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: This is the story of a smiling porcelain doll...
PostPosted: Fri Oct 28, 2011 6:57 pm 

Joined: Thu Oct 27, 2011 6:08 pm
Posts: 3
Hello, all. I'm a brand new member (though I've been lurking for a while...), and I've been working on a little story. I've read a few of the stories already posted, and it doesn't seem to be the same kind of thing at all... I hope you all like it anyway. I'm sure there's a niche for my particular brand of dollification. As a side note, if anyone is interested in owning a doll like the one in the story, please contact me (; Though this doll is not based on me in any way. When I have new content for this story, I'll update this post and then post an 'update notification' underneath. I'll consider suggestions, and I'd love to hear your reviews as I go.

PS: Yes, there is a little girl in the story. No, there will be no sexual content involving her.
PPS: Actually, not much (if any) sexual content at all. So don't wait on the edge of your seats.

This is the story of a smiling porcelain doll.

She isn't porcelain, not really, though she looks it. Her skin is soft – human – though smooth and nearly white, cool to the touch.

Thick wavy blonde hair is spread around her on the pillow, down her back, and draped over her shoulders.

Her face is pretty and perfect; oval-shaped, with a small, upturned nose. Her mouth is a delicate pink, with just the slightest hint of gloss. Her eyes are shut; she is sleeping. Her lips are curved into a smile.

Her frame is petite, with lightly rounded limbs and soft curves. She is dressed from neck to calf in a modest nightgown, all lace and ruffles with small rosebuds decorating the collar. Her feet are dainty and bare, hands clasped on her chest.

The bed she's on is a large, exaggerated version of any little girl's dream; a four-poster with wispy drapes, embroidered cover, and ruffled pillows.

There is something off about this girl's peaceful smile in such a picture. Nothing about this setting looks comfortable, though it is all beautiful. Anyone would find the embroidery stiff and unpleasant. She lies on top of the undisturbed blankets – surely she would get cold. Her nightdress would be itchy to wear and impractical to sleep in.

It is obvious now that the scene is not meant to be homely, or even human. It is a doll, lying on a doll's bed. Yet the gentle rise and fall of the chest beneath the ruffled gown shows this doll is very much alive.

The sun is just beginning to fall through the sheer curtains, the eyelets making intricate patterns of light on her face and form. She makes no move to wince, cover her eyes, or turn her head as the light strikes her eyelids.

The serene silence is broken suddenly by the sound of the door opening; the brass handle shines as it twists atop the dark, heavy wood. The doll does not react to the sound, nor to the small footsteps approaching the bed. They pause at the foot, then circle around to the window to clumsily draw back the drapes.

Now standing in the sudden brightness is a tiny girl, perhaps five or six years old. She is dressed for the day in a dark blue dress with white lace trim, white booties and short white socks. Her short, dark hair curls around her small heart-shaped face.

The contrast between the little girl and the sleeping doll is immediately apparent. Everything about the girl is spirited and full of energy, while the only sign of life from the girl on the bed is the soft, unbroken rhythm of her breathing.

Even the girl seems to realize it as she almost reverently comes to the head of the tall bed. She carefully climbs on top, her skinny knees denting the comforter, disturbing its perfection. She kneels beside the doll – her doll – and gently places a hand on each of her smooth cheeks. “Dolly?”

The doll's eyes fly open, her dark lashes nearly touching her brows. Her hazel-green eyes look directly up into the girl's blue ones. The girl smiles, delighted. The doll smiles back; her expression has not changed. The girl gives her an awkward embrace, squeezing hard, then bounces up and begins to pull on the doll's hands.

The doll sits up obligingly, bending smoothly at the waist, not making the girl pull up her full weight. Her hair tumbles down around her shoulders. The girl hugs her doll again. “Daddy!” she calls, voice muffled slightly, as her face is buried in the soft waves. “Come and help with Dolly!”

'Daddy' appears, nearly filling the doorway with his tall frame. He's actually her stepfather, though he legally adopted her after her mother's passing. He now spoils his little girl however he can, making up for his perceived ineptitude as a father.

His face, though handsome, looks rough and tired, as though the majority of his days are spent worried or angry. His shirt is untucked, tie dangling around his neck, and his feet are bare. He has to get ready for work, but Vivi comes first.

“Don't you want to give your dolly a name?” he asks,joining the girl at the bed. He gently removes her hands from the doll's, taking the cool white fingers in his own.

Vivian sits on her heels and gives him a blank stare, putting one thumb in her mouth. “Her name is Dolly,” she says matter-of-factly.

They've had this conversation a hundred times. She seems to enjoy the ritual. The man wraps the doll's arms around his neck, and she holds on tight while he lifts her up and sets her on her feet in front of him. The womanly form pressed against him causes something to stir within him momentarily. He releases her. The feeling is gone. It's a doll, he reminds himself. He returns to the ritual.

“Just pick a name, any name. A real one.”

A shrug – one tiny shoulder jerking up and down. “Hannah.”

The man gives the doll an appraising look, mentally applying the name to the face. It seems to suit her. “Hannah it is.” He knows tomorrow it will just as likely be Kayleigh or Sarah. Or anything else. And he knows Vivi will forget immediately.

“Come on, Dolly, we're going to make you pretty!”

She takes the smiling doll's hand, tugging her toward the massive closet. Hannah/Dolly follows, each step slow and precisely measured to keep pace. If the hand holding hers were released, she would stop automatically, awaiting direction.

“Sit,” the girl orders, eagerly yanking down on both hands to bring the doll to eye level, sitting on a stool in the middle of the walk-in. The man follows, leaning against the doorframe, waiting for his turn.

Mirrors are all around them. One attached to the back wall, two oval standup ones at opposite corners. A large vanity at the center – the vintage sort with lights all around. The rest of the room is filled with clothing. Racks of hanging dresses, drawers stuffed with outfits. The common theme seems to be old-fashioned girlish innocence. Lace, ruffles, embroidery, white and pastel colors, petticoats, ribbons. Doll clothes.

Vivian is currently appraising the selection, happily rummaging through everything, leaving various items on the floor as she goes. “You get her ready,” she commands, an armful of clothes already piled high as she continues to search.

The man unfolds himself from the doorway and circles around the doll. Her eyes do not follow his progress; she stares straight ahead, the calm smile still on her lips. “Arms up for me, Hannah.” He will faithfully continue to use her name as long as it applies. He cannot bring himself to address any being as 'Dolly'.

He takes her wrists and raises them above her head, where they remain. He feels a slight twinge at this point, as usual, but again reminds himself that the doll has no feelings of embarrassment or shame... so far as he knows.

His fingers catch the hem of her gown where it hangs off the stool, and he carefully lifts the thin material over her head. A button tugs at a strand of blonde hair, and he pauses to carefully unravel it before abandoning the nightdress on the floor. The maid will get it.

The doll's body is now revealed. She sits there in nothing but a pair of white cotton panties. Her arms are still up, bringing her small breasts high; pale pink nipples like rosebuds. The man touches her hands and they drop to her sides once more. He turns his back on her.

“What is Hannah going to wear today?” he asks Vivian, again with the deliberate use of her bestowed name.

The girl presents her selection. A pale pink knee-length dress accompanied by a large petticoat. White short-sleeved cardigan, white short gloves, white socks.

“Perfect,” the man pronounces, though he would have said it if she had chosen a paper bag. Together the two begin the process of dressing the doll. It looks like some sort of interpretive dance; stand, sit, spin around, stand, bend. The flashes of motion are reflected on all sides by the various mirrors. All the time the doll smiles.

They stand back to observe their work. Vivian selects a pair of white buttoned boots and hands them to her stepfather, who kneels before the doll. One knee cracks as he goes down, and he rubs it absentmindedly. He takes one slender ankle in his hand and slides the foot into place. Vivi crouches to do up the buttons as he moves onto the next. They stand. Their work is complete.

The man checks his watch. He sets some time aside for this every morning, but it always takes longer than he thinks. He sighs, stooping to give his stepdaughter a kiss on the cheek. “Daddy has to get ready to leave now,” he informs her regretfully.

She's barely even listening, gazing at her doll with rapt wonder. She nods once to show comprehension.

“Come, I'll help you bring her into the tearoom.”

As they walk, one of the doll's hands in each of theirs, the man speaks. “What do you and your dolly do all day while I'm gone?” he asks.

“We have tea. We go to the park. We talk about all sorts of things,” comes the reply.

The man stops walking. The doll stops too, causing the little girl in turn to pause in her steps. She looks up at him quizzically. “What?”

“Vivi... You know Hannah can't talk, right?”

His words are returned by a blank stare. The thumb goes into the mouth. He sees no option but to continue. “Hannah is a doll. She doesn't have the same kind of... thoughts as we do... as people do. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.” There's an alarming little crease between the girl's brows. Her lower lip protrudes slightly.

“Okay. That's good. It's okay to have a... an imaginary friend, Vivi. As long as you know it's just for pretend. All right?”

The lip is sticking out even farther. “We talk,” she insists.

The man isn't sure whether she's just saying this to be obstinate at this point or if she truly believes it. Maybe he needs to have a serious discussion with her at some point. Or with a shrink... He immediately rids his mind of that thought. It's perfectly normal for a little girl to use her imagination, especially when she doesn't have many real friends. The thought saddens him. His look softens.

“Vivian... Do you want to invite over some friends from school?It's winter break; I'm sure they're bored too. You could have your tea parties with them. You could show them your dolly.”


The man is taken aback by this reaction. “What's...”

“Dolly is MINE. And I want my tea parties with HER. Go to work and leave us alone, you big fat meanie!”

Vivi takes off running at full speed, dragging the doll along. The doll hurries, legs working to keep up, but she was not designed for running, even at a child's pace. Her feet stall and she collapses to the floor at the end of the hallway, where she lies motionless.

“Now look what you've done,” the man snaps. He strides over to the prone form and heaves up on the doll's upper arms. Her legs stir, trying to get her feet underneath her once more. “Do you know how expensive this doll was?” he demands. “Do you want to break it?”

Vivian shakes her head rapidly, beginning to sniffle. “I'm s-sorry, Dolly...”

This only infuriates the man further. It's him she should be apologizing to. “She. Can't. Hear you!

The girl turns and runs with a sob. The man hears a door slam somewhere in the distance.

He turns to the doll again. She has managed to get to her knees, where she remains as the man maintains his grip on her arms. Her hair is mussed, covering her face, which is tilted toward the floor.

Looking at her, he feels angry. He grabs her shoulders and shakes her violently, her head lolling back and forth limply. Her hair falls back from her face, revealing her serene smile. Her eyes seem to meet his own, staring straight ahead. The man, inexplicably startled, releases the doll as though he's been electrocuted.


When his heart rate returns to normal, he hurriedly sets the doll on her feet and awkwardly smooths her hair. He laughs nervously at himself, which of course elicits no reaction from the doll. She blinks placidly, eyes forward as always, now fixed on a point somewhere over his shoulder.

He leads her through the mansion toward the tearoom, where a maid has already put out the miniature china set for the day. The room is calm and peaceful, with squishy-looking chairs and couches and large windows with pale yellow curtains.

One of the couches features a blue velvet lump. Behind the lump extends two spindly legs. Vivian lies there on her front with a pillow clamped over her head. She is no longer crying, but shuddering sighs pass through her every once in a while.

“Vivian, look, it's okay. I brought your dolly for you.” There's no reaction. “I'm going to sit her down in her chair.” He does so. Two of the four chairs are already occupied by enormous teddy bears. “Look at her, she's fine. She's smiling for you. She wants you to know it's all right. Come on, sweetheart, look.”

The pillow shifts, and a tear-stained face appears in the space. There's a loud, wet sniff.

The man is relieved. “Good girl. Come out and have some tea, it will make you feel better. It would make Hann... It would make Dolly feel better too. And I'm... I'm sorry for yelling.”

One small foot, and then the other, extend over the edge of the couch. Vivian drops herself to the ground and proceeds in a subdued manner to the table, not meeting his eyes. She flops down into the seat farthest from him and pulls the teapot – cooled down for little girl hands – toward her.

The man feels it would be appropriate to retreat at this point. He's going to be late for sure. He backs to the door, watching as Vivi pours first the doll, then herself a cup half full of tea, and fills the rest with cream and sugar. As he turns to leave, he idly wonders whether she drinks the doll's tea herself.

It only takes him a few minutes to get ready, now that there are no interruptions. In the front hall, he spies a newspaper that a maid has placed on the small table for his viewing pleasure. As he drags his long grey coat from the closet, he has merely a glance to spare at the front page headline.


The man shakes his head, snorting a dry laugh. This paper is really going to the dogs is his only inner comment as he shrugs on his coat and opens the door.

Had he bothered to open it up, even flip it over, he would have seen the slightly blurred image beneath the headline, snapped in a hurry by the one enterprising journalist who had managed to force his way onto the scene before the police had cordoned off the area.

Maybe he would have seen the room, with its large liquid-filled tanks occupied by seemingly sleeping girls of various shapes and sizes. Maybe his eye would have been caught by the farthest one from the camera, barely visible in the shadow of the others, where a dark-haired girl was turned toward him. Maybe he would have wondered, at first, what had caught his attention about that particular figure. Maybe he would have thought it was nothing, or maybe, just perceptible behind drifting strands of pixelly brunette hair, he would have glimpsed a familiar smile.

Last edited by porcelainprincess on Thu Jan 26, 2012 11:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.

 Post subject: Re: This is the story of a smiling porcelain doll...
PostPosted: Wed Nov 02, 2011 6:06 am 

Joined: Thu Oct 27, 2011 6:08 pm
Posts: 3
Maybe around the same length of the first..? I'm not sure, I didn't count d:
I see quite a few views, but no comments. Come on, guys.

 Post subject: Re: This is the story of a smiling porcelain doll...
PostPosted: Thu Dec 29, 2011 12:56 am 
User avatar

Joined: Mon Jan 14, 2008 1:35 pm
Posts: 181
Location: China, where the toys are made.
good start.. there's a tiny element of squick with the little girl forming an unknowing top, but that's not really much.
also, the incongruities need to be ironed out explaining what exactly the doll is. perhaps in part 2?

"A fine pair you are, playing dress-up with your living dolly" My Fair Lady

 Post subject: Re: This is the story of a smiling porcelain doll...
PostPosted: Thu Jan 26, 2012 11:37 pm 

Joined: Thu Oct 27, 2011 6:08 pm
Posts: 3
Thanks for the comment, Rubberwitch! I'd almost forgotten about this story, until I wanted to search something about dentists and this site popped up when I hit the 'd'...

I guess it is a little uncomfortable with Vivian, but I assure you that's not how I intended it. I like the dynamic of the girl being the 'owner', but there's nothing sexual about the relationship. I actually thought it was kind of funny that she was taking what anyone else might consider a 'sex doll' and innocently dragging her around to tea parties. Obviously if something develops (and I'm sure it will), it will definitely be between the doll and the stepfather.

I read what you said about explanations, so I thought I'd do a mini-update to set the scene for an explanation, fulfilling the other task of letting you know I'm still here and still working on it. The story kind of writes itself as I go along. I don't have much of a plan. I wonder where the man bought the doll from...?

Let me know if you think the newspaper thing is too corny. I'm always down to edit anything.

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