Chapters Dollhood: A Woman's Choice Book 3 Chapter 27
“The way you conducted yourself this evening was entirely unbecoming! Never again! Never! I will not tolerate that from my wife, do you understand me?!”
I tapped my foot once on the hardwood of Jack’s high-ceilinged penthouse, the echo cavernous in this austere and minimalist space. I had been here before, surely. I had looked out the massive glass panes over London, with its third-revival gothic spires reaching for the sky, intricate tessellations of brick and steel and glass etched in my mind yet blurry and formless from my dollish eyes, thinking of books I could no longer read and remarks I could not contribute at a dinner party for the well-to-do, yes I had stood here before.
But never as the lady of the house, never by way of such a terrible misunderstanding!
“And even after I gave you a treat at dinner! Incorrigible! Chastity, your teenage malaise and disobedience baffle me to no end! To interrupt such a beautiful scene for one of your many tantrums, what is the matter with you? I mean, I know the malady, just not the salve! I…” he sighed. “I thought we had resolved this!”
I tried to keep myself from squirming in place, standing at attention as he sat by the fire. The matter at hand happened to be: I wasn’t his Doll!! He had taken the wrong one of us home! I needed to tell him that we had been swapped by the automaids, by some malfunction or malintent, that I was meant to be with his son, that I needed to get back, but how!?
I had tried there in our drawing room, to stomp my feet and breathe in hyperventilant, shallow cries, to mince toward John and push him off Chastity, but he had merely recoiled in fear. “Oh my, Father? What is awry w-with Chastity? Why is she rubbing her chest upon us so… lewdly?”
No!? Surely my own husband would recognise me? “John!” I had screamed out, begged silently, my breath fluttering only my fleur in docility and enforced grace. This was unbelievable, I could not believe I had fallen for a fool of a man who could not even discern his doll from another… until I thought of Chastity and I both set in front of my vanity mirror, so similar the glass could have simply been cracked in two. We had not always been absolutely identical, indeed Chas had a slightly different brow arch, though I think that had been corrected by the dollmakers at Father’s request. Oh, and she had always smiled with a slight…. oh it didn’t matter anymore!
Of course he would not know such human differences, he had never known us before we were refined, and it wasn’t the Society’s way to keep pictures of our old bodies out in the open, lest we get “unduly sentimental.” Now with flawless silicone skin and dresses and roses and hair to match, Chas and I were apparently so identical that a simple necklace swap was enough, and where that once made me feel prideful and connected, now it was biting me in the rear. What’s more, my necklace had John’s wedding ring on it, and now it hung from my sister’s rigid neck like some unworthy jewelry bust!
“And don’t think I didn’t notice your slip at the mention of my dear Carrie-Anne. You must know that you fill a very different hole in my heart, or perhaps the reverse is more apt!” he scoffed, “Grow yourself a voice and a wit and give me a son, for God’s sake, and maybe we’ll see you compete with such a fierce woman as she was!”
I didn’t care about his wife, nor Chastity’s slightest of movements at dinner, whether they had been discomfort or even related to the discussions at hand, perhaps it had been a poorly timed sneeze! It was hardly important!
“I want you to really think about what you’ve thrown away by your lapse in form tonight, dear.” He scoffed. “And to think I was going to reward you for your past month of diligence! That is now out of the question, young lady!”
I stomped again in defiance now, not agreement. I didn’t need his reward, whatever it was, and he could have Chastity back and do with her as he wished, my pity was dried up. Throughout my entire struggle in my husband’s drawing room and my husband’s foyer, she had not moved an inch! She may as well have thrown me to the wolf in the room, and bid me good luck! No, I was through with her: this was the second time she had betrayed me. Sisters, either of blood or dollhood, were not meant to commit such sins against each other, and we were both! I could remember when we had been a team!
Jack didn’t appreciate this attitude one bit. “You will behave this instant or I will send you to the telly!”
The telly? Well, I hadn’t watched a television program since before Werburgh’s, with Father having moved the set to his study and John thinking them nothing but a distraction (which he failed to realise my whole life consisted of). A little telly would have been nice, what was the harm in that? I was about to stomp again when my rectum vibrated to keep me alert and remind me of John.
That’s it! John’s gift! I smiled inside and realised I had been saved by that occupier filling my rear hole all day, every day. Every spare distraction and teasing reminder was validated in this moment, as I remembered it was an exact replica of John’s cock, and if Jack saw the gift and didn’t recognise it as his own, he would realise I was not his Doll wife!
I strode forward slowly, making Jack take his cigar out in confusion, and I turned around, directing my curvy behind toward him, before bending over as far as I could, which without these extended stays would have meant jackknifed in half, head to toe, but I settled for just halfway as the bottom edge of the rigid garment dug into my thighs painfully, teetering on unsteady heels, face staring down as I offered my rear.
“My my, Chastity, you must know me better by now! What makes you think a simple tour in your back pocket would soften your punishment? Especially when your motives are so plain to see!?”
Oh this was beyond embarrassing, dear Reader, but you have no idea what it’s like to live in a body where offering your very-full arse to be ravaged by your abductor is the best option available. Even just the thought of Jack’s meaty hands on me was undesirable, but for him to use me back there? I shuddered thinking of his taste when he had taken advantage of our solitude in Father’s garden, weeks before we would become family. If I didn’t act quickly my entire life would become a reprise of that frightful scene! I shook my butt again, making my dress sway. I dared not back up for fear of losing my balance, hoping he was suitably convinced.
“Well let me deliberate for a second…” he intoned, before throwing the tail of my dress up and over my back and head, exposing my bare cheeks for his enjoyment. I don’t know what he saw in that moment but I imagine it was something akin to two pert cheeks, not globular as I had seen given to other Dolls like Cuddles, but curvy and toned, skin not-quite natural in its perfection, cut vertically by two garter straps and spread by a massive circular base pressed up to my rear bud by the leather strap running between my legs. That’s what it felt like I sat on all day, at least…
Pull it out, pull it out, pull it out… I begged the hardwoods below me, licking at the thick drool building up behind my gag. Thick curls of my fake hair hung like curtains around my gaze and my breasts felt like they remained in their cups solely thanks to my nipple clamps.
He grabbed my right bum cheek with his thumb and forefinger and worried at the meat, sending tingles all through my body as I became warm and accepting, my legs shaking and my breath hitching in desire to feel his fingers— No! I have to focus, I thought. I heard him stand up and unbuckle his trousers and I gasped, a slight draft of air he heard course into my neck.
I spoke, just to myself, blinking blankly and waiting: Please just pull this cork out of me like a bottle of champagne, use me if you have to! I don’t care, as long as you see the shaft, feel its size and virility, as long as you get the evidence I’m imploring you to see, I just want to go h— OWIE!!
Without any ability to look behind, the bastard had blindsided me with his belt-strap to my bum, the stinging blow only amplified by my dollified skin! Oh dear, this was so much worse than that old paddle Nanny had used without prejudice in our younger years! Worse than the cane at school! My arse was lit on fire as he struck my rear four more unrelenting times. I could not flinch, my body designed to receive whatever was offered or bestowed upon it, and Jack Collins had decided his wife needed some pain to encourage her to fall into line.
I almost lost my balance from the impact, and I tried to step away, but he merely yanked my hair, my body rising up again with the glued locks, held close to his stocky frame, fire-bright butt pressing into his tenting groin. He whispered in my ear. “You won’t take me for a simpleton, my dear Chastity. Your plea for mercy was heard and denied!”
He stepped away, exposing my seat to the cool air which made the raw skin tingle again in the worst way, before marking it five more times with his belt. I sobbing inside when he let me go, shooing me to waddle to my automaid— no, not mine, Chastity’s. One of those useless machines which had started this whole mess!
“You disappoint me, dear. I really thought we had ironed out your issues weeks ago now. Maid, put my ungrateful wife to bed and reassemble the telly for her to enjoy tonight.”
Grabbed by the waist and knowing better than to resist in this nigh-helpless body, I was guided away from Jack as he lounged by the fire, tsk-tsking to himself.
I don’t know why he put on the show, we were behind closed doors now, and contrary to his assertion, he was the one taking me for a simpleton! Who else would have instructed our maids to switch lockets so arbitrarily when none but the faded stars and streetlamps were watching? Who himself boisterously requested Chastity and I to dress up identically after a simple coincidence of costume? Perchance even the original coincidence was staged! It was childishly simple, the whole affair, and if it weren’t for our complete vulnerability as dolls and twins, it would have failed. Yet here I was, and it seemed I was going to be spending the night here at the least. Jack was the scoundrel I had always known him to be, and it seemed he had won.
But why was he keeping up the ruse? Where was the conniving laugh and masterplan pouring forth with pride? I was left with anything but answers, as my tongue was designed for everything but questions.
I was led upstairs in my father-in-law’s two-story penthouse flat to a room marked ‘Chastity’ in floral pastel cursive, but the writing on the door belied the true contents past it’s threshold.
Rather than fineries and lace and silk and flowers and cushions and the many comforts of a girl’s room, the spacious doll room Jack had set aside for Chas was colder, more clinical than anything, with simple white moulding, plaster fleur-relief walls, bleached white sheets, and alongside the single bed and side-table, a lounger that looked firmer than a park bench, there were installed a collection of Society-approved appliances like an autolacer and a stand in much fairer shape than mine, left out in the open. Unlike the floor-to-ceiling glass panels in the spacious drawing room and library, there were no windows to be found, instead the room was lit evenly with neutral light, giving a distinctly sterile feeling. Whereas I could entertain guests in my Doll room back at John’s, it seemed this room was designed solely for Chastity’s functional needs, with not a lick of stylistic flourish or fancy.
As I was walked to the dressing room to be disrobed, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was in the prison I had imagined for Priscilla just earlier today. Here, the automaid’s calculated movements felt less regal than cold in this setting. Thankfully stripped of that damned deceiving pink outfit, I was ungagged, unstrapped, and decorsetted before the latter was replaced with simpler night stays.
Now bottomless, my freshly-stricken behind must have glowed red hot against the monochrome decoration, hot as it felt, stinging in the open air.
As I was led to the autolacer to cinch the stays closed, it seemed for a moment as if Chastity’s night routine would be similar to mine, but as the laces were gradually, unrelentingly tightened again by the hooks behind me, quite a bit more severely than John or Father had ever decreed for simple bedtime accoutrements, my maid retrieved something that would prove just how wrong I was.
Standing there, still locked in the autolacer, I could no more inspect the glinting silver of the forceps in her hand than move my head to avoid them as the metal pincers approached and invaded my pouting lips, just preceded by two of the maid’s fingers to jack open my springy jaw. Looking at their blank faceplates, our maids didn’t seem to have eyes or cameras, but it convincingly seemed as though the silent servant was peering in to get a better view of my bumpy, ribbed, puffy suckhole, before clamping my shortened tongue and pulling, hard!
To my surprise, it came out quite a ways, well past my lips, spilling drool with it. I realised then that it hadn’t been shortened, per se. The muscles which allowed Chas and I to stick out our tongues at each other as teasing kids had just been severed or numbed. It made sense; to remove the chance of pushing a gag out or making a mockery of the face of perfection, yet keep the articulate oral skills for its new purpose. Continually surprised by the changes to my own body, I was brought back to the present by another painful tug. The maid’s grip on the forceps was unyielding as it held steady, before snapping a metal alligator clip down on my defenceless tongue!
I jerked a bit against the machine still hooked in my laces and Chastity’s maid slapped me across the face with the hand not holding my poor tongue out like a lapping dog. Caught off guard by the strike and all the rest, I was left confused. Was that for shivering in pain? I couldn’t ask and it didn’t dwell on the transgression. I would have been appalled by this breach of etiquette between wife and servant, if not for my painful preoccupation with the clip’s biting little teeth!
Unfortunately, I was soon made aware that the little devil was just one of three, attached to a central ring by fine silver chains, and I could do nothing but huff in fear as each breast of mine was lifted to bring my pink nipple in reach of the cruel clips, first one, then the other. The maid simply removed her hands, letting each heavy breast hang by its most precious, sensitive part, both pulling at my lolling tongue, the biting pain cutting even harder with the tension.
Silence hung as my toes curled, as these were quite unlike the plastic clips in my corset. No, these were sharp, designed solely for punishment. Oh how I remembered the first time I had felt those tame jaws’ pinch; a far cry from these biting incisors. It was almost as if God had seen me taste those sweet delights at dinner and provided me with a spoonful of divine justice for partaking in that simple pleasure. Or perhaps it was a larger correction, as I was beginning to realise just how bountiful and easy my lot in life had been for the past months with John, the reality of Jack’s cruelty spilling forth in front of me now.
Unhooked and breathless again, I was led into the ensuite powder room, a vanity to my left and a phallic toilette and walk-in shower to my right. Once again, I couldn’t help but note the sparseness, the bare necessities. Did my sister truly live in such deprivation when the rest of Jack’s expansive flat looked like any other merchant king’s, with its dark hardwoods and elaborate moulding, ornate chandeliers and fine art?
I couldn’t wonder too deeply, as every mincing step sent a hearty bounce through my breasts, sending another sharp electric ache through my nipples and tongue, bringing me back to the punishment at hand.
As I approached the toilette, it’s spear sure to draw all eyes but mine toward it’s fearful length, I awaited my last chance, my backup plan. Would the maid recognise the last adornment which marked me as Hope Hodgkinson: John’s ivory cock rammed up my rear?
No. Surely not. The same maid who had conspired to swap my locket now laid my heavy engagement present on a tray to be washed, before leading my raw arse toward the cleaner’s cold plastic tip, and pushing me down until I heard that sealing click.
Being laid down in Chastity’s bed relieved the tension on my tongue and teats somewhat, but I was by no means out of the woods. While this single mattress was comparable to my virgin sleeping arrangements — before I had the luxury of joining John in his bed unbound (or indeed, truly naked like the night before) — it had a myriad metal rings erupting through the contoured padding; tiny eyelets all anchored in an outline of my body in repose with my legs set apart. The maid leant over me, tying fine lace ribbon to and fro in an ornate weave, cinching my already-helpless Doll body tighter into the plush prison I was resting on.
The process took nearly half an hour, the automaton tireless in her craft, making me wonder if my sister was ensconced in such a way every evening or if this was merely part of my punishment, and my father-in-law’s bed lay waiting for me.
I knew the latter part of that question must be true, and I swear I felt my sore arse throb a degree or two hotter as I felt equal parts dread and need course through me, imagining that monster getting ready for bed… without me. Shocked at my own idle imagination, I spent the rest of the time ruminating on how this body continually betrayed me.
By the time I was firmly in place, I could not even shimmy my hips and legs side to side, never mind raise them. I was not covered, per se. Instead, a dense lattice of ribbon wrapped me from neck to toe, my chest left exposed to tug on my tongue with every autonomic breath straining against my night stays. Not that I could look down at the treacherous maid’s handiwork, I merely felt it like a net, hugging my sensitive skin all over. I waited patiently for the covers.
There was a knock on the door. Was it Jack? Would he come in to wish his wife goodnight, perhaps wander freely about the room as men do? My heart was full of hollow hope he would see my foreign gift resting in the powder room, realise or reconsider this horrid situation, and send me home.
It was not to be.
Instead his autobutler strode in rolling something large, from the sound of it. My unwavering view of the white ceiling was soon interrupted by a large oval panel cantilevered over me from a stand beside the bed. With both of the servants adjusting and fidgeting with the massive device, all of a sudden it shone brightly down at me, lighting my pouting face and sending my irises to pinholes as I saw a series of crosses and circles, and the strange telly was raised and lowered until the crosses came into focus in my locked vision.
How they knew what was in-focus for me was a mystery, I only knew I wanted to look anywhere but the blinding screen, but still I just batted my lashes dumbly at the new appliance filling my field-of-view almost perfectly. Set about a foot and a half above me, no part of my periphery could see the room beyond, nothing but the optical test pattern and the knowledge I was trapped in my sister’s bed with a husband downstairs who wasn’t likely to be giving me a reward right now. Yet my curiosity outweighed my fear: a critical flaw in my Dollhood.
Once the crosses were within a stone’s throw of sharp, I heard rustling about my pillow and suddenly felt the gentle clamping of two pads set upon my ears. Were these… headphones? I don’t think I had worn such instruments since one of our recurrent Living with Grace assignments at school, wherein we were distributed amongst the many wooden benches in the many labyrinthine halls of St. Werburgh’s, made to listen to the sounds of the Dame, Headmaster, countless unnamed but smooth-talking suitors, even our family members calling our names, challenged not to react in the slightest to the sudden stimuli of clapping or a stone skipping down the empty hall. We were even treated to the awful clanging of a fire bell one lesson, a test I promptly failed.
Something about the tiny speakers — much smaller than a HiFi’s — made each sound feel as though it were real; close, far, around the corner, or about to exit the next classroom door. It had been so convincing that I have to admit I grew a bit of a crush on one of the voices who would whisper so close to my ear about loosening my stays.
“All you need to say is ‘yes’, darling…” he would offer; the temptuous cove. The headphones had been so realistic, oftentimes I would have sworn I could feel his breath fluttering my hair against my ear! Of course I was politely gagged with that once-familiar leather panel, so no honest answers could be given to the man in the headset nor any other ghost.
There in bed though, a little chime confirmed my suspicions, a tinkling bell growing closer before circling around my head in a chaotic, pendulous movement. The chime grew closer, a bit loud but I could not protest. The telly screen I stared at faded to a pure white, alike to the rest of the room, before blotches of watercolour slowly painted the scenery of… the Great Hall?
Echoes of pews creaked all around, and it was only the total constriction of my body to the mattress and the biting clips on my tongue and nips that reminded me I was still in Chastity’s cold room. This was quite unlike any tube I had watched before. Not only was it the clearest thing I had seen since my transformation, it was clearer than my reality, if that makes any sense. Unable to avert my gaze from the false dais, crest, and banners presented in front of me on the photovoltaic surface, I had no idea if my maid was still near, or if the servants had turned off the light and left me to this presentation alone.
The distinctive footsteps clipping across the stage announced her before she came into view, our honourable Doll governess, Dame Henderson, standing at the podium, her eyes staring… at me? Was I standing in this scene? I must have been propped upright in the centre aisle, held in place much like the runway brace that had rolled me down the aisle at my wedding, or so it felt. Her locked eyes bore into mine before her vox-gag piped up.
“Welcome to St. Werburgh’s School for Young Women, Continuing Studies via Wireless! We are proud to broadcast into hundreds of Society homes every night, the most up to date teachings and corrective curriculums for our troublesome pupils.
“Dolls, you have brought disappointment and inconvenience to your owner, and, as a Doll certified by this storied and prestigious institution, we can’t have that.
“Now now… who do we have in class this evening? Seems all the regulars, but there is one returning student… Chastity Hodgkinson! Again? I’m sorry to see you are falling back into your poor habits.”
I was perplexed, she was talking directly to me! Could she see me lying here. Was this… real? Was there a mechanical eye in the Great Hall all those miles away, our Dame pulling a night shift, or was this all a farce? Cinema magic? Or did it even matter? It seemed more vivid and crisp than any moment since I departed that hall more than a year ago, and indeed I blushed at the embarrassment of being singled out, even in front of a class I could not see. My eyes were locked on hers and hers on mine. Bearing down into me, telling me what I needed to hear…
“Where did we leave off? Oh yes! ‘Techniques in passive thought!’ Shall we begin?”
