Message-ID: <26704asstr$970877411@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Orestes W" <orestes007@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed
X-Original-Message-ID: <LAW2-F291kTRmZudcIW0000cfc5@hotmail.com>
X-OriginalArrivalTime: 06 Oct 2000 17:46:36.0943 (UTC) FILETIME=[5FD409F0:01C02FBD]
Subject: {ASSM} Playing with Dolls (MC TG M+F) by Orestes
Date: Fri, 6 Oct 2000 20:10:11 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26704>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates, RuiJorge
Playing with Dolls
By Orestes
orestes007@hotmail.com
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Orestes
***
This work is copyright (c) 2000 by Orestes. You may download and keep
copies for your personal use as long as all author related information and
this paragraph remain on the copies. I don't mind if you send it along to a
friend, repost it to an appropriate newsgroup, or post it to your
adult-oriented web site, so long as you don't charge money for any of these
activities. No alteration of the contents is permitted.
***
Dear sir,
I feel silly writing this, and I'm not sure why I'm doing it. When I
talked to the receptionist in your Minneapolis sales office, she suggested
that I should put my feedback in writing. I don't know if I ever really
intended to give feedback at all. I just noticed the office phone number for
the first time today and decided to call. I probably should have noticed it
before, because I've had Arlene for a while, and have undressed her many
times.
There I go again. I feel completely silly. I've named her "Arlene". As a
guy, it's bad enough that I'm admitting to having one of your dolls, but the
truth is, I've also named her, bought her clothing, and given her a whole
personality of her own.
I didn't buy Arlene in a store. That detail seemed important to me for a
while when I first started playing with her. At least I hadn't actually gone
to the girl's section of the local toy store, and chosen the one with the
prettiest bows in her hair.
Hell, I'm not that much of a sissy.
Your receptionist told me that it was really important to include every
detail, no matter how small. I guess it's important for your market research
or something. I'll try to be complete, and please don't be upset if some of
the details are a bit... well, personal. I just really want to do a good job
of this letter, and I don't feel like I could leave anything out.
At first when I received the package with Arlene in it, I was a bit
concerned. The sender was Mike Robey, a photographer I'd worked with on
several occasions. I had visited his apartment the previous week, and I had
been nervous about hearing from him ever since. I was expecting an angry
phone call, or even a few lame attempts to have me fired from my position at
the magazine. What I wasn't expecting was a doll.
You see, he wasn't home when I last visited his place, but I met a girl
there. I should've walked away right then, but she told me that she was
expecting Mike to call, and I really needed to talk to him about a deadline
he was treading dangerously close to.
Just thinking about how to write it down, I realize that the rest of my
visit really sounds like something out of a typical male fantasy, like a
Penthouse letter or something. The girl was named Ashley, and she looked
like every one of the waifish sixteen year old models that Mike made his
living photographing. And like each of the models I've ever met, this girl
had been pumped full of "attitude" by agents and clothing designers.
I had interrupted Ashley during her half-grapefruit breakfast, which, in
a nutshell, was the weird part about the whole thing. I couldn't figure out
how any up-and-coming model would end up having breakfast so scantily
dressed in Mike Robey's apartment. Not only was he a second rate
photographer, but he was chronically shy. Sure, he'd told me about his
infatuation with girls like Ashley before, but I'll be honest that I never
thought he had a shadow of a chance with these girls.
So I sat near the window, waiting for Mike to call back from wherever,
and wondered how he managed to score with a girl so obviously out of his
league as this one. Like any guy who's telling it honestly, I was tracing
the outline of her nipples through her T-shirt, and hoping to catch a nice
view of her ass as she padded about the kitchen in bare feet.
Then it got really weird. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when
she gave me an appraising look, and decided to have sex with me.
" Ronnie, why don't you come upstairs with me while we wait ?, " she
asked. Except it wasn't really a question. It was like she was booking a
quick session with her hair stylist or masseuse. In her self-centred
reality, she simply expected everyone to go along with her whims. Ronnie.
Ugh! Nobody calls me that except my little sister.
The shame of it is, usually when people have that much attitude, they're
right. People do jump to their commands. I followed closely behind her, my
heart beating out of my chest, knowing the whole time that I'd probably
catch trouble for it from Mike later on.
As soon as we were in Mike's bedroom, she crawled up onto the bed. The
pose she took would have looked more fitting on the plastic women who work
for Los Angeles porn films than on a the skinny little frame of a teenage
fashion model. She looked over her shoulder, with her tail in my direction,
and the loose T-shirt hanging low enough to give me a view of her pointed
little breasts.
" Do I seem like a stuck-up little bitch to you ?" The question hit me
from out of nowhere. The soft hairless area surrounding her pussy was
exposed by the revealing cut of her panties. Form this point of view, she
didn't seem nearly as full of herself as she had a few minutes before.
" Oh, c'mon Ronnie. Admit it. You think that I'm an arrogant,
self-centred girl, just like every other model you've met. "
" I might have thought..." I tried to dodge.
" Please, " she whispered, running her fingers along the waistband of her
panties, " call me a stuck-up bitch. Tell me how nice it'll be to teach me
some manners. "
Who talks like that ? It was like a bad movie script. I was more than
willing to play along, though. I was beginning to see how Mike had made
ground with this one. If she enjoyed being humbled in the bedroom, what
better target could there be than a second-rate photographer with a four
inch dick (okay, that's just speculation, but it sure sounds right).
" You love the attention, don't you ? You love the way every guy in the
room watches you while you pretend you don't notice, " I was trying to get
the tone exactly right, and I was warming up as I went.
" Yes, " she admitted, rubbing herself now through those tight little
panties.
" Everyone makes a fuss out of you. They curl your hair for you, and
paint your face. They doll you up in their clothes, and tell you that you're
the most beautiful creature to ever stand in front of a camera. And you lap
it all up, don't you ? You love being superior to everyone. "
"Yes," she squeaked, burying her face in a pillow, and pivoting her ass
lewdly.
" Underneath it all, though, you're just a wilful little girl. What you
really need is someone to put you in your place. You need someone to teach
you some humility. "
I took hold of the waistband of her panties with my left hand, and held
her ass in place. With my other hand, I gave her a sharp little slap on the
bum. She reacted with a sexual groan that told me I had hit on exactly what
she wanted.
Everything about this was forbidden and exciting. My body trembled with
lust, and my mind burned with the knowledge of how wrong this was. She
didn't belong to me. At this age, she didn't even really belong to Mike. She
belonged with her mommy and daddy.
Ashley was a little girl. Maybe she didn't know it. Nobody treated her
like a kid. She had been a sex object since the time they took the first
picture of her. She lived in an adult world, amongst men and women who all
wanted her, for various reasons.
I could feel myself taking advantage of the little girl in her. Here I
was, giving her the spanking she craved, while calling her a bitch, a whore,
and a stuck up little cunt. The words came easily to my lips, and she loved
them all. I pulled the crotch of her panties aside to find her neatly
trimmed pussy glistening with arousal.
I knew that I would feel guilty roughly thrusting my cock into the teen
model. I knew that I would regret it. But I also knew that I wouldn't stop
myself. This was a fantasy. Maybe it wasn't necessarily my fantasy, but it
was a fantasy nonetheless.
So when I received the package from Mike the next week, I didn't know
what to expect. I thought he'd be pretty pissed off if he found out about
the way I had played along with Ashley's game. When I opened it and found a
doll inside, I didn't know what to think.
It was a weird sort of message from him. My first impression of the doll
was that it was remarkably similar to Ashley herself. The doll had slender
proportions, dark hair, and even somehow conveyed the vague sense of
superiority that Ashley gave out when I first met her.
Odd, I thought. It's odd that Mike would send me this. What was he trying
to tell me ? I left a couple of messages on his machine, and set the doll
aside for further thought.
I don't know at what point I took a look at the doll again. It just
caught my eye a lot as I was around the apartment, then I would find myself
staring at it. Heck, let's call her Arlene. It feels funny for me to call
her "the doll". I know her so well. If she wasn't Arlene when she arrived at
my door, she became my little Arlene soon afterwards.
I probably don't need to tell you this, as you're the maker of the doll,
and probably know more about it than I would, but the more I looked at
Arlene, I could see a versatility in her. Sure, Mike had dressed her like
his girlfriend, and given her a "model makeover", but there was something
underneath. I was certain of it.
Two days after she arrived, I found myself holding Arlene absently while
I was working on the final draft of an article. Arlene was a pleasant
distraction from the kind of drivel we pump through the pages of "Just
Sixteen" magazine. I mean, really, how many times do we need to put together
a quiz to tell a girl that her boyfriend is a real hottie ?
It's funny... despite the fact that I helped throw together the magazine
each month, I really had no idea of what goes on in the mind of a teenage
girl. Everything was just a formula, and formula goes a long way. Look at
daytime talk shows. All they have to do is slap together a lie detector
test, a boot camp counsellor, and paternity testing, and the rating will
just keep coming. For a girl's magazine, we pack together a half-dozen
quizzes, photo layouts of the latest boy-band, and an interview with one of
the actresses from "Friends", and we can sell all of the ad space we can
pack in.
I sat Arlene at the edge of my desk as I worked on the latest-greatest
quiz. The girls who read our magazine have probably outgrown their dolls,
but in a funny way, I'll bet it was an easy transition for them. It's just
switching from one target market to the next, and they weren't terribly
different from each other. It's all about image and insecurity, despite the
"lady doth protest too much" arguments from my pseudo-feminist female
colleagues at the magazine.
Like I said, I never really understood what goes on in the minds of these
young girls, but when I looked at the exquisite little doll that Mike had
sent me, I think I caught just a hint of what it must be like to be caught
up in the image and insecurity that sold dolls like these.
On a whim, I decided to play along for a while. What would be the harm, I
figured. Besides, the way Mike had styled the doll, it looked so much like
Ashley that it was a bit creepy. Just a little change of the hairstyle would
be enough to change the whole look.
It's funny that I didn't really think to myself, "I'm playing with a
doll. " It just never occurred to me until later. Well, six hours later, if
you want to know. I got so *into* it, that I lost track of time. You see,
she really did need some hair colouring. I ran down to the drug store, and
bought the perfect shade of honey blonde.
It suited her much better, and I was surprised at how well it worked on
the dolls hair. From there, I just kept on styling and brushing her hair,
aiming for the perfect look. Then, six hours later, I caught myself. I was
contentedly brushing her hair, humming something silly as I played. Played.
That's when it struck me that I was actually playing with a doll.
Well, you can guess that I set her aside pretty quickly. I was
embarrassed just thinking about it, but I knew had a bit of a taste for it.
If I'm honest with myself, I had already named her Arlene during that first
session, and I was beginning to make up a whole fantasy life for her. I
could feel my heart pounding with... I don't know... excitement maybe.
I finished my work on the computer, and e-mailed it in to the magazine.
Strangely enough, the play session seemed to have improved my writing. I
always felt a little self-conscious writing the kind if mindless stuff that
would appeal to a teenage girl. This time, I just let myself go, and I
really felt like I was able to relate to the girls who would read it.
I tried not to think about Arlene for the next few days. I found it
disconcerting to think about my own reactions. I even caught myself blushing
a couple of times when commercials came on TV, aimed at the Barbie crowd,
and I found myself watching with an unhealthy interest.
That's what I was most ashamed of. I mean, anyone could get absorbed in a
stupid activity, and feel a bit silly about it later. What bothered me was
that I knew I liked it. I thought about it often, and found myself making up
little stories about Arlene. Sexy little stories.
If my friends knew I was having sexual fantasies about a doll, I'd just
die. Despite the fact that I work for a girl's magazine, I hung with a bit
of a macho crowd. They ribbed me about my job sometimes, but we all knew it
was just for money. Hell, my friend Scott was looking to get me a job at his
rock magazine. This wasn't forever.
As I said, though, it would totally throw these guys if they ever found
out about the way I fantasized about dressing and undressing Arlene, and the
kinds of things a guy could do with her body.
It wasn't until I hit a writer's block that I brought her out again. The
magazine needed some quick material for the web site. I had the whole day to
finish, but I just couldn't seem to get myself started. I was distracted by
my own thoughts of Arlene.
I'll just get it out of my system, I told myself. A little guilty
pleasure, and I'd be back to writing in no time.
Arlene was a real cutie. As soon as I brought her out from my bedside
drawer, my heart swelled with a bit of pride over the good job I'd done with
her hair. It totally changed the way she looked. Before, the doll had seemed
to reflect the waifish kind of girl that Mike Robey was infatuated with.
Now, I could see a whole new girl emerging.
I don't know how a simple change of hair did so much, but Arlene's
proportions seemed more generous now, like the kind of girl I fantasized
about. The clothes were all wrong, and so was the eye colour, but I could
see the potential there.
Felling like I was sneaking into a porn theatre, I took a drive out to
the mall, and stopped in a toy store. Hiding my shame just slightly beneath
the surface, I walked through the doll section. I wandered casually around
for a few minutes before stopping to look at what I wanted. Doll clothes.
The store didn't have everything I wanted, but it was a good start. I
chose two outfits on their own, and then I had to buy a couple of dolls too,
because I really liked what they were wearing. You can't imagine how silly I
felt, walking up to the front of the store with all this doll stuff.
" They're for my daughter, " I explained nervously, as if I really needed
an excuse. The clerk seemed inwardly amused by my explanation, which only
brought a new shade of red to my face.
I couldn't wait to get home, where I could explore my perversions in
private.
You might wonder what I was trying to make Arlene look like. I had a
picture in my head. In the same way that Ashley had probably been Mike's
ideal sex fantasy, Arlene was mine. She was a smart, athletic college girl,
with wonderfully tight curves, and a smile that could knock you over.
I knew where the fantasy came from, of course. In my time at college,
there were a few girls who had really blown me away. Sara was a hockey
player with all of Arlene's athletic curves. Becca was my first college
girlfriend. She was a little conservative about sex, but she was the punch
behind Arlene's smile. I dated Rose after I left college, but there was more
than a hint of her sexual mischief in my doll's personality.
My hands shook as I began to unbutton the clothing that she had come to
me in. They were designer clothes, just like a model would wear, and I
wondered where Mike had found them. Beneath those clothes, Arlene was
perfect. Her breasts were as full and round as I could have hoped for. It
was weird. She had seemed so tiny when she came to me. Her hips were round
and wide, and I imagined how perfect they would be for holding onto while I
fucked her from behind.
Okay, those are strange thought to be having about a doll. My cock was so
hard, I needed to unbutton my jeans. I even began to stroke myself a few
times as I dressed and undressed her.
There was one more thing I needed to do to make her perfect. I left here
there, her body exquisitely displayed in clothing stolen from other dolls,
and rummaged through my closet. When I found what I was looking for, I raced
back to her.
I was so careful. I dabbed a little model paint onto the tiny brush, and
mixed the colours with care. I wanted just the right shade. Finally, I
brought the brush to her, and then pulled back to survey the results. I fell
in love with her instantly. Now, beneath her honey blonde curls of hair,
sparkled the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen.
An alarm clock broke the spell for a moment.
Alarm clock. What was it for ? The deadline. I always gave myself an
hour's warning. But I couldn't have spent the whole day playing already, I
argued to myself.
I needed to pull myself away, I knew, but I was just too horny and
excited to stop playing now. I needed to cum. That would set me back on
track.
" What kind of sexual mischief can I find today, " I made a little voice
for Arlene. God, that felt right.
I looked around my play area. My eyes rested on the dolls I had purchased
and stripped of their clothing. Okay, so compared to Arlene, they were just
chunky bits of plastic, but I wasn't going to be choosy. My cock throbbed
from hours of arousal.
" Look who's here, " I made Arlene notice the other dolls. " It's
babysitter Kerri, and her friend Sandi. What are you girls up to with all of
your clothes off like that ?"
Not exactly brilliant dialogue, but hell, I was playing with dolls, not
writing something for a Broadway show. I bent Arlene down on her knees,
fully dressed, and had her crawl over to where the other dolls were laying.
" Oh, my. You girls are almost as naughty as I am, ignoring your
babysitting, and playing with each other's bodies like this. Is there room
for one more to play ?"
Arlene crawled between little Kerri's legs, and I made some sounds for
her as she discovered the younger girl's pussy. In the meantime, I had the
Sandi doll climb onto Arlene's back, like a horsey, and begin to slap her
ass in encouragement.
" C'mon girl, lick it good, " I made a new voice for Sandi. " I'm next,
and I'll ride your face harder than that. "
It was such a silly scene, but Arlene was wonderful at it. I could almost
see her extending her pink tongue into the young babysitter. I jerked myself
as I made the girls writhe in pleasure, finally squirting my cum all over
poor little babysitter Kerri's pussy, and Arlene's face.
I had been right. Once my orgasm subsided, I was back in control of
myself. For the first time in hours, I looked around the room. Doll clothes
were strewn everywhere. My own clothes were off too, although I didn't
remember removing them.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something. In the building
across the alleyway from us, I had a fairly good view into the window of a
young girl. She was usually pretty careful to draw her shades at night, but
since I'm always home, there's been the odd occasion when I've caught a
glimpse of her changing her clothes in the afternoon, or making out with a
boyfriend on her bed.
Just harmless stuff, really. I wasn't really interested in a girl so
young. Heck, she probably still had a few dolls of her own.
But tonight, our positions were reversed. The lights were off in her
room, but I could see her shadow by the window anyhow. Oh fuck, I swore at
myself. She had been watching me play with my dolls. She had seen me naked
and jerking myself off onto them. How could I have been so careless ?
I closed my shades and prayed silently that she wouldn't tell her
parents.
I had to put it out of my head. Now that I was finished with Arlene, I
was able to concentrate on writing. In less than an hour, I wrote one of the
best articles I had ever done for the magazine. I clicked to send it off,
and then collapsed into bed, with images of plastic girls floating in my
mind.
You might think that this is as embarrassing as it ever got. I mean,
there's something really emasculating to admit that I had totally enjoyed
playing with those dolls. The problem was, it just got worse from there. I
became absolutely obsessed with Arlene.
Every time I looked at her, she seemed to more perfectly embody my
deepest male fantasies. She was smart, and sexy, and loved to tease with her
body. It even seemed like her breasts had increased in size a bit, still
natural looking, but so big and firm that I got hard just thinking about
them.
My obsession extended into my personal life. I called off a date for that
first Friday, because I knew that the girl wouldn't be able to excite me the
way Arlene did. I spent a lot of the week in the mall, cruising for the
nicest clothing for her. This might sound strange, but I didn't even limit
myself to the toy stores in this search. I would buy sexy clothing in adult
sizes, just thinking about how good they would look on her if she were real.
There was a much better selection that way anyhow. It would have bothered
me to spend this kind of money before, but I had no problem spending
hundreds of dollars to fill my drawers at home with new skirts, tops and
panties.
I still was able to make my writing deadlines. Truth be told, now that I
had some insight into the way young girls think about fashion and boys, I
was a better writer than I had ever been. I was writing with a different
voice. Arlene's voice. The other writers and editors at "Just Sixteen" were
overjoyed.
My friends weren't quite so pleased. Within the three weeks after I began
playing with Arlene, I had cancelled every Thursday night basketball game in
favour of playing with my dollies. I hadn't really seen much of anyone I
knew in that time. I could do most anything by e-mail anyhow. Except for
clothes shopping, that is.
Finally, I think my friend Scott became curious about my odd behaviour,
and dropped over for an unexpected visit. I wasn't feeling quite myself, and
the last thing I needed was a visit from any of the guys. I'd been playing
Arlene steadily for three days at this point. I'd become quite good at doing
her voice, and I even called through the door in character.
" Who is it ?"
" It's, uh... Scott... Ron's friend. "
I opened the door for him, blushing a little because of the way I had
greeted him.
" Come in, " I offered hesitantly.
Scott was looking at me in a strange way as he entered. Suddenly, I was
quite sure that he would know. He would know everything. Some of the
clothing I had bought was strewn over the floor. I had been playing Arlene's
character all day.
What surprised me was that he didn't seem upset by it. He seemed more...
interested than anything else.
I never thought he would be. I told you he worked for a rock magazine,
and he looked the part. He was a tall guy with long black hair, and tattoos
over much of his body. He still smoked pot almost daily, and was a binge
drinker. They guy made no bones about being a chauvinist.
And here he was, faced with me playing with dolls, and he just seemed
pleasantly intrigued.
I couldn't think of what to say. When it came out, I regretted it
instantly. I spoke in Arlene's voice again, in the mischievous tone I had
practiced so often. "Did you want to maybe, play with me for a while ?"
" Okay, " he answered, after a tense pause. My heart leaped. Was it
possible that there was one guy around who understood how sexy these little
doll games were ?
Apparently, Scott understood. He began to unbuckle his belt, and pull his
jeans down to his knees. I could see his cock bulging in the front of his
underwear.
It's funny that I never questioned his actions. At the time, I was just
thrilled that he wanted to play, and it only seemed vaguely weird that my
friend was pulling out his penis to join the game.
I brought Arlene to his cock, and allowed her to worship it.
" Oh, it tastes so good, " I made Arlene say, between smacking my lips
and making the sounds of a blow job.
Scott got right into it. He could obviously understand how beautiful
Arlene was. He looked down into her eyes as she continued to play with his
cock. I raised one of her hands to the base of his cock, in my mind's eye,
allowing her to feed more of his length into her face.
" Oh, man, you're one hot piece of ass, " Scott told the doll. " Maybe
I'll come back and fuck you in the rear sometime. Oh, jeez. Keep going. Show
me your tits girl. "
I was so excited that he was speaking to Arlene directly, as if she were
real, that I played right back to him. I had Arlene remove her tight blouse,
and groan with pleasure as his cock swelled in her throat. Scott loved her
big breasts, and even reached down to fondle them as he enjoyed the
sensations on his prick.
With no warning, Scott pulled his cock back, and jerked himself above
Arlene's face. His knees almost buckled as he squirted his jizz over both
sides of Arlene's cheeks and forehead. He continued to grunt and bite his
lower lip as he coaxed the last droplets of cum onto her lips.
As he began to pull his clothing back on, he addressed my doll one more
time. " Tell Ron not to worry about skipping basketball. With a piece of ass
like you at home, who could blame him ?"
When he left, my heart was pounding at a pace I'd never known. I needed
to bring myself off. I sat back on the sofa, and spread my legs to play with
myself. When I closed my eyes, I replayed the scene in my head.
It's funny how the memory works. With my hand down the front of my
clothing, and my body aching for relief, I could see Arlene in my head. It
wasn't the plastic doll version of Arlene. The way I remembered it, she was
real. I remembered the scene as if she were really there, greeting Scott at
the door, and dropping to her knees to suck on his cock.
Even harder to admit to myself was the fact that in the scene, I
fantasized myself in Arlene's role. It's only natural I guess. I mean, I had
been playing with her so much these days, I was bound to relate to her. But
as I rubbed myself towards orgasm, it made me blush know how vividly I could
remember the act of sucking my best friend's cock, even though I knew it was
just playing.
I could remember the feel of his hand on the back of my head. I wondered
if he had really placed his hand there while he played with Arlene, or if it
was just more of my twisted imagination. I even thought I could remember the
feel of his cock stretching her throat.
Most of all, I could remember the feel of his cum hitting her face. The
feeling was so convincing, I reached up with my left hand as I continued to
masturbate, and ran it along my cheeks where I could imagine feeling his
stickiness on me.
I froze for a moment when I felt something *real* on my face. How utterly
humiliating. Scott must have gotten carried away, and inadvertently
splattered me with some of his cum. As much as that bothered me, I was so
aroused, that I couldn't stop the rush of my coming orgasm. I continued to
rub my face with my fingers, taking guilty pleasure from the dirty deed of
smearing his cum over my lips and chin.
Damn, he really got me good. I could swear it was a full load on my face.
I've never fantasized about guys before. I think it was just a weird
situation. It was like I couldn't stop playing Arlene's role when I was this
horny. I gathered his cum on my fingers while I replayed the blow-job in my
head. When my body finally gave me my reward, I could feel Arlene's mischief
take hold, and I sunk my fingers into my mouth.
God, I felt like a slut.
I bucked my hips up and down as I rubbed myself through the pleasure, and
squealed excitedly in Arlene's voice. By the time I was done, I was
exhausted. I picked up a pair of panties from beside the sofa, and wiped my
face with it. Then I dropped into sleep, and the kind of dreams I always
imagined that a college girl would have.
In the next few days, I replayed the scene with Scott many times in my
head. Playing the part of Arlene had made me feel so very sexy, and it was a
feeling that was extending into my every day life now. I liked nothing
better than to comb her hair, and apply her make-up, and dress her in cute
little outfits I bought down at the mall. Whenever I saw the results in the
mirror, I could feel my body growing warm.
Now that I knew what it was like to play with other people, I really
couldn't get it out of my head. I toyed with the idea of calling Scott back
and inviting him over to play. I don't know. Some part of me still thought
it would be a little weird.
My face burned with shame as I considered my other options. I needed to
find someone else to play with, but it would mean revealing my dirty little
secrets. I couldn't stand the idea that some guys would make fun of me for
playing with Arlene.
In the end, my worries were for nothing. You wouldn't believe it. I
hardly believed it myself. I finally took the chance one night. I dressed
Arlene up as sexy as I could, and took her out to a college bar in the
neighbourhood. The way I figured it, Arlene would really go for a couple of
drunken frat boys. Besides, at least I wouldn't humiliate myself in front of
my own crowd.
I was prepared for the worst, but once these guys saw Arlene, they were
more than a little receptive. Guys were buying me drinks right away, and
were coming over to check out Arlene's body. Most of them were even polite
enough to ask permission before they touched her body, and played with her
tits. I was the centre of attention.
" Miss, would you mind taking this somewhere more private, " the
bartender finally asked me. I blushed, knowing I had become a little giddy
with the excitement of the scene. I pulled Arlene's clothing back into
place, and invited a couple of the guys back to my place to play some more.
Any doubts about guys wanting to play with my doll were gone. I made all
sorts of excited noises for them while they explored Arlene's body. One of
them held her in place roughly as he pretended to fuck her from behind. The
other guy loved the way I smacked my lips and moaned while he took pleasure
in her mouth. They each came twice, and to tell the truth, by the time we
were done playing, I was actually physically tired from all the effort.
Since then, everything has just become easier. I'm playing Arlene
full-time now, and I've never been so popular. Scott kept his word, and came
back to try fucking Arlene in the rear end. He fucked her violently, and
called her all sorts of dirty names. God, the way I made her buck and moan,
it's no wonder he keeps coming back. That's the great thing about male
fantasy. No real girl would enjoy the kind of constant sexual attention that
Arlene was looking for. Well, no real girl I know of, anyhow.
But Arlene has all sorts of plans. There's the teenage girl who lives
across the street. It's funny. She's probably the same kind of girl who
reads the article I write. Before, when I had seen her watching, I was
ashamed of myself. Now, when I see her watching me play with Arlene, it
gives me a perverse kind of pleasure to show off Arlene's perfect body. She
must feel pretty inadequate in comparison. That's okay. It's just a matter
of time before she comes over to play too. I can already see that she wants
to.
Other things are easy now too. Like last week, I didn't have enough money
for rent because I spent it all on clothes. My landlord, who's usually a
real asshole about this sort of thing, was more than understanding. He
actually even stayed a while to play with Arlene with me. He told me that
his wife likes to swing too, and they'll come up for a visit this week.
They're not the most attractive couple, really, but in a strange way, even
that appeals to Arlene's mischievous nature.
So that about finishes my feedback. I really love Arlene. I don't know
how you made a doll like her, but she's really changed my life. I would have
called sooner, but as I wrote before, I didn't notice the phone number until
just now. I'd love to hear back from you.
xoxoxoxo
Dear Ronnie (and Arlene),
Thank you for sending your letter of feedback. It makes me so happy to
hear how much you've enjoyed playing with our product. She's quite unique,
really. As you can well imagine, we've had a great deal of feedback from
guys like yourself who have enjoyed the doll. It's always interesting to see
what the male imagination can come up with, and I must say, I'm looking
forward to a little playtime with Arlene myself.
It may come as a bit of a surprise to you, but in all likelihood, you
haven't played with the real doll in weeks now. She's probably sitting
undisturbed in your bedside drawer right now.
That idea is going to take some getting used to, but you'll come to
accept it. Once you come here to live with us, you'll realize that many guys
will want to play with you, and the doll has nothing to do with it anymore.
In fact, they'll pay my company good money for hourly play sessions with
"Arlene". Here, you'll live with other dolls of all the variety the mind can
create. We'll have great fun watching all of you play together.
In the meantime, I want you to give some other man a chance to live out
his fantasies. I know you'll be reluctant to give her up, but the sooner you
send your doll onto another guy, the sooner you can come and live in our
"dollhouse. " Might I suggest that your friend Scott would be a good
candidate? It will be fun to see what kind of a girl a real misogynist like
him will dream up.
You'll do exactly what I say, won't you ? Of course you will. Every good
little doll wants to be played with, and I'll make sure you're played with
long and hard. When you're done with this letter, destroy it. Get rid of
anything that might lead investigators towards your new life, and catch a
bus to Minneapolis.
Oh, and about the girl across the street you mentioned in your letter.
She sounds interesting. Please phone the office with her name and apartment
number. There's another new product that we'd love to send out to her.
***
Any comments can be forwarded to: orestes007@hotmail.com
All of my stories can be found at: www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Orestes
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+