Chapters Dollhood: A Woman's Choice Book 4 Chapter 39
January 2051
All was calm and quiet in the household of John Collins. Whilst he worked diligently in his study — tweaking and twisting the dials and screws on his latest project, taking measurements, utterly focused on the task at hand — he was accompanied by two ladies of the household.
His assistant Priscilla sat in her corner, a sharp woman humbled and softened, reclining on a lounger with John’s latest Royal Society paper in hand, sighing and scoffing in equal measure as she marked sections of John’s research which required refining and further evidence. Even if she couldn’t accompany him to the laboratory or continue her own research, she understood every line, and what missed her understanding would likely miss with the fellows at Burlington House.
She laid there languidly in her loosened stays and simple dress overflowing onto the floor, her unbound fingers idly following the edge of the hard, golden bands tightly binding her body under those meagre folds. I could see them — or their unforgiving impressions — glinting through her nightie whenever John was too busy to put me to bed, and I knew how they bothered her — perhaps even more than her muteness by that point, though she would never admit as much. Priscilla seemed to be someone who had never harboured much desire before, or had learnt ways to routinely rid herself of it to focus on higher-order concerns. I can only fantasise upon what a commonwoman does in the evenings with her hands unbound — as Althea once demonstrated for me — to temper her flame and allow her to focus on what tasks and pursuits the Society deemed out of my hands. Of course now her fire was trapped where it could not be satisfied, and it burdened and distracted her as my unquenchable desire did me, and I could see why Society doctrine prescribed women to devote themselves solely to honing that desire.
Her gaze drifted from the text to its author every so often, especially as he hummed and hawed about some new technical issue. He would not notice her attentions, far too engrossed in his work.
Aside from his assistant, his Doll sat passively on her plush chair in the opposite corner of the study, a new addition I had requested to be closer to him, especially after seeing Priscilla’s station here. Unlike John, I noticed her attentions, and they left me quite conflicted. I couldn’t forget the way my mother had stamped and strayed when Father emerged from his study with Belle all those years ago, but I had to trust; I had to remind myself of the ring hanging on my locket chain, nestled in my bosom — the promise John had made to me — as well as Priscilla’s diligent care and friendship these past few months. She might have seen me once as no more than a piece of arm candy, or some bedwarming appliance, but, well, at the time that’s all I had sought to be. Now her companionship was somewhere between having a nanny and a big sister. We had grown into a very odd but loving family, and I couldn’t judge Priscilla for the same feelings I held in my loins. Besides: with her gold-plated undergarments, it was a non-issue.
I relaxed, enjoying Brahms’ second symphony on headphones — once a marker of my time under the telly, and now having become a crown of sorts: a herald of overcoming my fears. I had been growing ever more confident in the weeks since my unlocking, and the night prior John had even walked in to find me arranged upon his bed in the nude, with my legs hyper-extended, feet up by my ears — a reprise of our wedding night, but by choice this time.
With such a provocative pose, he had not required my vox gag, set upon the nightstand, to tell him I was finally ready. Neither had he required that Nicean paste! Though I am confident he was tired from a long day in the laboratory, my display of eager readiness — taking this pose as my own — aroused him so fully as to make me sorely tender in the morn, something I had not felt since…
Dear Reader, sometimes I must stop my reveries to keep them untainted. The walls around my time with Jack are still fragile, even now.
Truth is, John’s touch harboured none of the malice of his father, and yet was still filled with such urgency — a result of the months of patience during my healing — that I was not left wanting in any way by the time he collapsed aside me and pulled my armless body close. He even touched my temple so I could freely rest my head on his arm, look him in the eye, and give him the adoration he deserved. A kiss on the forehead, away from my dollified lips, summarised his thesis since my rescue: that his wife was not solely her body, and though that body had been redesigned to appeal to the eye and the loins, what appealed to him most of all was the girl inside.
Now of course, I could not have presented my cunt in this display alone. Quite unlike an unopinionated automaid, I recall Priscilla’s wincing as she pushed my satin-stockinged legs far enough apart to click and dislocate, visibly doubting every assurance that I was fine, that I was once as unsettled as she was, that I was thankful as always for her assistance. Yet I also recall, later: the peculiar longing with which she had looked upon my entirely exposed, spread, and unprotected nethers from the doorway before departing. And I recall how the innocent girl in my gag had moaned and cooed from her velvet box on the nightstand with every thrust1, and how that must have reverberated through our modest home; how Pris had prepared me that next morning with fidgeting hands, how even though John had cleaned my lower holes as best he could after rising for work, I recall the way his essence leaking down my thighs had been a point of repeated, flustered glances by the lady’s maid, before I had to remind her to wash it away.
So to see her idly tracing her chastity belt and admiring him so lustfully there in the study, it was only a mirror of my own desires. It seems my offering had set in motion plenty of daydreams and infernal tensions, now that everyone was well aware what the man of the household was capable of.
The headphones were pulled off right before crescendo and I realised John had strode over to me whilst my eyes had been closed, whilst I had been daydreaming.
“Keep that up and I’ll have to get your special seat reupholstered within a few months of purchase, lovely.” He couldn’t help but smirk, and I realised the two scholars had been listening to my hips shuffling and rocking and squeaking upon the cushion in my libidinous reverie. They had just been too polite to remark upon it.
My cheeks blushed bright red, and my hips stilled.
“My apologies, sir. I will refrain from such indecency.” I spoke with clarity and earnestness, for in the weeks since my unlocking I had become quite eloquent, yet I kept my good manners and almost never initiated conversation. I didn’t want to be a bother.
“Enough with the ‘sirs’, dear. I’m not lord of the manor,” he lowered his voice half-convincingly, “I’m your husband. I hear how you speak freely with Pris, or how you speak when it’s just us in bed. Come on.”
Even though I had been left unlocked, I held perfect form, but John hooked a finger under my chin, and I couldn’t help but look up at him. He would find no expression across my plastiskin face, but by those days John could already read me so well, especially when I was pouting. He said it was all in the eyes. “Well?”
“Sorry, John.” I let slip quietly, as if it was a bad word. “It feels so wrong to simply call you by your… name. It’s dishonourable. In my head, you’re my Husband, in gold leaf letters! You’re my Owner with a capital O! You’re the centre of my world. Dolls don’t—”
“Hey, none of that school talk.” He kneeled so I wouldn’t have to arch my neck so far, which still ached some days. “Perhaps on paper, but you and I are man and wife first and foremost. Let’s say I take you to a scholarly function, and you call me ‘Sir’. They’d be liable to think I have a stiff hand with you!”
“I’d take a stiff anything at this moment.” I heard the gag in my mouth utter, before shaking my head contemptuously. “I didn’t mean that! I’m ashamed of my own sinful thoughts, sir!”
John was blushing as much as I was, and Pris had a wicked grin on, but they weren’t mad.
“I think you did, dear. Though perhaps it’s best we abide by the Mandate out-of-doors for the time being?” He joked as if it was a choice. I would not dare brandish this firehose of thoughts where it could tarnish his reputation! He rested a hand on my lap to still my mind, and in doing so my corset seemed to grow a size too tight. “Now away with the ‘sir’s! Besides, you don’t go around saying, ‘Ms. Barnes’ anymore, now do you?”
I looked over at Pris, who was still amused, tut-tutting me without a word. No, I had given that up within the first couple of weeks. I had graduated from single words like ‘hungry’ and ‘tired’ to formal addresses so quickly, I had completely skipped common speech, but with her not able to respond verbally, it had seemed unnecessary. Besides, she was just a lowly— I stopped myself. More ‘school-talk,’ as John called it, though it went so much deeper than that.
“No,” My whole mouth tightened, trying to swallow the ‘sir’ along with my excess lubricant. “No, we don’t.”
Pris stood up from her lounger and did her best impression of a noblewoman, clasping her hands behind her back, pouting her lips and gliding towards us. Even silent, she was ever a critic. John understood instantly: these were the antics I would receive those days I tried to be too formal, rigid, and reserved. Pris was always touching her chin to prod me to ‘speak’, or bringing me bits to read aloud — near-gibberish from their scholarly texts, or books on history which read nothing like the picture-books of my youth — pushing me further as she had before with my letterboard. And afterward, I would get a hug, or a touch on the shoulder, or a hand on the lap; and a smile to show she was as proud of my progress as John was — albeit more bittersweet since she couldn’t say it aloud. At first her warmth and familiarity was uncomfortable, especially compared to the automaids or even Nanny, but now…
I still wasn’t used to hearing the giggle from my vox gag, but John was laughing too, and so was Pris, in her own way. She swayed closer and put her hand on my shoulder, giving me a reassuring wink, before she nodded toward John. He hadn’t even gotten to his point yet.
“I know what you require, Hope. You’re quite awful at hiding it, but you need only ask. You remember our deal? Pris and I need you to speak up if you want something. We can help you, and we do not mind, but you must say it aloud.”
But I couldn’t say it aloud, I was far too embarrassed. A man commanding me to attend to my own relief in a side-room was quite another matter than me asking my husband or best friend to help shove a faux-cock inside where I couldn’t. Yet as it so happens, I couldn’t lie either. It was like if the thoughts weren’t earnest and true, they just wouldn’t cross the airwaves between my mind and mouth.
“Alright, then. Have it your way… How is your music, darling?” He asked quite out of the blue.
“Oh it’s heavenly!” My vox gag sang out my stream of consciousness, “The violins and cellos are my absolute favourite!”
“Lovely! See? So easy. Now just tell me what you need, dearest. It’s been a long time and you showed me last night that you’re ready. I mean, your care manual prescribes at least—” Priscilla nudged him, and he shut his mouth and let me speak. I wasn’t like other dolls.
He was right, as usual. It took me a moment to gather myself and focus, and the tiny speaker behind my lips almost whimpered.
“The doll stand.”
“Excuse me? Louder, there.”
I looked him in the eye and squeezed my legs together. “I need to relieve my excess desires with the doll stand, sir.”
John laughed, “Close enough,” and nodded toward the door. “On with you now.”
I stood of my own accord, excited by how easily my words changed my schedule, my day, my life! It felt marvellous! But the doll in me checked herself, and the once-captive in me gave him an eye of suspicion. Perhaps it was too easy. “Are you sure it is alright for me to be penetrated by—?”
“Yes, p-p-permission granted, yes!” he almost shouted. “I’m not going to keep you sated, I haven’t the stamina. Please!”
Properly reassured, I swayed cutely, batted my lashes like a Lady behind her gag might, and tip-toed to kiss my husband on the cheek in thanks — pressing my chest into him earnestly so his stamina might return in force that evening — and then I practically danced out of his study, skipping down the hall in my newest low-heeled shoes toward the doll room. My constrained lungs worked double-shift to keep up with my legs, even for such a short stretch, but I cared not. I turned on point once I arrived at the pink door, letting my dress bloom out around me as I twirled, waiting for my silent companion to catch up and open the pesky door knob: still quite unassailable for my empty shoulders.
Priscilla followed at her own pace, giving me a smirk and a peculiar eye. I couldn’t tell if she was watching for fear of me tripping without arms to break my fall, or eyeing my bouncing bosom for fear of my nips slipping out: we were trying new adhesives and fixative devices that would keep them in their fashionable shallow cups without those infernal nipple clips. At least those were the reasons I had supposed for her wandering gaze, if not for her… blushing? I bounced a little in place to show my excitement, the subtle buzzing of my lower holes reinforcing that statement, and Pris averted her gaze.
Curious.
She placed her hand on the knob, yet paused and looked down at me, giving my chin a playful tap, “speak up,” so I politely asked her to open the door with another bubbly half-skip.
But once that door was opened all my girlish energy evaporated, for not only was the gleaming white shaft and saddle of the stand waiting for me with all of our sordid history, but also Chastity — speaking of sordid history — trying her damndest to mount said shaft. With automatons banned from the premises, and us ladies accompanying John, my sister had been left to her own devices in this soft pink room, and somehow she had risen up upon her en pointe heels without assistance! We arrived to find the doll awkwardly thrusting her hips toward the saddle with her blank face flushed and sweaty, hairdo a mess, and one breast hanging exposed. Her eyes blinked blankly, staring ahead at nothing even as her body’s desires were on full display. She had evidently been trying to satiate herself for some time, but with her many-layered outfit in the way I doubt she felt much more than a firm nudging upon her sensitive bits.
Priscilla rushed past me into the room, snapping her fingers and clapping loudly at the errant doll, grabbing her rigid waist, pulling, and ceasing the pitiful display. Due to her principles — and what I had divulged of my time with Jack — Pris refused to use pain as punishment for the slowly evolving misbehaviour of Chastity Collins, the doll no one quite knew what to do with. Whilst the scholars treated me as a cherished pet, Chas was like our unwanted mutt. Aside from my sporadic attempts to get her to communicate, I left her be; John was ambivalent beyond ensuring her upkeep was handled; and Pris saw her as a chore, all the hard work of my own care without connection or warmth to make it worthwhile.
I loathe to say this now, but we lived our lives without her. Without breaking her training, none of us could find closure with her complicity in Jack’s trickery, especially when these two good samaritans had been striving to eke but a single word out of her the entire time, and she had still refused. John says the last month together before my rescue, Chas remained untouched in bed due to his disinterest, and since then she hadn’t even had the privilege of gifts to fill her lower holes. I knew how desperate she must have been for release to her one purpose, not the least because, when dressing my sister, Pris had begun eschewing knickers and bloomers in lieu of padded nappies, calling back to our youth. Now, Chas was still a doll — more than I was by then — and so her ability to soil or wet herself was entirely removed. It was the leakage and the odour of her wanton desire that required addressing. Though I retained little sense of smell, John had termed the scent “not unpleasant but significantly distracting,” which I presume was by design.
Yet still her hips thrust and shook into the open air as our attendant held her away.
“Quite unbecoming of you, Chastity!” I snipped, but Pris gave me a disapproving look.
A twiddling of her forefingers accompanied her shaking head. “We are not to continue this cycle here.”
“You’re right, Pris. I’m sorry. Could you please put Chas back in her corner?” I asked the only woman in the household with arms. One of the punishments at St. Werburgh’s had included a darkened wardrobe closet only large enough for a student and her ever-watchful automaid, having to remain in perfect form with no sight or sound to stimulate. Heaven help the girl who thought she might lean against the encroaching walls or nod off. In comparison, I had to tell myself we showed restraint.
Besides, did she really wish to watch me climax?
I had enough to contend with in my own head without Chastity staring my way. I strode to the stand and looked over the edge of my soft décolletage toward the unwilting shaft, focusing my eyes — such a luxury — down upon the glans near its upward tip. There are no words for how dearly I wanted to feel myself impaled upon its girth, for it had been so long, and yet it frightened me in equal measure.
Once my sister was settled in her place and a silent promise not to misbehave again had been exchanged, Priscilla returned to lower the saddle, lift my dress, and release my understrap and gift. I found more comfort in wearing only one plug in those days, though it had taken weeks to realise I could determine precisely how full I felt in my womanhood, and in what fashion my devotion to John might take. They were right, all I had to do was ask; and so as Priscilla pulled the slickened ivory from my nethers, making me empty and available, I shuddered at the vacancy and let my thoughts escape this doll body.
“Please don’t leave me whilst I remain held here, Pris. Please. I was abandoned on this device once before, right before we met, and that began one of the worst chapters of my life.”
Pris cradled my cheek and nodded sincerely, for neither of us had many happy memories from the year prior.
“Thank you…” I uttered automatically, before clarifying, “for understanding me.”
She embraced me in one of those few moments which still derive a pang of loss for my arms, and then — as I pressed chest and cheek into her earnestly — as if to emphasise my point, she held me twice as tight, before breaking and nodding. “Alright, on to your afternoon massage, then?”
Pris lifted my dress once again as I guided myself over the doll stand, so the tip could graze and tickle my entrance, and only when I nodded in the affirmative did she then tap the footswitch to raise the device, slowly, so it would properly kiss me below before slipping inside, spreading me within my womanhood and then without, bowing my legs, lifting me so my soles left the soft floor and my entire weight bore upon the saddle. Save for my head looking around, I was almost entirely immobile whilst the spear pinned me there, greeted my deepest recesses inside, reminding me of my rightful throne and how long I had been missing from it, and it from me. My vox gag simulated a gasp of pleasure, whilst Priscilla gasped too.
She hadn’t operated this device other than the one time all those many months prior, and I have to assume she was shocked by how normal I looked — blooming skirts hiding the sybaritic appliance underneath — or perhaps how easily the massive cock entered such a petite figure as mine, and how eagerly my vagina began pulsing and convulsing upon it, somewhere inside my corseted waist. My eyes closed with another sensual moan from the gag, but that was undignified.
“Please lock me again, will you Pris?”
With a touch at my temple and a click — so effortless for her — my eyes flew open to stare straight ahead, at nothing, and my neck firmed and straightened. It was that familiar isolation from any physical expression, my wilfulness being stripped again by my own request. It was my perfect form returning, held by choice. It meant I sat squarely upon the saddle, shoulders drawn back, breasts rising and falling with each hot breath through my fleur-de-cou as my heart fluttered apace with the convulsions below. There would be no indecent squirming or expressions of enjoyment, only acceptance…
We are designed to accept whatever is given, and to give all that we now are.
My vox gag moaned and then giggled at my self-serious school-talk slipping into my thoughts, but I blinked blankly and focused within, below, getting ever-tenser and tender and tingly in all the right places. My clitoris pressed firmly right where it should be, upon a special bump which vibrated just like I did inside, making my moans sound less realistic, stuttery and simulaic. As the growing sensitive heat infused my mound and hips, my love passage committed to constrict and twist and tease and refamiliarize itself with every inch of this practice cock, I was once again feeling like a proper Doll.
I was being taken care of… and surely giving my all…
The steady buzz changed to short ramps of intensity as Priscilla adjusted the dials, a pattern I had never felt before but enjoyed immensely!
The purpose of the stand is the proper upkeep of our most important feature… our enjoyment is secondary.
I blinked. More school-talk, and unbidden this time. And untrue. I was submitting to this appliance, fitting snugly atop my custom-moulded resting place as small electrodes in the saddle tickled my inner thighs to keep my rear pert and well-toned — yes, surely — but Nanny had always said I would need regular relief and replenishment from the stand to soothe my fire… ever-needy by design…
I wanted it inside, and so I had asked. Simply. Politely.
I had done just as my Owner instructed, asking for this exercise to be returned to my daily routine. Asking to be penetrated and filled so as not to pester him further.
We are remade as a vessel for pleasure, to incite desire in others, an ark of weakness with hunger enough for a dozen men, yet promised to one…
The lessons were becoming eddies in my mind, pulling me into their cadence. Flashing lights.
I knew John was busy with important matters, yet I found myself wanting him here to watch me, wanting to see John out of the corner of my eye with his manhood in hand, stroking slowly, eyes on me.
Instead I saw His legs from beneath a table.
I mustn’t misbehave… I mustn’t seek release…
No! I was getting so close, so close! But my thighs tensed and my thoughts turned darker.
My holes were acquired at great expense, and to my Owner goes the spoils. I am a byproduct, an unnecessary passenger, there is no… No!… no Hope…
My feet flexed frantically in the air below, every brush with my petticoats a whisper warning of a mechanical grip and the sting of the cane: Jack’s cane, brandished by an automaid simply following instructions.
“Stop! Please! I won’t cum, I promise!!” My new voice begged aloud from the ball behind my puffy lips!
For a moment I was mystified how she had heard my fears come to life, but Priscilla immediately turned down the dials and lowered the stand just enough for me to touch the ground, cease the stimulation, and regroup… but I didn’t want that. Even as she looked at me softly with worry and fear, I was so frustrated. I had been so close! I wanted this! I had missed the satisfaction and relief from my urges so dearly these past months of recovery. But the scholars’ care and attention had made the flashbacks duller, fewer, and farther between. John had used me the night prior, and all had been well! I was fine! Cured! Wasn’t I?
“I… don’t understand how that slipped out. Please, I… want to try again.”
Pris looked so doubtful, and rosy of cheek, but slowly she pierced me again, raised me up, and twisted the dials behind my growing climax.
We tried thrice more, yet every time the glow from my cunt spread out, filling me, inspiring me to crash over that edge; my mind would flinch away, my body would shake, and my voice would scream out into the tiny room.
“I didn’t mean to!”
“Please! Let me sleep!”
“I can’t go back!”
I was quite ready to quit after that, and not for lack of trying. My lower hole wasn’t sore at all but my heart was, and I was exhausted from being reminded of my trials with Jack. For months he had trained me to never allow myself true pleasure and relief except by his touch — which rarely ever intended to give that sweet relief either — and even there in the safe space under John’s roof, I was still tainted by that training.
A Doll is designed to serve, not enjoy itself. Pleasure without purpose is pointless.
My remedial education felt written in stone. Flashing lights behind a Teacher’s glassy, blinking eyes.
But Priscilla Barnes was also an educator, and though until then her curriculum had consisted only of reading comprehension, speech therapy, and the acceptance of choice and will, she also had a bullish pride and strength to her, as well as newfound grace — begrudging acceptance at what lot she had been given — that I had much to learn from. We were both stuck with changes our old selves couldn’t live with, and yet here we stood, together.
She raised the stand again, without a word, and turned the stimulation to a level I could enjoy but not ride to climax. At first I was annoyed, asking to be let down, saying it was hopeless, but instead I felt a warm hand on my bare shoulder, lighting up the nerves ending there, before she got close, lips by my ear.
“Tell me what’s the matter.” I swear I heard on the tips of a breathy whisper. “I’ve got you.”
It was so faint, yet even so Pris’ hand left my shoulder to touch her throat, responding to a constriction for a minor infraction. She had spent some of her own comfort for my assurance, before her hands lit my desirous skin again. Each touch from behind, where I could not see, was an embrace to say that I was safe, loved, wanted.
“It’s so silly…” I began, the sound slipping out of my gag as if I was talking about violins and cellos. “When we met, and I was at my most devoted to this ideal of Dollhood, I used to find the blank doll mind at the end of a phallus, but… He took that from me. Now I don’t know if I can arrive there in peace. My automaid used to— If I climax, I will get a caning.”
I didn’t know why that last part came out in present tense, and Priscilla tut-tutted me, a sound that didn’t require her voice.
“You know you won’t,” she meant to say. “Don’t be foolish.”
The vibrations raised ever so slightly, and I shuddered as my lower holes clenched and rumbled around the immovable spear, driven to faun over this invader whilst I still couldn’t get higher than a simmering pleasure from my service.
Priscilla touched my chin. “Speak up. Keep going.”
“She— It would hold my neck, feel the pulse, and make sure I didn’t reach my peak, lest I wanted to suffer in reparation.” I wanted to cry and yet dear Reader, you know this doll body cannot do so. Locked still as I was, my emotion was auditory alone.
Priscilla stepped closer behind, her chest pressing against my back, her warmth so close as her hands caressed everywhere not covered by my dress. They traced my drawn-back shoulders, the faint line of my clavicle, then hesitated to move downward… before skimming over my fleur-de-cou, the steamy exhalations gathering on her hand as she softly gripped my neck. Choking me, her weight subtly leant in, pressing my hips firmer into the vibrations.
I moaned, and realised that her hand felt nothing like an automaton’s: it was warm, and forgiving, and flowed with me in a fluid motion impossible for clockwork mechanery to match. And yet it was still firm, inescapable; I just had no need to escape from her caresses.
“I want to feel it, too.” Pris said with her fingers, reminiscing on sensations lost to her sealed sex. “I want us both to get there.”
Her breath caught my hair and tickled my ear. She was so close.
“Can you show me it’s alright, Priscilla? Please.” I nearly begged.
Like her arms were my own, jutting forth from behind my narrow, useless shoulders, she kept her left grasped around my slim neck, before taking the right and prying my breast from its cup, freeing the nipple so her fingers could tweak it, cup me, hold me so close to my heart. She leant down to kiss my neckline, my shoulder, sending sparks across my skin.
Still she leaned more into me, the buzzing upon my clitoris intensifying, and all I could do was stare straight ahead at the satin curtains and the flat winter light pouring into this warm doll room. Well, that and accelerate my shallow breaths, and oh yes: speak!
“I didn’t know you were an—” Priscilla shushed me for the first time ever, and by the dismissive rise and fall of her chest pressing into me, I could feel her shrug.
“I don’t know what I am; what this is. Don’t give it a name yet.”
Her left hand released my neck just as a fog had been building in my head, and suddenly I felt a rush… and then a click. I could… look around again! That hand let a finger hook my dainty chin and bade me look at her — the imposing figure with a face full of critique and scorn and worry written in wrinkles even in her youth, dark hair escaping her simple bun in wires of desire. Her eyes were speaking for her, looking at my seamless, carefree, plastiskin face up close, then at my full lips and the vox gag filling my mouth behind them. That finger expertly slipped into my fleshy hole and popped out my voice, nestling the ball in my bosom, freeing me for an exhilarating kiss laden with unabashed lust.
My elastic pouting lips couldn’t kiss her back, and I felt her pause, remember my lack of reciprocation was hardly for lack of passion, and then renew with tongue slipping in to discover the gently pulsing passage, toothless and ready for anything inside. I responded with a flick of the tongue, then a swirl. A certain greeting.
It felt so incredible: my autonomic muscles below performing a complex symphony conducted by the doll stand, both of my… Priscilla’s hands cupping and kneading my breasts, and her lips on mine, kissing me almost like John would but longer and more… decadent in intent.
After all her disdain when we first met, my disregard too, we still had no reason to love each other the way we did, but every day she coaxed me to do more; watered my passion for knowledge and subtle independence. I was her star pupil, and John’s doll wife, and I was okay with this — indeed I was better than ever — designed to accept whatever was given, and finally it was love.
She slipped one hand downward, over my unyielding corset to press on my petticoats and skirts and garter, all that fanciful fabric; softly pressing my mons firmer into the vibrations, my clitoris becoming married to the stimulator. I thought I would remain silent in this exquisite sensation but my eyes rolled up and fluttered as my voice moaned from its place in my cleavage, muffled by those heavy twins. Priscilla didn’t release her kiss but alas I felt her nod and breathe a silent, “It’s alright, Hope,” finally allowing me to soar over the walls put up in my head and simply come.
It was pure, happy, untainted.
The loneliness I had felt since standing silent with my dollified classmates in the hospital, unable to commiserate with one another, now dissolved away as I felt Pris there with me; wherever this was.
And then we returned to our soft little prisons.
My body shook, but stayed immobile as always, continuing its due diligence with that unnatural hum inside even as Pris turned off the stand. I admit as the appliance lowered and slipped out of me, my legs gave way, and for the first time in weeks I did require my attendant — and so much more — to grasp my corseted waist and guide my shaky steps over to the chaise to recover in her arms.
I declined to break our silence for a long time, my eyes flitting between the gleaming, dripping shaft catching the light, and her hands wrapped around me. Her hands moved steadily, slowly reassembling what parts of my dress had been torn away in the heated moment, the fidgeting from before now gone, and I knew then that — in some way — Priscilla had finally found satisfaction too.
“We must tell John this evening,” my voice muffled out from my cleavage, as my face blankly implored. Pris noticed and replaced the heavy speaker ball inside my mouth, sealing my dripping hole with the symbol of my will.
She nodded. He deserved to know.
A soft stamping in the carpet came from the corner as we looked to Chastity, who had been present for the whole affair as well — at least the sound of it — and a torrent of memories returned of the last words I heard her speak aloud, accusing me of impurity and tribadism and sapphic delusion. After what she just witnessed, I almost thanked the dollmakers for taking her voice, but then cursed myself. I wanted her to speak! I wanted her to escape the many layers of indoctrination heaped upon our delicate shoulders. I wanted her to go to a loving home!
My sister leant her plastiskin face against the wall she had been set toward, blinking blankly and gently smiling at nothing, and shook as her weak legs lifted, the two points of her vertical heels and her forehead offering stability as she slowly rose to standing.
Pris made to get up and deal with the situation, but I told her not to bother. “Let her be. We are much too comfy here to worry. Besides, is she not seeking the release you and I just found? If she gets there on her own, she’ll be ahead of me in unweaving herself from that codger’s horrible rules.”
Pris nodded and smiled, pleased with my maturity, but Chastity surprised us.
Her mincing steps slowly passed by the doll stand, even though we had left it lowered and Chas easily could have rubbed herself against it to her heart’s content. No, she wandered further to the in-built shelves housing our record collection, and, after pausing to catch her breath from such a trek, she began rubbing her prominent chest against the albums: nudging, rustling, softly panting in the clumsy effort.
Priscilla did finally rise to set the doll straight, as she was surely misguided, acting so indecently. The maid was only a few steps away when something thin sheet of hard plastic fell to the ground, and Chastity clicked her heel on it urgently, turning to pout and blink in our general direction.
It was my letterboard.
-
We left this speaker turned on, for John had expressed in our many discussions after my unlocking how he wanted to hear me as I came to climax. For some odd reason he was preoccupied with my pleasure! I still find this equal parts charming and preposterous today. ↩