A new great story by TSG - "The Stand"

The Stand
by TSG

When it first arrived all Stephanie could do was look upon the object and wonder does that thing really work? She’d heard of these things on the Internet, but had never seen one, a real one, up close.
It didn’t look all that different from a regular mannequin stand. It had a round, flat base surrounding a slightly curved metal pole that rose to just a little above a woman’s crotch. Then end of the stand was a little different from the blunt ends that made up most mannequin stands. This one was slender and terminated in a smooth, rounded tip. Directly behind the stand was a small contact switch that depressed flush into the base, only a few inches from the edge.
Stephanie couldn’t help but be fascinated. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked her manager.
Her manager nodded. “Yeah.” She pulled the last of the crate wrapping away from the stand. “Thought I’d never see one.”
“How’d we get a transformer stand?” Stephanie had read about these just the other night. “I thought there were only like 100 of these made?”
“There are.” Stephanie’s manager gave her a wink. “I know someone . . . okay, I’ve blown someone who works for the company that makes these. He used a little influence to get us one.” The woman ran her hands over the tip of the stand. “I can’t wait to see this thing in action.”
Stephanie had seen video of one of these stands at work. It showed everything from beginning to end. The woman who’d used it had been completely naked, nothing covering her up, so it was even more impressive . . . Stephanie remembered how the woman had straddled the device, putting the tip of the stand up inside her vagina, the look of pleasure on her face as it penetrated her, and then someone pushed the button in the back, there was a momentary shiver that seemed to pass through the woman’s body, and like ten seconds later—she was a solid yet segmented hunk of plastic, a living girl turn into a mannequin.
They’d taken the girl apart, put her back together (leaving her hips attached to the stand, however), then put her back together and pressed the button again. Fifteen seconds after that the segmentation lines vanished, the skin color changed from flesh-colored plastic to actual flesh tone, and with a loud sigh the woman shook herself and slid off the stand’s point, none the worse for wear. “Who’s going to use it?” asked Stephanie.
The manager shrugged. “I’ve got a couple of girls lined up,” she said, not noticing the gleam in Stephanie’s eye. “One of them’s a professional model, but . . .” She tapped the stand once more. “I don’t think she’s ever modeled while frozen stiff in the window of a fetish boutique before.” She picked up the stand and placed it off away from the other unused mannequin stands. “I was told that some women can’t take being—solidified like that.”
“What do you mean?” Stephanie wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. She didn’t think that anything she’d say would make her manager believe . . ..
“Well, you freeze up and go all solid inside.” Stephanie followed her manager out of the back room. “You don’t breath, your heart stops beating, you can’t blink or speak. You’re no different than any other plastic model. Except—“
“Except what?”
“You’re still alive on the inside.” They both walked past the dressing rooms, the manager closing a door as she walked into the main store. “You can feel everything, but there’s nothing you can do about it. If you have an itch, you itch. You feel hungry or like you have to piss, you keep feeling that way.” The manager waltzed over to where the unopened box of new vibrators had been left. “It’s supposed to drive some people nuts.”
Stephanie removed the box cutter from the leather maid’s apron she wore. “I read that if you’re having an orgasm—“
“You keep feeling like you’re having it,” her manager said, finishing the sentence. “I read the same thing. Apparently it’s true.” She smirked. “I guess that’s why some women . . . loosen up a bit before getting on that thing.” She gently kicked the box. “You want to get these up in the next hour or so, okay?”
Stephanie nodded as she sliced the box open. For the next 90 minutes, while she labeled and stocked vibrators, all she could think about was that stand. The magical stand that could take a girl—a living, breathing girl—and make her . . . make her . . ..
She couldn’t think about it without getting excited. Stephanie had two passions: fetish clothing and anything that involved girls getting stiff and doll-like. She tried to combine both at the same time as much as possible, and in some of the clubs she frequented she was better known by her moniker “Stiff Steph.”
But the ultimate fantasy—being able to actually turn into a doll or mannequin—was forever beyond her reach. Or so she’d always thought. When the Transequin Stand hit the market two years ago she’d begun fantasizing about getting a job as a “freeze model”, one of the few girls who made a living becoming living mannequins. Stephanie’s manager had been right about one thing: not everyone could take being turned to plastic. There were stories on the internet from women who’d talked about how they enjoyed the experience, but trying to find comments from people who were horrified by what had happened—now, that was a different story. Steph had heard of one rumor about a girl who went nuts after a few hours and when they turned the stand off and reverted her, she wouldn’t move: she’d remained frozen as if she were still a mannequin. That could have all been bullshit, but then—
Stephanie didn’t care. She’d tried getting hired to model, but she was turned down—“too heavy”, she was told. At the time she’d weighed 135 pounds, and for a girl who was 5’ 5” she didn’t think she was that heavy. Anyway, she’d told the agency that she was interested in modeling leather outfits and stuff like that, but no, they didn’t want to hear about her sob stories, they just wanted some beanpole chick with her collarbones showing hooked up on a stand rather than her.
Since then she’d slimmed down a bit—just a bit over 125—and thought she looked great in leather corsets, but she hadn’t considered trying out again. She figured it would be a waste of time, that what the firms that handled this sort of work were looking for tall, thin girls—not someone like Stephanie.
Still . . . she so desperately wanted to tell her boss that, yes, I’ll get on that stand for you, and you don’t even have to pay me! I’ll do it! Again, fear of being turned down held her back. She didn’t want her boss to think she was some kind of . . . freak or something. But why would she? thought Stephanie. She got the stand in her so she could get some girl on it, so she must think it’s all right-- Stephanie shook her head. Naw, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ask her boss about being the one who’d ride the rod in the window.
When she took the box in the back room, she couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over that special stand sitting in the corner . . ..

Stephanie was closing up the store, pulling the shades and turning off the lights. She didn’t get to do this very often, but she enjoyed her time here, alone, with time to think and look at things and sometimes try on outfits . . . something she wasn’t ever suppose to do. She knew if Carol, her manager, ever knew about that last she’d loose her job, but she’d always been very careful about not damaging anything she tried on, and making certain it was back where she’d found it in the morning. And besides, it was Friday, and Friday was supposed to be a time for fun and excitement and enjoying one’s self.
As soon as Stephanie was finished she started pulling out a few items she wanted to try on. There was this red leather mini dress, oh, so hot, and some matching gloves, and these totally adorable red thigh high platform boots . . . Stephanie shivered with delight just thinking about the outfit embracing her body. Sure, if someone were to walk in on her while she was putting it on she’d have been in trouble, but it was almost eleven PM, and the odds of someone walking in were null.
Twenty minutes later Stephanie was parading about the back room in her borrowed outfit, checking herself out in one of the spare mirrors they kept handy in case a customer wanted to see what they looked like dressed up. Stephanie examined how she looked. “Fucking hot,” she mumbled, knowing it to be right. As much as she loved wearing stuff like this, doing these after hours try-ons was about as close as she could get to ever owning an outfit like this. Hell, the boots and gloves alone would eat up a sizable portion of her salary, fuck ever owning the dress—
After she was done staring at her image in the mirror, Stephanie slinked over to where the Transequin Stand stood. It had been two weeks since she’d seen it unpacked, and Carol was still unable to find a model for her new toy. The issue was one of money; apparently just having one of these stands wasn’t enough to get women to come running to one’s establishment wanting to be put on display. Oh, no. The ones who looked good on these stands wanted remuneration for their time, and time, it turned out, equaled a lot of motherfuckin’ Benjamins. Carol was more than a little pissed off that she now had her own stand, but couldn’t afford to pay a model for her time upon the damn thing. While money was a real factor, Stephanie wondered if Carol was more pissed off about all the dick drippings she had to swallow to make her newest possession a reality.
Stephanie ran her fingers lovingly over the business end of the stand. She was still eager to model for Carol, to be her girl in the window, but after the last expletive-riddled tirade against “stuck up bitches wanting too much money to be fucking plastic girls”, Stephanie figured she’d wait until the weekend was over before saying something.
The stand had been on Stephanie’s mind these last two weeks. She kept imagining herself mounted on it, the tip inside her, her body frozen solid, her senses keeping her mind filled with sight and sound and the feel of clothes and people touching her . . . Stephanie felt the wetness creep into that spot between her legs like it always did when she thought of being a living mannequin. It had always been a strong fantasy with her, being turned into a mannequin, becoming something beautiful and still, yet always aware of everything going on around you. A living statue, so to speak; something that people could look at and appreciate and even love if they so wanted.
And Stephanie . . . she so wanted to be loved.
Stephanie knew it was a good thing she’d decided not to put on a leather thong, because it’d be ripe with her scent right now. Stephanie didn’t need to glide her fingers through her slit, because she knew it was soaking wet. She looked at the stand. There’s no one around, she though. Why not give it a ride? It doesn’t hurt to pretend, you know.
Getting up on her tippy-toes, Stephanie straddled the tip of the stand and slowly lowered herself onto the vibrator-like protuberance. As it slid into her Stephanie moaned softly. The tip was so smooth, so soft, yet there was something there, something slightly electrical, that was stimulating her vaginal walls in a way nothing else ever had. She’d never read about this effect before—then again, would models actually talk about how sexually stimulating being mount like this was? Better to keep the secret than to let everyone know the truth.
Her feet now firmly on the ground, Stephanie relaxed as much as she could. She had felt the tip push its way through her cervix, yet there hadn’t been any pain, only a slight disorientation followed by a feeling of light pleasure. Stephanie thought this was just too fucking incredible. She felt so good, so . . . alive. She wanted to rub her breasts, run her fingers over her tummy, play with her clit—yet she resisted all these temptations. She was there for one thing and one thing only.
She was there to pose.
Planting her feet slightly apart, she stood straight, put her arms to the side like she wanted to place them upon her hips, and turned her head slightly to the right. A smile crossed her lips as she imagined just how she looked. Beautiful, there no doubt about it. Stephanie knew she’d look a hell of a lot better standing in the window, but that was totally out of the question for the moment. Right now, this back room posing would do.
Stephanie struck a couple of other poses before she realized what was missing: she couldn’t see herself. Sure, to get a mirror and set it up before the stand would mean getting off the stand, but the effort would be worth it. The only problem Stephanie saw was that being on the stand felt . . . so fucking good. An orgasm was building, a really big one by the feel, and Stephanie just wanted to let it build, let it grow, let it get bigger and bigger, all the while as she was posing and standing still and pretending that she was nothing more than a living mannequin wearing something sexy, something that people were going to get excited seeing her wear, seeing her in the window, wanting to know what was going on inside the plastic girl’s mind—
The orgasm was almost here, and Stephanie felt her knees growing weak from the effort of holding it back. Oh, yes, this was gonna be a big one . . . a really big one. Stephanie’s left knee buckled a little. She put out her hands to steady herself—after all, it wouldn’t do to fall over, not with the stand inside me; I don’t want to damage it—
As she managed to keep from falling, Stephanie didn’t notice that she’d brushed her hand against the stack of boxes to her left. The box on the top of the stack—the one filed with the newest batch of pink latex dildos—crashed to the floor just behind the stand, scattering pink dildos everywhere. A couple of them hit hard and rebounded off the floor. As luck—or perhaps fate—would have it, one of those came down right on the stand’s activation button—
As soon as the unexpected charge hit Stephanie, she understood that something was amiss. This thing—this wasn’t an orgasm. She could feel the orgasm getting ready to let go, but this new thing was something completely different. For about ten seconds Stephanie felt the charge filling her body, feeling as if it were following every nerve ending down her legs and arms and up her spine. When it was finished doing whatever it was suppose to be doing—
That was when Stephanie knew she was in a bit of a pinch.
First she tried moving. She couldn’t. She tried to speak. Nothing. She couldn’t blink, but she had her sight. She noticed then that she wasn’t breathing. There was no heartbeat. She didn’t find it tiring to hold her arms slightly up and to her sides—
Oh, fuck no, she thought. The stand! It turned on somehow and . . . I’m a mannequin! I’m a fuckin’ mannequin!
Being vaguely aware of the box of dildos falling to the floor, Stephanie surmised that one of them must have hit the switch and activated the stand. And with it still filling her vagina, well, it didn’t take a fuckin’ rocket scientist to know that whatever magic it enacted upon people had been enacted upon her.
And now here Stephanie was, turned to solid but segmented plastic, wearing a leather dress and boots and gloves. And unable to do anything about getting out of her predicament.
I am so going to get fired, she thought. Carol was suppose to come in first thing in the morning to set up one of the real mannequins, and she was gonna come in through the back door to the store room and find her stuck . . . First off, Stephanie wasn’t suppose to be trying on any of the store’s clothing—not like this, at least—and second, Carol was gonna shit when she discovered that Stephanie had been fucking around with the stand. Fuck me. She’s gonna freak and fire me, Stephanie sighed in her head. She wished she could move, but she knew better than to try. There was no way that was going to happen.
Well, she thought, if nothing else I should at least enjoy my time like this—

Stephanie snapped awake when she heard the service door to the back room opening. Her body involuntarily started to stretch, but her mind shut that action down only a few seconds later. You can’t stretch, dummy, she chided herself. You’re a goddamn mannequin. You can’t move at all.
She hadn’t really noticed the passing of time, but she knew she hadn’t been asleep, either. She had thought she might sleep, but fifteen minutes into her new state of being, Stephanie realized that sleeping was going to be a bit of a chore due to her body being “stuck” in a state of constant semi-arousal.
It was the pre-orgasmic state she’d been in right before the stand had turned her into a mannequin. Once she’d turn to plastic her ability to orgasm had . . . well, been put on hold, she guessed. She’d read about this sort of thing happening, but she hadn’t actually thought it would turn out feeling like this. She wasn’t peaking, and the feeling damn sure wasn’t going away. It was like she was constantly horny, but she couldn’t do anything about it.
At first she didn’t think it’d be that much of a problem, but after an hour . . . after an hour all Stephanie could think about was cumming. Cumming long and hard and as soon as she could. But how would that be possible? She couldn’t play with herself, and as far as she knew someone playing with her wouldn’t make her release.
This is going to be hell if I feel like I wanna cum all the time, she’d realized about three hours after getting frozen. The only thing that Stephanie could so was to put herself in a sort of trance and just let the time fly by—
And now time had flown and Carol would be walking through the door. Stephanie could only imagine the look on her face when she’d spy her here.
Only it wasn’t Carol who came into the back room, it was some short little blond that Stephanie had never seen before. Unless . . . she remembered hearing yesterday that Carol had hired a new girl to work part time. Apparently the girl had only been working a couple of days, and never when Stephanie was in the shop. Great way to meet for the first time, chuckled Stephanie.
The girl gave Stephanie a good, long look, smiling after a few seconds of checking her out. Stephanie got something of a rush from the girl’s reaction: Wow, she really digs me! It did appear that the girl, in some fashion, found Stephanie appealing. Or at least thought the outfit she was wearing was great. Either way, Stephanie liked what had just transpired.
“I didn’t know they made these things so realistic,” the girl mumbled before leaving Stephanie behind. She could hear the girl getting things ready in the main part of the store, but her mind was more on how she’d acted around her. She really thought I looked great, thought Stephanie. She thought I was the real thing. Well, Stephanie really was the real thing. Until someone turned off the stand, Stephanie was going to stay a mannequin. I wonder how long—
Suddenly the girl was standing in front of her. She examined Stephanie as she softly said, “It was nice of Stephanie to have this thing set up for me.” She looked behind her. “Course, she could have picked up this shit before she left—“ The girl bent down, re-boxed all the scattered dildos, and placed them back behind the stack of boxes from which they’d fallen.
“Well, I guess I better get this done,” the girl said, standing before Stephanie once more. Without an inkling of what was going to happen next, the girl reached up, put both hands on the sides of Stephanie’s head, and popped it off her body.
Stephanie wanted to scream, but being unable to do so, instead tried to rationalize what had just happened. Her head had been pulled from her body. She still felt . . . yeah, she felt that same horniness, but as for the feel of the leather clothing against her body, the stand nuzzled up inside the area that used to be her vagina, none of that existed any longer. Apparently it was true that the mind was the center of the body, and with her mind now disconnected from the rest of her body, all that remained on the stand was little more than what you’d find connect to the head of any other mannequin. Albeit a lot nicer looking, but still—
The girl laid Stephanie’s head on a nearby workbench and proceeded to disassemble the rest of her body. While she wasn’t looking direction at the spot where she’d been standing, Stephanie could see “her” body being broken down, watching it happen with a kind of detached amazement. It was so strange, watching yourself being taken apart—
The girl began taking each of Stephanie’s “pieces” out of the room, and Stephanie knew what was going on: she was being set up in the store. Or maybe even the window! After all, that outfit she had been wearing was tasteful enough that anyone going by wasn’t going to freak out and start screaming about the smut being peddled in full view of everyone . . . yeah, it was possible that her body was gonna be put in the window where people walking down the street could see her! Fuck, yeah!
Finally there was nothing left in the backroom, just the stand that had transformed Stephanie, and Stephanie’s head. Stephanie assumed she was setting up her body, but the fact that she hadn’t come back and gotten the stand—that left Stephanie feeling a little uneasy. I wonder if she’s setting me up on another stand? And it wouldn’t be the transforming stand; no, rather, it would be just another run of the mill stand. Now this was making Stephanie very worried. She knew she could be set up that way—she’d read about a boutique in Paris where they’d transform four girls at a time with one stand and move them to other stands around the store. There wasn’t a problem there. All one had to do to change them back was to put them back on the stand—while it was on—and then turn it off.
The only problem Stephanie faced was this girl obviously didn’t know her, so she didn’t know that she was a real girl. And that the stand had transformed her. She was working along the assumption that she—Stephanie—had set up a mannequin the night before, and all the girl had to do was put it on display.
So, wondered Stephanie, who’s gonna change me back?
Finally, the girl came for what was left of Stephanie—her head. She picked her up and carried her into the store. Because Stephanie was cradled in the girl’s arms, she couldn’t see just where she was going. After only a few moment she was lifted up, attached to a body—
And right away Stephanie felt something wasn’t right.
Stephanie could feel her body, and that was the problem: her body didn’t feel as it should. She seemed to be standing on tip toes, which she hadn’t been when she’d transformed herself. Her outfit felt as if it were hugging her body tightly, which the dress hadn’t. The gloves she had on felt different; not leather, but maybe—
Oh, shit, she suddenly thought. This isn’t my body! It’s the Mistress’ body! The view Stephanie had of the store once the girl stepped back confirmed her suspicion. Stephanie’s head was no only on her own body. Instead, the girl and placed her on top of the mannequin everyone in the story called “The Mistress”, a display Kim had attired in a tight latex corset and gloves and stocking, with a pair of ballet boots on her feet and a cat-o-nine-tales in her hands. No one knew where Kim had found the torso with the large breasts and hips and the tiny waist, but then no one had ever really cared up until now . . . for now those breasts and hips are waist were Stephanie’s, and—
And no one is gonna know it’s me! They’re gonna think it’s the Mistress with another head on her body, that’s all! She started to calm a little when she realized that someone in the shop would see her face and figure out something was different, that the mannequin over in the latex clothing section looked an awful lot like Steff—
The girl putting her together pulled her hair off, just as if it were a wig (which, Stephanie knew, it was), and put another wig on, this one a very long and almost burgundy wig with severe bangs that draped down into Stephanie’s eyes. “There,” said the girl, “You look hotter ‘an shit now.” She stepped back once more, admired her work, and left Stephanie to stand there in all her latex booted glory, wondering what Kim would say when she arrived—

Alicia came into the store about fifteen minutes before she was due to clock in. Alicia wasn’t the most punctual of people, but she knew Kim was opening the store today, and given she’s been caught late the last couple of times she’d come to work, Alicia was in no mood to end up on that girl’s shit list this morning. Given the ass warming Kim had given her the last time, she was fearful that if she’d shown up late today, she’d be sent packing.
However, when she walked into the store itself, it wasn’t Kim behind the counter but rather some girl she’d never seen before. “Hi, uh,” mumbled Alicia. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
The girl looked up and smiled. “Hi. I’m Mary,” she said. She looked down at something out of view below the counter. “You must be Alicia.”
“Yeah.” She stepped closer to the counter. “You must be new.”
“Not really,” said Mary. “Well . . . I’m Kim’s sister.”
“Really? I didn’t know Kim had a sister.”
Mary laughed again, louder this time. “Yeah, well, there are times when we don’t like to admit we’re related—“
“You don’t look a lot like her.”
“That’s because we have different fathers . . . Anyway, I’m gonna be filling in for Kim for awhile.”
As much as Alicia didn’t care for Kim, she didn’t like the way that sounded. “Why, what happened?”
“She was coming over to my place last night to go over some business—“
“Business?”
“Yeah . . . she probably never told you, but I own this place.”
No, that’s something you’re bitch of a sister never mentioned. “I . . . didn’t know that,” said Alicia instead.
Mary nodded. “Anyway, we were going to go over a few things, and on the way to my place Kim got broadsided pretty bad.”
“No shit!”
“Yeah. She’s in the hospital now; her right leg’s like broken in two places.”
Alicia didn’t like that sound of that at all. “That sucks.”
“Could have been worse . . . the doctor told me she came within a few inches of having her spine severed . . .” Mary left out the part about she suspected Kim had blown the light at the intersection where the accident had occurred, but she kept that to herself. The cops were saying it was an honest accident and that it appeared to have been the other driver’s fault . . . that didn’t stop Mary from believing her dumb-ass sister has played a part in landing her own ass in the hospital. “Anyway,” she said, getting back on track with this Alicia girl, “I’m going to be filling in over here once in a while . . .” She looked the young black girl over like she was sizing her up for a contest. Kim had said something about keeping an eye on Alicia, that she liked to fuck off a bit, but then Mary had to consider the source of that comment . . . “I’m gonna have to rely on you to help out a bit more around here today.” Mary stepped out from around the counter. “You think your up for that?”
Alicia had been hoping for a chance to prove herself. Sure, she fucked off a bit when there wasn’t a lot to do, but Kim was always up in her ass about shit, and that was part of the reason she had such a bad attitude with the girl— “I can handle it,” she told Mary. Alicia figured if she was gonna impress someone, it might as well be the real boss, and not her broken-legged-ass-sister.
Though she didn’t completely believe Alicia, Mary needed all the help she could get at the moment. She’d keep an eye on her, but for now she was getting the benefit of the doubt. “Fantastic,” she said. Mary pointed around the room. “I’ve redressed a couple of mannequins, so I need you to get the register opened and take care of the store for a couple of hours while I deal with other shit.” She grinned as she headed towards the back room. “You got that.”
“Not a big thang,” Alicia told her, grinning back broadly. “Hey, when’s Kim comin’ back?”
Mary shrugged. “Hard to say. She got fucked up pretty good. My guess would be you’re not gonna see her back in here for at least four months, probably more like six.”

What Stephanie had thought might be a 12 hour stint as a plastic display model stretched out into a day, then two, then a week, and a few more, and a few after that . . . between her blackout periods and those times when she seemed not to notice the hours passing by, all Stephanie could say without a doubt was that she’d been a mannequin for longer than a couple of months—if she could actually say this to anyone.
The news that Kim wouldn’t be returning to the store right away dropped Stephanie’s spirits considerably. As far as Stephanie knew, only Kim and she knew about the stand and what it did. She was very certain that Kim had never mentioned the stand to anyone else, although she couldn’t be sure. She did know that in the days following the arrival of Mary she hadn’t seen the stand in the store proper.
Then there had come the news that “Stephanie” was missing. When she didn’t show up for work no one really thought anything about it. When she didn’t show up the next day she was due to work Mary asked Alicia to head over to her place and see if she was okay. Alicia was only gone five minutes before she returned and told Mary that Stephanie’s car was parked just down the block, and maybe they should call the cops. The cops came, interviewed people, told Mary that it looked as if Stephanie had never made it home, and they promised they’d look into the situation. But, as Stephanie heard days (or was it weeks? Or months?) later when Alicia and Trini—another of the girls who worked the store—were talking, Alicia told Trini that she’d heard from Mary that the police said it looked like Stephanie had vanished, and they were assuming that someone might have snatched her, and if they did find her . . . well, shit girl, as Alicia had said, ‘ol Steff ain’t gonna be in any shape to tell the cops who did what to her, know what I mean?
Of course, Stephanie was right there, listening to the girls, screaming I’m right here, you dumb bitches! The fact that she was the only one listening to what she was saying proved to be the real problem . . ..
Stephanie watched and listened to everything that went on in the store. Since she was “The Mistress”, there wasn’t a lot of reason for anyone to do anything to her but dust her off once in a while. Trini dusted her a couple of days after the police had come to the store, and that dusting answered Stephanie’s question about what she could feel—and whether she could be stimulated. The moment the duster touched her, Stephanie—who’d been trapped in her “body” in a near-orgasmic state—came about as hard as a person could cum. She’d blacked out for a moment, so strong the orgasm had been upon her. And as Trini continued to dust her Stephanie felt her body beginning to react to being touched and tickled and . . . oh, damn, it was just so fucking incredible. Though Trini had only spent about five minutes getting her nice and clean, to Stephanie it had felt like she’d spent the night being fucked deaf, dumb and blind. It had been as if her whole body had turned into a gigantic clitoris, and someone had spent a couple of hours licking her.
At least now, in her frozen state, Stephanie knew she had something to look forward to on a regular basis.
The longer she stayed a mannequin, the more Stephanie began to accept, if not enjoy, her new life. She was only a thing, an object meant to be seen, but in her fantasies she’d never really understood what it meant to be put “on display”. The sly looks she’d get from people . . . it was amazing that so few would actually look at her. Everyone seemed to gaze at her out of the corner of their eye, as if they were afraid to make contact. Stephanie knew she had to appear—well, dominating, but as a “real” person she’d never thought about the effect The Mistress had on folks. Now that she was The Mistress . . . completely different story, as they say.
She couldn’t help but notice the number of guys who’d steal looks at her and suddenly seemed to have a problem with tightness in their pants. Of the women who’d glance at her and lick their lips, or surreptitiously rub a breast or touch their crotch. There was the one couple who looked at her full one, as if they wanted her to come down off her stand and command them. There was one guy who, after spending twenty minutes trying not to look at her, seemed to ejaculate in her pants before running out of the store. And the girl who’d come into the store every week to buy something; who would stand before her for thirty seconds or so, always whispering, “Command me, ma’m. Command me to do anything you want.”
Of course, if there was one thing that Stephanie wanted, it would be the stand.
The other thing about being an inanimate object was hearing and seeing private things that some of the girls would rather never be reviled. There was Trini, who reviled herself as the cocksucking queen of the store. When no one was around she’d call her boyfriend and describe in detail about how she was going to suck him off like he’d never been sucked off before. There was one time she used a dildo to demonstrate for a girlfriend just how one should go about giving the perfect blowjob. And then there was the time this guy . . . Trini had convinced him to stay behind after she’d closed up for the night, and right there, right before Stephanie’s eyes, she’d went to her knees and undone the guy’s pants and had him cuming in her mouth in less than three minutes. And she’d also heard the call she’d made to someone about a half hour after he’d left, talking about how she’d seduced him, how his cum felt in her mouth, how easy it was to give guys blow jobs . . . and how, no, she didn’t bother to tell him she was HIV positive, fuck him, that’s what he gets for thinkin’ with his dick—
There was Pam, she of the platinum blond hair and the slightly zaftig body, who talked about all the guys who were crazy about her, who went on and on about all the dudes who were into her body and who fucked her on a regular basis, who talked about getting more dick that some porn girl . . . Pam, who let this stripper into the store one night, this hot little Asian number wearing a total “fuck me” outfit, who was sporting a nice pair of fake tits, who started making out with Pam in the store before they graduated to petting and finger fucking and tit sucking before Pam breathlessly said, “Get one of the big strap-ons, I want you to bore out my cunt, sweetie”, and then headed into the back room where they were both screaming so loudly that Stephanie was certain someone passing by on the street would hear them.
There was Mary, their new boss. Though she only came into the story a few days out of the week, some of the conversations she had with Alicia were great. Stephanie couldn’t believe the utter disdain Mary held for her sister. When Mary said, “I know the stupid bitch smoked a blunt before coming over,” Stephanie heard the complete hostility in her voice. When Mary said, “I’ll cut her fuckin’ spinal cord myself if she wants to come back here,” Stephanie knew Alicia was likely going to become the new manager. And when Mary said, “Kim’s only done her best thinking with a cock inside her,” Stephanie realized that the chances of Kim coming back and seeing what had happened her were very, very, very slim.
Of course Mary did keep Stephanie entertained with her tales (that she sometimes told to Alicia) of stripping when she was 19, and doing some amateur porn at 20, and landing this rich guy when she was 22 and milking him into a heart attack when she was 27, and making just enough from his estate that she could open some stores and get some nips and tucks done, and basically live the life she wanted to live, now, at 31, and enjoy every minute of it. And she’d usually mention this all to Alicia right before she’d ask, “So, you ever had your pussy fisted?”
And speaking of Alicia . . ..

It had been raining most of the evening, so when Alicia began closing the store, there hadn’t been anyone in for at least an hour. Maybe an hour and a half. She locked the door and started pulling the shades. She closed out the register, then headed into the back room, locked up there, then stood and listened. There was only the sound of the rain and thunder outside, and the tick of pipes inside. A truck went by, but the sound of the traffic was muted. She was all alone: just her and the mannequins.
No one would bother them.
Stephanie hadn’t paid much attention to Alicia this evening. The night had been slow, which meant there hadn’t been many customers—and that meant no one to come and look at her. Stephanie really yearned for attention any more, and when the store was empty she felt empty. Fortunately for her Alicia had been spending most of the evening staring at her. Stephanie hadn’t ever noticed that coming from her before, but tonight it was as if Alicia was trying to bore holes into her with her big, luscious, light brown eyes. Stephanie wondered what the hell it was she was doing in the back room: it seemed like it had been hours since she’d gone back there.
There was a suddenly clicking of heels in the silence of the store. Stephanie took that to mean Alicia hadn’t left yet. Why she was walking so slowly, though, was . . ..
Then Alicia came into view, and Stephanie understood what was going on. Alicia had changed into something more—captivating, just as Stephanie had once done one night some time ago. But Stephanie had never seen her in anything like this before.
Alicia was wearing a very cute, very tight latex maid’s dress, all a brilliant white except for the contrasting black maid’s apron. A small, white maid’s cap adorned the curly Destiny’s Child-like wig that covered Alicia’s own hair. Her arms were nearly enwrapped to her shoulders with latex gloves that were the same stark white as the dress. The ensemble was completed with a white garter holding up shear black stockings, and laced knee-high platform boots that made her at least eight inches taller.
Alicia walked slowly toward Stephanie, pushing a hand cart holding a box. She bowed her head as she approached. “Good evening, Mistress,” she softly said. “I’ve a new outfit for you; I sincerely hope you enjoy this.” She stopped before Stephanie, stepped from around the cart, and, to Stephanie’s amazement, curtsied. Stephanie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She’d worked with Alicia for almost five months before her little “accident”, and never once suspected she was like this—so docile, so submissive in her actions.
“I’ve brought you a red outfit that I’m certain will look incredible upon your body,” said Alicia. She then nodded as if she was listening to something. The girl’s having a conversation with me in her head, Stephanie realized. Wow! She is totally into this shit!
“What’s that, Mistress?” asked Alicia to Stephanie’s unmoving, silent form. “Yes, Ma’m, I am your slave tonight . . . Yes, Ma’m, I should be out sucking cock, but I want to serve you . . . No, Ma’m, I am your nigger to command . . ..”
I don’t fucking believe this shit! Stephanie was getting turned on by Alicia’s “Mistress and Slave” routine, and as the pleasure began to build inside Stephanie wanted so badly to be able to say—no, command Alicia to do something to her to make the pleasure become even greater and greater . . . Stephanie had always sorta liked Alicia, although she’d have never thought to think of her in this way. But seeing her like this, and loving how nicely her dark chocolate skin looked in this very white outfit . . . for the first time in a very long time Stephanie wished she was a real girl again, and not just a mannequin done up in a dominatrix outfit. She’d give Alicia a command or to—
“What’s that, Mistress?” asked Alicia, continuing her make believe conversation. “Yes, Mistress, right away.” She suddenly dropped from Stephanie’s line of sight, and she wondered just what the hell it was Alicia was up to . . . and then she felt two hands grip her gently around her left leg, and . . . what was that? It felt like— It was—
Holy fucking shit! Alicia is LICKING MY FUCKING BOOT!
Alicia was slowly working her way up Stephanie’s leg, and it was driving her utterly mad. Stephanie had never had anyone go completely submissive on her like this, and with Alicia’s actions combined with Stephanie’s immobility, the intense feeling of gratification was rushing through her much, much quicker than Stephanie had ever felt it before, and Alicia hadn’t even made it to her knee and the orgasm that was rocking Stephanie’s mind into next week was so incredible, so succulent, that Stephanie figured if she hadn’t been hard plastic she’d have probably stoked out right then and there and died with a moan and a smile on her lips.
Stephanie had no concept of how long it took Alicia to lick her way up the length of her thigh high boot, but she enjoyed it so much more completely than anything before when she’d been “real”. Alicia was not only slow, but she was complete. And even more so, she was loving. The girl dug being like this, wanted to be the sort of girl who had to please someone else in the most extreme ways. Stephanie suddenly found herself enjoying being The Mistress, being the center of Alicia’s attention. Christ, if this girl is going to be like this with me whenever she’d gonna change me, she thought, I’m gonna want to be changed a whole lot more in the future!
Alicia ran her tongue over the mannequin’s bare upper thigh and onto her hips. The corseted body suit she wore left enough of her hips exposed that Alicia could have fun pretending she was licking and kissing a woman’s skin. She looked up, whishing that she were making submissive love to a real mistress, but she’d settle for this fantasy, this incredible vision of someone she’d serve in a moment were it asked of her.
She looked upon the zipped crotch of The Mistress and smiled. “Oh, what’s that you say, Mistress?” she said. “You need your pussy licked? Of course, my goddess—“ She unzipped the crotch and pulled the latex covering apart. There was nothing but smooth plastic underneath, but it wasn’t difficult for Alicia to imagine a lovely, scented, so-completely wet vagina waiting for her . . ..
Stephanie felt the suit unzip. There was a moment where Alicia’s hand caressed Stephanie’s hard, plastic buttock, then there was nothing but bliss and Alicia’s tongue touched the smooth area that had been Stephanie’s crotch since she’d been placed here. It was all Stephanie could do to keep from moaning, and after the third orgasm inside of ninety seconds she stopped trying. Stephanie chanted, Yes, yes Alicia, yes slave over and over, hypnotizing herself into thinking that she was Alicia’s mistress, that the girl was her slave, that Alicia existed only for pleasing her. Stephanie didn’t notice—or care—that her mind was starting to slip; the only thing she cared for this very moment was pleasure, the pleasure that her lover Alicia was giving her, and if she were going insane, then Stephanie understood—in a last moment of lucidness—that there were worse ways than this to go crazy.
Alicia slowly worked her way up the corseted latex suit that covered the mannequin. She knew what people would think if they could see her, that what she was doing was so wrong, but she didn’t care—not as long as it gave her satisfaction. She so longed to be with someone like the proxy she was now loving, but it was unlikely she would ever find someone that would completely fit her fantasies. So for now Alicia was content to make do with what was available—
Finally making her way to The Mistress’ face, Alicia got up on her tip toes—even in the heels Alicia wore, the mannequin stood taller—and kissed her plastic lips. She did it again, and again, not just giving the unreal girl a little peck, but a kiss filled with love. She sighed deeply as she broke her embrace. “I wish you were real,” she said, brushing the bright red bangs of the wig out of mannequin’s face. “I wish you were—“
And then she stopped, because Alicia noticed something about the thing she’d been making love to for the last twenty minutes. The face . . . there was a resemblance there that she’d never noticed before, but then again, who ever notices a mannequin’s face, even up close? With the hair and the bangs, she looks different, thought Alicia. But if the hair was brown and had a different cut . . ..
She looked closer at the face. Then she realized who The Mistress looked like. “Stephanie?” she whispered. “Stephanie? Oh, my God! It can’t be . . ..”

Kim looked on while Alicia finished installing The Mistress upon the special stand that her sister had seen fit to put away after Kim’s accident. “Didn’t anyone think it strange that Stephanie went missing like that?” she asked.
Alicia—still dressed in her “special outfit”, put the wig on the mannequin that she was now certain was Stephanie. “We didn’t think . . . well, we didn’t know, okay?” She glanced over her shoulder. “It would have been nice if you’d have mentioned this thing to the rest of us, you know?”
Kim nodded. She knew Alicia was right; she should have mentioned the stand to some of the other girls, and not just to Stephanie. But, hell, that was a while ago, she thought, and who knew I’d be in this position . . . She knew it was her sister who should be dealing with this, but still—to get that late night call from Alicia, hearing her explain what she’d found, and realizing that maybe, just maybe that crazy girl Stephanie had gone and gotten herself somehow stuck on a pole in the store and that in a way it was her fault for not mentioning the stand to Mary—
Stepping back after putting the final touch in place, Alicia asked, “So, what now?”
“You just turn it off,” said Kim. “You did turn it on first, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well . . ..”
“Right.” Stepping around to the back of the stand, Alicia knelt down, and pressed the button so that the stand turned off. There was a slight hum, then nothing for about ten seconds—and then both women saw the skin of the mannequin turn from a flesh tone plastic color into something . . . different. Something with a little more body and depth, something that looked like real skin. The body on stand shimmied just a bit, then the arms dropped to the side, the head tilted back, the eyes closed, and Stephanie—once more able to move—let loose with a long, wailing moan before slowly falling forward onto the floor. She caught herself with her hands, inched forward off the stand that was now sticking out of her asshole, and rolled onto her back. “FUCK!!!” she screamed, clutching herself in her hands.
Alicia rushed in. “Stephanie!” she gasped. She sat back on her heels and cradled Stephanie’s head in her lap. “How . . . how are you doing?”
Blinking twice, Stephanie looked up and said softly, “Oh, pretty good for someone who’s been a mannequin for a while.” She looked over to where Kim sat. “How ya doin’, Kim?”
Kim slowly rose from her chair, putting her weight on a cane. She limped over to where the girls lay. “Considering all the shit I’ve been through in the last nine months, not too bad.”
“Nine months?” gasped Stephanie. “It’s been that long?”
“Yeah,” said Alicia. “We filed a missing person report on—“
“Yeah, I know,” said Stephanie. “I was there—remember?” She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “How’s the leg?” she asked Kim.
“Probably always gonna have a limp,” replied Kim. “Really fucked it up.”
“We’re you high when you wrecked?”
Kim snorted loudly. “Did you hear that fucking bitch say that?” she snidely asked.
“Yeah. One night she was in the store, talking—“
“That goddamn cunt,” hissed Kim. “She’s been saying all along that the accident somehow had to be my fucking fault!” She turned and raised her cane, looking for something to smash. “Some drunk asshole blew a red light and broadsided me,” she said, turning back to Alicia and Stephanie. “I wasn’t high; I didn’t blow the light; it wasn’t my fucking fault!” She winced as she moved over to a work bench, leaning against it to take pressure off her leg. “I wish she’d get off this shit!”
“Sounds like you two have a lot of history between you,” said Stephanie.
“Yeah. All of it bad.” Kim sighed as the pain subsided. “So, what was it like? Being frozen like that?”
Rubbing her legs, Stephanie said, “I don’t know that I can put it into words. For one, I didn’t know that it’s been nine months. It was like the passage of time didn’t really mean all that much, you know? I know about stuff going on in the shop, but as far as like feeling the hours slip by, that didn’t happen. It was as it I was only aware of things going on around me when things were going on around me.”
“External stimuli,” said Alicia. “You could only react to things around you.”
“Maybe. I was aware of people looking at me, touching me, talking around me—“ She looked Alicia in the eyes. “Doing other things to me.” Alicia blushed and looked away.
Kim noticed the exchange between Stephanie and Alicia, and decided she did not want to go there. The fact she’s wearing that outfit . . . “Anything else?”
Stephanie nodded. “It was just strange being so still, unable to breath or move or do anything. Just be there, nothing else.” Stephanie appeared somewhat wistful thinking about the incident. “I mean, you’d really have to be that way to understand. It was such an incredible experience—“
“Could you feel things happening to you?” asked Alicia.
“I could feel everything,” she replied.
Alicia seemed hesitant to ask, but she had to know. “Did you cum any?”
Stephanie leaned over and, putting her arm around Alicia’s shoulders, gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” she whispered in her ear. Releasing Alicia—and ignoring the look she was getting from Kim—Stephanie told the black girl, “Get these boots off me, okay?”
Alicia hung back for a second. “I don’t—“
Quickly turning on her, Stephanie barked, “Bitch, move your black bubble ass!”
Alicia’s uncertainly disappeared. She quickly began unlacing the boots as she clearly said, “Yes, Mistress Stephanie”.
Kim raised an eyebrow. “You wanna tell me—“
“It’s okay,” interjected Alicia. “I know what she wants.” Stephanie only smiled at Kim, who shrugged and said, “I’m cool with it if you are.” Alicia continued to unlace the ballet boots Stephanie had worn for the last night months, saying nothing.
The first boot was only off Stephanie’s foot for about five seconds when she noticed something wasn’t right. “Hey!” she exclaimed.
“What it is?” asked Kim.
“Look at my foot.” Stephanie’s left foot remained pointed, as if she were still wearing the ballet boots.
“Can you move it?” asked Alicia. Stephanie managed to wiggle the toes, but all her attempted to flatten her foot seemed futile.
Alicia took Stephanie’s foot in her hands and gently tried to flex it into a less severe position. The moment she tried Stephanie yelped in pain. “Fuck, don’t do that!” she cried. “That really hurt!”
“You can’t move your foot?” asked Kim.
“No, not a damn bit! Alicia, get the other boot off . . .” The right foot was reviled to be the same way, stuck in the same position it had been in while the boots were on.
“Oh, now, this is some shit!” cried Stephanie. She tossed her hands in the air out of frustration. “First I’m stuck as a mannequin for months, and now . . . now, I can’t wearing anything but fuckin’ ballet heels!”
“That’s not suppose to happen,” said Kim. “I mean, I’ve read about this—“
“So have I,” cried Stephanie. “I know there were women who were transformed for at least a month and never had anything like this happen.”
“Maybe it happened because you were changed for so long,” chimed in Alicia.
Stephanie shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Just because I was changed, that doesn’t mean it should have affected my body after I turned—“
Alicia clapped her hands together. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” asked Kim.
Standing, Alicia turned to Kim and said, pointing at Stephanie, “That’s not her body!”
Stephanie understood what Alicia was pointing out. “Yeah, no shit. Of course—“
“What do you mean?” asked Kim, who was still confused by all this.
“Mary took me apart and put me back together in the story,” started Stephanie.
“But she didn’t put your head on your body,” added Alicia. “She put it on The Mistress’ body.”
“And that mannequin had legs that were made to fit into ballet boots—“ She looked at Kim. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” replied Kim. “I had bought those legs special.”
“So,” said Alicia, continuing this train of thought, “when we transformed Stephanie back, we really didn’t transform the body that was hers—“
“You transformed the mannequin’s body,” said Kim, finishing the thought. “But . . . why should she be transformed back, then?”
“Because it’s my head that controlled everything,” Stephanie told them. “I couldn’t feel the rest of my body when I was disconnected from it, but once I was on The Mistress’ body, it felt . . ..”
“Just like yours?” asked Kim.
“Bingo.”
None of the women said anything for almost a minute. Finally Alicia shuddered and mumbled, “Wow! This is fuckin’ freaky.”
Kim nodded. “Yeah, think about it. You could be turned into a mannequin—“
“Then have your head put on another body—“
“And then changed back—“
“And end up with all the original features of the mannequin’s body,” said Stephanie. She reach for the boots she’d been wearing. “Which would also explain why I still have these big tits—“
“And that tiny waist,” cooed Alicia, obviously enthralled by Stephanie’s new appearance. She quickly knelt and began putting Stephanie back into the ballet boots. “God, you could have a ball with this, changing things—if you were into that sort of shit.”
Stephanie picked up on the tone in Alicia’s voice. “I’m sure one could . . . slave.”
Alicia blushed once more, then smiled. “I’m sure you’re right . . . Mistress.”
“You still my nigga?” asked Stephanie. Before Alicia could answer, Stephanie pulled her in and kissed her long and passionately.
“I sure am,” Alicia said once they broke from their embrace. “For now and always if you want me.”
“What I want for you now,” said Stephanie, “is to get your ass up on that stand.” She allowed Alicia to help her to her feet. “And lets see what sort of fun we can have, shall we?”

Mary was in a mood to kill. Here it was, two o’clock in the fuckin’ morning, and her dumb cunt of a sister is calling her up, telling her she has to get down to the store right away, ‘cause there’s something important she has to see.
Kim had to be high; that was the only explanation. Mary knew she should have cut her loser sister loose years ago, but couldn’t because her mother had made her promise to look after her somewhat older sister, the one who just couldn’t seem to catch a break. Well, fuck that. Mom was on the downhill slide, and once the old woman had checked out, that was the end of her obligations towards Kim. The bitch could hook to earn cash as far as Mary was concerned.
Of course she knew her mother didn’t think much of the way she’d gotten ahead over the years, but so what? Girl has to do what a girl has to do. So what if Kim had tried to make something honest of herself, as dear, old Mom liked to point out. Honest is for losers, and that’s just what Kim was. And if sis didn’t have a damn good explanation for dragging her ass out of bed at this ungodly hour, what with this rain storm still raging on, Mary was gonna fire Kim’s butt right then and there.
She parked her car and ran up to the back entrance as quickly as she could. At least the back door was unlocked: Mary would have been pissed if she’d had to unlock it herself. She stepped inside, slamming the door behind her. “Kim!” she yelled. The back room was lit by only one small bulb located in the corner of the room. What the fuck? Is she trying to create some kind of fucking mood here? “Kim!”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Someone stepped into the back room from the store, but even though it sounded like Kim, there was no way in hell it could be her. For one, she wasn’t limping; the accident had fucked her up enough that even Kim had said she’d never walk normally again. Two, this chick was tall. Even without those tall heels she was wearing, the girl had to be standing over six feet tall, and Kim had been 5’ 3” since the middle of high school. And as the girl passed the light at the far end of the room, it was obvious she was black, and Kim sure as shit wasn’t black— “You lookin’ for me, Mary?” The girl was closer, and she sure as hell had Kim’s voice, but it was impossible for this girl to be her—
“Who are you?” asked Mary.
The girl stopped a couple of feet away. “Don’t you recognize your own sister, bitch?” the girl said, and in the flash of lightening that lit up the back room, Mary did recognize her own sister, only Kim has somehow grown tall and svelte and black, and how the fuck was any of that possible?
“But . . . but . . .” The words refused to form on Mary’s lips. “You’re—“
“Black?” Kim smiled. “Is that what you’re trying to say?” She turned and slapped her filled-out behind, which had been invisible to Mary. “You bet you’re skanky white ass I am.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Oh, it sure is.” Mary knew that to be Alicia’s voice, but when the girl stepped out from behind some boxes, Mary saw that she, too, had changed. She was far more buxom, and shorter, and dressed all in a bright white outfit—which seemed to match nicely with her now lightly tanned skin and platinum blond hair. Though her features remained the ones she was born with, she was defiantly now a white girl. “It’s amazin’ what you can do when you got the right tools!” she exclaimed, moving in close on Mary’s left.
Mary felt like she was gonna lose it. This wasn’t possible; people just couldn’t change like this. “This is all bullshit!” she yelled. She turned to leave the store—and there standing before her was this statuesque woman with flaming red hair and huge breasts and a cool latex outfit and . . . Oh, my God, Mary thought, it’s that mannequin from the store!
“Don’t run off, Mary,” the woman said. “Wouldn’t you like to tell us about how it feels getting your pussy fisted?”
White Alicia draped an arm over Mary’s shoulder. “Yeah, baby. Why don’t you tell us about it?”
Kim put her hands on her sister’s other shoulder. “I know I’d like to hear about it.”
Mary had no where to go. She was surrounded on three sides—on two by people who had somehow changed races, and on the third by a living mannequin. She began to giggle as her ability to rationalize what was going on started slipping away. “What do you want?”
“Just to let you know that . . . well, we want to have fun,” said the mannequin.
“That we don’t want you bothering us at the store any more,” said Alicia.
“That we don’t want you doing anything to us,” said Kim. “Or to me.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to you—Kim,” stuttered Mary. She giggled again. “Why would I?”
“We just wanted to make certain you’ll give us a free hand running this place,” said the mannequin girl.
Mary—who by now was terrified beyond all rational belief—nodded vigorously. “Of course! No problem! Any—anything you . . . girls want—“
Alicia leaned into Mary’s ear. “Because if you try to fuck with us—“
“You’ll find life being far, far different that what you know now,” murmured Kim in her sister’s other ear.
The mannequin woman tapped Mary lightly on the chest, and the girl began moving her back into the room. Mary was vaguely aware of her panties being ripped off as the mannequin said, “Just in case you don’t believe us, you might want to spend some time considering what might happened—“
Mary didn’t resist. She was convinced this was all a bad dream, and even as she felt something slide up into her vagina, followed by this strange vibration running through her body, she was certain she was going to wake up in her California king sized bed and everything was going to be okay—

Mary rolled over in her bed, suddenly wide awake. She rubbed her eyes and moaned: another goddamn bad dream. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. They’ve been getting worse lately, she thought. I should see someone about them, but . . . would they even believe me when I tell them about these dreams?
She knew anyone who’d listen to her would think she was cracking up. After all, a lot of her dreams had to do . . . had to with the store. The store her sister ran . . ..
The store where Kim was now this really hot-lookin’ black girl with dark skin and some great, long hair and a body that said “do me” and a booty that wouldn’t quit, and who liked to dress oh, so sexy in short skirts and very, very high heels, and who would fuck anyone in the back room if she was in the mood . . ..
And then there was her friend and co-working Alicia, who’d somehow taken over Kim’s body, but it had much larger breasts and this totally bimboish blond hair and Alicia had taken to dressing completely in latex and chatin’ up just about everyone who came into the story, and who told Mary she did know what getting her pussy fisted was like . . ..
And then there was Stephanie, and Mary didn’t know what to make of her, because she was sure that she’d started out as this dim little girl who no one really paid much attention to, but now she was this dominatrix bitch who walked around corseted and in ballet boots all the time, and who had Alicia eating out of her hand, and who was best fucking friends with Kim, and pretty much was the boss of the store . . ..
Of course, Mary knew all this because . . . because for a week she’d been a mannequin there. Well, not really a mannequin, but she’d been turned into one, and then her head was pulled off and was put on a stand behind the counter, where Mary modeled wigs all day and night, and saw and heard everything that went on in the store, including watch her sister and Alicia and Stephanie all turn into mannequins every so often, showing off the store’s wares whenever they felt like taking time off from being human and instead spending it as exquisitely beautiful plastic women.
And because Mary had been a wig display for a week . . . or was it two? Or maybe three? Well, because she had been one she knew all about what went on at the store, but rather than try to convince anyone about the goings on there, Mary thought it better to just keep her mouth shut and try to deal with these dreams.
She finally rolled out of bed, figuring it was time to get up. Her eight inch block heels touched the floor, and Mary wondered once more when she’d be able to get them off. Of course, as she minced her way to the bathroom, she knew she thought the same thing about the extremely tight corset that covered her constricted waist and breasts, and the gloves that cover both arms. She told people who saw her these days (the ones who came to her house; Mary almost never went out any more) that she was totally into the fetish scene, and this was her way of living it . . . but that was a lie. That’s what she was told to say.
The truth was when Kim and Alicia and Stephanie put her back together, the put in onto a mannequin’s body that had these items glued onto it, and when that stand thing made her real again, why, it bonded the material right to her skin and it became her skin, and no mater how hard she tried there was no way to take any of this stuff off. Stephanie had told her that one day they’d ”fix” her, but that wouldn’t be for a while.
Not until they knew they could trust her.
Mary used the toilet, then showered—the outfits cleaned up nicely—and then stood before the mirror and looked at her face. She ran her gloved hand over her completely smooth skull, and if there was anything she missed, it was her long, black hair. Sure, the girls could have put her hair back on before they transformed her, but as they told her, “Once a wig model, always a wig model.” They at least kept her stocked in wigs, even if most of the shit they sent over looked like it belong either on a stripper or a girl from a cartoon.
Mary felt like pink, and it was a short, pink wig she placed upon her head. She turned and modeled it, thinking about how good she looked like this. Ever since being changed six months ago, Mary enjoyed modeling before the mirror. Seeing just how damn sexy she was.
Maybe that’s why I have the bad dreams, she thought. Because I try to convince myself that I’m not like my sister and Alicia and Stephanie, that I’m real, that I’m different than them. Yet, whenever Mary began one of her posing routines, hours would pass before she stopped and went on with the rest of her day in what had become her self-imposed exile away from people who simply wouldn’t understand her.
Maybe the girls would let me model down at the store, she though. She raised her chin with the palm of her right hand and blew a kiss at the mirror. I’m just as good as them. Just as pretty. A pretty girl. A very pretty plastic girl. Who just wants to be seen . . ..

The End