Substandard Nerd After Dork

kirlia is like a much smaller cuter gardevoir that would follow you everywhere like a curious puppy. she has so much to learn about the world, and just wants to make her trainer happy.

at 2’7 and 45lbs, you can carry her around easily. an especially small kirlia could sit on your shoulders, or peek out of your backpack. not as easily as a ralts could, but still.

the underdeveloped, two-sectioned heart piece on her head isn’t as sensitive as a gardevoir’s, because kirlia is still growing and her powers aren’t as strong yet. but she would still enjoy having it petted and touched.

kirlia is definitely wayyyy too small to take an average human, but if youre transmasc and have a tdick, it’ll be a perfect fit. you can finger her too, but you’ll only be able to fit one at a time. and even that’ll be a lot to handle.

Thin fabric. That's all that separated Quenna from it.

Quenna Jones liked to think that she was confident in her beliefs about the sexes. She'd learned enough in her two and a half decades to know that she was into men, real men, and that there was a difference between a woman like her and the men of this world. And, though she disliked the systems they made to protect themselves, she was okay with there being a difference. It was right and proper. Everything in its place.

And yet, when she boarded the train into work today she'd found the car packed. Worse still, she'd found herself standing next to a pervert. There was no other way to describe 'her' as she sat in a seat next to Quenna, as if 'she' had the right to claim femininity at all.

Quenna Jones liked men, you see, but she didn't trust them. And these transgender-identified types? They were the worst. Always flaunting this over-the-top version of what it meant to be a woman. And 'she' was doing exactly that! A short leather skirt, ripped up fishnets, and white tanktop were all 'she' wore — save for the smug smirk on 'her' face as 'she' looked Quenna up and down.

It's not the first time someone had leered at Quenna, but it put Quenna on edge. She'd learned long ago not to modify the way she dressed for the creeps of the world, but today she'd wished she'd worn something other than her tights. They made her feel sexy.

Or, they normally did. Now she could feel the way that 'her' eyes roamed every inch. There was no other way to put it: she was being eyeraped by this sicko who clearly wanted to do awful things to her.

Quenna wasn't going to accept it. Hell no. It didn't matter how crowded this train was, she was going to call it out. She turned to face the sicko when the car lurched violently. Quenna felt herself tip forward, and tumble into 'her' lap.

And then there was only thin fabric that separated Quenna from it. A thousand thoughts sprang to her mind, but they were dulled, distant. Instead, Quenna's focus went to the strange surge of heat that burned through her at feeling the way this stranger's cock felt when pressed against her cunt. Even through the thin fabric it felt...

"Hey. I'm Bailey," the woman Quenna was straddling said.

"Q-Quenna." Why wasn't she leaving?

"You're pretty forward," Bailey said, her hands groping Quenna's ass.

Quenna should be yelling. This woman was assaulting her. And yet, she couldn't do anything but melt into the touch.

"And quite the pervert."

"I'm n— ah!" Quenna attempted to protest, but another pulse of liquid heat shot through her at the accusation. It made her gasp, and she found herself clinging closer to Bailey.

"It's okay. I know what you are," Bailey moaned, soft and low against the shell of her ear. "You're a slut. A cute, lesbian slut for this cock."

"I'm stttraa — mmn! — straight." It was a pathetic defense, and the humiliation that coursed through her only heightened the lust.

"Is that why you're grinding on me like that?"

Quenna didn't offer a reply beyond another moan.

Bailey brought one of her hands between Quenna's thighs. "What are you?"

"Str— AH!" Quenna gasped when Bailey applied expert pressure to her throbbing clit.

"Say that again for me, dyke."

Panic flooded Quenna. This wasn't right. She wasn't a dyke and yet, here she was. Riding this woman. Loving it. Getting off on it. No. She just had to focus. She wasn't so far gone that she couldn't assert her identity.

She drew in a deep breath. "I— fuck!" Another deft flick of Bailey's hand made Quenna lose track of her words. Worse, though, was the traitorous thought that she should lie. That she should keep asserting that she was straight until...

Wait.

Lie?

No. That wasn't... It couldn't... She wasn't into women. Except this one. This one that was making her feel things and do things that she'd never thought she'd be brave enough to do. This one that'd seen through to the core of what Quenna needed.

Oh, god. That meant...

"Dyke..." Quenna breathed. "I'm a dyke. A lesbian."

Bailey gave a satisfied chuckle. "Good fucktoy."

Quenna relaxed at the term. Melted further with it. Let her hips rock into Bailey until she lost track of time. Fucktoys didn't need to worry, after all. All a fucktoy needed to do was give and receive pleasure. Her mind was blissfully blank, pleasure building until all Quenna was aware of was that she was close. So, so close. It should've been awful. It was awful, logically, but in the moment all Quenna could do was let herself go. She buried her face in Bailey's shirt and let out a muffled moan.

Quenna Jones was cumming from a trans woman. A trans woman who'd groped her, and called her a fucktoy, and Quenna fucking loved it. It was better than getting herself off. It was better than her job, which she'd quit if this woman told her to. She'd do anything this woman wanted right now.

Then the train slowed, lurching to a stop. And the afterglow faded, leaving Quenna feeling... used. And that would be okay. She'd get off this train and go to work and forget all abou—

"This is my stop," Bailey said.

Character A: “That’s it, Character B has gone too far! I’m going to confront them in their office!”

*door slams*

*5 seconds later*

Character A, obviously brainwashed: “Character B has done nothing wrong, everything is fine actually… 😵‍💫”

yeah, it’s that

Tempted to actually put this on spotify so I can secretly stream it at work...

At a certain point, it becomes confusing how many of your actions are natural, and how many are trained responses.

Very frequently, Dolls will find their initial response to be obedience. “Yes ma’am” becomes a more readily accessible response than any other. Others will find they hear their dominant’s voice, ordering them to do basic tasks.