Wednesday, December 20, 2006

part 2 of my hypnosis

this is a short little story written by evil dolly based on my chat log with kitti control.

i'm keen to share some of my other chat logs with writers who can turn then into stories. just email me and i'll send one over too you.


the hallway
by evil dolly

She stands before you, this Barbie, this Goddess. She must be artifical, for nothing natural could be this perfect. She is all artifice, all plastic, all synthetic. Supremely confident, she knows she is beautiful. What's more, she knows the effect her beauty is having upon you as you stand there at the entrance of the hallway. Her flawless beauty is intimiding, almost terrifying. She is smiling a picture perfect smile of contentedness, but whether she smiles because she is truly happy to see you or because the smile is permanently molded onto her lips is hard to say. It doesn't really matter; either way, the smile lightens your heart and makes you want to smile back at her, reflecting her apparent happiness. You want to, but all you can really do is stare, paralyzed, in awe. You realize that you're naked, and are unaware of how you got that way, or even how you came to be here in the first place. It all has to be a dream... doesn't it?

She is wearing an elaborate, cascading gown of purple and pink latex. Through a slit at the bottom you can see her feet, arched into impossibly high heels. Despite the shoes, she stands with no effort at all, almost as if she's floating. The material of her gown glistens in the subdued light of the hallway. It's so shiny that you think you hand might come away wet if you touched it. You yearn to touch it. Not just to see what it feels like, but to see if she is, in fact, real and not some vision from a dream. Your hand reaches out... and she gracefully steps away, just out of reach. She continues to smile at you. Her arm raises and she extends her perfect, long-fingered hand. She beckons you to come closer. You step towards her, hardly aware that you're doing so. It's like a pull, deep in your belly, as if she is drawing closer with invisible strings. In this fashion, she leads you down the hallway.

Though her lips remain motionless, you could swear that she is speaking to you. There is a whisper, just on the edge of hearing. You can't make it out. That's not so important right now, though, as all your attention is focused on that perfect, plastic face, those lips, and those fascinating eyes that pierce right through you. Her glassy eyes seem to be staring at nothing, and yet they see everything about you at the same time. You hesitate as you realize that somehow, without even a word, she is peeling away your layers and discovering all your hidden secrets. It's a little frightening to be exposed like this. You wonder where she could be leading you, and if it's wise to let yourself become so entranced by this beguiling being.

But her smile is just so inviting and so irresistable. With a tug of the invisible strings, she pulls you forward, and as she does, you feel your willpower collapse. It's such an incredible relief to feel your free will vanish. With a quiet sob to express your utter helplessness in her presence, you follow her down the long hallway. Whatever her intentions for you, it's out of your hands now. You are mesmerized by the patterns of light bouncing off her exquisitely glossy latex dress, which rustles and squeaks as she walks. Her movement is measured, slow, and inhumanly graceful. The constant whispering urges you onward. She is so beautiful, your heart could break just from looking at her too long.

She has brought you, at last, to a door at the end of the hallway. Her fingers brush against its surface with a plastic click and the door opens in response. She steps aside to allow you entrance. For the first time, you're able to pull your eyes away from her in order to take in the room. You step inside, gazing around in wonder. Everything inside is shades of pink. What's more, everything inside is latex. You think you can hear the light, jewel tinking of a music box coming from somewhere. Mixed within the aroma of latex are hints of sweet perfume, bubblegum, candy, strawberries, and everything that's sweet, pink, sticky. In the center of floor is a round, sunken pool. It's filled to the top with pink, liquid latex. Your heart skips a beat as it dawns on you, with a mixture of excitement and fear, that you will not be able to leave this room unchanged--if you'll be able to leave it, at all.

You feel her presence behind you. She comes to your side and, with one firm, cool hand touching the small of your back with the gentlest of caresses, she points to the pool. Any ounce of willpower that still remained crumbles as you realize what she wants you to do. She wants you in the pool. It's what you want more than anything else the world. Even if you wanted to resist, you couldn't; what she wants you to do and what you want have so quickly become virtually the same.

You dip your toes into the pink latex to discover that it is warm. Warm and inviting. Your feet find a step and the latex is up to your knees. It's thicker than you thought, but not too thick. Just right. The next step brings it up to your thighs, tickling you. The last slow step brings it up your waist. You shudder as the warm latex slides up your legs and over your crotch and belly. It tingles, just a little. You wonder what it's doing to you, but your mind is so warm and fuzzy with the soft whispering that you can't really care about anything. You dip your arms into the pool and lift them back out. Your hands and forearms are coated in thick, glistening latex like gloves. It doesn't run or drip--in fact, it seems as though it's already drying on you. As it dries, and so rapidly, it gets tighter on your flesh, encasing you like a second skin. What would happen if you were to cover yourself in this completely?

Moved by curiosity, you bring your fingers to your lips. It's sweet! So very sweet. You're suddenly overcome by a powerful urge. You look to her beseechingly. Her expression remains unchanging, but she appears to know what you want. With slightest of nods, she grants you permission. With a moan, you lower yourself completely into the pool. The latex washes over your face and closes above your head. It's so wonderfully warm and quiet under there. It tingles all over so pleasantly. You open your mouth and let the candy-sweet, pink latex flow into your mouth. You drink it in, hungrily, desperately. It fills you. You begin to feel drunk.

Finally, you come for air, giggling from sheer joy. The latex is coating your mouth and tongue. It's all you can smell and taste. You feel the latex start to get tighter all over your body. You reach up to feel your face, your head... and realize that your hair is gone. You have no idea where it went. It's just gone. You know your head must now look as smooth and glistening pink as the rest of you. The whispering doesn't allow you to become alarmed at the change. Still, you swoon, overwhelmed.

You look up to see her standing at the edge of the pool. She has divested herself of her gown and now stands above you naked. Her figure and skin and perfectly flawless like a mannequin. Perhaps she is a mannequin. Her body lacks nipples, a pussy, or even a belly button. It's all smoothness. She wasn't born, she was made. She steps into the pool, but the latex doesn't stick to her like it does to you. It runs off her plastic skin like water. Smiling her sweet smile, she comes towards you. Her arms wrap around you and pull you into her. You melt against her firm body, which is so soft and unyielding at the same time. A surge of contentment washes over you. She takes you to the center of the pool and lowers you until only your head is above the latex. She cradles you against her breasts. You bask in the warmth under her perpetual smile. She lifts a hand out of the pool and holds it, dripping, above your face. The pink latex drips down upon your cheeks and lips. You open wide and take her fingers into your mouth, nursing the fragrant latex from her lovely, plastic fingers.

You remain like that, held in her arms in the pink pool, for the longest time. You start to adjust your position, to lift yourself out of the pool a little, and realize that she won't let you. Like a statue, her position doesn't change. You begin to squirm a little, feeling a twinge of alarm that she won't let you go. Her embrace is so gentle, but her strength is like iron. You struggle in her arms, but it's futile. You're completely helpless in her relentless, loving embrace. You go limp in her arms, overcome by the knowledge that you couldn't leave even if you truly wanted to. It's too late for that. Whatever she plans to do with you now, it's all beyond your control. If she is some kind of doll, then you've let yourself become a doll's plaything.

Still smiling at you, her barely-audible whisper becomes words. Relax, my pretty, pink pet. So pretty, pretty. I have you now and there's nothing you can do to stop me, so relax. Don't fight it, my new, pink doll. Let the latex soak into your body and become you. It won't be long, now. You can't stop it from happening. Surrender to me. All you have to do is keep drinking it in. I'll make you so beautiful and so perfect. I'll make you just like me so that I can gaze at you and you will reflect my beauty like a mirror. And I'll love you, love you, love you forever, my pink doll. Forever. Unchanging. Now drink me in. Drink my beauty.

You stare up at her, speechless and helpless. Her expression finally changes into one of lust. Her lips part as she bends close to you. As her perfect, plastic lips part to give you a kiss, pink latex begins to spill from her lips and onto yours.

1 comment:

Dark said...

This little story gets at a couple of interesting aspects of the doll "thing". One of them is the idea of an artificial skin. We know that latex sheet and items we are familiar with are made from a liquid which like paint adheres in a perfect layer to whatever it is applied to. But unlike paint, latex can stretch and accommodate a surface which moves.. just like skin.

Enclosure lovers like the idea of having a second skin pressing and moving with their own. And since our own skin is often flawed with freckles or beauty marks or hair... second skins not only perfectly copy the skin form below but offer a new perfect appearance. And in the case of things like plastic and latex it is mirror smooth.

This story grabs on the the idea that we can "paint" ourselves with a latex skin which is more perfect than our own. It references the color pink which is similar to flesh but more like what children's dolls are made from as one color is chosen to approximate flesh. Even applied make up is aimed at a type of perfecting of the skin.

Make up, even complete body make up would or could provide a similar effect as a second skin, but lack the true nature of protection that a another skin would provide, and it certainly is not glossy smooth, perfect and almost artificial in its perfection. The high gloss and uniform nature of surfaces make us thing of manufacturing as opposed to one of hand made items.

The other interesting point about this tale and "dolls" is not only the idolization and perfection of an enclosing second skin, but the fact that the form itself is perfect, not just the skin. Dolls represent an idealized "iconic" sexualized female in form... just as a Barbie doll's form seems to be an idolized form of the female... tiny waist... long legs and so forth.

So what you have here is the "theme" of perfection of the human female as an iconic sexual object and presenting her in a perfect artificial rubber enclosing complete second skin. The real female becomes the real doll.

Interesting is the notion that some of the bits like nipples or even hair are negated as "too individualistic" and can be dispensed with in the doll (though not always). Many dolls attempt more accuracy and simply include these (nipples for example) and add some hair on the head which may look artificial or not.

The doll face is another interesting aspect to dolls. Many dolls seek a new face for their transformation. For some it IS doll like and does not look like a real living female face, more like a cartoon, caricature with over large wide set eyes and a tiny nose for example. For others it might be a new completely different but very pretty and feminine or "sexy" face. I don't know that I have uncounted the idea (as implied in this story) of second skinning your own face, but this certainly could be another way to approach the doll's face.

Of course the process described ignores many of the actual properties of liquid latex and so dipping oneself into a pool of liquid latex and emerging as a perfectly covered person is hardly likely. But perhaps a new material will come along and this will be possible.

Who knows?

But the overarching theme of the iconic doll is that she is sealed inside a flexible new prefect second skin.