A Good Doll (experimental)
Dollification, bondage, dominance, undertones of bimbification and erotic mind control/programming.
It's a humbling experience to be inside a suitcase. Humid darkness fills all available space, of which there is very little, to the extent that it almost begins to feel tangible. The intricate, origami-like folding of my body required to accommodate my containment produced an intimate awareness of both space and boundaries. It felt all at once familiar and foreign, disturbing and comforting. Rarely in my adult life have I experienced such comprehensive bondage, moving about the world with full autonomy, lacking actual spacial limits. The sacrifice of those freedoms simplified my existence in a way that erased time and pressures. My choice was made for me; I could conform to my vessel and only move as much as it (and who chose to put me within it) allowed. I felt my mind relax, freed from the burden of deciding if and when and how to move. My restrictions carried me to a meditative state where I was mindful to every sensation.
I knew I was in a car because I could feel the rumble below me and hear the other cars around. Sometimes the car would slow and stop, or turn, shifting me minutely within my luggage womb. The radio was playing. I could also hear the familiar sounds of my Owner, sitting in the driver's seat. The pattern of his breathing was easy for my mind to latch on to, lacking the visual stimulation I craved, and for my own breathing to synchronize to. Occasionally he would clear his throat, a gruff noise that momentarily disrupted the pattern. I craved his every breath.
I was his doll.
My only indicator of time's passing was the radio. After four songs, the car came to a final stop. The radio, then the engine, turned off. A seat belt was released with a dull click. I felt the vehicle rock slightly as a door opened, my Owner exited, and the door was thrown closed with a finality. For thirty seconds of complete silence and solitude, my heartbeat built up into a frenzy. I had no autonomy to free myself from the suitcase, let alone the car. I tried to relax myself. I reminded myself of my mantras. A good doll doesn't worry. A good doll doesn't think. A good doll doesn't make choices. A good doll obeys. A good doll trusts. A good doll-
The door, the other door, opened. Fear melted away. My Owner. Pressure on two sides of the suitcase indicated I was being held, then picked up. My head felt like it was swirling. I felt safe in His arms, in His bondage. Based on the sounds and changes in temperature I could vaguely sense from inside the suitcase, we entered the house and went into a room, probably the bedroom. I was set down on the floor.
I swallowed in anticipation. I was so excited to see Him! But I had to be a good doll.
I heard and felt the zipper begin to move. I closed my eyes to ensure the light didn't disrupt my perfect stillness. I wanted to be perfect for Him.
I could see the light from behind my eyelids, but I could not see even a shadow of Him. I kept my face angelic and relaxed, careful not to betray any emotion despite my disappointment and eagerness. A good doll was always attractive to her Owner.
He spent a few seconds looking at me, I assume, and then I felt his strong hand gently slide between the left side of my face and the spot on the suitcase it had been lying against; his other hand crept to the soft skin behind my knees until he had a sturdy hold in both locations and could lift me up. I surrendered my entire weight to his hands, resisting any urge to tense up or hold awkward posture. I hoped he noticed my dedication, how soft and supple and demure I was for him.
I hoped he approved.
He laid me gently on the bed. I allowed my body to fall however it fell without correcting it for comfort. My hair fell in front of my face. I wondered what I looked like to him. I wondered what it looked like to observe both of us. But I was just His doll, unknowing and trusting, pretty and ready to be played with. All I wanted was his attention and approval.
He brushed my hair out of my face and rearranged my body so that I was laying on my back with my legs outstretched and arms relaxed at my sides. I was wearing nothing but a simple beige silk baby doll. I felt the lacy hem scrunched up around my waist; it must have gotten twisted when He moved me. That meant my white cotton panties were exposed. I could feel the goosebumps on my skin and the strain of my hard nipples against the silk nightie. But wherever my Owner touched me the skin warmed deliciously like a low flame, and my entire body flushed with passion when I imagined his eyes roving me. His touch was erotic not inherently, but because my entire being yielded all control to him; his hands had all authority over me, over what was His. He moved with confidence but care, examining His doll for flaws or damages while in transit. I was lost in the sensations, forbidden reaction or resistance. His fingertips floated against the tender soles of my feet, my inner thigh, the inside of my bicep, like sensuous torture. He turned my limbs this way and that to caress and observe them. I was impressed by his meticulousness. His touch was so delicate and so attentive it brought me to that place it always did, in awe of His love for His doll, and feeling so valued and beautiful in his hands. What is a doll that is unloved? Nothing. She is and I exist only to be loved, to be used, to please the Owner. And in these moments I surrendered even more fully.
After diligently examining my arms and legs, He moved to straddle me. I could feel His thighs on either side of mine, His warmth. He delicately shimmied the nightie up my stomach and, finding He could not progress further, wrapped his large hands on my petite rib cage and firmly pulled me up from the bed so that I was pressed against His chest in a limp hug. I could hear His heartbeat, bold and confident against my ear, and feel His hands pressed against my back, the only thing preventing my rag doll body from falling back against the bed. I longed to open my eyes, to see Him, but I was a good doll, and I would not disobey my Owner by doing so without his command. I was His and I would see Him if and when He allowed it.
The silk slid up over my pointed nipples. My arms were pulled up over my head, held by the wrist, so that the baby doll could be pulled off my head. I don't know where He put it; it doesn't matter. He slowly, slowly laid me back down, brushing my hair off of my shoulders. His hands lingered at the sides of my head, his thumb caressing my cheeks. He cherished me. I could feel it in the way his fingertips moved over my eyebrows, my eyelids, my lips, below my chin, behind my ears, down my ticklish neck and the curves of my collarbones. Down my chest. Curving around my breasts, not touching them yet, not giving me what I craved yet. Sliding along the underside. Gently, gently cupping them, feeling the weight of them. Not being able to see, only feel, heightened the sensation and my yearning. Then finally, grazing my sensitive nipples, and I fought not to betray any pleasure on my face. I assume He was pleased - he rewarded His doll by softly rolling my nipples in between his fingertips, gently tugging, feeling them. I wished it would last longer than it did, but this was only an examination.
He was pleased and so moved on.
The anticipation continued to well in my stomach and between my legs. And heightened when his fingertips slid down my sides to my hips. He lifted my hips like I was weightless. In a few motions he slid my cotton panties down my smooth thighs, then to my ankles, and off they were. He moved off of the bed for a moment to do something I could neither see nor hear. I felt exposed. I could not move to cover myself, to preserve my dignity and purity. A doll has neither of those, nor the ability to preserve them, nor the desire to do so. I knew, hoped, He was looking at me, at the doll I created and became for Him, desperate for His touch and approval. I was entirely His. My doll body dripped sex for him.
The floor gently creaked and I knew he had returned to the side of the bed where my feet were. He effortlessly cupped both heels and reposed me into a yogic lotus position. My naked pussy was completely uncovered. I felt a new surge of excitement and passion strike me as I reveled in my vulnerability. His hands gripped my hips once again and pulled me so that I slid toward him, still on display in lotus. The next time he touched me, his intentions were explicit, and the tone of his touch had minutely shifted from adoration to hunger, a subtle shift that spoke volumes to me. He spread my doll parts for him to see, looking deep into my wetness and poking and prodding. He stroked the skin around my clitoris, then exposed it and gently blew. My inner thighs jumped and the disappointment immediately set in. I wanted to wail. I felt like a failure.
"Ah, the new model has enhanced sensitivity. Just what I wanted."
My heart melted. He knew me, and saved me from my own unspoken evaluation. I was rescued from my own expectations. He brought me back to my place; I am a good doll. A good doll does not think. A good doll is what she is told. I do not need to reach any standards but my Owner's. He slid a finger inside of me and I swear I never felt everything so intensely ever before. He slid in another finger. I wanted to orgasm just from His slow, clinical touch. But then He withdrew his fingers and, with it, a string of my juices.
"Self-lubricating," I could hear His smile, "a nice touch."
His fingers slid down to examine my other doll part, which I mentally fought to keep relaxed. His finger slid in easily and I wanted to burst from the sensation. I was so tightly wound I amazed myself with how relaxed I kept my body. He added another finger and stroked my inner walls. I fought to keep my breath regular. My doll parts ached from how much I wanted Him inside.
Then, He was done. I heard him wipe his fingers off on something - the panties? - and lift me by the shoulders. He sat me up against the headboard, I think, and then left.
When he returned, He quickly set up to dressing me. Various fabrics were slid or shrugged on to my body, then either kept or removed. He wasn't sure what He wanted me to wear. I couldn't see what He had chosen, as my eyes were still closed. I was worried my eyelids would start to twitch if He didn't allow me to open them soon, but then I remembered that a good doll does not worry. I waited patiently.
After He was satisfied, he moved on to my hair. He brushed it gingerly, careful not to hurt my scalp or pull too hard. I was touched by the adoration in his actions. He put my hair up into two pigtails and I felt him fasten something to them - hair bows? - and then He was done. He wrapped me up in His embrace once more and carried me to another spot in the room. He carefully placed my feet on the floor but did not release me, knowing I would need to transition to supporting my own weight. He manually straightened my legs to signal that I was to stand, then posed the rest of my body so that I was standing with perfect posture and arms relaxed at my sides. My head, awaiting correction, was slumped to my chest. He placed his finger underneath my chin and slowly lifted my face. My heart jumped again at his touch and I felt its pace quicken.
Showtime, I thought.
He walked around me so that he was facing my back and pressed gently on the first notch of my spine at the base of my neck. Eagerly, but with poise, I said my programmed phrase: "Powering on. Please wait patiently."
I gathered myself for a few seconds and focused myself. When I was ready, I opened my eyes and did my best to keep my face neutral as I adjusted to the light. I stared directly ahead into a mirror and into my own eyes. From my peripheral vision, I could see what He had chosen for me and what I felt earlier - and it was very little, to my embarrassment and pleasure. I also noticed Him standing behind me. I was so glad to finally be allowed to see Him. I smiled brightly.
"How may Your fuckdoll serve You, Sir?"
He unzipped his pants. “Bend over.”

















