Weaving a little spell that makes you go limp like a puppet whenever you sit on my lap. You know what's coming as I wrap my arms around you and pull you in, but you can't resist the relief you feel when you feel my warmth and softness as I take care of all your control.
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What's it gonna take to become your mindless puppet? How much do I have to beg to get you to wrap those threads around my limbs and start moving me without asking?
Here is the last part of this story! Part 1 is here and part 2 is here.
This one is mostly horror and then aftercare. Hypnotic illusions, puppet transformation, failed escape. Iāll continue writing these characters but this is the last chapter in their main story. Enjoy!
Crashing Down
Jack made for the door. Back through the studio, back into something like a real life.
Heād spent too long in television.
Before he closed the door, he looked back one more time. Aster and Norman both eyed him. Norman looked for a moment like he wanted to follow, but to his surprise, Aster shook his head. The guy was still smiling.
But no crew members held him back. The set security guard minded the audience, making no move to block the exit.
Fine, then. He went through the double doors. He knew this studio like his own apartment. It housed the same soundstage where his show had been filmed before it was abruptly cancelled.
Long, blue halls. He just had to make it to the parking lot, get out to his car. He wanted to go home where he could take a long sleep, and in the morning, heād rethink his life.
He turned a corner, stepped through the corridor, past the costume department.
But where was the costume department? He didnāt see the familiar glass door, the window peeking into all the rows of costumes, the walls of shoes, the racks of wigs. It was just another blue hallway.
But it had been a long night. And he was beyond stressed. If he was a little turned around, who could blame him? Costuming must have been in the next hall over. He wasnāt used to leaving the studio from this side, after all.
He doubled back and made his way to the next corridor. Once he saw a more obvious landmark he would get his bearings. This place was too big, and it all looked the same.
Around the next corner heād come across the costuming department. He was certain of this fact.
But he was wrong. Another long, nondescript hallway stretched out before him.
A terrible thought crept up from the back of his head. He tried to push it down, but it began to coil around his mind, inviting with it a wave of panic. What if Aster had done something to his mind to make it impossible for him to get out?
It would make sense. No wonder they didnāt stop him.
But he knew this studio. He knew it. It would be like getting lost in his own neighborhood. Could Aster really have screwed with his wiring this much? He marched on. He had to find the exit, eventually.
As he turned the corner of the next long hall, his head started to feel fuzzy. He shook it, trying to clear his clouded mind. He felt hollowed out.
But some time away from Aster would clear his head. It had to. What else could he do? He continued on down the hall.
Around the next corner was a spiral staircase.
He didnāt remember the staircase being there. The only thing below the floor he was on was the basement. But past the staircase there was nothing; just an empty wall.
He considered turning back, but every inch of him screamed to move forward. Away, away, as far as he could get from the life heād built, the life that had been swiftly pulled out from under him.
He took a step down the staircase. Away. He just had to get away.
Down.
Down.
Down.
The stairway brought him to a familiar door.
He opened it and stepped onto the set.
His set.
It was dark and empty and quiet without the buzz of an audience, the whir of equipment, the lights shining down from the grid above the stage. In the shadows he saw his own face on the posters in the hall leading out to the audience. He saw his own name in cursive above the set.
Tonight With Jack Navy
Tonight With Jack Navy
Too Late For Jack Navy
He rubbed his eyes. He imagined the set as a blank slate, something to be refurbished for a new show with a new star.
He wasnāt sure how he felt about that. All the work, late nights, memorized pages of script and cup after cup after cup of coffee. He had never wanted to admit to himself why he had worked so hard.
He just wanted people to like him. He thought that when he was on TV he would finally feel like he had the attention he secretly craved, the love heād always needed. But it was never enough. His ratings were low and getting lower, and for a while heād known that his time in the spotlight was going to end. A wiser person would have left on his own, but Jack was too proud.
That pride had been shattered when Norman and Aster had revealed him for who he was on the national stage.
Tonightās events had been a mercy killing.
He stepped through the double doors on the far side of the soundstage. From here, his home away from home, he knew exactly where to go. He was so exhausted. He would spend the night locked in his dressing room and leave in the early morning.
The hallway on the other side of the door was familiar and he breathed a sigh of relief. As he rounded the corner, he heard a clatter and paused to survey the hall. It sounded like a kid dropping a toy. Plastic against plastic. But the hall was empty, except for him. He took another step.
Clatter.
Was it something in his pocket? His keys? He felt around his jacket pocket but as he looked down, he realized something was wrong with his hands.
They looked shiny. Plastic. His knuckles and wrists met at jointed segments. They were the hands of an oversized doll. And when he moved, they made a clatter.
He rubbed his hands, pulled at his sleeves, tried to wipe off this stuff; this whatever it was that was threatening to take over his body.
āFuck, fuck, what the hell is this?ā He muttered, feverishly rubbing up his arms for some kind of seam that would allow him to rip the plastic away from his skin.
But it did nothing. Plastic fingers clattered against plastic arms.
He continued down the hall, joints clicking with each step. He was pretty sure his dressing room was around the corner. He felt jittery. He just couldnāt move right. And it was getting harder. With every step he stumbled a little more.
āHello?ā He called out into the empty hall. He needed help. There had to be one person who was still on his side. The hallway seemed to stretch and sway before him, rocking him from side to side like a boat in a storm. Vertigo. He crashed against the wall and when he tried to stand, the task was enormous. His plastic legs trembled beneath him. āH-help meā¦ā he sputtered. āHelp me!ā
He went around the next corner and he saw his name on the door. His dressing room. He shambled forward. If he could just make it thereā¦
Well, he didnāt know. But it was his only option, unless someone else came along to save him. His left leg went completely numb and collapsed beneath him. He dragged himself miserably across the floor.
āHellllpā¦ā he slurred, disturbed to hear the high, hollow sound that echoed from the back of his throat. His jaw was going numb. His head wobbled in its socket. He couldnāt keep looking upright.
āHeā¦ haaaā¦ā He felt his mouth grow slack and loose until he couldnāt move it anymore. He tumbled to ground again, feeling his hard plastic body crash against the concrete. The only sound that would escape his lips was a wheezing āHaaaaaā¦ hhhaaaaaā¦ā
And he laid there on the ground, with nothing to lift him up.
āHaaaā¦ haaaaā¦ haaaaaā¦ā
He was nothing but a toy, after all. A puppet. Nothing more.
ā¦
ā¦
ā¦
Here he is!
Lord, what did you do to him? Is he passed out?
No, but I doubt he can make sense of things right now. Help me lift him.
Good thing the kidās a twig. Oh, heāsā¦ heās covered in dust.
Which way?
Down the hall over there to my dressing room. Thatās where Iāve got my special setup.
ā¦
ā¦
ā¦
Here ya go Jackie, home sweet home.
Help me take off his clothes. He hates being dirty. I want to give him a bath.
Uh, you sure he wonāt drown?
Iāll bring him up a bit. Hello Jack. Hello my dear. Jackā¦
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Asterās face slowly came into focus, Norman standing behind him in the doorway.
The place looked like an apartment. It was small, cozy, filled with TV memorabilia. Jack blinked. Through the doorway behind Norman, there appeared to be a dressing room. Were they still at the studio?
Jack blinked again. It didnāt make sense. He didnāt comprehend. But he couldnāt make an argument against it.
He lifted his hands in front of his face. Flesh. So it had all been an illusion, after all.
But he still felt hollow on the inside. He still felt like a puppet.
āYou were amazing today, kid. Iāve never seen a crowd so worked up. I mean you really turned them on.ā
āNot now, Norman. No more teasing tonight. Gentleā¦ā Aster slowly removed Jackās jacket. Unbuttoned his shirt.
Gentleā¦
The bath was warm. It made Jack so sleepy. Norman ran a warm washcloth over his shoulders, as Aster pet his hair.
That was when Jack began to cry. His eyes pricked with hot tears and then he felt a heaving sob choke its way up from the back of his throat.
āOh, Jackieā¦ā Norman cooed, wiping the tears.
āD-d-did I do good?ā He stammered out between shivering teeth.
āYou were amazing, kiddo.ā
āAre they gonna let meā¦ā his voice was small, childlike, āL-let me be on the TV again?ā
āYouāve got no choice, you signed a contract.ā
āNorman,ā Aster warned.
āDoes everyone th-think Iām disgusting?ā The tears tumbled down into the bath, popping bubbles as they splashed into the water. āIs the audience gonna hate me?ā
āThe audience loves you, Jackie. Just think about it. Me and Aster have got you taken care of. You get to be on the show but you donāt have to run it anymore. You can stop killing yourself over it and just be a part of it. Just let us take care of you.ā Norman cupped his face gently. āYouāre our little star.ā
They dried him and dressed him in an oversized shirt, one of the many Norman had with his own show emblazoned on the front.
Aster pulled out a backpack filled with Jackās things. He must have packed it at some point, but Jack couldnāt imagine when that could have been. Right now, he couldnāt think of anything. Aster pulled a familiar friend from the backpack: Jackās old, stuffed tiger.
As Aster tucked him into bed, he slipped the tiger into his arms. So soft. So comfy.
Norman climbed next to him into the bed. He took a moment to think, before he decided to curl into Jackās shoulder.
Aster sat up, petting his hair, soothing him to sleep.
In the morning, his life would be completely different from the one he had known. Perhaps that wasnāt so bad.
I love being an easy weak toy for my friends online. You wanna shut off my brain with words, ok! You wanna call? Sure! Oh, you wanted to video call, ok! You said the right words and now Im taking off clothes cause you told me to. Im posing however you like, doing anything you ask of me without a thought. Its so nice I can trust my friends to take care of my body while I dont think. Life is just so much easier when I let my friends think for me.
For anyone else who wants to help me think less, just DM me!
i suffer from puppet disease. somtimes randomly a sadistic ghost will puppet my body to do things i dont really agree with necessarily. my close friends know to just ignore me when its happening. im very grateful for that. the medical establishment calls it """tourette syndrome""" but we all know im actually part-puppet.
im older now & im on strong anti-ghost medication so i dont get puppeted very much anymore. mostly just when im stressed becuz the sadistic ghost knows im spiritually weaker when im stressed & thus easier to puppet. i guess the sadistic ghost is gettin old too. somtimes i wonder who else she puppets?
somtimes strangers go "oh ur part-puppet???? i wish i was part puppet. do u get puppeted while ur asleep???? do u get puppeted during sex?????" and i just roll my eyes.
first of all, i hav puppet rage meltdowns in my dreams somtimes, but no i dont get puppeted while im asleep. second of all, iv never had sex, iv been sexually harassed a few times tho. realistically i think i wuld prefer to snuggle with another trans lady (such as my queer partner cassidy) rather than hav sex with anyone. not sure tho.
if u wonder what its like to hav puppet disease, well, youd hav to specify do u mean NOW, or back when it was really bad? becuz back then, i could barely walk or talk. i was gettin puppeted constantly. tears wuld fall from my eyes while i was focused super hard on doing these stupid puppet dances becuz i culdnt stop even tho i was exhausted. im glad those days are over.
nowadays some ppl dont even believe im part-puppet. then i start making noises or moving weird and theyr like "oh, okay"..... guess my puppet performance is all for u, huh?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
