#cmahn

"You know what it means to create, don't you? To take things and make something new, something better, something…perfect. And that's what I'm going to do to you."

It groaned wearily as the last layer of duct tape was pulled from its tense jaw. The thick plastic left sore looking imprints on its skin and the tacky adhesive ripping the soft flesh of its dry lips, dotting them with blood.

Full and pouty and reddened, like dots of paint on a porcelain doll.

Lawrence felt heat rise in their cheeks and a flutter in their chest as they took in the sight before them: a fresh canvas to paint upon, a muse to create a masterpiece with.

A work of absolute art.

"I've got something to make this easier,” They said softly, setting the lengths of tape on their desk (to be used, not disposed of so simply, not gotten rid of) and moving towards their bed, collecting a plastic envelope that had arrived that morning. “I might not have to gag you again, if it works out..."

"Mmh," Its head had sunk to its chest as they crossed the small studio apartment, opening the envelope and accompaying packaging with shaking hands, before looking up towards them, bloody lips trembling, sweat beading at its temples and trickling down its pale cheeks. "A-Are you going to let me go...?"

Lawrence frowned and thought it best not to answer the question (‘stupid questions get stupid answers’, Father had once said before giving them a beating) as they approached and took hold of its jaw firmly (clasped tight between long fingers), tilting its head back towards the high back of the seat it was taped to.

The latex hood was a tight fit as they pulled it over its scalp without a word of explanation, plastic stretching squeakily as it covered the shaved surface. And to its credit, in spite of its clear fear, it did its best not to struggle or whimper too much as they dressed it, knuckles clenched white as bound hands gripped the arms of its chair tightly.

There was something oddly intimate about the act of dressing their 'muse', almost as if they were preparing an offering for a god, a docile sacrifice doused in milk and honey and wrapped in silks and cotton bandages.

Their cock twitched at the idea.

Lawrence was in quiet awe as they adjusted the nape of the hood around its neck with a final, satisfying ‘snap’ against its skin

"There. That's much better.” They spoke quietly and breathlessly, feeling their face flush even darker at the sight of the finished look, smoothing their hands down their scalp, each exhale shivering slightly at the slick feel of the plastic under their palms. “And see? No more gag."

The hood covered the majority of its face, leaving it blind and blurred (so much more inhuman than anything they could have done themself, or…well, almost anything). Its mouth was uncovered though, trembling, bloody lips framed by the black latex, skin looking that much paler when bracketed by the inky void of the plastic.

Their eyes lingered on those bloody lips a moment longer, watching as they continued to tremble, begging to be touched. 

So very kissable. 

It took a lot of restraint to not give in to the urge to do so.

"God...just, look at you."

Lawrence sighed as they paced around its bound body, before stopping behind it, resting their chin on its shoulder and running both hands over the hood again, feeling the tight  material clinging to the sleek smoothness of their skull (no bumps or bulges from too much hair, not now, not ever). The touch than trailed down, over where the plastic was concealing its eyes, its nose (the hood didn’t come with breathing holes there, all the better), before gently cupping its cheeks.

"So pretty. Pretty little doll." They cooed, moving in closer, their hips pressing against the back of its seat, giving them a much needed surge of pressure against their front. "All that flesh covered," Lawrencene than whispered through quickened breaths. "No more messy hair, either. Just smooth, dark latex."

A trembling smile came to their face and they let it, not having to hide those scarier expressions when it was blind.

"Like a real doll.” They breathed out. “I...never got to have dolls when I was young, you know."

It whimpered quietly, feeling their looming presence, lingering over it.

"Mm…my sisters did, of course. They got to have all the dolls they wanted. Even Laurel, even though…” They ran their tongue over their lips. “Even though she acted like she didn’t want them.” Lawrence leaned in and gently rubbed their cheek against its neck, making it shiver. “But...mm, I was always jealous of that. I wanted dolls, too, but I could never ask for them…"

Their lips hovered just over its covered ear, and they ran a hand along its chest, keeping their body pinned to the tall back of the chair.

"But, now I have you. And you're so much better than any doll I could have had back then."

"L-Lawrence," It stammered quietly, hands curling against the seat arms again as it tried to wriggle away from their body, tried to get away. "Please...let me go. I promise, I won’t go to the police, or tell anyone, orrnnhhH-!”"

"I have to make you perfect, though.” They pressed a large palm over its mouth, covering each inch of skin, cutting off the last air supply they had and silencing its pleas of mercy. “I have to cover every inch of you, so there's,” Their touch trailed over bare skin and the tight surface of rubber, wanting to grip tight, wanting to destroy, but not being able to (not letting themself do it).” S-So there’s no denying how much of my doll you really are."

It whimpered into their palm, the tiny hairs on the back of its neck standing up in fear and brushing against their cheek.

Lawrence would have to get rid of those.

Their breathing faltered slightly, just thinking about it, (thinking about the drag of the razor, the little dots of black hair left behind like dirt-clogged pores, grime and muck), and they felt compelled to reach down with their free hand, towards the bulging front of their sweatpants, and grope at their cock, hard and throbbing more than they had been in weeks.

"I could do it with latex, like your hood. Cover every inch of you until you didn’t look like a person anymore. Like a fetish doll. E-even though that would take me a while to save up for." 

They let out a wheezing titter, high and strange (not really sounding like it was coming from their mouth at all), gripping its cheeks harder and smushing their nose against the nape of its neck, feeling the delicious contrast of smooth plastic and skin as they gripped their cock harder, tighter, almost painful and so good. 

"Or, maybe just plastic wrap or something. I could steal it from work and...keep you all sealed up. No skin, no hair, no features, no sex. Mm, thatwould be…so perfect. Dolls don’t have those parts after all, it would be the perfect fit…mmh."

They hurriedly pushed down the front of their sweatpants, then, breathing in a hiss through their crooked teeth as they worked their fist up and down the length of their cock, squeezing the head and breathing hard against the latex hood.

"Or...mm, plaster or clay, maybe. So you could be my sculpture doll, or something, encased and still, forever and ever, and ever. P-Put you in my garden, behind a wall, under the floorboards to keep safe. Hahhh, f-fuck..."

Their breathing shook even more as a pulse of pure heat ran down their spine and shot through their cock, a little spurt of pre-cum covering their fingers and lubing up their fist. 

"Such a perfect, doll...such a perfect doll...j-just," Their breath caught in their throat. “Just wanna cover you up. Pretend you’re not even a human anymore. No breathing,” They did remove their hand from its mouth, though, not wanting it to pass out (and rewarded with a fast, frantic inhale that made their cock throb even more). “Nothing that makes you human anymore…just plastic.” 

Lawrence smiled serenely, any capacity for rational thought long gone, as long fingers traced around the opening of the hood and pressed against trembling lips, before sliding inside to be met by wet warmth.

"I know you’re scared.” They whispered, tonguing the sweat that had gathered along the hem of the hood, musky and salty and viscerally human. “This is all still…very scary, isn't it?"

It drooled helplessly around their fingers, still trying to keep still and quiet for them, still trying to behave. 

“But it’s not going to hurt.” They assured, their tone low and soft. “You might even like parts of it.”

Without an expression above it, designating fear or sadness, or maybe even a perverted sort of desire, its drooling mouth just looked and felt like any other hole in the flesh, like a wound, like a cunt.

They sighed shakily again, before leaning forward and pressing their mouth back to its sweaty neck, the latex and person underneath warm against their skin. They bit down on the crook of its neck, digging in teeth and grinding their molars, tasting wet flesh and wishing they were tasting plastic and artifice instead.

If something was going to be fake, it was better for it to be completely fake, they thought.

At least then, they could enjoy it.

"I know...I know, it's scary, isn't it?” They tongued the red wound, listening to its delicious little whimpers against their fingers, their other fist moving fast and hard up and down their cock.  “Scary knowing that...hah," They smiled into its skin, biting their lip to stop it growing into something larger and more unnerving. "I could do whatever I want to you."

Its tongue flapped uselessly against their fingers, a gurgle of protest slurred into a gibbered abstract as a puddle of drool ran down their naked, heaving chest.

"And I want to." They whispered, breathing hot against its shoulder, as climax came closer and closer to them. "Oh, I want to, I want to...I want to so badly that I feel like my stomach is about to eat itself.”

They felt the bite of teeth against their fingers, and didn’t even bother to suppress their manic grin.