dollification. doll fetish. dolls. dolly. dollie. dollific.

dollification: the process of evolving, mentally and physically, into a "living doll."
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 Post subject: Puppet Show
PostPosted: Mon Oct 27, 2008 3:22 pm 
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Joined: Tue Aug 19, 2008 3:19 pm
Posts: 15
Location: Bethlehem PA
Sandee got to work late that day. She apologized to her boss, raced upstairs, switched into her work clothes, and got into her booth.

She heard a door open and shut on the other side of the glass. She quickly adjusted herself as her first customer settled in. She switched on the intercom.

"Hi, honey. What can I do for YOU today?" She wiggled her sparsely-covered bustline at the reflective glass. She couldn't see through it; that meant her customer wanted to remain anonymous. Fine by her, it's a lot easier to do this if she doesn't have to watch some middle-aged guy whacking off at her.

"Good evening."

The voice was deep, like from the shoes deep. Not actively sexy, but sort of attention-getting. The type of voice that could silence a room with a clearing throat. Sandee sort of involuntarily straightened up, as if the teacher had just entered the room. "Um, I'm Sandee. What would you like to see?"

"Do you do custom fantasies, or just straight dancing?"

So businesslike, very straight to the point. Sandee was becoming interested here. "Well, I'd be willing to take directions from you, if that's what you mean. It costs a litt..."

A wad of bills was dropped into the slot in front of her. The outside bill was a fifty. Sandee decided not to insult this obviously refined gentleman by counting the rest. Hell, the rest could be newspaper for all she cared. "What would you like?" she asked coyly, cupping her breasts and pointing them at the glass.

There was a light tap against the glass, as if something was placed against it.

"Just watch."

A light began to flash from behind the glass. It was a sort of strobe light, and it blinked quickly, turning the booth into a sort of fun house room. Sandee always liked this effect, she started to dance about, looking at herself in the mirror. In the blinking light, her movements looked all jerky, light she was watching a silent movie. She thought of that song by the b-52's and giggled.

"No need to dance yet, just watch the light." Sandee stopped and leaned against her little stool. She looked at the pinpoint of light that shone through the mirrored glass. Soon, she looked more intently. It must have been a trick of her eyes, but it seemed like the light was changing color, first blue, then yellow, then back to white. It started to slow down, and she began to feel herself relax. Spots started to dance before her eyes, a swirling pattern that almost drew her attention from the light at the center. She could hear a muffled whispering at the edge of her hearing, like someone was talking to her, trying to get her attention. Yes, I do feel sleepy, she found herself saying aloud. So Heavy. I feel so weak and limp. Who was she talking to? Not important, too sleepy.

The light stopped abruptly, and as Sandee rubbed her eyes, the voice of her customer came through the speaker. "Feel all right?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry, sort of zoned out there..."

"Not a problem, you looked quite pretty. Are you ready to start?"

This seemed to wake her up. "Yes!" she said happily.

"Good. Look in front of you, what do see?"

Sandee looked at the slot. In it were a pair of silver bracelets, featureless save for a small eyelet on each. Underneath them, a larger pair with hinges--they must be for my ankles, she thought. "Are those for me?"

"Yes, put them on, won't you?"

Sandee reached down and took the circlet. She slipped the two small ones over her hands and clasped the larger ones on her ankles. They fit perfectly. She made a few model-poses with them, even lifting her legs up so she could see them in the mirror. "Thank you, sir!" she said merrily. "They're beautiful!"

"You're welcome, I'm sure" rumbled the voice. "Now, can you see the thread?"

"The what?" Sandee looked around. What was he...ah, THERE it was! Dropping from the ceiling, four golden threads, almost too thin to see.

"Do you know what to do with them?"

"Yes..." answered Sandee, somewhat dreamily. She held up her hand limply, guiding the eyelet of the bracelet toward one of the golden tendrils. She reached the thread, and watched as it snaked its way through the eyelet and tie itself into a firm knot. As it pulled tight, her arm went lifeless, held in the air by the golden thread. She repeated the process with the other arm, and as the remaining two threads descended, the anklets were likewise tied. Soon Sandee hung limply from the tethers, her bottom poked out behind her, swaying helplessly in a nonexistent breeze. A silly smile crossed her face. She had become a doll, a living marionette, under the control of the man behind the glass,a man she did not know but sorely wanted to please.

"Begin."

Sandee felt the strings pull her upright, and her hips slid into line under her waist. She stood up straight, her arms still hanging in front of her, suspended limply from the wrists. Her head starightened up, her smile widened and she began to speak, in a childlike, singsong voice.

"Hel-lo. I am San-dee. I am here to dance for you." As she spoke, her arms raised and lowered a few degrees with each syllable, as if the string that controlled her speech caused the others to jiggle as well.

"I would like to see you dance, Sandee. Please get yourself ready."

"O-K." bubbled Sandee. With the help of the strings being pulled in the right direction, she was able to untie her small bikini top and G-string. "There's a string I don't need," she thought to herself, and she giggled happily. There, she was all ready. She returned to her original position, arms in front of her, ready to begin.

From the speaker came a light tinkling music, like from an incredibly ornate music box. A simple tune, but very lush and sweet to listen to. Sandee inhaled deeply, her breasts riding up as she arched her back to take in more sweet air. Her arms lifted to touch them, and she felt a thrill as her soft fingers brushed against her firm nipples. Her hands made their way past her breasts, stroked her face and rose into the air, waving to and fro like boughs in a breeze. The music continued, and her feet began to tap lightly. Her feet were lifted up and down by the strings at her ankles, and with their help, she did a clumsy little ballet for her customer, a floppy rag-dollish sort of dance that would make a real dancer cringe, but maybe crack a smile right after. She touched herself all over as she danced, teasing a nipple here, tickling her tummy there. Just as she was about to reach for her pussy, a voice said "Stop," and her body went numb. She froze in place like a mannequin. She stood still for a minute or two, as her audience of one examined every curve.

"Wind yourself."

Sandee found she could move her head, and she turned towards the window. In the slot at the bottom was a dainty silver key, about two inches wide. It was a butterfly shape, and looked like it came from some exquisite...wind-up toy. Sandee knew what she had to do. She reached out with a strung-up hand, grabbed the key, and carefully inserted it into her navel. She felt something inside her tummy go *click*. She gave the key a few slow twists. It felt as if the key was tightening her muscles. With each turn she stood up straighter, more stiff. By the time she stopped her body was taut as a bow and excited as all get out. Several sharp tugs, and she saw the golden threads that supported her twang away from her silver braces and fade away. She no longer needed them.

"Go," said the voice she was now starting to think of as Master, and so she did. Her hands were no longer limp and dainty, they were firm and mechanical, precision tools for pleasure, and she was programmed to use them expertly. She slid one hand into her wet pussy and began masturbating furiously. Her hips began to pump rhythmically, in sync with her pistoning hand. Her other hand was frozen in front of her like a Barbie doll's arm, bent at the elbow, the hand posed in a neutral grasp that can hold nothing but looks very attractive. But at the command "Breasts," it too racheted into life. Sandee began feeling her breasts with her other hand, dancing from nipple to underneath and between, as if she was trying to caress her whole bustline at once. The stimulation proved too much for the little doll, and she came quickly, her body jerking about like she'd shorted out.

"Wonderful, little Sandee." She was exhausted and exhilerated. She had pleased her master; there was no better honor. "Sleep, now." Sandee felt her whole body relax, and she slumped onto her high stool. Her eyes closed and she dropped into a dreamless sleep.

*taptaptap* "Ey, c'mon! You alive in there?" Sandee awoke with a jerk, almost falling off her stool. She looked around. She had no bracelets on, there were no golden threads hanging from the ceiling, but she *was* naked. She muttered a curse or two and bent down to retrieve her costume. When she stepped into the G-string, something fell from a fold, which clattered to the floor. She picked it up--a silver chain, from which hung...a sliver wind-up key. She looked at it in amazement, and in a fit of emotion, kissed it and put it around her neck.

*BANGBANGBANG*! "Sandee come on-you had one guy tonight, what, you sick or somthin?"

"All right, ALL RIGHT!!" she screamed, her anger taking over while her higher mental functions tried to piece together what just happened. She remembered a lovely experience, and decided to leave it at that. She heard the door to her booth shut, and she settled back into her routine.

"Hi honey. What can I do for YOU today?" She wiggled her sparsely covered bustline at the reflective glass.

A timid voice answered. "Oh, uh, I don't know what do yoohhoo...ahem...suggest?"

She fingered the key at her neck thoughtfully. "Well," she said playfully, "How'd you like to have your very own doll?"


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 Post subject: Re: Puppet Show
PostPosted: Mon Nov 24, 2008 8:57 am 
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Joined: Fri Nov 21, 2008 9:49 pm
Posts: 37
Location: Regina, Sask. Canada
Great story. Keep them coming. Mistress Andrea


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