The Doll House of Delights!
America; The land of the free. Or should I say more specifically Tampa Bay, Florida. This point ironically juxtaposed by the amount of subliminal advertising and aggressive patriotism that the country’s occupants display. Never-the-less, still it’s an exciting, beautiful and warm part of the country. The odd palm tree scattered around the walkways and a few yachts occupy the driveways. The sun is almost always glaring down on everyone at this time of year and the beaches are normally packed.
I’m on holiday during my Summer break with a handful of my closest friends. We’re all enjoying the food, casual lifestyle and friendly hospitality that Americans seem to have towards the British. We’re enjoying our time here and are dreading the return home in a week. Our small tribe of British kin are about 11 in size, all varying between several ages. Everyone’s staying in a rented out villa or the fortnight, which is huge. It’s a seven bedroom bungalow with a swimming pool, garage and personal gym. Everyone’s bunking up with someone, apart from me. I get a room to myself since I paid for the rented cars. Christ, what I’d do to live in this place.
I dream hopefully of it as we wander carelessly around the local highstreets together. All of us are chatting amongst ourselves and pointing out things we’d never normally see back home, such as the pavement being littered with men in mascot costumes, advertising their shop or restaurant. God, I pity those poor people, having to be cramped in one of those suits in this weather. Such simple things give all of us such amusement. This is the first time we’ve visited the highstreet, but thanks to new sights and glorious spending, I certainly do not thing it’ll be the last.
“Look! Over there!” one of the girls points to a local restaurants where a gentleman sat at a window is surrounded by a crowd. A man with a stopwatch keeps darting his gaze from the customer to the watch. He’s clearly doing some sort of food challenge. Another thing about America that’s just so enthralling! We all rush over to the window and cheer the gent on aswell without having a clue what we’re doing. An alarm goes off. The man throws down what looks like the remains of a burger on his plate and accept defeat gracefully, despite being covered in mustard and ketchup.
We spin our backs back around and talk amongst ourselves for a moment. Two of the girls dart across the road into a clothes shop. A few more follow, leaving just three of us. I gaze around in wonder at this beautiful city and marvel at it’s magnificence while the other two chat amongst themselves. I see something glint in the corner of my eye. It’s just a bottle cap with the company name; Dr. X’s special brew. I fiddle with it for a little while whilst looking around, before finally throwing it down an alleyway. I watch it bounce and roll all the way down before realizing what I was looking at.
The alleyway was dark and dank. The odour that tingled the hairs of your nose could only be competed by the puddles of muck in the potholes of the concrete. Truly, this is the hidden part of America I’d failed to see. A man in a box lays next to a large skip filled with rotting meat and dead rats. Debris litters the entirety of the alley and insects scurry around in the dark. I look behind me at the alleyway on the adjacent side of the road, which looks fairly clean, with the odd potted plant hanging from hooks along the sides of the building and a smooth, easy to walk on pavement. The same goes for the next alleyway on, I discover, after a short walk down the path. So how come this alleyway was so vulgar? Are the owners of the shops either side just slobs? Or was there something sinister going on down here?
I look down the alley, concentrating on whatever I can see. Nothing pleasant or intriguing come into sight; Until I notice a shop sign hanging from the wall at the bottom of the alley. It’s too dark and far away to make out. I bite my tongue and venture down this boobytrap of vermin and vandals. I skip and jump over any puddle of pile of trash I come across, hoping to make it out of here clean and alive. Unfortunately, the former doesn’t seem to happen, as I trip over something and fall chest first on the ground.
I pick myself off and pat myself down. I take some wet wipes from my handbag and clean my arms off a touch. Looking up, I realize I’m at the shop sign. I turn around and realize I’m barely off the pavement. The sign seemed much more further down the alleyway, I swear I’m not crazy
Next to the walls are two large glass walls with a wooden frame inbetween the glass panes. A door stands betwixt the two. Mannequins line up behind the windows, a few of them are naked, but the odd few have old, Victorian-esque cloths hung on them. But what’s odd is the positioning of the mannequins. Each mannequin’s arranged in a different, quite promiscuous position. There’s the odd one on it’s knees, a few laying on their backs with their hands on their crotch and one or two bending over. But all of them are females. They also all had hair, but all of them had different hair styles. The inside looks dusty and untouched. Cobwebs hang from every corner the room has to offer. All the sides and shelves look dirty. Hanging up on the centre of the back of the shop is a mirror. The mirror seems to glow and illuminate with attraction. It’s probably some kind of old sales method used to attract people to expensive items. I can see myself in the mirror, barely, past the dust. I smile and take out my phone, taking a picture of the mirror. I look up at the sign and study it hard;
The Doll House of DelightsCome in to fulfil any fantasy,Whether they’re yours or not!
An eerie and strange message for a shop sign. The sign’s tattered and worn. It stands still, despite the fresh breeze that’s tainted with the smells of this alleyway blowing through on occasion. The iron links the connect the sign to it’s brace seem corroded and rusty. I take a picture of the sign too,
I catch something move in the corner of my eye from the shop. I lower my phone into my bag and scan through the windows. Nothing. It’s the same musty old shop it was before. I look over it again. I see something move again. The mannequin at the front. It’s hand moved.
I look at it up and down. It’s a bare mannequin, but unlike the rest, it’s just stood upright. It’s mouth hangs open, almost as if it’s shouting out something. Almost as if it’s... Screaming. I stand close to the window and stare at where the eyes of the mannequin are replaced with show, white in-going curves. Suddenly, it’s head moves. It’s staring back at me. It’s facial expressions crease into an angry expression. I jump back, startled, and hesitate. I come to my senses as my instinct of slight kicks in and I run out of the alleyway. My breath is harsh and shallow with fear. I lean against the wall of one of the shops and compose myself. I try to forget the situation, head back, with a very brisk pace, to one of the cars and wait for everyone else.
The highstreet was only a few miles from our villa; It’s a fifteen minute drive at the most. I sat staring out of the window, my chin resting on the palm of my hand, my elbow balancing on the curve on the window. My mind was wandering at high speeds. I was still getting over the adrenaline rush from fleeing the shop. I keep replaying the scene in my head, each time making it out to be more terrifying than what it actually was. Which is actually surprisingly difficult. I run through absurd ‘What if’ scenarios, like if the mannequin started chasing me, or if I saw the mannequin in some bushes outside my window. I even pretend they were like Weeping Angels from Doctor Who. All, ofcourse, absurd. I hope.
We finally get home and I keep to myself. I get a few people asking ‘What’s up?’ and ‘Are you okay’, but generally deflect with some outburst of sarcasm. That generally works. I watch a movie with everyone, go for an evening swim, then turn in for the night.
I toss and turn in the night. An incredible sense of paranoia’s set in. I can’t close my eyes without thinking that some bipedal, plastic murder will be awaiting my shut lids. Deciding to give up on sleep for the night, I go and sit on the sofa. Everyone else has gone to bed, thankfully. I flick on the TV, curl up in a blanket to combat the sudden cool night air and try and take my mind off of things. Looking around the blackened room, I should’ve turned on the lights. This paranoia’s here to stay. The TV doesn’t seem to be working to distract me. Out comes my phone. I browse through all of the photos I’ve taken from this holiday. I smile and giggle at the images that come up. Eventually, I reach the ones from the back alley. I frown as I look at the picture of the sign The writing’s distorted and blurry. The brown wood with letters carved into it is now painted green with what should be yellow writing. Odd. I thought my phone took pictures of better quality than that. Which was immediately confirmed when I get to the next picture of the mirror. Nothing’s different here. It’s the picture I took, and of high quality. I go to swipe to the next picture from today when I notice something. My reflection in the mirror’s different; I’m naked. Not only am I naked, I’m not holding my phone. To boot, I’m stood with my arms by my side and my legs together. I’m essentially mimicking a plank of wood. My eyes look a little off too. I frown and take a closer look at my face. It’s devoid of any expression. But what’s really freaky is that my eyes are all washed out. They’re just empty, white scaleras.
I stare intensely at the image and look at my reflection. It’s freaking me out. It’s so bizarre. How did the picture get like this? But what weirded me out the most is that I actually enjoy looking at it. I like my facial expression, I like my eyes, I like my body. I lock my phone and think for a little bit. I decide to go back to the alleyway tomorrow. Finally past my paranoia, I head back to bed and eventually drop off to sleep.
I don’t rise until early afternoon. Everyone’s either out or in the pool. Casually, I gaze outside and see the glorious sun again. Quickly, I jump into the shower, grab some food and get dressed. Going for something a little casual, I put on a baby pink tank top, denim dungarees, some white, knee high socks and slip on a pair of trainers. I grab my hand bag, walk out the door, into the car and drive off to my almost certain doom.
The alley’s as gross as I remember and the shop doesn’t seem to have moved from when I first looked down here. But, like before, just a few steps and I’m already there. The walk between the front of the alley and shop feels like walking through a tunnel with the wind on your back.
I look in the window and glare at the mannequins. They make my heart palpitate for a moment. Looking through the windows, there’s no easy way in. Unless the door’s unlocked. But that’d be silly. Why would the door be unlocked?
The door creaks open slowly. I stand, mouth ajar, confused at this place. Magic doors, autonomous mannequins and picture altering mirrors; The place is like a mini-Hogwarts. Throwing caution to the wind, I walk gingerly into the shop, occasionally looking over my shoulder at the mannequins not infront of me. Slowly, I get closer and closer to the mirror. It’s still got that faint glow about it. I extend a hand as I draw in on it and place a hand on it’s frame. It’s cold to the touch. It’s oval shaped with a brass coloured frame. The frame’s been etched and moulded in the shape of a wreath. I lift it slightly off the wall, looking for the cause of that delicious hum of light, but come up short. It falls off it’s hooks and hits the ground, making a loud crash and knocking over a mannequin or two and raising a cloud of dust. Whoops. Looks like I pried too much. When the dust clears, I find to my surprise that it’s not broken, or even cracked. I bend over it as it lays on the floor, looking at my reflection. There’s not a speck of dust on it, oddly. It’s as clean as the day it was made. Smiling, I tie my hair back and take in what a radiant picture I am. I like this mirror. Maybe I should take it? No, that’s wrong. That’s stealing. That’s...
“Just what you want.”
I bolt upright and look around. What was that? I heard a voice, I know I did. I call out, asking the speaker to show themselves, but to not avail. I stand and watch over the place for a minute or two while I clam down. I need to get out of here. I walk out of the front door, then find my self stood still. I’m torn between certain safety and dangerous toys. I want the mirror. Turning back around, I pick the mirror up, which is surprisingly light, before rushing out of the shop, the alleyway and back to my car.
The other car’s gone, meaning some of my room mates are out. I can hear people in the back in the pool and they’re playing Drum and Bass music quite loudly, so I should be able to sneak the mirror in. I try and succeed. I prop it up against the wall. It bizarrely slides back and kinda sticks to the wall. How convenient. Maybe I should ensure all of my mirrors are magical. I stand, admiring it. It’s truly a stunning mirror. I look at myself up and down, doing a sporting twirl, content warping my facial features. Damn, I look good! But something was off. I noticed that one of the buckles holding my dungarees together was undone in my reflection. This was not the case on my actual person. I shrug and, to even it out, unclip the corresponding buckle. I stretch and yawn, blocking my vision and scrunching up my face for a second, obviously still tired from my previous night’s sleep. I look in the mirror again. Now both clips are undone. So, to make myself match the mirror, I unbuckle the other one.
“It’s subtle, isn’t it?” I look around the room. It’s the same voice from the shop! The voice was deep and condescending. It pissed me off a little.
“Where the hell are you? Are you following me?” I ask accusingly. My head’s still darting around the room. The voice doesn’t answer. I move around the room, peeking out of the window and closing the curtains. I lock my bedroom door.
“Silly girl. You brought me here!”
I snap my head around to the mirror and glare at it. I walk in front of it to find my reflection leaning on the frame, grinning arrogantly with its arms folded. “Yes. Bravo. You figured it out. I’m ‘The voice’,” It starts waving it’s arms around and making ghost noises, before turning it’s back to me, crossing it’s arms again and laughing. It’s head snaps around, it’s body slowly following suit. It unfolds its arms, gripping the bottom of it’s, ‘my’, shirt. Slowly, it’s hands raise the shirt further and further until eventually the bottom of the shirt’s hooked over it’s breasts, revealing a black bra. It bites it’s lip seductively, cooing at me. Gracefully, it curves a finger into each cup and rolls the racy fabric from it’s breasts. Finally, it stands there, arms on it’s waists, and looks at me, up, then down, as I do the same almost simultaneously.
“Look at yourself,” I look down. I’m stood in exactly the same manner. My breasts are exposed and my shirts over my tits. I start to panic, and attempt to run, but my legs are frozen in place. I can’t move. I’ve got no control over my body.
“Why’re you doing this?” I ask the reflection, almost in tears. It smiles back at me and begins to start pinching and pulling my nipples, “You know, I’ve been in the shop since the Revolution? Tell me; How long’s that?”
It stands there, an eyebrow raised. It’s actually expecting an answer. He has no idea what year it is. “It’s 2014,” I answer timindly, “So you’ve been there atleast 229 years.”
“Ohh, so you’re smart then?” it says, condescendingly, “Academically, ofcourse. Nobody in their right mind would steal a mirror from a shop where the mannequins come to life. Speaking of which; Do you know what those mannequins are?”
I shake my head. The reflection grins evily and stops playing with my now sore nipples. Slowly, it walks towards me and I follow without question. We’re face to face. It pushes mine and it’s chest out, so our breasts look like they’re pressed together, cooling my nipples on the glass, “They’re people. People like you that were dumb enough to steal me.”
I feel the colour drain from my face. My mind goes back to yesterday, when the mannequin moved. Horror strikes my core as I fear the worst case scenario. The reflection makes me take a step back, before kneeling infront of the mirror. It presses my hands flat on the mirror and causes me to arc my back, propping my face up to the mirror again. We look one another dead in the eyes. It opens it’s mouth and kisses the glass. I mimic it. It starts voraciously making out with the glass, so I do too.
It feels like a real kiss. I can feel the warmth of another person on my tongue and saliva on my lips. I feels it’s tongue writhe in my mouth. I can do nothing to stop this. It wrestles with my oral muscle. It feels pleasant. I close my eyes, almost embracing this moment. Temporarily, I’m in a blissful state of peace.
Sense soon hits me like a sledgehammer. My eyes crack open and my face distorts. It breaks me from the kiss, then giggles in my face. It uses one hand to cup and fondle one of my breasts, while the other slowly slides from my cleavage, down to my navel and, finally, my dungarees. It slides underneath them, then rubs a pair of fingers over my clit repeatedly.
“You filthy slut. You’re getting wet!” It laughs in my face before making me fall onto my back. It starts to massage my clit more and more, “I-I am not!” I call out in defiance. I assume it starts shaking it’s head, since I can’t see it and my head started going from side to side, “You act like you have a say in the matter. By the end of this, I’ll make you say who you belong to.” I feel my fingers slide into my pussy quickly. I let out a small gasp and grit my teeth, trying to bare the pleasure. My hand begins to move like a piston. The reflection hammers the inner walls of my cunt over and over, bringing me closer and closer to the edge with each flick of my wrist. I can feel the pleasure build in my sex at an alarming rate.
“You’re almost there, I can feel you tightening!” it says, smugly. My face creases as I scream ‘No’ repeatedly. I’m so immensely wet that I’ve built up a wet patch on the denim housing my genitals. My back arcs, my toes curl and my pelvis thrusts into the air. This is it. The hand that’s fondling my breast shapes as a fist and plugs my mouth. I scream into my hand with a strong, powerful orgasm. The whole sensation sends vibrations through my body.
Defeated, I go limp on the floor for a short time, covered in sweat and my own cunt’s juices. The reflection sits me up and makes me kneel. I feel like I could collapse from exhaustion at any minute. My head’s dipped down, my vision’s blurry and I’m panting heavily.
“Look up at me,” barks the reflection. Like it has to order me, I don’t really get much of a say. As expected, I look up. I assume that it just wants to gloat. How wrong I am. It takes me a moment to notice. An inhale of horror overcomes me as I look at my eyes; I’ve lost my pupils. I still have my iris and scalera, but now my eyes are just white spheres with a coloured blob in the middle of them.
“Each time I make you cum, you’ll become more and more like one of those white statues in the shop,” it grins and flicks my nipples, “Isn’t that great?” Humiliatingly, it forces me to nod.
It stands me up, walks me over to the mirror, then turns me around. I slide out of my dungarees before rather abruptly being bent me over, spreading my legs wide and forcing me to prop myself up by my hands. It presses my arse against the glass, the chilling touch sending shivers up my spine. I dip my head down and, just over my hanging breasts, I see myself knelt with my own hands firmly on my bum, spreading it. Apparently, it can freeze me in place too.
I catch a glimpse of my own juices that have betrayed me so roll down the smooth surface of the mirror. I feel it’s breath beating down on my swollen, sensitive cunt. I’m almost begging it to do it. I’m almost begging it to start lashing at my sex with it’s tongue. Almost, but not quite. I’m using every bit of mental power I can to hold back my calls of submission.
Finally, I feel something wet touch my cunt. It slides up and down it’s length at a teasingly slow pace. I’m already starting to pant like a dog in heat. Slowly, it works it’s way up and down the length of my pussy. Over and over and a torturous speed. Eventually, it stops before I start tearing up the carpet with my hands.
“Say you want it,” It says from behind me, “Say it. Just repeat after me; Please eat my cunt.”
I hesitate and hold back those words. It eventually looks underneath at me, an eyebrow cocked, “Well, go on then. You want this, right?”
I try to hold it back, I really do, but it blurts out of me. I whisper it at first, but my reflection wasn’t having any of that.
“What’s that? Did you say something?” it patronizes, slapping my arse, causing me to yelp.
“Please eat my cunt!” I scream hesitantly, more of my arousal pouring from me, making a tiny pool at the bottom of the mirror. Without delay, the reflection buries it’s face in my cunt. A wide, toothless smile crosses my face as I feel it lash, probe and suck my genitals. I blink hard and attempt to recompose myself, trying to fight off the pleasure from corrupting me, but it’s no use. My legs are starting to shake and my mind is dripping from my cunt at an alarming rate. I fall to my knees, arse still pressed firmly against the mirror, and bury my face in the carpet. I feel a finger start swirling around my clit, occasionally tugging and flicking it. Another orgasm makes my body tremble and quake with delight. I try not to enjoy it, but it’s far too pleasurable. Once again, I’m just a horny, limp meat sack twitching on the ground as my orgasm slowly fades.
It stands me up and faces me to the mirror. I immediately notice that my iris’ have faded away. My eyes are now just white washed puddles. I feel arousal buld in my sex as I look into my own eyes. I must either enjoy seeing myself like this, or I’m already conditioned to associate carnal delights with my reflection. Either way, it’s not good. It crawls me towards the mirror and forces me to start lapping up my own juices. I feel my tongue press against it’s own as I taste the height of the mirror. The taste of it’s tongue is almost enough to send me mad at this point, but before I can break, we part. I lay on my back to the side of it and rub my sock-clad legs against the glass to finish off cleaning it. I feel it’s leg against mine, which practically melts me to a whither husk again. But, when it’s finished, it stands me and places it’s hands on my hips, surveying my room.
“Let’s have a rummage through your belongings,” says the not-me, “See if we can’t find something useful.” It has me looking all around the room; Through my luggage, my wardrobes and even under the bed. Eventually, it makes me grab my electric toothbrush. I only keep it in my room because someone else has exactly the same one. It also makes me grab a few hair pins. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
Temporarily, I’m put on my back as I throw my knickers off and kick my shoes away, “There, much better!” it says quaintly. It sits me up, spreads my legs and makes me look at my pussy.
“You see that thing? The thing you’re staring at? In a minute, that’s going to belong to me.” The words send a mixed response of fear and want through my head. I take one last look at my gorgeous eyes before gasping gently, as the reflection clips the hair pins on my sore, erect nipples. I moan gently and look at myself as my reflection reaches for the toothbrush. It turns it on and gently begins to massage my clit. A quiet moan soon accelerates into a series of wolfish pants and grunts as the fine fibres spin around and around the most sensitive part of my body. My toes start curling from the delight. My free hand begins to tug and pull at the hair pins. My whole body begins to go numb with sensation. A huge, ecstatic grin covers my face. I think it’s safe to say I’ve thoroughly lost this fight.
But that made me happy. Why did I fight in the first place? I’m being given unimaginable pleasure at the hands of myself by just co-operating with my reflection. Who in their right mind would reject that? I’m reminded of such pleasure as the toothbrush is taken from my clit, flipped around, and the chunky end pushed slowly into my sopping pussy, causing me to let out a long and drawn moan of enjoyment. This is my life now; The life of pure and utter enjoyment. I’m free to fuck myself into a coma if I please. The tooth brush moves back and forth, pumping closer and closer to another sweet release.
“Say it,” say my Master, “Say it loud and proud.”
I’m too distracted by the pleasure. I’m too content with the tooth brush beating mindlessness into me that I don’t answer. Suddenly my hand stops. My eyebrows raise as I focus my gaze on Master, begging for the release. Master just looks at me.
“I belong to Master!” I scream, impatiently.
“Watch your tone, girl. Now; Who is your Master?”
I nod in Master’s direction and try to respond calmly, but my erratic breath betrays me, “You are. You are my Master. I obey Master.”
“Good girl,” Those words echo in my head as I fall to my knees in an explosion of a climax. I begin to drool as my body convulses and I fall to my hands. I take a few minutes to recuperate before hearing Master talk.
“Stand, Slave.” I obey, and rise to my feet at a stagger, hands down by my sides and like a well disciplined soldier, and well disciplined I had been, “Look at me. Or should I say; Look at yourself?” My head raises. My skin has turned a pale white. The mere sight of myself makes me fall on my weak knees with delight. I am so weak. I need a Master to guide me.
“Remove the hair pins, but keep the toothbrush. Ohh, and grab your phone,” I rush around and grab all of the required items, “Now, set an alarm for every minute for the next hour. Make sure the alarm vibrates the phone,” I set the according alarms, “Now, grab the chair from your desk and put it on its side.” Again, I obey. Each time I obey, I feel rush of happiness run through my body. Master makes me give her the phone. I turn and bend over infront of the mirror, spreading my cheeks for Master. Slowly, master starts pushing the phone up my arsehole. It slowly guides it’s way up there. I grit my teeth, fighting back the need to start masturbating on the spot. Eventually, it gets all the way up. Master walks me back over to the chair and has me mount it while facing her. I slowly start to gyrate against the wooden back of the rectangular chair. My pussy leaves a glistening trial of obedience along the glossed, wooden back. Master watches me intently. I use the electric tooth brush to start massaging my nipples, the fibres making them stand on edge. It’s not long before I start getting close to another gorgeous release for Master. The phone starts vibrating, startling my body and causing me to let out a cute little whimper. Master laughs at my submission. I eyes up my Master’s body, which is also my body, and realize what a phenomenal specimen I have become and how much better my life will be in Master’s hands. My joints start getting stiff, making tribbing more difficult. They start to get progressively worse. I feel another orgasm build in my sex. I force myself belligerently to reach another orgasm, but it just feels out of touch. My sweat has taken on a glorious matt gloss like style and starts to cover my body in a shiny shell. I see Master step through the mirror. She takes on my old form, with eyes, sun kissed skin and even clothes. I have evolved so much further.
My movements slow to a sloth like pace as Master gets closer and closer. She lowers a hand and fiddles with my clit. I grind to a halt as Master finishes off my climax. My body freezes in place. The orgasms won’t stop, each one more intense than the last.
“Feel this state of pleasure? You will remain in this state for the rest of eternity.” Master picks me up, effortlessly, and carries me into the mirror.
Through the mirror is the shop.
In the shop are the mannequins.
I am a mannequin. I’m set up and left as a decorative piece. And I don’t care at all. I will have orgasms so fierce they could tear a person in two.