about a dozen light hoods and masks of various kinds and two heavy hoods. Plus some badly-made junk I bought when I started and never use now.”

“Oh…”

“I know it sounds a lot right? I’m not really into rubber though. It’s just the only thing I can play at by myself.”

“And toys?” she said. He’d got her for a second there. So much stuff. He was quite the rubber pervert. She’d never have guessed. It seemed a waste. He didn’t need rubber to look hot.

“I have some butt-plugs, different sizes. A pump gag. Enema kit.”

“Butt-plugs?” Enemas? What? Was Scott some kind of sissy? No. It was impossible, he was definitely all man. There wasn’t an effeminate bone in his body. He’s shown her that a few times already.

“I probably shouldn’t have said. Forget I mentioned it. I’m not gay either. It’s just…”

“Something you can do yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re a bit further into rubber than I am. I guess, the doll stuff, I just took the rubber for granted. It’s the state of mind that turns me on. Letting go, not a care in the world. A pristine decoration. To be kept, not thrown away… You know?”

He nodded.

She lazily poked her foot up under the table, searching for his crotch. “I don’t think I could do the slave thing. The slave has to think about how to please her master. She has to worry a lot. Too stressful. A doll, she just has to be. You know? She wants to do it. She wants to please, but she doesn’t have to worry. She can’t do anything wrong.”

“Wow,” he said. “You really thought this through… Really are into it.”

“I guess I am. But it’s all in my head for now. I’ve never done it with anyone. You’d be the first.”

“So, I thought we could write it down. You… You could write down what you want, that you want to do this stuff, and that it’s your idea. Just in case… I mean, so I’m sure I haven’t got the wrong end of it.”

Write it down? Was he thinking some kind of contract? Could she stomach that? She hadn’t considered it but if she was serious about this, it would be a logical step. How else would he have the confidence to do what was needed? It wouldn’t commit her to anything, but she had to start somewhere didn’t she?

“Ok. I guess.”

His eyes popped wide. “Really?” The smile on his face was so honest, so childlike. He wasn’t like that often. It was really cute.

“So, how should I do this? You really thinking some kind of contract?”

“No. That wouldn’t be right. Anyway, contracts are BS. You can’t write a contract for this. I guess, I just want to see your intent made real. Write out, you know, that this was your idea, your decision. That you want to do it with me. That it’s just a game, a sex role-play game, where you dress-up, play a part, where we both act. Where sometimes you might be restrained, or expected to do things, but you could refuse at any time.”

“Safe words?”

“No, no. I mean with a doll… Any word is a safe word, isn’t it? If you say you want to stop I can take it at face value. It’s not a no means yes game.”

“That makes sense.”

So she wrote it out.

And then she wrote the list, about the sort of things she’d consent to.

* * * * *

Narelle hesitated, bit down on her lip. Scott was going to be angry with her.

Scott lowered his brows, gave a low growl. He looked her straight in the eye. “Nelly. Good dolls don’t mess up their lipstick. Dolls don’t move unless their owner moves them. They definitely don’t speak.”

Couldn’t he understand, this game had gone too far? What he was asking was far too much. Too much of the wrong sort of thing.

“But… Scott. I don’t know if I want to keep playing this way. Maybe we could build up to it, but right now it’s going kind of fast.”

“Fast? You don’t know?” he hissed through his teeth. “You don’t know? You’re totally fucking spoiling it. For fuck sake, can’t you stay in character? I’m doing this for you. Can I do anything right? I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It was Scott. It was what I wanted, but not straight away. Not so intense. It’s like it’s eating at you.”

She couldn’t take Scott’s stare any longer. She glanced down at her glistening rubber-covered body. She really was like a shiny plastic doll. That part was perfect.

The suit made her breasts look enormous. Most of the time Scott couldn’t stop looking at them. It had been weird. Humiliating. It was even more demoralizing to be the one who broke eye contact first. Like admitting she was wrong; that she was arguing about nonsense.

“It’s all a fucking waste then. We may as well go home. Maybe we can get a refund for the rest of the week. Don’t fancy my chances though.”

“Don’t be like that… Please,” she said. It must have been expensive to book the house for the week. His treat, he’d said. Her fantasies. She had enjoyed those stories, hadn’t she? This was nothing compared to what happened in them.

“Be like what?” he said. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m just disappointed. I wanted you to be happy. I guess I fucked it up again.”

What did he mean again? “No. No. You haven’t. I just need a little time to adjust, that’s all. It’s scary.”

“It’s supposed to be, isn’t it?” He shook his head slowly. “It’s not easy to get into this character, you know?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m spoiling it all. Ruining my own fun. Wasting your hard work. I just need a break.”

“You were the one who told me that the non-con part was the hottest. Finding yourself stuck. Not being able to stop being a doll. Suspecting that your lover is training you as a toy to sell. Her New Position and all that?”

“Well…” She forced herself to look him in the eye again. “That last part. I didn’t really like that bit so much. I like the romantic ones better. You know? The ones where he keeps her forever?” She put her hand on his black-rubber clad thigh. The muscles were hard, taunt, burning hot beneath her hand.

Scott exhaled loudly again. Then he took a deep breath and another quiet exhalation. She could feel the tension flowing out of him.

“Be honest with me ok?” he said. “Can we fix this?”

“I think so…” She swallowed, her throat tight. He waited silently. “No. I know it. I wrote it down, didn’t I? I just need a break. Then we can talk about how to move forward. Is that ok?”

“Let’s have a rest then. I’m going to get out of this suit. You want to go first in the shower?”

“No. You go. I’m going to take a walk. It’s hot out. I’ll shower when I get back.”

“You alright to get out of that suit by yourself?”

“Well, a hand wouldn’t hurt,” she said. She moved to get off the bed. Her balance went. Her knees wouldn’t bend any further.

She was falling forward.

His hands caught her. Easily. So strong. “Look out! You ok?”

“These boots are lethal,” she said. “Sorry, I forgot.” She was shaking again.

“I guess you shouldn’t try to stand up until you have them off,” he said.

His hands did something to the fastening at the back of her neck. A stab of cool air touched her skin, spreading down her spine, stopping between her shoulders. He was doing something else behind her back but she couldn’t even feel what it was, then the corset slackened. A feeling of relief, but also pain, as her crushed ribs and belly expanded and the blood rushed in.

“You ok from here?”

“I’ll manage.” She looked back over her shoulder at Scott. He was already heading for the ensuite.

The bed was creased. The sheets had been replaced with soft black rubber but they were creased anyway – dents in the mattress where she’d sat on the edge of the bed just now, gradually fading; more dents from her new position.

She peeled off the hood. Sweat ran down from her matted hair, getting in her eyes. She blinked away the sting. The opera gloves had to go next. Fitted over her suit, they peeled off easily and fell to the floor, inside out. The suit had attached gloves but they were thinner, easier to work in.

The sound of running water came from the ensuite. She squeezed the sides of the busk together and the corset unhooked, all but the annoying top hook. She wasn’t used to these things. It wouldn’t come loose. She slid it down to her waist but it was still stuck. She sucked in her tummy, marshalling her strength to try again. It wouldn’t shift. She was too weak. Pathetic. She took another breath and tried again. With a ping the last hook popped free.

Panting, she let the heavy, metallic-blue, rubber corset drop to the floor. Damn, it was hard work getting out of this suit, even with it slacked off. Now she could reach up and undo the back zip.

She groped behind her, reaching up between her shoulder blades for the partly unfastened zip. Her aching shoulders rebelled. Too stiff. She rolled her shoulder-blades and swung her arms around. Flexed her hands.

She reached up behind her and this time found the zip-pull. It came down a few inches and then stuck. It had caught on the flap under the zip. She clenched her teeth and jerked the zip up and down, reaching around with her other hand to guide it.

At last, the zip slid down. Down. Down between her buttocks, forward through her crotch and then up again.

The suit pulled free from her skin with a disgusting shlupp sound. The stink of sour sweat and rubber surrounded her, so deep she was drowning in it, but at least the air was cool on her exposed skin.

Damn, she’d forgotten about the boots. At least she could get her hands out of the attached gloves now – work on the laces without the slippery rubber in the way.

The first knot came undone without much trouble. From here it was just a matter of unhooking the laces. At least the stupid boots weren’t eyelets all the way up. Probably, even Scott would have lost patience with that.

A noise behind her. Was he out of the shower already? She turned around. Scott was there, naked, a towel in his hand, water still dripping from him. She blinked more sweat from her eyes and looked again. God, he was buff. A spiralling tension in her belly was enough to make her hold her breath.

Her gaze drifted down to his crotch. His penis was limp, brown, weighted with promise. He grinned and pantomimed following her attention down to his package. Feigning surprise he looked back at her, meeting her gaze. Half a smile. His expression was soft now, a gentle look in his eyes.

All the tense anger vanished from his face. How could she be angry at this man? Caught there in the dim light filtering through the closed curtains, he seemed so tender.

He glanced down at his hardening member. “S-sorry,” he said. Nerves in his voice. “I just can’t believe my eyes. Can’t believe how lucky I am. To have you. To do this. It’s a dream come true. I keep wondering if I’m imagining it all. Is this all in my head?”

“I feel the same.”

He laughed. “No. I don’t measure up to you. You could find a hundred guys better than me.”

She should tell him not to be ridiculous. She should tell him that she was the lucky one. He wouldn’t like it though. He’d just get more awkward. How could a guy as handsome as him lack so much confidence? Those eyes of his she could drown in were enough by themselves – never mind the broad mouth with its strong lips, those perfect teeth – his tight muscled body would make any girl wet herself. He was sensitive too, occasionally even funny. Shouldn’t she be focussing on his personality and not his cock? Sometimes she could be such a slut.

Her hand shaking she returned to the final knot, struggling to get it undone. Was it getting tighter?

“Here let me,” he said.

He knelt down in front of her to work on the knot. Droplets of water ran from his still-wet hair, dripping onto the rubber of her half removed suit. In an instant he had the lace undone.

He lifted her leg and gently pulled the boot away. Firm fingers pressed into the base of her foot through the rubber of the suit. Pain and pleasure shot up her tired and cramping leg.

“Trigger point?” he said.

“Oh boy. Yeah. Keep doing that.”

“I can feel it.”

He also did killer foot-massage. Was he simply too good to be true?

* * * * *

She walked to the water’s edge. What was it about the sea that always drew her?

Sand crunched between her bare toes. A strong breeze blew through the flimsy linen sundress. It lifted her floppy straw hat. It was almost torn away before she caught it with her hand. She used both hands to settle it firmly back on her head. Straw blonde strands of her short bobbed hair, whipped into her eyes despite her oversized Chanel sunglasses.

She’d been wearing a full rubber suit, like in the stories. How would she have felt if she’d shaved off her hair as well?

Looking up and down the beach, there was nobody in sight. He’d certainly found an isolated spot. A few hundred metres away up the hill was the Ocean Road with its regular tourist traffic. She listened carefully. No sound of a car. Nothing but the waves. The road wasn’t even visible from down here.

The sharp scent of her own stale sweat caught at her. She should have showered before coming out. Now that she attended to it, there was a keynote of rubber. It was steeped into her skin. Last night, the scented bath water hadn’t completely rid her of that smell.

The sun was well past its zenith but it was still burning hot out here, even with the breeze. It burned through her dress like it wasn’t there and her pale skin prickled with the heat. One hand on her hat, she walked out into the surf. The chill of the water nibbled at her ankles as her feet sank into the soft wet sand. Something out there was calling her. She couldn’t hear it clearly enough, or maybe she didn’t want to go.

Why did she always end up fighting with Scott? He went to so much trouble. Why did she find herself resenting it? The sex was great. Unbelievably, he even shared her kinks. She’d never expected to find a man who would understand her urge to be a doll. She didn’t understand it herself. She made up explanations but they were just pop psychology excuses. She had a clue now, there were things buried deep in her and she had no idea what they were or where they might lead.

Sure – thinking back to when she was young and her mother was in her wild stage after the divorce – there had been an incident, but nothing more than a word really. What had he said? “You look like a perfect doll just sitting there watching us. So still.”

That man, she didn’t even know his name, and he hadn’t even touched her. She hadn’t been traumatised. Had she? It had been a time of peace in an awful time. She felt a warm glow of nostalgia thinking of it. Her mother’s other boyfriends had been uniformly horrible to her, with the beatings and the other things. The doll man, he’d just smiled and promised her a present if she stayed quiet and still.

So, what was so appealing about becoming an inanimate toy for a man? A silent, motionless, sterile fuck-toy. The idea of slipping down into that trap of a life, bit by bit, unaware, until she found she was in too deep to get out… Why did that turn her on so much? Why couldn’t she stop coming back to it?

No sane person would want that to happen to them. She didn’t either. Not for real. No way.

Scott had put so much effort into this. Got her measurements. Bought the rubber clothes. They must have cost a fortune. He had a good job but he wasn’t rich. He’d rented the house, at the expensive time too, over Christmas. It was the only time they could get away from work together for longer than a couple of days. He hadn’t let her pay a dollar, despite her complaints. She shouldn’t have let him get away with that.

When she sent him the links to the stories she liked, had she really thought about what they entailed? Had she given Scott the wrong impression? Did she really like the things in those stories? Did she really want to experience them as if they were real? And if she did, would it change her?

She’d masturbated to those stories again and again, skimmed through them, the words hardly touching her, none of it real. Now, even as a game, the idea of surrendering so completely, becoming so helpless; it was terrifying, dark scary stuff. She would be utterly dependant on Scott. Did she trust him that far? Was her lack of trust the problem?

There might be pain or humiliation. She’d have to endure. What if she couldn’t?

She couldn’t lose Scott now. He was the perfect man. Yeah. No point denying it, he was probably ‘the one’. If she couldn’t make it work with him, chances were she was destined for an empty future of one-night-stands; of lonely evenings in bed with her tablet, Christmases where her mother made condescending, sympathetic, noises when she said she wouldn’t be bringing anyone else; or worse.

Now there was an irony, her mother feeling superior about her romantic life. Narelle never wanted to be like her. She still seemed to have a new boyfriend every time they met, just now they were older and better mannered.

They were just playing a game. A game she’d asked for. She should be having fun. She had been enjoying it so far, hadn’t she?

Just a game… Sure. But Scott was a perfectionist. There were five more full days here. Could she cope with five days of him in character? Could she stay in character herself? Would she even have a choice? What had Scott seen in those stories?

She should have been way more specific about what she was prepared to do and what she wasn’t. There was no ‘off limits’ list on her declarations. Didn’t that mean everything else was excluded by default? Maybe Scott hadn’t seen it that way. Already, she’d hurt him by backing out, edging away, complaining about the corset and the boots. He took these things so seriously. It hadn’t been easy to convince him that she really enjoyed this fantasy, that she wasn’t just doing it because he wanted it.

Over the last few weeks, they’d had sex a lot of times with her just lying there, inert. Sometimes she’d worn the suit she’d bought herself. The first few times he’d cum right away and it hadn’t been as much fun as she’d hoped. It had taken more tries than she’d expected before he could relax and handle it – before he really believed she was being honest with him – had she ruined all that?

Maybe the best thing to do was to give up now and try and patch things up – put this failure behind them – return to how things had been before they talked about any of this?

* * * * *

She showered and rubbed herself with lotion to protect her skin inside the suit. It helped take away the smell. She ran her hand through her still-damp hair, checking it in the mirror. The rest of her was perfectly smooth, she’d had a full waxing session in preparation for the holiday, though she waxed regularly anyway. She dressed in the dolly suit by herself. She knew to use a lot more talc this time. After she slipped the hood over her face and settled it in place, she looked again in the mirror. The opaque hood hid her hair well enough.

She went through her lipstick routine. First the lip balm, then the liner, then the super heavy stay-put applied with a brush. While she waited for the first coat to dry she slid the doll contacts into her eyes. Wearing the contacts was like wearing sunglasses. They’d been her idea; something she could do to make it easier for Scott. The fake pink irises concealed how the pupils of her own brown eyes shrank and dilated. It was amazing how lifeless her rubber covered face looked once they were in.

The second coat of lipstick still wasn’t enough. She waited then added a third for a really plastic look. Why hadn’t Scott got a hood with rubber lips, like in the stories? Maybe they didn’t make them, or they didn’t work very well? Perhaps he liked to kiss her real lips? Though as a dolly she hadn’t been kissed very much.

She stepped out of the bathroom. Scott was already in his suit, his eyes hidden behind the mirror lenses of the hood.

“You look fantastic,” he said. His face was hidden under the hood. What expression was he making?

“Thanks,” she said.

“I guess, from how you’re dressed, you’re ready to go further?”

How should she answer? She hesitated.

“Or if you like, we could leave it at this. If this is enough it’s good with me. More than good. Really happy. I’m so lucky either way. This is for you. I just want you have whatever you want.”

“No. I want to go with whatever you had planned.”

He grinned. That at least she could see even with the hood. “Great. That’s really great. You’re sure though? Absolutely sure?”

She was over the hump now. She’d made her decision and it would be all downhill from here. Hopefully. “Yes. I’m sure. Start when you’re ready.”

“Well. I was thinking. Maybe you could say something. So we don’t argue this time, we can make a promise? Would that be ok?”

He was afraid again. He’d lost his nerve after the argument. It was probably her fault. She’d have to prop his confidence up again with some kind of declaration. Why was he worried? She’d written so much already.

“Sure. Anything,” she said.

He picked up his phone. “I’ll video it instead of writing, to save time. Ok?”

“No worries. What do you want me to say?” She clasped her hands behind her back and gave a sort of flounce, batting her eyes at him. She put on a funny voice. “My name’s Jessica and I’m a recovering rubber slut. This is my therapy.”

Scott laughed. “Goddamit. I love you Nelly.”

Her mind turned to dust and crumbled. He’d dropped the L-word, just like that. She’d just been goofing around. What did it mean? Anything?

He started talking again before she could think about it. “Oh, I guess, just say that you’re looking forward to us playing a fetish game and you’re expecting me to do whatever it takes to stimulate your fetish and that once we’re playing I should treat any apparent resistance from you as fake and part of the game.”

He held the phone up, pointing it at her.

He was recording her. In a rubber doll suit.

Could anyone even tell it was her? They’d know her voice though, wouldn’t they?

No. She wouldn’t think about things like that. She had to trust him, or what future did they have? She’d been so helpless earlier. This was nothing.

“Don’t worry. I’ll delete all this once we’re done. I won’t let anybody find it.”

“Hello. My name is Narelle Grey and I like fetish games. I’m about to play one now with my boyfriend Scott.” She waved to the camera. “This game was all my idea and I’m into some pretty funny stuff … as you can probably guess. Scott has made up a scenario for us to play. I don’t know what it’s going to be and that’s part of the fun, but I’m probably going to bound up in rubber and there’ll be lots of sex that I’ll be helpless to prevent. So, in case you’re wondering, I’m consenting to all that up front. More than consenting. I can’t wait for it.”

She paused. What should she say next? What had he wanted? Oh, yes…

“So, if I seem to resist, or protest, or complain or seem unhappy during the game, I want Scott to understand that’s just pretending. I won’t really be resisting. It will just be the game. For the record, I want him to do all this to me. I’ve sent him loads of examples of what I’d like to happen in the game. I trust him completely to decide the limits. In the game, I’m his dolly and he can do anything he likes to me. Anything. Though I hope it won’t hurt.”

There was something else, the most important part. This was the part she meant most of all. It was for Scott, it didn’t matter about the camera.

“So, I promise that this time I’m really going to be the best dolly I can be. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die…” There was something on the tip of her tongue. If only she could remember… No. It was gone. “What do you say, Scott?”

“I promise too. Seriously. I’ll stick with it, even if it gets difficult, but all I want is for you to enjoy this. Just relax and have fun. This weekend I want to put my satisfaction second. But I can’t promise not to enjoy myself.” He laughed.

“Did you get all that?” She asked.

“I’ll check,” he said. He played back the video. They both watched it through.

“This suit fits pretty tight doesn’t it? I couldn’t really see how good it was in the mirror. But why the padded bra?”

“It’s a fully tailored suit. The basic ones flatten out the chest. It just wouldn’t look right for a doll.”

“Oh,” she said. “I wasn’t complaining, just curious.”

“I’ll step out a minute, when I come back I’ll find my doll?”

She nodded.

He flipped off the light and went into the other room, no doubt to fetch things for her to wear. She lay down on the bed and spread herself out, becoming the doll. She stared at the dark ceiling, relaxing into the rubber sheets. She tried to blank her mind, letting the passive softness flow into her limbs, leaving them limp. With the contacts in place, she still couldn’t see much, even though her eyes had adjusted to the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains.

What would be first? The boots or the corset? He was bound to go right back to those items that had caused so much trouble before. Something slipped over her hand and up her wrist. A glove? Her fingers were pressed into a cone, trapping her thumb in her palm. She tried to flex them, found they were surrounded by some kind of foam. It gave a little but was basically solid; the kind of stuff they made camping mats out of. A broad strap tightened around her slender wrist.

She didn’t need to test the mitten to know there was no way to pull it off without undoing the strap. Her right hand was completely useless. Things had become serious right away. She couldn’t go back on her word now. She might have guessed something like this would happen sooner or later. Maybe it was for the best? The less options she had, the less temptation there would be to try and back out. Probably that was what Scott was thinking too.

The second glove slipped over her left hand. If she let him do up that strap, she might as well really be a doll for all the fight she could put up.

He paused, her blank doll stare was reflected in the mirror lenses of his hood. Was he waiting for her to give him a sign? How could she tell him to go ahead?

She exhaled a slow careful breath and relaxed as much as she could, trying to stay as motionless as possible. Time passed in slow motion. A few seconds felt like eternity.

He pulled the strap tight and buckled it. It was done.

He rolled heavy rubber stockings up over her dolly suit legs. This was something new, she hadn’t seen these before. They provided a strong even pressure, like support bandages, or those socks people wore for long-distance flights. Next came the familiar stiff boots that laced within a few inches of her crotch. The stockings made them a tighter fit than before, even stiffer. She could barely bend her legs now. The boots had five inch spike heels. As she’d learned earlier, standing was impractical, and with her knees frozen, even crawling wasn’t an option.

There was a warm feeling in her crotch; she was getting squishy inside.

He lifted her up and fed the corset underneath her. With his strength closing the busk was easy. He rolled her over onto her front and began to tighten the laces. The corset was a long one, reaching from just below her breasts to down over her hips. It took away most of her remaining motion. There were d-rings built into it, on either side, at the waist level. Double ended clips dangled from them, ready and waiting.

He tied off the laces. It didn’t feel as bad as before when she’d complained, but it still had a very firm grip on her body. He hooked suspenders between the corset and the stockings. Even from her own perspective, her waist looked tiny. The idea of what had been done to her was making her incredibly wet. She was already leaking. Would he notice?

She couldn’t even move about to test the severity of her bondage. What was the point of it? Her promise held her immobile anyway.

Scott wheeled a heavy metal stand into the room. A square frame on swivel-chair casters. Where had that come from? Cross-bars in the middle supported a central upright that reached almost to her crotch height. He was going to sit her on it somehow, wasn’t he?

He opened her crotch-zip. A welcome draught cooled her overheated pussy. His hands were on her, dipping into her eager slippery wetness. His smooth rubber-gloved fingers spread her own lubrication over her anus, then slid inside. A finger pressed inside her. She snatched a breath, the sound catching, unwanted, in her throat.

“How strange. I could have sworn I heard a gasp,” Scott said. It was ridiculous stiff voice but she couldn’t laugh. Dollies that made too much noise had to be silenced, right? “Must have imagined it,” he added in a grumbling tone.

His finger slipped into her anus again. He’d never touched her there before, not in all the other doll games. Was he going to use her that way? She clenched her jaw tight shut. She’d be a good dolly. She wouldn’t make another sound. She wouldn’t.

A firm, smooth, object pressed against her pussy lips, and slid inside her. All too easily at first, then a stretching sensation. Oh, too much! There were bumps. Each bump, each ridge was more than she could bear. She couldn’t stay silent through this. No. No. She would tolerate it. But if this kept on she would cum with a scream.

Then it stopped, leaving her hanging, her orgasm not quite started. The frustration was exquisite.

Something unyielding pressed against her anus, gradually spreading her. She tensed painfully, the orgasm still slipping away from her. She should relax. Relax. Fuck. Easier said than done with that thing pushing into her most shameful part.

She eased and the pain went away. Almost. Her tormentor took the chance to push faster now there was less resistance. It slid into her until it was too big to go any further. It hurt. Her eyes were watering. She had to relax. No. There was no way to relax with that inside. She felt so strange with it pressed in there.

He pushed it in further. It was still getting bigger.

Oh God. She was going to scream. Then he pushed it a little further.

Relief.

Her sphincter contracted around the narrow part, sucking it in, burying the thing inside her ass.

Definitely a butt plug. Between it and the monster in her pussy she had never felt so full. It wasn’t comfortable at all. If this continued it would be hard not to cry or not to cum, she couldn’t tell which would start first.

She was used to things in her pussy. She liked the stretch there. A little pain brought a lot of pleasure. Her ass was a different matter. There was a nasty feeling of being invaded, possessed… Violated. That little hole was a private part of her – a dirty part – not good for sex. Scott had no business in there.

But dolls were open all holes, weren’t they? An owner could use them any way he chose. She shivered despite the sweaty heat inside the suit. A doll should be pristine, not dirty.

He continued to fiddle about with the things inside her, securing them to both onto a single U-shaped steel saddle. It was padded with foam but it was still hard as steel.

She squeezed her pelvic floor. With both of those things locked in place inside her, angled as they were, big as they were, it was impossible for her to squeeze them out. She’d never felt so ineffectual, so much like an object. This was worse than the gloves. Damn him, he could have left the gloves off and this would still have held her helpless.

Before, she’d had to fight not to cum. Now she wanted it.

She wanted it to happen over and over.

She was running like a tap and her breasts were tight and compressed in the suit, so hot. Her nipples cried out for attention but they couldn’t get any. She needed Scott... No. Not Scott. Her owner. She needed her owner to pinch them hard.

If he put clips on them right now she wouldn’t complain. No, she was forgetting again. She wasn’t able to complain. She was a doll. She’d promised him she’d be the best doll she could. She had to trust him. She was the untrustworthy one, so quick to think about breaking her promise. The thought shouldn’t even enter her mind.

He lifted her to her feet. She went with the flow. He was a big strong guy, but it would probably hurt her if he had to lift her unaided.

She wasn’t small or skinny either. Five-seven in old measure, curvy, with runner’s legs, and the scales had read sixty kilos back on Saturday morning.

He helped her forwards, towards the stand, supporting her on the impossible heels. She had to waddle. She couldn’t close her legs with the saddle in the way. It was only a couple of feet but it seemed to be taking forever.

His arms wrapped around her middle, lifting her clear off the ground. Her legs dangled useless. She really was a helpless doll in his arms. Had she been conceited to think she needed to help him lift her?

She felt a grating, scraping directly grinding through her crotch. Her weight pressed down onto the intruders inside her and she sank down into place with a sharp snap of metal striking metal. Somehow the stand and the things inside her had engaged and she was pinned in place: a doll on display.

She had dreamed of this so many times, but now it was real. Here she was, helpless and immobile on the stand, staring out with dead doll eyes. At least, that was the appearance she’d seen in the mirror. There ought to be one now so that she could see herself displayed. He definitely should have had a mirror.

It was more than she could process, a thrill that confused her thoughts. She needed to be touched and there was nothing she could do to make it happen. Nothing. Just a doll, waiting to be used.

She reached out with her leg. Damn. She hadn’t meant to move. Her ankle clanged into the lower part of the frame. It was around three feet square. The only way she could get her legs together and her feet on the ground would be to lift them up and over the edges of the frame.

She froze. Dollies didn’t move their legs by themselves.

With her legs spread so far apart she couldn’t reach the ground. A cold feeling rose up from her gut. She daren’t breathe but she wanted to scream.

Dollies didn’t scream either.

She clenched her jaw tight again. The panic would pass. The panic would pass. She had to breathe, slow and even.

Something closed around her ankle. Some kind of cuff. It fit snugly, supportively. He cinched a strap and the cuff took some of the weight of her crotch. The process repeated with the other ankle. Ah, relief. The insides of her thighs were being stretched but she could bear that more easily than all her weight pressed onto the flesh between her legs.

She sneaked a glance while he was still crouched down, fiddling with her ankle.

Even if she wanted, she couldn’t move her legs now. They were cuffed with triple straps and the cuffs were attached to the frame by bolts. There were big adjuster nuts and Scott… Her owner… He was spinning one with his fingers. No spanner needed but she was helpless to turn them with padded black rubber flippers for hands.

She had to concentrate on her breathing. It was getting hot in the suit. The pressure on her crotch had been murder. A lot of her weight still rested on the padded U-shaped bar, like a narrow, hard bicycle seat that curved around, hugging her crotch. She couldn’t shift on it at all. The things inside her were like a solid part of the seat. It had been impossible to get it out of her before her weight was on it. She definitely couldn’t lift herself off now, even if her feet could reach the floor.

She was really pinned.

Her hands were useless.

She really wasn’t getting out of this unless he released her. Fuck.

The bastard.

She was absolutely at his mercy.

Did he know how this made her feel? Had he guessed how much she wanted this? How much she feared and hated it at the same time?

Obviously, she’d given up any choice the moment he buckled on those gloves. After that she’d been unable to fight him, as if she’d have a chance against his bulk anyway. She was held by restrictions she could never remove by herself. If he walked away, she would remain here indefinitely.

But securing the second mitten, it wasn’t the moment. It had started when she’d promised… Or earlier, when she let the fucker talk her around into going through with this after she’d balked the first time.

It would be worth it though, wouldn’t it?

She could still wave her arms around and tell him in no uncertain terms how much this sucked. She could if she wanted to break her promise, and probably ruin their relationship forever. Even if she did make a fuss, he’d basically promised not to let her go anyway. All she’d achieve was her own humiliation; providing the final evidence that she couldn’t be trusted, couldn’t keep her word.

As if reading her mind, he clipped the d-ring on her right mitten onto the ring on the side of her corset. She tensed to resist him as he reached for the other hand.

His grip was so strong he didn’t even notice her fighting him. Her other mitt was clipped to the corset, without comment. Thank God. She’d never meant to struggle. It had just been a gut reaction. All she needed were slow deep breaths, but that wasn’t easy with the corset always squeezing her. Or was it the pressure in her crotch that made it so damn hard to keep from panting?

She kept her eyes forward, not following him, trying not to blink, at least not when he was looking.

He was behind her again. What was he doing? His hands were at her waist. The corset loosened. Blessed relief. Then it tightened again, tighter than before. She tensed with anger but all that did was hurt her crotch. The bastard. This was what had started the last fight. He was cutting her in half with the lousy corset.

He kept tightening the laces, squeezing her slowly. It wasn’t hurting any more, the pressure was almost comforting now, but she would soon start to ache, all down her body from her ribs to her hips. She’d learned that this morning. She didn’t have years of waist training to prepare for this. More like an hour and a half.

Damn him. She’d told him she didn’t like it too tight. She couldn’t complain this time. Not a single word. He’d go ballistic if she shattered the illusion now.

It stopped getting tighter. The rubber still had some give if she fought it. She couldn’t even swap to breathing with her chest, he’d see her breasts heaving up and down in a distinctly un-dolly-like way. She had to keep breathing with her diaphragm, but every breath was an exhausting battle against the elastic rubber.

He went into the other room. To get something? She was alone. How long would he be gone? He must have fetched some things from the car and put them out of sight while was out walking.

He was still gone. How long had it been? A minute? Two? Why couldn’t she relax? She only had to wait a little while. It wouldn’t be long now.

Damn him. Weeks ago, she’d told him she wasn’t into the waist training thing. Those woman looked disgusting. What sort of creepy perverted bitch wanted to look like that? Besides, there was no way she was wearing a corset in real life. People would notice at work. She’d be a laughing stock. There was a goth girl… Or was she a steampunk? Either way, there was one girl who wore one sometimes, but she was just an intern; nobody took much notice of anything she did.

She wasn’t like those women on the internet though… Those women? How they wanted to look… What was wrong with it? She’d always thought she was nothing like that; that her fantasies had no connection to the pictures she regretted having seen. The wasp waist shapes unsettled her. The weirdness was frightening. She’d never mentioned corsets to Scott. Why did he have to introduce them this week?

On Saturday, she’d refused to wear the corset. They argued. As usual, she’d backed down after making a fuss, feeling faintly stupid for being so inconsistent. And when she put the thing on, the world didn’t end, it was just a little pressure around her middle – not unpleasant at all. She’d worn pants that were worse. Tightening it up hadn’t really changed anything. It got uncomfortable after a while, but if she stuck with it she could probably get used to it. That would be bad though, wouldn’t it?

And now, here she was, dressed up worse than any of those pictures. Here she was, bound up as tightly as any stomach churning bondage image from some porno site. She wanted to be a living sex doll… What kind of person wanted that? It didn’t really get any worse, did it?

If she wasn’t exactly the same as the people who wallowed in shit or liked to be beaten until they were bleeding, bruised black and blue, but she certainly couldn’t claim to be superior. Actually, if she was honest with herself, thinking about those things was a little exciting as well as terrifying.

Reading the stories, she’d believed they didn’t say anything about her, but now she was doing things she’d never planned… Was her fate to be one of those people with a lifestyle so fringe that if she blogged it nobody would even believe her? Was the doll suit just a gateway to whips, chains and black-painted dungeons lined with sex toys in agricultural sizes?

Did she really want to become a freak? A weirdo, an outcast? Didn’t she want a nice normal life with a McMansion in the suburbs, a big SUV for her, a family saloon for him, and two and a half beautiful children to taxi about in them? No. That would never be; could never happen.

A worrying metal clanking sound interrupted her thoughts. He strolled back in. Outlined in the doorway, he was carrying some kind of heavy pole. He fitted it into the stand behind her so it pressed against her back. It bumped into the back of her head but it was taller than that. This stand, with the removable back-pole it was a lot like the one in Number 11, wasn’t it?

Broad leather straps reached around from behind her and tightened under her breasts, binding her to the pole. Her breasts were lifted up and displayed so brazenly. She couldn’t even tip forwards or sideways now. Worse, it was really tight. It restricted her chest and her breathing.

He unclipped her mittens, re-secured them to the pole behind her, pulling her shoulders back, pushing her breasts out further. If she flexed and pushed, she could take some weight on her arms now. They weren’t tired yet, so she did. She wouldn’t be able to do it for long.

Had she become so fixated on her breathing that she’d forgotten about her aching crotch? How could she ignore something like that? It wasn’t sexy at all. So why was she so wet? She could feel her plentiful wetness easing the discomfort of the rude invaders.

Perhaps the chest straps were taking a little of her weight too.

He reappeared holding a mask contraption in heavy black rubber.

“Fuck no,” she said. Or tried to say. Luckily, all that came out was panic choked wheeze.

The short, fat gag popped between her slack, parted lips and the mask slipped over her face. The remaining light disappeared. Tubes were pressed into her nose. She gasped for breath. It hissed through narrow nostril tubes and a tube in the gag. She could hardly take a breath. Everything tasted of rubber. She screamed into the gag but it was nothing. It came out more of a muffled raspberry than a scream, the quiet bubbling of a baby. Not even the dignity of a whimper.

The heavy mask zipped closed around her head, tightening and squeezing.

Her head was lifted, her neck stretched, and if she tensed her whole body it reduced the insistent pressure on her crotch.

Puff. Puff. Puff. Her mouth filled up with a swelling rubber mass. A few more puffs and her jaw ached with the pressure. She couldn’t push so much as a whimper past the gag. She wouldn’t be making any complaints or breaking any promises now, would she?

After a while she was sure the hood was the end of it. There was nothing more to come. What else could he possibly do to her now? But wasn’t it boring for him not being able to see her face? Being stuck in the dark sure was dull for her. She wanted to see her owner.

She tried to rattle her legs but it was hopeless. She tried to rattle her mittens but the attachments to the pole, however they worked, were silent and had no slack.

She couldn’t even bang her head back against the pole. It was probably secured from above, suspending her.

She had been reduced to a silent, sightless, decoration. The frustration was exquisite. The scenario was perfect. Absolutely real. But it was hell. She’d thought she could endure, but she couldn’t endure this, could she?

* * * * *

There was no way she could make herself cum from the seat. Not even without the big dildo and butt-plug inside her. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go. She counted her breaths into the thousands. After a while she began to suspect she’d lost count and was recounting old numbers, or had skipped some. It was pointless. How long was a breath anyway?

How long did that bastard plan to keep her here like this? She wouldn’t even be able to tell.

A sound in her ear. A faint hiss. Light in her eyes. Had he removed the mask? It couldn’t be that; she would have noticed.

No. That wasn’t it. She was looking at a video screens. Two bright glowing screens. One for each eye. She sank inwardly. It seemed like a single image but she’d used a headset like this before once, on Scott’s computer.

He’d built a ‘Rift’ into the mask.

When she’d tried it, the lousy thing had given her motion sickness and a splitting headache. It had been like looking at the world down a tube. Her field of view was better than that now, and the brightness was about right for the contacts. Still, if she got sick and threw up into the gag…

Somebody was whispering to her. So quiet she could barely make it out.

“You love being a dolly. You have always wanted to be a dolly. You want to be the best dolly possible. You don’t speak. You don’t move. You’ve just a prefect pristine dolly. You love it when your owner dresses you up in new clothes. You love it when he hangs you on display. You love it when he puts you in his bed. You love it when he fucks you. You love it when he fucks you. You love it when he fucks you. You exist for him to use…” and so it went on, telling her all the things she loved.

This subliminal voice, it was like something from the stories. Was it in one of the stories? Her New Position or something in that series? She’d never fantasised about this. She hadn’t been able to imagine what it would be like.

Was it supposed to turn her on? It was so stupid. So stupid. You couldn’t program people by playing them subliminal messages. That was just a Hollywood fantasy, wasn’t it? Right?

The crazy part was it was her own voice. It had been part of a game on the first day. She hadn’t expected him to use it for this. Why hadn’t it occurred to her? She would have said much more insidious things if she’d known.

The blank whiteness of the screens changed to video. Porno. In genuine 3D. The usual fucking and sucking stuff. She closed her eyes to shut it out. It wasn’t that she hated porn but the 3D was like somebody sticking a spike behind her eyes.

The whispered messages kept coming. She couldn’t really make them out over the loud moans and grunts of the porno soundtrack but she already knew what they were saying. At least now she had something to tell the time by.

Then the dildo came alive.

The vibration was maddening at first, reminding her how much she wanted to cum. After a while it became just another kind of ache.

The fun was over. She was a mass of cramps. Her shoulders wanted to spasm. Her neck was a shooting pain. Her crotch was a numb ache. Sharp spikes of pain leaped up her legs and arms. The only thing between her and spine-wrenching agony was the trickle of endorphins from her waning sexual high and her ability to shift the stress from one part of her body to another.

The dildo stepped up a level.

If only it would step up again.

Yes. The dildo began to vibrate even harder. It was going like a motorcycle now. Her entire lower half was shaking with it. But it wasn’t enough.

His footsteps were barely audible over the porno. The hood cut out most noise but she could still hear him. The wooden floor shook when he walked on it. She could feel his approach directly through her crotch.

“How you doing in there? Probably a bit sore by now. This should fix that.”

A sharp pricking sensation in her buttock. A weird cold feeling spreading out from it. Was something going to happen?

Nothing happened. What had he injected her with? Some fucking creepy muscle relaxant? Sedatives? Pain killers? Stimulants?

His fingers were on her breasts, messing around with her nipples. What was he doing? It felt good to be touched there. If only he’d touch harder.

A jolt shot through the tips of her breasts. It wasn’t exactly at the nipples, but it was close. It felt like electricity, like an electric shock. Was the bastard electro-shocking her now?

She’d felt something similar before. It felt like her sister’s T.E.N.S. machine. Or two machines, one for each breast. It didn’t hurt. It was more a kind of prickle. It needed to be stronger.

Eek! The same kind of jolt shot through her pussy. With the vibration and the nipples she was almost there.

Then the jolts came again, and again, the pattern varying. The terrible tension that had been building so long in her abdomen that she’d forgotten it existed, released. Her pains and aches vanished completely. She was adrift. Waves from her belly carrying her higher and higher. She was screaming but the gag didn’t let even a squeak escape. She was writhing, but her bonds wouldn’t permit more than the slightest shift.

There was no limit to how hard she could push, or pull, or how loud she could scream. She could let rip with everything she had and nobody would know or care.

It was a million miles from great sex, but it was the most overwhelming orgasm she’d ever had. Afterwards she felt she’d been inside the washing machine when it hit spin cycle. She was aching, exhausted, muscles like water. This had to be the end.

* * * * *

The come down was a bitch. Surely, it would be a long time before she could cum again?

She had no idea how long it actually was. But it happened.

She managed to hold back something this time, keeping some of the sexual high.

It carried her to the next one, and the next.

She lost count of how many she managed before another big wave hit.

Now she was really done. She was like a broken toy now wasn’t she? Worn out? Used up? Run flat? There was no way she’d manage another. Not without a solid day of sleep. If only she could sleep. It would be so sweet about now.

But who could sleep, fastened like this? Even hard-man soldiers and terrorists cracked under stress-position torture, didn’t they? Well, this wasn’t exactly a stress position, but maybe it was worse.

When would her idiot owner figure out that she’d reached her limit? Or maybe he wouldn’t figure it out. Or didn’t care. He had no obligations to a doll. What if he was having a nice nap, or watching the footy on TV? It was Monday, unless she’d been here longer than it seemed. Probably no footy on TV, though maybe the house had cable, she hadn’t even checked.

The pornos were still running. The cocks, the women sucking, the adoring eyes looking up, the frenzied pumping: they all ran on and on.  Those porno people never got tired, never got bored. Dollies never got tired, but she wasn’t a real dolly. She was fed up of it. Fed up of that voice that kept telling her she was an object. Her feelings didn’t matter. Her pains, her hurts, her wishes, her desires didn’t matter. She’d promised never to care or worry again. She only had to do one thing: exist.

The worst part was that she found herself straining to hear that stupid bitch prattling on over the far louder porno sounds. Contrary to her expectations, there was no porno music. There was just the grunting and moaning, the occasional encouragement and the wet shlup shlup sounds of vigorous sex.

It all sounded fake. Empty. Passionless. The people in the video just ghosts.

Was that how she sounded when she had sex? Fake? Was that what her owner heard? No. Dollies were silent. It had been weeks now since she’d made a sound during sex apart from heavy breathing. Sometimes, in the past, she had to scream when she came. She didn’t know why. Lately, she had managed to avoid it.

It would be nice, if for a change there was a different porno, or different whispered words. It would be nice if she could focus. Ah there it was, this one was different. Why is this woman walking up to that house with the palm trees in front so unbelievably slowly? Why doesn’t she get a move on? Oh, there’s a rubber maid…

* * * * *

Scott adjusted the timing on the anal vibrator. Nelly’s graphs wiggled across the screen. He had her pulse, her breathing – from the straps – and temperature from various spots inside the suit and the dildos. He still hadn’t worked out what the measurements were telling him. He’d write something to analyse it all one day. The temperature was the only clue he could begin to understand. He had a rough idea when an orgasm was coming just from that. Still, it would be nice to have a way to tell reliably. Was there even a way to do that?

He should add some more sensors. There was one in the dildo that was supposed to give him an idea how wet she was, but the readings were mostly capped out and the rest was pure noise. He’d been staring at those lines on and off for a few hours now. Fed up of it. How must Nelly feel? Pretty worn out most likely. She’d had nearly twenty orgasms by his measure, though most were half-hearted efforts.

The rest of the time he’d been looking at her. She was a mystery. The graphs did nothing to change that. What thoughts flickered inside her almost motionless body? He could see her breathing if he looked closely but he really needed to touch her to understand anything at all.

That body, slick and smooth, curved in such a way that it drove him mad. How could a shape do that to a man? How could her simple words spear straight into his heart so easily? Normally, nothing bothered him, but with her, the slightest hint, the quietest catch in her throat, the smallest movement – anything she did – could sent him up to heaven or cast him down to hell.

It was time to take her off the stand and let her rest. He’d have to be quick to replace the gag in the hood with a different one. He couldn’t give her the chance to break her promise. If he did, and she begged him to release her, there was no way he could refuse. It would all have been for nothing. She would cheat herself.

It seemed she wanted to do this, but she was fickle. For the few months he’d known her, she’d always been that way. One moment she’d be perfectly happy and then the next she’d be in a temper about something, hissing like a gas kettle over some crazy detail when things had been fine a moment ago.

What worried him the most was that she wouldn’t meet his friends or his parents. He always saw her alone. Probably, at the end of it, she’d dump him.

If she took offence and pressed charges he’d be lucky to get away without going to prison, even with the declarations she’d written. Even with the video of her promise and the litany of dolly rules. Fuck knows what the cops would do to him for imprisoning a pretty girl like her. He’d probably wish he was dead a thousand times over.

One moment she ran hot, another cold. Perhaps… Perhaps she had some fears like his own? They ought to feel free to enjoy their game, which hurt nobody. But even in private, a nagging voice kept telling him that there was something wrong with him; that if he couldn’t conform then he would have to suffer. It wasn’t written anywhere and yet he knew it. Nobody would ever forgive him for seeming strange to them, for making them afraid and excited at the same time.

Fuck it. There was no point whinging about what couldn’t be changed.

Was it worth the risk? If he could see it through to the end, would she forgive him? Could she ever enjoy it or want to repeat it? It was a desperate hope. That made him a desperate man, didn’t it? He shuddered. It had turned cold. The air in the room was freezing. Did the air-con need adjusting? At least she was warm for now.

At least later on he could have sex with her, see her face – touch her, like she was a living thing. She would be alive, but he had to pretend she wasn’t while still knowing she was. It would be harder than before. The doll sex, it was full of paradox. He would never understand it but he wanted to do it. So did she... Didn’t she?

If he screwed up now – if she didn’t like the game – he was royally fucked. Had he gone so far that he might as well go for broke? Was there even an option there?

He slammed the mouse down in disgust, jumped to his feet and paced over to her. Fuck, she was beautiful, even with the hood on and the wires hanging out of her. The wires were an eyesore but there was no way around them for now.

Her trimmings were all in metallic blue over the top of the pale pink dolly suit. The contrast with her narrow, corseted waist made her already curvaceous hips look inhumanly voluptuous. The tailored padded chest of her suit emphasised her perfect tits. She looked as if she was thrusting them at him. She’d been teasing him with that body for hours. No. That wasn’t right, she hadn’t done anything. He’d been denying himself.

For no good reason.

He reached towards her. Hesitated. His hand was shaking. Why? What was he afraid of?

He took a step closer and reached for her breast. He could feel the heat coming off her before he touched. He took a firm grip of her breast, feeling the living warmth, the faint pulse of the blood. He squeezed and kneaded with increasing force. She was his to play with. His possession. His toy. What kind of wimp was afraid to play with his own toy?

She was too good to touch. No. Too good not to touch.

She could barely move but he could feel something tense in her while he handled her breast. He pinched her nipple, hard. Harder than he’d ever dared before. There was a slight movement from her. Her breathing came faster. She liked it.

He glanced over at the graphs, the bloody graphs. Her temperature was climbing, breathing more rapid. Even without him doing anything now she was heading for an orgasm.

He took his hand away. Leaned in close. Pressed his face against the mask. Rubber against rubber. He lifted his hand an inch. The heat was radiating off her in waves.

Below her was a wet stain on the carpet. Shit. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Her juices had been running down the stand and dripping off the bottom of it. So much. Maybe she was enjoying things after all? But she had to be low on fluids.

He grabbed a towel from the bathroom, folded it just right and pushed it underneath the stand, pressing down to soak up as much of the wet spot as he could.

He unhooked the wires and stowed them and the computer in the other room.

He searched the plastic stacker tubs filled with new toys and pulled out the big foam ball-gag. It was soft, bright yellow, about the size of tennis ball. It wouldn’t be easy to fit in her little mouth.

After loosening the screw adjuster he could unclip her head from the support bar a few inches above it. Her head flopped forward as if unconscious or drunk. A posture collar would have been a good idea. No matter, he unfastened the heavy zip at the back of the hood. There was a wet sucking sound. A warm wet odour assailed his nostrils. Despite the dolly suit hood, underneath the large hood, everything was covered in sweat.

He eased it off her face, careful with the weight of the goggles. It hung in place, secured by the pump gag in her mouth. A twist of the valve and it deflated. He needed to be quick now.

He wrenched the gag out. A gush of saliva followed it, spilling from her mouth apparently without end. It slowed to a trickle. It hadn’t been that much really, he’d just panicked.

He started to press the squashy yellow ball into her mouth but she resisted.

He froze.

Should he let her speak?

Maybe she wanted to stop. Didn’t she have the right? But hadn’t he planned this already? He was in too deep.

No way to stop now.

He had to do what had to be done. He felt sick. His head span. No. He could throw up later.

He took a firm grip of her jaw with his hand and forced it open. She wasn’t resisting that hard really. He pressed the ball to her mouth, this time hard enough to get part of it between her teeth. After that it was easy to stuff the rest of it in, forcing her mouth wide.

There was lipstick smeared all around the mouth of the dolly mask. Her eyes were open. Staring. The contacts didn’t’ hide that she was shocked. Tears were running from her eyes though that could be for any number of practical reasons.

He buckled the straps of the gag behind her head and beneath her jaw so that they cut into the softness of her face through the pink rubber of the dolly skin. It had to hurt at least a bit.

What could he do? He had to buckle it tight. If she spat the gag out and started screaming it was all over. He’d have to quit. If it ended like that he was done for.

He popped the contacts out of her eyes and put in some drops from her bag. Her tears flowed freely, streaming down her mask. The contacts did add to the effect but she’d said not to leave them in overnight. He might be too tired to take them out later.

Her head lolled forward. He lifted her chin and set her head straight. He took his hand away. She held her position. Did that mean she was still on board with the game? She was still playing the doll, still keeping her promise – she had to be – she’d be shaking her head or acting up otherwise.

He let out a breath. He’d been holding it for a while it seemed. His back felt stiff. Tension headache was setting in. How must she feel after being restrained for so long? Much worse probably. And yet she still didn’t move.

She wasn’t good with pain, probably wasn’t prepared for bondage. That was the problem with people, you never knew what they were thinking. Was she hating him right now?

He released her hands from the stand and clipped them to the rings on each side of her corset. He hesitated. Looked back at the straps. The mitts had loosened around her wrists. He tightened them up a notch. She wasn’t getting free that way.

Rather than unbolt her ankles he undid the shaped and padded cuff straps. She didn’t kick out. Her legs hung immobile. A good dolly.

He undid the chest straps and gripped her around the chest and the crotch to lift her. The crotch bar had a simple tube fitting welded to it that fit over the stand upright. It was drilled so he could put a bolt or a split-pin through it, but he hadn’t bothered before, so all he had to do was lift.

It was stuck. He twisted her back and forth and it slid free. He was holding her full weight by the chest and the crotch bar. Fuck, she was hard to hold onto. He ought to wear a belt to lift her. Nobody would make an actual doll as heavy as this.

He lowered her onto the rubber-covered bed. He needed time to breathe. He was sweating inside the suit. Better not risk leaving her for long. Still panting for breath he spread her legs and cuffed her ankles to the bed. The most she could do now was sit up. Actually, that would probably be impossible with the crotch bar still in place.

He undid the nuts that held the butt-plug and then the main dildo and eased the crotch bar away. The plug would be hard to get out, the narrow part was barely half an inch while the bulge was three times that. He’d chosen it so it would hurt going in and hurt coming out. In theory, she’d be reluctant to try and push it out on a whim, but would that really work?

He grabbed the end of the big motorised dildo and pulled. It slid out easily, quicker than he’d expected. It was still wet, covered in slime, the metal electrodes glistening. There was no trace of blood.

Next the butt-plug. As soon as he pulled, she bore down. It didn’t want to move. He could get it out but it would really hurt her. Maybe continual pressure would do it? Let her relax into it?

After thirty seconds the plug began to move. It cleared the hump and popped out into his hand. It was covered in clear slime, blood and shit. Good thing he was wearing gloves.

Her anus gaped open for a few seconds. Weird. He’d never seen anything like it before. Slowly, it closed up.

He reached in with a baby-wipe to clean her and it came away with blood stains. It was pretty much normal for a plug like that, but even so… Could he put a plug like this back into her, knowing how much it would hurt? How could she possibly enjoy it with her low pain tolerance?

He threw the shitty plug in the bathroom sink and washed his hands. Washed them again. And again.

Using a towel, he cleaned up her mask, working around the gag, wiping away the tears and the smeared lipstick.

* * * * *

Her owner climbed on top of her. Heavy. Something pressed against her pussy. No foreplay. Dolls didn’t need things like that. He slid inside her easily. She was still wet from before, though most of it had crusted on the insides of her thighs, on the stockings and the boots.

His hands reached underneath her, grabbing her ass, digging in and gripping her hard enough to lift her hips slightly off the bed.

He pumped into her furiously. Slam. Slam. Slam. With each stroke he pounded against her clit. His weight rubbed against her breasts, half crushing them.

This was what she’d dreamed of.

She’d been hanging on the edge of orgasm since he’d touched her on the stand. When he’d handled her breast she’d understood, this was what she’d been waiting for.

The touch of her owner.

Now he was using her, with no consideration, no thought for her or her pleasure. Just using her, like a thing. The rest had been prelude.

She was a thing. A doll. Motionless. Not even a puppet. Not even a phantom.

She let the orgasm go all the way, screaming into the stifling, jaw-breaking gag.

He came a moment later. He’d barely been going a minute.

A few strokes more and he collapsed on top of her.

She could barely breathe.

A little air whistled either side of the gag, sputtering saliva specks with each breath.

She mustn’t try to move.

With the corset, the weight on her chest was too much. She mustn’t panic. She tried to kick her legs but they wouldn’t move. She wriggled her elbows. Her arms were numb. She’d lost sensation in her hands after he tightened the wrist straps. Her fingers had gone cold, and then vanished completely. She’d tried to wriggle them but they wouldn’t move, or perhaps she couldn’t feel them moving.

She didn’t have the strength left to do anything but breathe and even that was becoming too much of an effort. Soon her vision would turn black and that would be the end. No. She couldn’t die.

He sighed, then rolled off her.

He lay there a while then got up and wandered off. She could hear him making tea. Maybe he was eating, she couldn’t be sure. She had food on her mind.

She hadn’t eaten since the morning. He’d let her suck some fluid through tube that pressed in the corner of her mouth. It had been thick, tasting a little sweet and salty. Probably, it was supposed to taste like cum, but it was obviously wasn’t real.

The only light in the room was from the doorway. She could just about make out the figure on the stand: another doll.

It had to be an actual doll. She was certain there was nobody else alive in the house. If not certain, close to it. It would be awesome if Scott had more dolls and she could be arranged amongst them in displays.

The stories had other women who pretended to be dolls. What if Scott brought in somebody else? Maybe he would go that far. How would she feel? She hadn’t considered that aspect when she sent him the links. It was definitely not on her wish list.

There were lesbian parts in those stories, parts where the maid sucked on the pussy of helpless dolls like a furtive rubber vampire, and the owner ignored it. She was definitely not up for that. She shouldn’t even have thought about it because now it was nagging at her.

Her owner strolled back into the room and flicked on the lights. The other doll was dressed in a pink dolly suit just like hers, wearing a white rubber nurse uniform over it. She was fastened to the stand just as she’d been, including the mask with the pump gag and built-in-screens.

At least while it was on the other doll, she didn’t have to wear it.

Her owner undid her gag, pulling the foam ball from her mouth. That thing was the worst. She hadn’t worn gags before this morning but she would prefer any gag over that.

She tried to move her jaw but it was locked up with cramp. Her lips were numb and dry. Her tongue was unresponsive. Nonsensically, she almost swallowed the wrong way, nearly choking.

He pushed a rubber covered ring-gag into her mouth and buckled it in place. The straps cut into her face, it had been numb before but some sensation had returned and now she was hurting again.

Her ankles were released, but immediately he bound her legs together with straps at her ankles and knees. The boots meant that she couldn’t bend her legs.

She was flipped over onto her face, drool running from her mouth onto the rubber sheets. It was hard to resist poking her tongue out.

His fingers worked at her wrist. The foam lined bondage mitt slipped off her hand. Blood rushed into her numb fingers setting them afire with prickles. The tickling was unbelievable. She clenched her jaw resisting the urge to whine.

Her other hand was released. She didn’t even dare flex her fingers to work out the stiffness, but she probably couldn’t move them anyway. Not yet. Her owner rubbed and massaged them. He was wearing rubber gloves and the fingers of her dolly suit glove squelched as he worked rubber against rubber.

He stopped his massage and walked away from the bed. Her hands were still sore and useless. If only she could get this doll suit off and drain the sweat out of the gloves and feet.

Instead, she felt a weight on her back. A pouch was pulled over her hands, then some kind of sleeve was pulled up her arms, drawing them close together. A strap was pulled around, between her breasts and up over her shoulder, buckled in place. A second strap from the other side crossed over the first.

He’d buckled her into a single-sleeve arm-binder. This was hard-core bondage. She should do something to stop him. But what was the point? She’d already endured the stand. This was not so different.

He tightened the straps on the binder, drawing her arms closer together, forcing her chest to push out and her shoulders to pull back. It was unpleasantly tight. Her shoulders were aching already. He rolled her onto her back and the pain doubled.

She was lifted up like a load of wood, one arm under her thighs, another below her shoulders. He put her down on the floor of the large walk-in shower. Had she glimpsed an enema stand?

This was going too far.

A lubricated finger pressed into her anus, violating her again in a routine way. She hardly had the energy to resist. She tried anyway but the finger still got in, then it was pulled out. Something hard and cold pressed into her. It was too narrow for her to stop it. It went in deep, hurting as it was buried inside her.

There was a pumping sound and a matching sensation of inflation and stretching inside her bum-hole. Logically it had to be an enema nozzle. It grew until it felt as big as the plug, then it grew some more. She daren’t try to push it out. Removing the plug had been painful. This would be worse.

Despite her promises, she whimpered as the liquid began to fill her. The only way it could be worse was if it were another woman doing it to her. After a few seconds her belly ached. The pain built up in waves. Her belly began to gurgle and rumble. Shouldn’t her owner have slacked off the corset for this?

The pain of trying to force out the nozzle was an obvious prospect. She struggled to resist the urge to push out. The urge to push kept growing. When would it stop?

She lost control and pushed anyway. Nothing happened. The plug wasn’t moving.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him shut off the tap on the enema bag. The cramps in her gut were terrible. She’d hardly taken any liquid in at all. This was nothing like the stories where people filled up like water balloons. She couldn’t do that anyway, not with the relentless corset.

When would he release the nozzle? How long did he plan to let the pain go on for? Was this supposed to be fun? There’d been mention of enemas in some stories she liked but nothing like this. They were pleasant things, not this invasive, painful, filthy humiliation.

If she ever did this again, enemas would be top of the banned list, followed by giant ball gags and arm-binders. She wanted to be a doll, not a rubber pain-sausage.

He released the pressure from the nozzle. It didn’t pop out immediately and he had to pull it free. At last the enema began to trickle out of her and onto the floor. The stench was wretched, the stench of death.

She gave a push and the rest of the liquid burst out in a rush and a spray of foul gas. At the same time she lost control of her overfull bladder. Eventually, the flow slowed but continued to dribble. It was the worst embarrassment of her life. She would never be able to look Scott in the eye again.

He hosed her down using the shower massage head and warm water. The warm sensation was delicious. The anger and frustration started to melt away.

She was pulled from the shower, massaged and rubbed with warm towels. If it wasn’t for her aching shoulders she could fall asleep.

He crouched down and lifted her. Once again she was helpless in his arms. Why couldn’t he do a bit more of this?

She sat on the bed while he fed her milk from a travel cup. It was hard to drink through the ring gag and she struggled not to choke. Gags and bondage made the smallest thing such a chore.

He blindfolded her again and pushed her down on the bed. It wasn’t long before his cock was pressing against her again. No! He was using the wrong hole…

* * * * *

A day and a half later he released her from her latest bondage and slowly stripped away the layers of the suit.

She lay inert and silent, ignoring him. Eventually, she fell asleep.

Waking, she flexed every stiff part of her. The pruning of her fingers and toes still hadn’t abated. Naked in the bathroom, she helped herself to ibuprofen and washed them down with glass after glass of water.

She put on her bathrobe and went out to confront him. He was outside, sitting on a bench under the shade-cloth. A few metres of scrub lay between the house and the beach. The view of the surf and the waves was unimpeded. A blue horizon stretched as far as she could see; a pretty view on a day like this. There should have been a storm.

The sea looked so clean and pure but underneath the surface slimy things were moving, devouring each other, and bones lay, restless but weighed down by concrete blocks.

She hadn’t showered. She still stank of rubber and two-day-old sweat. It felt good to be out of the dark, air-conditioned rooms. Even though it was hot the breeze was wonderful. It gave her cool licks through the robe despite the heat filtering through the shade-sail above.

His body sagged, exhausted. Days in the suit had taken their toll on him too. He covered his face with his hands. “You don’t look happy,” he said.

“I ought to be, but I’m so bloody ravaged and humiliated… So exhausted I haven’t the energy to feel anything right now.”

“Fuck,” he said. “I did my best. I thought… Oh, fuck knows what I thought... You must hate me now?”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m too tired for it. I’m not mad at you Scott. Believe me. I’m not angry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He nodded. Still unable to look at her.

She took a deep breath, struggling to find the words. “I don’t think I can finish the week,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His words were muffled between his hands.

“There were some parts of it I loved. There were other things that I wasn’t ready for. I just don’t feel right, you seeing me as something soiled. I don’t want to be that.”

“I didn’t… But surely…” he ran out of steam.

“You tried so hard,” she said. “You were wonderful. It’s me. I’m the problem. I asked for things I shouldn’t have. I don’t deserve you.”

“Are we breaking up? Can’t we work things out?” he said. He voice cracked at the end. His hands were hiding the tears.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s right just now. And it’s hard to look someone in the eye after they make you piss and shit yourself then fuck you in the ass. Especially when you basically asked them for it.”

“That’s just a bodily function everybody has. Why-”

She stopped him with her finger on his lips. He’d missed the point.

“I asked for all of it, but starting to understand what I wanted, it… I’m not who I thought I was. Not who you think I am. I don’t want to drag you into... It’s just… History. I don’t even remember it myself.”

She turned away from him and looked out to sea. There was nothing out there but the water and the horizon. From a distance you could imagine there was nothing at all but the surface of the sea, nothing beneath. A perfect world of pristine surfaces.

And seagulls.

“You mean more than ever to me,” he said.

“Let’s just go,” she said.

* * * * *

They packed and drove home as soon as she’d showered and dressed. Barely a word exchanged during the long journey.

Standing at the entrance to her apartments with her luggage next to her, she could barely summon the energy to go inside.

Scott had said something before he’d driven off but she’d been too numb to listen. She didn’t need to hear the words to know she was being dumped. What use did he have for a haunted thing like her? Besides, if he hadn’t done it she would have had to. Somebody like her could only ruin his life.

She’d been a good dolly. She’d lain there, inert while he’d used her like she wanted. Why wasn’t she happy? They’d both wanted it. They’d both cum, over and over.

What was wrong with her? She’d got everything she’d ever wished for.

It was bullshit to blame the enema, though it had been more intimate than she’d been prepared for. That hadn’t even been the problem, what was she thinking?

No. Her wishes hadn’t come true, not her real ones. That would have been impossible for Scott to deliver. He wasn’t really a sadistic sociopath. He was a nice bloke. Too much empathy for his own good.

There didn’t really seem a way that her fantasies could ever come true in the real world. That was probably for the best.

How could she resolve the contradictions? She wanted more intimacy but when she’d got it, she’d hated it. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to have a loving relationship? Maybe the mistake she’d made was giving a shit about Scott and how he thought about her.

Every time a man opened up to her, somehow she ended up breaking up with him. Up until now she’d managed to convince herself it was just bad luck. Quite a feat really.

Maybe, all she was good for, was to be alone, isolated, inert?

Maybe, it had been a sharp wake-up call?

Why not admit it? She was a stupid needy cunt with intimacy issues, low-self-esteem and a knack for hiding it from herself and others?

Maybe those woman-hating misogynist fucks were right all along… Not in general, but just where she was concerned. She was the woman they imagined all women to be, only fit to be a convenience for men… An object that had got confused and mistaken itself for a person? Or a person so shallow that they didn’t really exist at all? Just a ghost, an echo?

Those guys might be sickos, but in her heart she agreed with them. What did that make her? She’d seen her true self, her true purpose, but that would soon be forgotten again, wouldn’t it?

She wasn’t a doll, but she wasn’t much different from one. She ought to be property. She ought to be used. She ought not to be alive.

Right.

But it wasn’t her choice whether to live or die. Only people made choices like that, not things.

The choices had been made for her and would be made again by others.

She picked up her bags and wrestled her way through the door into her stairwell. At the top of the stairs she stopped and looked at her old familiar door. On reflection, it didn’t seem familiar at all. She didn’t belong in this place. Was it even her flat?

Locking the door behind her she went straight to her computer. In the few seconds it took to wake she’d stripped off her jeans and panties. She settled herself in her usual chair but something was missing. With a sigh she got up and fetched some water. It was probably going to be a long session.

She navigated to a story that was nothing about dolls; one she hadn’t linked to Scott. She’d read it more than once. It didn’t have a happy ending. At the end the heroine wanted to die but she wasn’t able to. Instead, she just went on and on, repeating the same scenes, over and over.

 

Copyright © 2015. All rights are retained by the author. This work may not be reproduced for profit or without this attribution.

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09.02.15

story continued in part two

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