Doll Daze
“Do you understand?”
She looked around, startled and confused. Her large eyes binked slowly, and tried to recover. She felt like her mind was thick and cloudy with sleep, but she couldn’t imagine having fallen asleep in this room. She couldn’t remember this room at all. It was an unfamiliar place, like a psychiatrist’s office, with large bookcases stacked high with esoteric books and journals. The man himself was rotund, with wagging jowls and an unhealthy plum complexion. He wore thin framed glasses and had beady hamster’s eyes which were crawling across her frame as she sat up straight, unconsciously correcting posture and sitting up without slouch. Her eyes fluttered and blinked, widening and staring forward, seeing everything, but… Nothing registered. Not only could Jessica not imagine having fallen asleep in this presence; she… Couldn’t remember at all. And… No. She didn’t understand.
It felt as if sluggish neurons struggled to fire and make connections in chemical channels that no longer existed. Her mind fired off questions instinctually, trying to link with anything. Any framework that would make sense of her presence here in this room. But… Nothing returned. Each attempt deep inside presented a one-way trip into a void of non-response. She couldn’t remember, she couldn’t connect with any semblance of a response. There was nothing for her thoughts to latch onto, and they simply went blank. Blank and empty, empty and blank, as if the contents of her mind were scrubbed entirely clean of anything to connect with. Her eyes blinked, and… there was nothing. Not even the questions themselves… Not only were the responses empty and blank, her thoughts… Struggled, to even… Exist. She was simply observing and reacting to the stimulus as it presented itself. Questions arose unbidden, but without context or… If there was a word that could describe it, to make it, make sense to her… Some descriptor to explain how her mind felt thick, unable to remember, unable to process, unable to even.. Think. Maybe it might make sense… but… She didn’t. She couldn’t. There was nothing she understood. There was nothing she could understand.
Her eyes dropped down and found herself vaguely stunned to see herself wearing an outfit she would never wear in public, private, or in any alternate reality of the multiverse. But the feeling and response was muted, dull, only the echo of an abstraction. A ghost of what her response might have been, were her mind… Not… Smooth. Like the rubber and slickness she felt, completely without definition. Her eyes blinked, and struggled to latch onto this… Notion, explanation, understanding… And for a moment, vision wavered and unbidden, the image of brains occurred to her… How brains with thoughts and memories and concepts and meaning, would be wrinkled and grooved, and there would be levels and layers within… But for her… The only vague echo within was the notion… her mind was smoothed… Without distinction, without form, without the grooved and notches that might indicate… Substance within. Just a blank, empty slate. Blank and empty, empty and blank. She blinked. And her eyes resumed exploration.
The outfit was ripped from the pages of some fetish magazine, tight and form-fitting pink rubber molding itself to every curve of her body... She was in some kind of halter-top, wrapping around her neck and barely containing her breasts. There were filly adornments and ruffled highlights, impractical but stylish, in a vintage notion of flourish. As her chest rose and fell, her breasts seemed to possess their own desire to escape, to test the bounds and bindings of the rubber, but not quite succeeding.
Her nipples stood at attention, outlined in the contours of pink rubber. She was wearing long opera gloves of the same material, crawling up the length of her arms just above the elbows, with another frilly flourish. Her hands were folded in her lap. The gloves were odd, in that they gave her use of her thumb, but the rest of the fingers were all bound together in a unified pink hand. She could move her fingers in unison, but moving them apart was impossible. Not that she could move. She simply could… Observe. Her eyes could move, taking in the stimulus around her, but… Nothing really registered beyond the look and.. Observation. She was simply observing, her own body as a dissociated visitor in her own sphere of sensation. She felt breath, the constrictions of the rubber. The flutter of her eyelashes, as her eyes blinked.
There was a strap of white belt and below she was wearing some tight miniskirt that was short enough to leave the lower edges of her panties and sex visible. She could see the tracery of her lower lips straining against the tight rubber panties, same color and material.. Long rubber stockings began mid-thigh, ending in an enclosed rubber sock/foot that left no trace of toes. She was wearing pink stilettos of a staggering height. The rubber clung tight, yet the rubbing against her skin felt slick and sleek, presumably she was oiled or powdered beneath, so her movements wouldn’t chafe,
Her eyes shifted to the left, where a standing mirror stood between high arching stacks of books. She glanced at her reflection, feeling strangely disconnected and dissociated from her own body. She could move her eyes, but her head seemed to not want to move. She didn’t really want to do anything but stare forward either, but the glimpse she caught in the mirror demanded undivided attention.
She was made up to an absurdist degree. Her hair, once straight and blonde, was a mass of tightly coiled rings falling perfectly around her shoulders. She was wearing a cap/bonnet looking thing at the top of her head of similar rubber material. Her face was that of a stranger... Her once dark eyes were now a striking crystalline blue, shining brightly. Smoky tracery and eyeshadow enhanced the natural largeness of her eyes, framed by long extended lashes giving them the appearance of being huge eyes. Long fake soot lashes flowed from her eyes, past the edge of her face. Her cheeks were covered in round spots of bright rose. Her lips were painted a lurid cherry red. She looked like some kind of toy.
She suddenly felt heat swelling within the the shell of her body, she felt her self slickening, aroused and moist. But something was strange. Sensation flooded her, her mind processed feelings and sensory input, nerve endings and synapses... But her mind was empty... Of... Content? She struggled momentarily to find the right word to describe her feeling... And then she realized. There were no words.
She opened her mouth, and tried to speak, but found herself incapable of uttering a sound. Only the low whisper of exiting breath escaped her, and for a moment there was an echo of a feeling, deep within. Her Doll eyes blinked, and she tried to center upon it, focus upon it. Try and grasp onto the vestiges of, some, feeling, some emotion, some puzzle, some anxiety. . It wasn’t that she couldn’t talk. It is that she had no words at all. Her entire mind was blank and empty, and she felt hollow and formless within. She would be able to speak, if a single word enter her mind and stay there until she could speak it out loud... But no words came.. None existed within her head. Her mind was a rush of feelings and sensation, memories and events, but no language. No words. Nothing but sensation.
“Dolly Speak” said the rotund man in the rasping voice of a long time smoker. He was smiling widely and Jessica saw yellow stained teeth, with a bit of some green leftover stuck in his bottom teeth.
“Play with me!” words came out of her still open mouth.
A surreal sense of disassociation rushed through her... That was not her voice. It was some squeaky little girls voice, with a hint of seductive undertones... Playful and sensual, bright and chirpy. Like some little girl first learning the power of her sexuality. The words ‘Play with me’ were words that once spoken were recognized, with the intent and meaning intact. These might be the only words in the universe that carried any meaning for her mental state. ‘Play with me’ the words echoed in her head... And she was even hotter... Wetter. More aroused, though she didn’t move or give any indication of the sudden rush of warmth running through her system... She liked those words ‘Play with me’, instinctually. She understood them, even without any connected thoughts in her empty mind. They were her function, they were her entire meaning. She wanted to be played with. She needed to be played with... That was her function. That she understood, without comprehension. Her mind simply imprinted with a need, an imperative, complete knowledge of what she was always intended for. Along with two more words that echoed in her mind, even before they arose spoken from the rotund man’s mouth.
“Good Doll” came the words. And she felt... falling... Down into sensation... She knew what the words meant. She always knew what the words meant. Pleasure overwhelming. All-encompassing... “Good Doll” came the sensation of twitching tingling orgasm, wracking through her body. Though she kept still. She kept steady and unblinking, staring at the man... The rushing sensation through her body was not betrayed by still lips, unblinking eyes or movement in her limbs... She was still... As a doll.
A Good Doll. She stood still, with the words carrying pleasure to every synapse in her body. She felt good. Good to be a doll. A good doll. She just needed to be played with. Played with. Her function. Her purpose. Her reason to exist. She was filled with the pleasure, with a thrilling undercurrent of pure enraptured happiness. She felt fulfilled in her existence, filled with knowledge of what she was. What her purpose was. Her place in life.
She was a doll. A Good Doll.
She sat unblinking, hands folded in her lap, her feet pigeon-toed, cherry lips in a perpetual sexy pout. Her eyes gleamed, shining as she waited to be played with. She stood looking at the man across from her, but her mind was unfocused and unthinking. She was simply idle... Waiting to be fulfilled. Waiting to be played with. By someone. Another word rose unbidden into her mind, a word to describe the man across from her. Or any man that would take this doll, and use her. And keep her. What every doll needed to be fulfilled in existence.
Her unblinking eyes watched as the man stood from his chair, grinning widely. He stood up and said another phrase that triggered her blank mind into motion. “Time to Play” She stood up, and held herself in a frozen standing pose of coquettish cuteness. She waited for the man to come and give her orders. To command and to adjust. To move her and throw her around. Adjusting her position to give him the most satisfaction. To use her. And bring... She tried to remember her name for a moment... But she had been given none. She was a doll. Waiting for someone, the man who approached grinning widely, ready to use his doll.
Her owner.
“Good Doll” he spoke to her, as he drew her to him and began to play.