Chapters Dollhood: A Woman's Choice Book 3 Chapter 33
With Cushions and I quite busy with our winding conversation — a medley of stories not unlike what Father used to read to us from the newspaper, alongside what seemed to be Society-prepared, scripted conversations — Cuddles had been left all on her own, sitting at the foot of her mistress’ skirt tails, voiceless, watching us converse about nothing of substance as the wet mess across her plastiskin face dried up. She looked down at her prominent bosom every so often, and even with brows unfurrowed, I knew she was annoyed by her mouth being left open, dripping down her chin. I even heard a foolhardy attempt to suck it back, and then to wipe her pouting hole on her covered shoulder, but a maid firmly stopped her from marking her outfit, to which the little Companion gave a weak tantrum, since the automaid had not solved the actual source of her problem.
I kept ‘talking,’ watching in my periphery, amazed by how much wilful action Cuddles was allowed, and how little it improved her lot.
It was remarkably difficult to follow foreign words erupting from my own mouth, dear Reader. I felt as if I was listening to a radio play on the HiFi, save the speaker was my own head and the lead actress had a remarkably familiar voice. I usually drifted in radio plays, when I once had that luxury. Jack preferred silence at home.
But I was also annoyed by the alien words and how their unceasing exchange drowned out my attempts to eavesdrop on Jack and Father’s more intriguing conversation.
“Eaton says the newest fashion is…”
“…hardly, I wasn’t aware of that implant’s design. Can she really…”
“You truly ought to try… one sticker on her… compliant for hours!”
Truly, I would do anything to distract; to avoid; to avert my gaze from Cushions’ eyes perfectly locked with mine.
I’ll admit, even though our education at St. Werburgh’s prepared us for alterations being a natural part of life, with regular touch-ups being seen as a necessary step in keeping up with the times — and our men’s tastes — it was more difficult than ever to see my Mummy in Cushions. While the same dopey-eyed face was sculpted upon Cuddles, her and I had always expected to see each other through new eyes and a plastic smile. Althea was in my life for less than a year and in school I rarely had the freedom of movement to look over toward her, anyways; she was memorialised more as a voice in my ear, whispering silly, sinful things. Mummy had been my rock, the idolic figure I admired growing up, and especially after her attempted servicing of Father in the hall, the Doll talking to me now hardly matched that holy vision.
What’s worse was, I knew full well that once Jack had his way and sent me back to Great Ormond Street, I would likely be changed just as drastically, and then… would Mother ever recognize me? Would Althea? Would Chastity?
Would John?
If somehow it was revealed to all involved that I had been Hope all along, not Chastity, would anyone still see me as either if I had a face defined not by mimicking the real but catering solely to men’s whims? What could be done then to rectify this ruse?
Not much.
I triggered my next response with my tongue, and thought of the women that had raised Althea; her many ‘aunts.’ Given the chance, they would surely see nothing of that sweet, mischievous girl now, except perhaps the black hair colour, and that was hardly unique. Cuddles was all soft curves and silently-offered relief now, a woman’s essence without the restraints of propriety. This was obviously how Father saw his wife Cushions too, but in Cuddles’ case the vision was unhindered by good-standing… and so she would never be required nor allowed to stand again.
What truly saddened me about my dear friend Althea, is how — for all her meagre social climbing and struggles to apply for the St. Werburgh’s scholarship, her unique passions and her desire for more than her God-given circumstance — she found herself serving the same function as her aunts in their brothel, or her mother before her, save in this case devoted to one client, and with no reprieve from that identity of sexual service. All pretence of being a chaste Companion for a Lady, to keep her from growing lonely; all that had been dropped by her mere design. Her purpose was stained into her flesh; and though her meals were steadier, no longer living off her aunts’ table scraps, she surely missed the flavour of Life.
Though I couldn’t have known what would transpire, I still felt responsible she hadn’t gone to a more respectful owner… a man who wouldn’t think her merely an appliance for another Doll. Maybe she hated not just Chastity but me too, in a softer sense. I couldn’t ask.
Between her attempts to stymie the flow of sweet lubricant from her mouth, Cuddles’ focus repetitively drifted to the men by my side like before their arrival, Jack’s heavy arm still around me, but she sat far enough away it wasn’t a staring contest yet. Eventually though, she grew as tired as I of harvesting the few dew drops of substance off of our scripted conversation, and her glances toward the man beside me became more frequent.
It was halfway through my vox gag’s lengthy monologue about a newly-released hairdresser automaid which I apparently “couldn’t live without,” that my old friend sprung to life and remembered she didn’t have to remain where placed anymore. Resorting to that rocking-jerking motion I had seen her use earlier to enter my mother’s dress, Cuddles set off across the grand expanse of parquet and fine rug toward Jack and I. She moved ever so slowly, and carefully, pushing off with her short thighs, her chest wobbling so flagrantly it almost inspired my gaze to shift.
I was surprised Jack didn’t immediately notice her waddling approach. He must have been facing the other way, toward Father.
“…of course I will do my best to soothe her worries through this transitional period, Alan. You have my word, I’ll show her everything I am to change so she has ample time to process— Oh, and who is this little sweetheart?”
While Cuddles initially looked down every so often to check her footing — so to speak — once Jack left my side to meet her halfway and pick her up in his arms, she was locked on him, and could not even nod or shake her head when asked if she was looking for an escape from our “stuffy conversation.”
He looked over and behind me with Cuddles held like a babe on his hip, the remains of her legs straddling him, asking, “Any further demonstrations, commandant?” but Father must have waved him off without a word.
Overjoyed, the terror looked like a child in a sweets shoppe as he bounced the Doll gently. He tried to give her a kiss on the cheek, avoiding the mess of juices around her drooling mouth, but her unrelenting stare made it difficult, with her lips facing him however he approached. “God, Alan, you didn’t give her much play in this new form, either, did you?”
“She is still a Doll, my friend. However lenient her new form looks, it must be upheld. Strictly. It’s for her own good.”
Jack shrugged, and made sure his arm under her bottom was secure before freeing his other hand to grip Althea firmly by the chin and forcibly turn her face away, practically licking her neck in his snog.
“You’ll find the northeast lookout room prepared for you.” Father politely shooed the brute, who was all too happy to take his leave.
“Chastity, darling, will you join us for a short moment?”
I was aghast at this request, and apparently so was Father, but even as I was being stood up to follow, Jack was laughing, “Oh no, Alan, not like that. I simply need a word.”
Following him out to the hall, my focus was split between not catching my heels on the floor, and Cuddles — particularly the small gyrations she was doing with her hips whilst she admired my abuser so closely. A small, weak part of me wished he would show the same favour to his wife as he did this new toy, but I shook that thought from my head. No matter how my nethers quivered at the thought, I should not have wanted him. I should not!
In the hall and out of earshot, once again by the J.M.W. Turner, my pseudo-husband turned around with another woman in his arms and peered at me critically.
“Those gags are a treat, aren’t they?”
So conditioned to a lifetime of useless gags occupying my mouth, I had almost forgotten what I held in my mouth, tweaking the backside to say, “Yes, sir. I do hope you enjoy my company. Perhaps you would consider purchasing—”
“Oh save me the solicitation!” he cut me off, thankfully. “Quite incessant, is it not?”
I clicked my heel in the affirmative. He spied me through my blank shell.
“Your outburst in there did not go unnoticed. You thought these devices to be real?”
My stomach turned, reminded of how high my hopes had been. I clicked my heel again.
“Hmmm. Does make me wonder if those Doll teachers your father was on about— Dame Something-or-other, met her at the wedding— Makes me wonder if those fine spinsters aren’t just on a bit o’ sophisticated clockwork like yourself.” he amused himself as I stood there horrified at the thought of being taught by a… a… some higher power behind a veil. It was terribly, terribly plausible.
“I’ll admit I was fooled too, for but a moment. What a rush! Almost gave up the game, di’n’ it?” he winked.
I would have fallen backwards, fainted outright, if my automaid did not have my waist within its grips. It had been several weeks in the ‘care’ of Jack Collins — nearly two whole months — and he had not acknowledged his larceny of myself from my rightful husband, not once. It had been left long enough without remark that I had begun to wonder if he was even the culprit — no thanks to my nocturnal studies and their devastating effects on my mind. But no… I was right… this bastard had done it! And all in the name of a… a game!?
“You’ve done well. Your father informed me about your sorry attempt at seduction; said I ought to rein you in. Ha! Do you think I need a tighter grip, dear?”
My feet remained in their unsteady perch, without reply, but my mouth was not so restrained. I accidentally grazed the rubber nipple, prompting. “If you think so, sir, I would gladly comply. Your hands are very strong and I greatly enjoy their grip about my—”
“Lovely to hear. Expected a different reception from daddy dearest? Well of course! You’re picking up where your sister left off. It was actually her idea, in a sense. The delightful little airhead wouldn’t stop trying to get Alan’s attention and it was… let’s say… coming on a little strong. So desperate, so urgent, but she didn’t want to keep playing once I was involved, not at first. Well, I had her giving it her best effort before too long…” he reminisced with satisfaction, before adding, “That said, Chastity’s best wasn’t good enough. Not to say I took you merely for this wee project, but it’s part of the fun.”
Gradually, the limbless Doll in his arms ceased her subtle gyrations and began to struggle silently, Cuddles’ voluptuous body twisting and bucking ineffectually.
“Oi girl, you want me to drop you or something?! God, he really did mess with perfection by loosening your spine.” Jack passed the Doll off to a waiting maid who held her not as gently. “What’s wrong with you? You loved this idea of getting back at the old man when I suggested it!”
Cuddles couldn’t stop staring at him with her doe eyes and her pouting open hole of a mouth, forced devotion punctuated by the subtlest of shakes, but her body below was furious, prompting the maid to tighten its mechanical grip until she ceased, wheezing from her neck.
“Oh I see…” Jack considered, chuckling, “Now, here I surmised that if a dumb broad like Cushions caught on, you surely would. Maybe you’re no longer as bright as Alan says you were, Cuddles! If you couldn’t tell, this is your Lady’s other daughter, lest no one speak her name.” he paused, looking between the two Dolls. “No? Okay let’s get the reunion over with, I know you two were as queer as two bonbons in one wrapping. Maids, let these two kiss and get it out of their system.”
My maid popped out the vox gag and gripped my neck steady, as the baby Doll Companion Cuddles was brought toward my face, her lips even larger than my own, with no commissure or seam in the inhumanly circular, inflated hole that approached. Naturally, her oversized tits preceded her, pressing into mine first, causing a shy gasp in forbidden contact as well as pressure, as the maids forced our faces together and our bosoms to be crushed between.
Even so close, Cuddles’ head desperately wanted to turn and admire the nearest man, eyes straining to the side in vain, but a familiar hand of unforgiving plastic and metal held her true, until her lips met mine and we were pressed together.
Though we were as close as dolls could be to one another, trading spit and breath, our loins readying to the point of leakage: it was… empty… utterly devoid of the urgency and passion we had both been imbued with that cold winter night almost two years prior. Even writing this, I only use the word ‘kiss’ for lack of a sorrier word. Our soft plastic lips rubbed across the other’s, but did not pucker nor pout anymore than they had been sculpted to. We were now just two figures of pliant plastic, senses afire, feeling everything but unable to offer anything — not a twitch. Perhaps two years held so close could make up for two minutes back then, but neither of us had such good fortune.
I stared at her eyes, averted, crying subtly in a way I could not — from the mental strain, the cruelty of our predicament, who could say — and I blinked blankly, watching her struggle against the imprinted obsession with men so ironically bestowed upon her by my father, struggle and claw in some internal war until finally— finally! Althea was looking at me…
Althea, my friend and provocateur, victorious over whatsoever insidious compulsions commanded her now… the flame of recognition alive in both of us.
So rigidly fused and trammelled and held, I could not offer my body or lips any closer, but I strained with my tongue to reach… to touch some part of her that was her, not these grotesque pillow lips. My tongue wagged up and down, side to side, even backwards to compulsively swallow, but it had no function left to extend past my lips. Who knows why… To thwart a funny face? To offer no resistance to invading gags and phalluses? The seams of my prison were polished like Napoleon’s mausoleum, each brick lapping at the next, constructed with not a millimetre of play. I screamed inside my head, so eager and near, yet leagues away from true contact.
Yet suddenly hers rushed through, inside! The same tongue she had used so deftly and noisily on my mother was now exploring me, unhindered, and we merely stared at each other, all emotion dammed up behind frozen facades.
And in the smallest gestures, we danced.
I’m sorry for entrapping you in this life. I said in what little language was left to me. Who knows if she understood, but I did receive something akin to desperate, saccharine communion in reply, a mirrored flick of the tongue, and took it for the absolution my heart so dearly wanted… needed.
The whole moment lasted a painful instant, and we were pulled apart… asunder once again.
“See, I have my moments, don’t I?” Jack’s perverted gaze ate us up, before gesturing to the maid holding my dearest. “Take Cuddles up to the room, mess her hair up, strew the sheets, and stimulate her little bud just enough to have her thighs slick and sliding. I want it to look like I gave her the time of her sorry life!”
The maid moved to depart and my words erupted into the air, “Wait!” but they were Jack’s.
“Set up a tablet on the bureau to call Viscount Foerster. We had an agreement to sign an hour ago, but open with a ‘gram explaining I had pressing matters at hand. If he can see the bed, I’ll have less explaining to do.”
With that, Cuddles was taken away and my vox gag was reinserted. I was left alone with Jack, by the Turner. He adjusted my breasts back into their precarious coverings in this ridiculous dress, my seething hatred almost steadfast against his touch, yet every resistance of will was sabotaged by a vibration about my gifts.
“You have some… detritus on you, darling.” His cracked fingers brushed roughly at my face, my lashes batting repeatedly, flinching reflex on the fritz. Dried little flakes of something dusted off my brow until Jack was satisfied with my complexion. “There. A girl should not have her mother’s essence upon her own face, but a father should partake in her flesh once or twice I think. To be frank, I always fantasised of it, but alas Carrie-Anne and I had only John. Still, I’ll live vicariously via our charades tonight!”
Even though I knew what he was referring to — the dress, the paste in Father’s drink — I refused to actively participate. This was a bridge too far! I stomped my heel hard, twice. I would not seduce my own father! Not only was it abhorrent, it was a fool’s errand. Father had made it abundantly clear; he was not that kind of man!
“Oh you will behave!” he gripped my proudly presented breast firmly, but I would not budge, no matter how it pained me. “I have sought leverage on your father for months. Squeaky clean doesn’t tell you the half of it, and what do I have to show for my efforts? Nothing incriminating that wouldn’t also incriminate myself. A man in my business knows what getting bit in the arse feels like, and when there is not a crown charge of tax evasion but a legacy on the line? It goes without question that I would secure my— wait, why am I explaining myself to a Doll?”
He stepped back.
“Maid, take this,” he fished the tube of wicked paste out of his pocket, “and infuse any libations Mr. Hodgkinson requests until the deed is done. Refill his glass promptly.”
My maid accepted and stored it in the tiny pocket in her apron, out of sight.
“Good, now remove Lady Chastity’s gifts and make sure the understrap is refastened one notch too tight.” He said that last bit looking into my eyes, whilst the maid did as commanded, slipping the twin ivory gifts out of me with a wet sound and leg-shaking pleasure, leaving my vagina and rectum distractingly empty.
“Halt a moment,” he thought aloud, inspecting the slowly-collapsing aperture of my elastic womanhood relaxing closed around his finger. This minor penetration triggered the beginning of a tension/vibration cycle which made my hips gyrate just slightly even as I stood there. He pulled his finger out quickly, causing my hips to still and my breath to hitch, seeing it glisten with my juices; copious, but an ordinary amount for a Doll.
“You’ve gone all day without setting this off?” Jack grabbed the recently-ejected gift with his ‘load’ still primed inside.
I clicked my heel, proud of my own restraint and meagre accomplishment, yet within a second of flurrious motion he had jammed the tip right back inside my vaginal canal and squeezed his own veiny shaft firmly, jettisoning the few ounces of concentrated aphro-paste deep inside me, undoing all my efforts.
No, no, no, no, no! I breathed wordlessly, as the familiar effects slowly spread from my slit, the warmth radiating out and making me tense and tingly. I knew I had lost all composure when I almost fell over upon the understrap cinching closed firmly by his hand, one notch too tight as he had promised, digging into my inner petals and clitoris like baling wire.
A wicked smile crossed Jack’s face, but he retained his focus, unlike me.
“Vox Angeli.”
“Yes, sir?” my voice answered, unbidden.
“You’re a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. Say whatever her father wants to hear.”
“I always do, sir.”
“Excellent. And Chastity?” Jack looked from my mouth to me, and added with a wink. “Do what you do best. Nothing.”
My pride stung as I was locked along the gauntlet set forth before me.
“Are you all just loitering in the hall?” my father’s beckoning from afar intersected with the paralyzing, shivering tenderness in my sex, the implications I had naught the time for, as Jack yelled back that I would be coming shortly.
He leant into my ear, “Let’s see if this body and this dress finally seal the deal, tramp. If it does inspire him to defile you — and I’ll expect you to deliver the evidence — I’ll take Chastity back and make her into my masterpiece instead, and you two will never get mixed up again. If not… well…” he looked past me at Father. “She’s all yours, Alan!”