an old story just found on my hdd - Living Doll

Living Doll, by 'Coppelia' Part 1

"Ouch! Hey...w...What was that?"

A sharp stinging sensation on his left bicep brought him from sleep to a state of
confused wakefulness. And then...Was that the bedroom door softly closing ? He sat up,
rubbing his eyes blearily, turning in the bed to where he expected to see Lori, his Lori
asleep beside him. The covers on her side were thrown back. The red numerals of the
bedside clock glowed. 3 am. His mouth felt dry. Damn, he wished he'd had some water
before coming to bed. Another night at the Husymans Club had left him exhausted, and
more than a little drunk. Dehydrating by the time he'd got back to the small apartment
no more than...What was it...? Just over an hour ago ? But surely Lori, trusting little
Lori had already been in bed, asleep, when he'd crept with exaggerated alcoholic care
between the sheets beside her. So where the hell was she now ? And what, the thought
intruded into his still fuddled brain, *had* happened to his arm ? He rubbed it with
his right hand, feeling...Absolutely nothing, he realised, with just a twinge of alarm.
Nothing save for a cool, distant tingling.

He flexed his upper arm, rotated his shoulder. (Must have gone to sleep lying on it.)
This numbness was just loss of circulation to the muscles. What as a child he had
called, remembering the tingling rush of returning blood, 'pins and needles'. (It'll be
fine in a minute or two.) He rotated his shoulder again, moving slowly round the bed to
Lori's side. The bedroom door was a couple of feet away. He stopped. The numbness hadn't
gone. If anything, it was spreading. There was no pain, but as he flexed and stretched
his arm it felt...tight. The muscles and flesh constricted, a little like when he was
pumped from a session in the gym.

"Pins and needles."

He realised as the words formed that he had spoken out loud, and the loudness of it in
the quiet, darkened bedroom shocked him. The loudness...and maybe just a hint of fear.
Didn't heart attacks start this way, tingling in arms and ...chest. Yes, now the
numbness seemed to be spreading faster, moving in from his arm, reaching cool, tingling
fingers across his ribs, across his heart. He swayed, unsteady, though whether from
booze or something else he could not tell, breathing deeply, fighting for composure.
Slowly, he felt himself becoming calmer. Which was odd, because surely the feeling of
creeping numbness was still spreading, deepening, and surely he should be reaching for
the bedside phone, dialling 911, "Emergency, I think I'm having a heart attack..." But
the jumbled stream of consciousness passing through his mind was oddly affectless,
distanced. No. It couldn't be a heart attack. He was young, just twenty six, fit...and
attractive. A hit with the ladies. Even now, that he was married. Especially now. This
past month.

A fragment of his evening at the Husymans Club surfaced, and despite the still spreading
numbness he found himself grinning, his confidence returning as he remembered the girl,
5'4", a petite blond with short bobbed hair, cool blue eyes, a slim, well proportioned
body...He had chosen what he thought of as the Coppelia  scene for her to play, thrilled
when she had appeared for him in the costume - the white satin ballet slippers, the fine
denier white tights, that gave her legs a sculpted, shiny perfection, the white net
ballerina's tutu flaring out from the glossy white high-necked lycra body which covered
her from just beneath the chin to her small, satin-glove encased hands, and her
face...Oh her face!

Even now his cock stirred at the memory. While he had waited impatiently in the room
next door for her to change, the girl had done an expert job, matting her face down with
clown-white foundation, making it into the blank perfect mask of an automaton, shaping
her lips into a hard-edged gloss-red cupids bow, outlining her long-lashed eyes in
exaggerated black eyeliner, painting her eyelids a shocking bright blue. And on each
flawless cheek, she had painted a big, glossy red circle. When at last she had entered
his room, moving stiffly, limbs locked at knee and elbow, she had the face of a doll, a
little china doll. He didn't know how she had done it, but she must have put something
else - lacquer ? gel ?  - over the whole of her face because it had an immobile, slick
plastic sheen, reinforcing the impression that this young attractive woman had somehow
been magically transformed into a picture-perfect wind up ballerina toy. The finishing
touch was the delicate, filigreed key apparently protruding from her back.

Oh, how he had enjoyed the next two hours, commanding his little ballerina doll to
service him in ever more imaginative rigid postures...and then the bell had rung, and it
had been his turn to change, and service her fantasy...

...Because that was the way the club worked. A members co-operative, collectively
financed. Extremely private. Extremely expensive. Everyone a volunteer, taking turns to
serve and being served, according to whatever fantasy each club member desired. Branches
- discrete, unknown to the police - in most of the major cities. Some concealed behind
bland store fronts, or in apparently abandoned warehouses, in bad parts of town. Others
- those run by the club elite, the franchise holders - in member's own well appointed
homes. Specially equipped rooms, props, costumes - anything you wanted was yours for the
asking, money no object. If you had a fantasy, the Husymans Club could bring it to life
for you.

He had been lucky to find it, the clubs existence uncovered after weeks of on-line
searching, surfacing first as a web page rumour, then a link, then another, to a
newsgroup...and finally, to an encrypted e-mail address, somewhere at the end of a long
chain of anonymous remailers...Luckier still to be allowed to join, given that he had to
lie about his income to get in, using his hacking skills to fake out the club's rigorous
financial and character checks. Oh, sure, he made a comfortable enough living as a
freelance software engineer, working from home any hour of the day or night, dealing
with clients by phone or e-mail. But his salary didn't come close to affording the fees
the Husymans Club demanded. It had been nearly a month now. The check would fall due
soon, and that would be that. No way to pay. But it had been worth it for the month he
had experienced. And he had been careful too. There was no way the club could trace him
back, and even if they could, what could they do - sue ?

He smiled again. Then stumbled. He almost fell against the bed. The urgent need of the
moment over-rode the pleasant memory.  (Water. I need water.) He left the bedroom and
staggered down the hall to the bathroom. It took a long, long time. Like one of those
nightmares when everything goes into slo-mo. (But if this is a nightmare, why aren't I
frightened?) It took him an age to operate the door knob to the bathroom, then he felt
cool tile beneath his feet, and saw his pale white body dimly reflected at every angle
in the large mirrors which lined both long walls of the darkened room. It was a big
bathroom. Too big, he'd thought, when they signed the lease on the apartment. Now it
felt like a football stadium. The stiff numbness across his shoulder and upper arms,
reaching now to his elbows, made upward motion impossible. Reaching to turn on the
lights was out of the question. Stumbling and clumsy in the dark, he made for the cold
porcelain gleam of the washbasin, a continent away on the other side of the room.

Reaching it, he steadied himself, then reached forward to the faucet with his left hand.
He had to bend at the waist to manage it. His entire arm from shoulder to fingertip felt
numb now. He noticed his fingers were stiff, as if locked in their extended position. He
tried flexing them, willing them to curl around the faucet. They remained as rigid as
pencils laid side by side, turning his hand into a flat blade of fixed flesh. He tried
bending his elbow, and found he couldn't. For a brief moment, fear did return, piercing
through the growing odd detachment he felt still settling on his mind, like snow on a
windshield.  Jerkily, he raised himself from the basin and stood erect, fighting for
clarity of thought and ease of motion. Not getting it.

Again, there was no pain, but it felt now like each individual vertebrae was fusing into
the next, turning his spine into a solid column of bone. He turned - or rather rocked
round unsteadily on the ball of one foot, like a malfunctioning male version of the wind
up toy the girl had played for him earlier. He managed to face the door again. He tried
to move his extended arm to his side. Couldn't do that either. He took a step; it wasn't
easy, as he could no longer feel the tile beneath his feet. One more jerky step.
Another. (I...have... to... reach... the... door. Something... is... wrong.) He
articulated the words in his mind, but they had no meaning for him. He pictured another
step. Just framing the thought was like walking through thick, glutinous mud. He found
his body hadn't moved. Suddenly the bathroom door swung inward, and the overhead light
blazed on.

"Lori! Thank God!" At least, that was what he had meant to say. As if through cotton
wool he heard a voice...his voice...slur out her name, imploringly. That was all. The
rest was lost.

"Living doll, huh?"  There was bright colour in her cheeks, but there was nothing doll
like about Lori. Particularly now. She was beyond anger. Incandescent  - magnificent -
with rage. She took a deep breath, and her full breasts shifted beneath the short flimsy
sheerness of her only clothing, an ivory silk night-dress. Both her nipples were clearly
erect, pushing at the soft shine of the fabric. At any other time he would have found
the physical arousal her anger had unwittingly granted her irresistibly erotic himself -
Lori was at her horniest straight after, and sometimes during one of their many, many
fights. But now, his befuddled mind ignored this; ignored even his own strange
predicament; and simply fought to make sense of her words. She pushed her long, straight
black hair from her face and held up a sheaf of papers.

"I'll give you living doll."

He felt confusion again. This was all too weird.

"You thought you were being so clever, didn't you ? Sneaking off night after night,
working on that 'special project' of yours. Well, think again. Three days ago you left
yourself logged on. Bad move, Buster."

She stepped forward and stood in front of him. His arm, stiffly extended, was still
reaching forward, locked in the frozen pose it had assumed minutes...hours? ago. His
perception of time was slipping away. It was like the acid he had dropped in high
school; he found himself fascinated by the universe of meaning created by the
juxtaposition of his rigid fingers, and her gently heaving right breast, just scant
inches away. Almost close enough to brush the slick fabric of her gown, and feel the
hard nub of that erect nipple beneath...Except Lori might as well have been in Alaska,
for all the chance he had of making contact.

He struggled to force his fingers...then his arm...his head...legs...anything to move.
He realised with a slow dawning shock that the encroaching paralysis was now total, his
entire body was now immobilised, coolly tingling, and rigid. Even his breathing and
pulse seemed to have slowed to almost imperceptible levels. Only his eyes moved in the
static planes of his face, and they too seemed to be slowing up, gelling, fixing
on...Lori. If only he could explain to her what was happening to him. But it didn't
sound like she was in the mood for explanations, about anything.

"I read your e-mail Hon," Lori snarled. "Let's see..." she selected a sheet of paper
from the bundle in her hand, and began to read, in a waspish, sarcastic tone of voice...

"Larry. Went to Husyman's again last night. You should try the latest 'living doll'. The
best so far, I think. She's a great little screw-toy, and with the make-up and movement,
totally convincing. It's hard to believe there's flesh and blood in there: just a lot of
totally obedient cogs and gears that need a lot of winding up to keep in action, if you
know what I mean. And when she freezes up when she's going down on you...Pah!"

Lori broke off abruptly and tossed the sheet of paper away. "I read all of them...
That's right." She nodded slowly, fixing his eyes with her own. "All of them."

She stepped back, and looked appraisingly at him, halted as he was in mid step, naked,
arm extended, semi-erect cock at half mast. It was an embarrassing, awkward posture. She
put her head to one side, then the other, letting him know she was watching, and
enjoying his discomfort. She held her gaze on him a long cruel moment. Now it was his
turn to flush, as the colour of embarrassment and shame flamed in his frozen cheeks. It
was the only reaction he was now capable of making.

"So you and your friend Larry'd rather screw a dolly than a real woman, is that right,
big boy ? No, don't bother to argue."

She walked slowly round him, reaching to brush a loose hair from his ivory-white
shoulder. There was something proprietorial in the gesture, and something dismissive,
too. It was how one might appraise a piece of neglected furniture, in need of a polish.
Lori was having a hard time concealing her own excitement. (Everything they told me was
true!) She noted that, save for the flush in his face, his skin was everywhere already
cool to the touch, and taut with an elastic tension. She ran her fingers lightly down
his spine, tracing the curve of a buttock, then slapped him, hard, across the right ass
cheek. Angry red weals started up immediately but he did not - could not - register the
pain he felt at all. (Well, what do you know- the stuff really works!) She spoke again,
her voice thick with anger...or something more complex...

"In fact, I imagine round about now you'll find you can't argue, or do much of  anything
else, can you ? That's the injection I gave you. It's nothing special. No magic potion.
Apparently, it was developed as a paralysing agent for vets, working  with horses. It
just kind of locks, the, ah, patient, in place, and settles them down some, while the
vet does whatever needs doing.Whatever...Needs... Doing." She poked him to emphasise
each of these last three words. He merely rocked slightly under her touch.

She patted him once more, again as one might a favourite ornament, then stood before
him. She shaped a small, bitter smile.

"Effective, though, isn't it? Want to know where I got it from ? I'll tell you soon.
I'll tell you this now. The effects of the drug aren't permanent. But then again - they
don't have to be."

Helpless before her, silenced and still, one thought flashed through his dulling mind.
(Don't have to be? What does she mean by that?) Lori began pacing in front of him. He
was acutely conscious of her probing gaze, raking up and down the length of his body,
reflected as it was on all sides by the large mirrors on the bathroom walls. (This isn't
how it's supposed to be. It's Lori that puts on the floor show, and me that does the
looking!) Naked, exposed, and helpless, robbed of motion and speech, he felt his face
flush with embarrassment again. Lori was speaking, with tight, clipped anger.

"Oh, I was angry when I found the e-mail, sure. But hey, that was just when I thought it
was you turning out to be a pervert, being unfaithful to your wife with a cheap whore
dressed up as a sex toy. I was a whole heck of a lot angrier when I found *this* one."

She held a second sheet of paper before his eyes accusingly. Had he been capable of
doing so, he would have winced. It was a fax. Forwarded through half a dozen cut outs to
the fake identity he had so painstakingly established. The original, of course, was
shredded. Yet, against his expectation, Lori, the girl who hated everything to do with
computers, had worked out how to do it, and resurrected the deleted document from his
hard drive. He almost felt pride.

It was of course the bill, from Husymans. Not the discrete invoice, blandly made out, at
his request, for 'entertaining' that he'd first received. No. This was the detailed,
itemised, overdue bill, in all its guilty revealing pay-up-or-else explicitness.  And at
the bottom, in big red ink-jet letters, the total.

"$40,000 dollars ? For one month ? Were you crazy ? If you cleared out the joint account
right now you'd have just over half that, and still have our regular loans to pay." Lori
was stoking up her outrage again. "Our loans, Mister. My name's on the contracts too."

He wanted to tell her it was okay, the club had no way of knowing who he really was,
they couldn't possibly trace him...Then her next words sent a thrill of fear down his
locked spine.

"So I got right on to them, to see if we could cut some kind of deal."

Again the small, bitter smile. Her outrage vanishing into it. Somehow, this display of
control was the most frightening part , but he didn't understand why, yet. Instead he
found himself wishing for the softening blanket of the drug induced calm to cover him up
entirely, to let him escape this bizarre rigidity, and Lori's wrath, in unconsciousness;
free in his mind to run and hide and sleep...But some small reptilian part of his brain
resisted, sensing survival was at stake, pushing at his leaden thoughts with increasing
desperation, as he stood, and watched, and listened; impotently.

How could Lori have been so reckless? He didn't know what kind of action the club might
take once it found out how he had defrauded it, but he better be damn sure, his
reptile-mind insisted,  that he wasn't around when it did. Judging from the directions
the financial queries aimed at his fake ID had come from, some people in the club were
well connected. Like, government and police connected...THIS IS IMPORTANT! WAKE UP!...
For a moment, the smothered panic almost broke through. He struggled mightily against
the imprisoning motionless of the drug with all his locked-in strength. If only he could
break free. To move. To speak. To... To... think! It wasn't too late. He could set
things right with Lori. If only...If only...

It was no good. He felt his capacity for independent thought seeping from him. He poured
all his willpower into his outstretched hand, pushing, hard... One last, despairing
chance... Something in his mind resisted, stretched taut and thin - and gave way.

Lori noticed a tremble in his left eyelid. That was all. His eyes stared vacantly ahead.
Outwardly, he was calm. At peace. As motionless as something carved. He still heard her
words, understood them, but they were far away from him, and could not touch him
anymore. He simply listened, to her voice.

"Didn't want to hear that, did you, my man ? Didn't want dumb little Lori running off
her mouth to the club, did you ? Well, of course, I had to find it first. Oh, it wasn't
easy. But I had your fake identity on the bill to go by. And you know," she cocked a
well rounded hip, hand placed casually on it, and raised  the index finger of her other
hand coquettishly to her chin, adopting a tone of dumb blonde cuteness "Lori-wori just
got the... strangest... little feeling that the club were already looking for my big
strong man here." She reached down and tugged him by the cock. His whole body rocked,
stiff as a cigar store Indian, then teetered to a standstill. She grinned maliciously.
"I always did like the strong, silent type."

She stepped outside the bedroom into the hall then, and reappeared carrying a bulky
aluminium case, of the sort used to hold photographic equipment. And indeed the first
object she produced from it was a small automatic 35 mil Nikon. She dangled the camera
by it's strap. The aluminium case lay on the floor with the lid raised, contents hidden
from view.

"The club gave me the stuff in the case." she said. "To help with my part of the deal."
She raised the camera  viewfinder to her eye. "Now - whatever you do...don't move!" She
laughed. The motor drive of the little camera clicked and whirred. She took shot after
shot of him, from every angle. She shot the whole roll, then stood before him, breathing
rapidly.

Some small faraway part of his mind noticed the hunger in her eyes, noted the way she
ran her tongue unconsciously round her lips. Lori was still aroused, and not just by
anger.

"In case you were wondering, lover, those were the before shots. Now, let's *really* get
down to some work." She bent again to the aluminium case...


Lori spotted a tiny tremor, a flinch, in his outstretched hand, and
glanced at her watch. They had told her the drug would wear off quickly
after the deepest phase of the paralysis was reached. It was time to put
the next stage of the plan into effect. She put the camera down and
reached into the aluminium case again.

First she used the electric clippers to shave off  every visible hair on
his body, denuding his head, his armpits, his eyebrows, his chest, and
his legs. She debated trying to move him, rigid as he was, into the
shower stall, and settled instead for using the shower head attachment
on the bath faucet to rinse him off between each step. It made a mess on
the floor, but what the hell, she was enjoying herself. She reloaded the
camera, and took more pictures as she worked. Lori wanted a very
complete record of her revenge...

She lingered lovingly over his cock and balls, using a small pair of
nail scissors first, then following up with a wet razor. She used the
same razor to go over every inch of his body a second time, pausing once
in a while to pull on his outstretched hand, testing it. She felt
rigidity still, but minute by minute, it was ebbing...That was good. She
needed a certain amount of flexibility for the next stage.

Now, she covered him head to foot in depilatory cream, waited
impatiently the prescribed time, then hosed him down, watching the last
of his manly hair swirl away into a puddle on the floor. Lori checked
her watch. Almost time.  She threw some towels down, and mopped the
floor before returning her attention to the motionless human form before
her. It was a good job he was short, and had such a slim build.
Athletic, yes, but not muscled. There would be nothing in his size to
spoil the final effect. Lori stepped back, pleased with her work so far.

Her frozen, frantic and treacherous lover stood before her, locked into
his awkward tailors dummy posture, hand extended, almost overbalanced,
rigid as a fence post. And now, from top to toes, as naked and hairless
as the day he was born.

She felt the flesh of his bicep, knowing he could feel her do it, and
was helpless, unable to react in any way to her teasing touch. It was an
arousing thought, and she felt herself, against her own will, getting
damp with  - expectation ?... Oh yes, this revenge was going to be
sweet..

She found her fingers exploring him, marvelling at the changes she had
begun to work on him. Everywhere, his skin was taut, the muscles below
locked in spasm by the powerful drug coursing through his veins. His
arms, his legs, chest, head...his whole body now was as still, and as
smooth and as hairless as...She smiled at the thought...a plastic doll.
Well - wasn't that what he liked so very, very much ? A little dolly, to
play with? Perhaps she could see his point, after all... And there was
still some time left, if she was careful. Well, why not ?

She towelled his body dry, and as a finishing touch, took a fist-sized
powder puff and buffed his ivory-white skin top to toes in a fine cloud
of scented talcum powder. ("It will help you with the final stage", she
had been told.) He smelt - feminine now. She liked that. She also liked
it when she found, albeit with some difficulty, that she was now able to
force his extended left arm down. It remained fixed in the arc of travel
at whatever point she released it at. Like - pipe cleaners ? It was an
absurd comparison.

Lori laughed again, and entertained herself for the next few precious
minutes posing and reposing his awkwardly yielding upper limbs and the
cast of his head, pausing only to take picture after picture of him in
each contrived new posture, relishing his inability to stop her, to
shift or to react, though she knew he was fully aware of everything she
did. She felt the dampness between her thighs turn to wetness. She felt
the beginning of the familiar sweet pain.

"I was going to say I hope you don't mind me playing with you like this.
But then I though - why bother? There's nothing you can do to stop me,
is there? You don't ask the furniture if you can sit on it, do you ?
Besides," she said out loud. "You better get used to it."

("Better get used to it ?") He felt as if he were awakening the second
time in this long night. ("Used to what?") Slowly his consciousness,
which had been turned in on itself, lost in a kind of waking dream, or
nightmare, of immobility and embarrassment, turned outwards. He realised
he was in the bathroom. Then it came back to him. ("How did I get here?
Lori. Lori is here. Something about the club. The bill. Oh God - Lori
knows about the club!")

While these thoughts ran through his mind, another had occurred Lori.
She looked down at his semi erect cock, extended to its full length, but
hanging at half mast. "I wonder..." she said. This time she could not
resist. "I mean, it'd be for old times sake..."

She reached down between her legs. As her fingers slipped into herself
she felt a shudder of pre-orgasmic delight. God she was hot. Just the
thought of him fixed in front of her like that, a living statue unable
to stop her doing anything to him...A living statue with a cock...She
supposed she should be shocked at herself for giving in to the
strangeness of it all, for wanting to do with him what she had called
kinky before. But what the hell. He was here, and yep, the pipe cleaner
trick worked on *every* part of him...

She used her anticipatory wetness as lubricant, slicking it over his
manhood. Then she pulled and moulded his pliable cock until she had it
at just the right angle, hitched up her night dress, and eased herself
forward onto him, impaling herself, easing him back at the wall so he
lay against it like a toppled toy soldier beneath her, as she began
rocking forward and back, forward and back, using him as nothing more or
less than a dildo. She stared intently into his face, seeking some sign
of the mounting tension he must be feeling, finding instead the
unchanging blank impassivity of his expression an even bigger turn on
somehow. "How's that, Baby ?" She panted. "Is that good for you. Huh?
Huh?" She reached out and seized his hips, pulling him into her, riding
him, deeper, deeper, staring into his blank face.

After some minutes of delicious contractions she felt the tension begin
to build...and build...rising through her, wave after wave, moving
beyond her conscious control, the muscles of her vaginal walls spasming,
her throbbing clitoris swelling and swelling... Her eyes lost focus, and
her mind floated free for an indefinable time...When she finally eased
off him, she saw the wetness on the end of his cock, his own silvered
cum. "So you did feel that, Baby. Huh ?" She looked at him intently.
Throughout the whole experience he had remained fixed and rigid.
Only...on the smooth flesh of his top lip she saw a tell tale sheen of
sweat. She reached down. Fortified by the drug, his cock was as rigid as
before. Ready to service her again. "Whether you like it or not." she
panted, and, licking the salt-sweet sweat from his lip, began again.


***********************************************************************************


He realised that Lori was walking towards him, and would have groaned
had he been capable of speech. (Not again. Please not again.) He had
lost count of the times she had pleasured herself with him now, using
his every ready cock and stiffened fingers in ever more imaginative
ways, posing him this way and that, arranging and rearranging his
helpless body, inciting in him, in his blanketing helpless immobility, a
sexual tension which he thought might drive him mad. She had reduced him
to an object, a sex toy for her pleasure. He felt...used.

At last she pulled him from his awkward semi recline against the wall
into a standing posture. He felt dazed, almost faint as the blood rushed
from his head, and might have fallen but for the rigidity her drug had
brought to his frozen limbs. He saw that she holding a long, elasticated
thing in her hand. He wanted to speak and found that his mouth would not
obey him. He felt light headed. He willed himself to reach out for her,
and saw his finger move...an inch. Lori looked coolly at the errant
finger, then his face. She checked her watch.

"Time to cut to the chase, I think." she said.

She reached forward and slid the elasticated thing, sheath like, over
his cock and balls. He felt an oiled silk-like clasp of it around
himself. It was erotic, and strange. With agonising slowness he looked
down as Lori bent before his groin. He felt a sudden sharp tug, and
instinctively reached to push her away. His hand moved another inch,
ineffectually.

With a sigh of irritation, Lori took his hand and pushed it with
apparent ease away from his side, out of the way of whatever intricate
task she was engaged in. Even now, when perhaps the novelty of the
sensation should have ebbed, he was astonished to feel that his hand and
arm remained where she had left them, extended stiffly out from his side
at an angle of about forty-five degrees  in an unnatural, locked
posture. He tried moving it back. Another inch. At this rate it would
take him hours to get his hand back to where it had started from, let
alone stop her doing whatever it was she was doing to him. Another tug
at his groin.

Lori stepped back, moving away from the mirror behind her so that he
could not help but see, for the first time in this endless night,  the
full length image of what appeared to be a nude tailors display dummy,
posed surreally in a perfectly normal bathroom. Pale, uniform white,
bald headed, lacking obvious female breasts and, with just a smooth
white flatness at the groin, effectively sexless, the thing stood at an
awkward angle, it's arm extended forty five degrees...Then the
realisation dawned. The unfamiliar object in the mirror. This stiff,
artificial object is...(Me!!)

The camera clicked and whirred. Something of his panic must have shown
on his thawing face, because as Lori lowered the camera, she said: "I'll
have to call that one 'the moment of truth.'" She smiled brightly at him
and clasped his covered groin.  "Oh, don't worry. Your equipment is
still there. Just tucked up out of sight in the cache-sexe. After all,
we want you  - anatomically correct - don't we ? The franchise holders
were most insistent about that." Lori bent and began to pull something
long and white from the aluminium case, shaking it out like a crumpled
bed sheet.

(The franchise holders? What does Lori know about them ?) Before he had
a chance to ponder this latest revelation, he realised that she was
advancing on him again, carrying some kind of...What was it ? A cat suit
? A Halloween costume ? No - it reminded him of something else. If only
he could place it... The thing she was carrying, limbs trailing behind
her, gaped at it's back from hairless padded butt to the nape of it's
neck, a long spinal slit stopping at mid shoulder, making a hood of the
head...The hood - the head? - lolled listlessly. The whole thing was
made of some kind of slick white vinyl, and now he knew what it looked
like. It looked like...like...a deflated blow-up doll!

(Hey! What is this? What the hell is going on ?)

If he could have fought, he would have, then. But Lori just smiled, and
slowly and carefully, as if handling an infant, knelt before him, raised
his left leg, bending it at the knee, and left his limb hanging there,
ankle down, toes five inches from the floor. He would have toppled had
she not reclined him carefully back, so now he rested the back of on his
head against the rear wall, his ramrod spine making a stiff angle
between wall and floor.

Lori held open the slit in the back of the strange garment, and guided
his foot into it, easing the gathered folds up and around his calf.
Distantly, through the fading tingling in his legs, he had the sensation
of being gripped around the calf elastically. In other circumstances, it
would not have been unpleasant...

She tipped him forward, and pulled his foot down until it supported his
weight again on the floor. The garment bagged on the tile around his
leg, like some discarded human chrysalis. Lori next repeated the
procedure with his right leg, so now that he stood, each foot stockinged
to above the ankle in the smooth white vinyl-like plastic. He saw in the
full length mirror before him that the elastic smoothness of the feet
were undifferentiated by toes, just one continuous sweep of smooth
plastic from one side of the foot to the other. The rest of the garment
made a slick white pool around him. Lori stepped behind him.

Looking down was easier this time, though still painfully slow. The
drug's effects were obviously fading. In a few minutes he'd put a stop
to this outrage, and teach Lori  a thing or two about trying to screw
with him like this. But now... Now, he saw that the inside of the
garment seemed composed of a fine continuous mesh of silver strands,
over which the thick glossy white plastic appeared to have been moulded.
In what had to be the inside of the buttock area of the cat suit
protruded a short, thick,  flanged plastic pipe, butted to a narrow,
thinner one, the two forming a kind of funnel with the short flanged end
pointing upwards, 'into' the suit. The area around the two odd shaped
pipes was built up with what appeared to be padding. The tubes
themselves glistened wetly. It suddenly seemed very important to
understand their function.

Life was returning to his limbs with increasing rapidity now, and his
mind was distracted by the sudden urge to escape. His legs quivered in
anticipation, reluctant still but gaining greater independence from the
drug with every passing second. He permitted himself a small sliver of
hope. Lori was going to be very, very sorry about this. Oh yes. The rush
of returning sensation tingled in his legs.

So it was that he felt Lori's hands smooth the garment up each of his
legs, like rolling on a pair of  tights. Her head appeared reflected in
the mirror at his mid thigh as she worked the garment up to his waist.
He felt the all encompassing tightness of the garment corseting his
flesh. "Like it, hon?" She said. "I do. But see what you think of this."

Suddenly, she pivoted him at the waist, forcing him forwards, his
buttocks raised in the air. Locked into the new awkward posture, buttock
cheeks splayed and vulnerable, he saw her reach for the tubes, which now
hung suspended in the crotch of the garment, just inches below his own
smoothed and apparently sexless groin. In that moment, he realised what
she was about to do. Fighting with every ounce of his gathering
mobility, he attempted to stand erect, and had made a good three inches
of halting upward movement when...

He wasn't quick enough, as Lori pushed the suit's well lubricated,
hollow butt plug between his talcum-smooth buttocks and against his
sphincter. A moment of discomfort and resistance, and then with an
audible sucking 'pop' the flanged head of the plug sank home within him.
His flesh immediately settled around it, involuntarily drawing the thing
deep into him and holding it firm. He was shocked and disturbed as a
thrill of pure sexual pleasure mingled with pain ran through him.

In a flash, Lori halted his upward motion with a gentle but firm
pressure between his shoulder blades that he was still too stiff to
resist. Before he had recovered from the shock of his forcible
penetration, she was already smoothing the taut white plastic of the
garment around each buttock and deep into his now permanently opened and
available cleft.

Working quickly, she next gathered the front of the garment, and guided
his feebly resisting left arm into its 'sleeve', and into the 'glove'
end of it, where, in contrast to the feet, each slender finger was
separately defined, even down to the long elegantly shaped ceramic
fingernails, painted gloss red. Bent double like a discarded rag doll,
he tried to resist a second time, and failed a second time, as  Lori
easily held his right arm locked and still as she smoothed the taut
clinging plastic along its length to the shoulder,  where it gripped him
in slick intimacy.

Suddenly, pivoting him at the pelvis again, she stood and jerked him
upright, moving behind him to pull the sides of the slit at the back of
the garment together. He felt her run her fingers along his spine - or
rather along the slippery plastic now encasing his spine. Her fingers
made a faint squeaking sound, like someone rubbing the surface of a
balloon, accompanied by a soft 'rip' as she Velcro-sealed the seam
together. Lori couldn't help but admire  the craft which had gone into
the construction of the suit. So perfectly was it formed that the seam
all but disappeared under her touch as it sealed, leaving nothing a
slick white sweep of sculpted, apparently flawless plastic behind.

He felt tautness across his chest, and weight. Something seemed to suck
at each of his pectorals, clinging. Tautness everywhere. His whole body
was being gripped, tightly. Then she was pulling fabric - or what it
rubber ? - up over his neck, tugging it down across his face. A hood ? A
mask ? He felt pressure up to his neck, forming itself along his jaw,
over his chin, reaching almost to his lips, encasing head and neck in
one stiff undifferentiated whole. She fiddled with his ears, hurting
him, and then they slid and popped into the simplified ear-shaped
moulded spaces designed for them either side of the hood. It now passed
up either side of his face, and crossed in a taut band across his
forehead. He felt the sucking slickness of it in intimate contact with
almost every square inch of his body, from his shaven head to his melded
toes. He wasn't wearing the suit. He was encased in it.

Lori spent a moment pressing here, smoothing there, and stepped away,
dusting talc from her hands, smiling at her handiwork. She bent and took
a small black pendant on a silver chain from the aluminium case, hung it
around her neck, then waited, glancing occasionally at her watch.
Looking at him.

As she stepped back, his first thought had been of escape, to rip the
dammed costume, whatever it was, off his back, and run. In spite of
himself he found himself looking at the apparition in the mirror,
ambushed by the vision she had made of him.

He started at the moulded feet, then found his gaze rising up, taking in
glossy plastic arching legs, shaped and defined by the vice-like grip of
the garment, long, feminine legs which arched up towards the groin - and
met there in the glossy uninterrupted sexless smoothness of a Barbie
doll. Or at least almost uninterrupted. Because in the centre of the
lower stomach of the doll-like form before him there was - a slit! A
smooth soft-vinyl sex-toy version of a vagina! His eyes widened in
horror. How could this be? Lori's amused eyes met his in the mirror.
When she spoke her voice was muffled a little, and made distant by the
membrane now covering his ears, but he found he could still hear
clearly.

"Let me guess. You're wondering about your cute little plastic pussy.
It's really quite simple. With the cache sexe in place and a little bit
of hard forming in the crotch of the suit, you've got room for a tasty
little dolly's box right there, quite capable of taking even a big boy.
As I'm sure you'll be finding out, very, very soon. And I think you'll
find the motion down below will do, ah,  interesting things to your
prostate. Apparently, some of the dollies have even been known to come.
Luckily, being vinyl, they're fully washable of course. Inside and out."

(Some of the dollies? What was going on?)

Stunned, he  found his gaze fixed on the rest of the unrecognisable form
reflected before him, taking in the gently flared, fully feminine
profile of his subtly upholstered plastic-padded hips, the blank, shiny
white reflectiveness of his navel-less stomach rising to  - a pair of
small but perfectly formed female breasts, complete with nipples !

Before he could react to this latest shock, Lori stepped forward and
attached a hose to his - no, the suits, dammit! - left nipple. The hose
ran back to the case. Immediately, there was soft, whooshing sound. He
gasped.

If the suit had been tight before, now it felt like it was sprayed on,
and shrinking into the bargain. In the mirror he saw the last little
wrinkles at elbow and knee flatten out and disappear. The soft vinyl
breasts moulded into the front of the suit grew more defined, sitting
higher on his chest. His whole body felt hugged, almost to the point of
pain. Again, he was distracted by a wave of pure sensual pleasure, in
complete defiance of the extremity of his situation. He fought for
composure. If he was going to get out of this weirdness, it would have
to be soon.

He saw the muscle definition in his calves standing out stark and
sculpted by the pressure of the suit, his waist narrowing, accentuating
the already soft curve of his hips, pushing his (no, no - the suits)
boobs up, turning his torso into an almost exaggeratedly feminine
hourglass shape. Pressure across his forehead jerked his attention to
the hood part of the suit, and he watched in the mirror as the hood sank
into the flesh between lower lip and chin, around his cheeks and eye
sockets, across his forehead until only the centre of his face showed
natural flesh, and that so sharply delineated that it looked like
someone had stuck an androgynous pale human face onto a shop window
mannequin's female form.

Just when he thought he could stand it no longer, Lori shut off the
suction device, and disconnected the hose from his 'nipple'. The hose
came away with a sharp pneumatic hiss. "Apparently the franchisees call
this 'shrink-wrapping the merchandise," she said.

"Damn you, you bitch!" He was surprised. This time the words echoed not
in his mind but in the cool tiled ambience of the bathroom. At last ! He
could speak - and move - again ! Albeit he had to hiss the words through
clenched teeth, as the tautness of the plastic around his face held his
jaw shut. He took one hesitant step towards Lori, making  an almost
comic squeaking rubber sound as he did so. The suit was tight - God it
was tight! - but it seemed designed to flex a little at the joints. He
could move - jerkily, but he could move. Suddenly he was acutely aware
of the fat butt plug sealing his ass inside the shiny white plastic skin
which encased him. The rolling motion of his step shifted the stiff
hardness of the plug within him,  disturbing him with its unexpected
eroticism. Disgusted with himself for registering anything like pleasure
from this forcible penetration of his ass, he wanted to pull the thing
out, immediately; but first he had to deal with Lori. Stiffly,
awkwardly, but with growing confidence he took another step, stifling a
moan as the butt plug rolled within him. Lori watched him inscrutably,
one hand idly toying with the black pendant.

"Trying to turn me into some kind of freak ? By God, I'll teach you to
play with me like this, you bitch!." He stood before her and with a
rubber on rubber 'squeak', raised one stiff plasticised hand, ready to
strike. He began to bring it sharply down, aiming for her face.

"I don't think you will." Lori murmured calmly, and fingered a small
ruby-red stone set into the black pendant around her neck.

Instantly, it was as if the suit had been cast in bronze. He froze in
mid strike, arm upraised, incredulous.

"What...What have you done to me?" he gasped out between clenched teeth,
the hood of the suddenly rigid suit like a band of iron bound round his
skull. Lori swung the black pendant between her fingers. She smiled
innocently. "Just now ? I did nothing, but shut the power off." She
moved towards him, ignoring his gloss-white plasticised arm, frozen in
mid strike, and laid a caressing palm across his cheek. He made a low
animal sound in his throat.

"Now don't quote me on this," she said. "I'm just telling you what the
franchise holders told me. The suit you're wearing...your new skin... is
made from an experimental thermoplastic textile. Developed by the Army
originally, so I'm told. It reacts to minute frequency variations, at
the subatomic level. In normal use all the atoms in the lattice - that's
the silvery looking mesh - are lined up or crystallised or whatever.
Apparently that makes it stronger than stainless steel. Turn on  a
magnet, though, and it turns into a piece of rubbery plastic again. As
long as it stays near the magnet you can do what you like with it. Or
anyone wearing it."

Lori ran an appreciative hand over the smooth slick feminine curve of
her immobilised lover's hip.
 
"The army were going to use it to make instant tents, or something
boring like that, but one of the franchise holders saw it's potential in
other areas. You see - I know you see - it's the perfect S&M control
device for a slave. Turn the field on, and the person in the suit can
move, okay a bit jerkily, not quite freely, but at least relatively
easily. Turn it off, and it's presto chango, musical statues, with the
wearer of the white suit a winner every time. Best of all, if you try
and sneak off, you move out of the magnetic field, and then it's thank
you, you also win the prize for standing still the longest, until
someone comes to find you. If they can be bothered to, that is... I, for
instance, might just think it's funnier to leave you wherever it is you
get to before the field cuts out..." She waited for the impact of her
words to register. "Better still, the franchisee discovered that if you
modulate the frequency, the lattice becomes less rigid. Still very
strong, only this time flexible. Like this."

Lori held up the pendant before his astonished eyes. He  saw an amber
gem set below the red, and a green one below that, like a miniature set
of traffic signals. Lori's finger hovered over the green button. "Green
for go...No I don't think we want that one. Red for stop...you know
about that already. Let's try..." Her finger hovered over  the amber
button. "...get ready." Her finger stabbed down. Immediately, he began
straining to move. Lori laughed.

"No, silly. The way that suit fits, pressing on every muscle there's no
way  you can get enough flexion in to move as much as an inch."
Tenderly, she ran her hand along the smooth rubberised whiteness of his
upheld vinyl clad arm. "I, on the other hand, can do what I like with
you."

He almost wept tears of frustration as he felt her rearranging his
helpless form. Gently, she pulled the arm he would have hit her with
down, kinked it at the elbow, and rested it, palm down and fingers
splayed delicately, on the generous curve of his newly feminized left
hip. She drew his left knee up and forward slightly, arching the foot
down and back at an elegant angle. Then she took his right arm, moving
it out from his side, and posed his arm, bent back at the elbow with
hand upraised before him, fingers delicately parted. She stood away,
eyeing the composition she had made of him critically. It was a mixture
of frozen grace and awkwardness, the quintessential shop window
mannequins pose.

Lori stepped forward and tipped his chin up and to the left, giving him
the pose of one just hailed in the street. She was careful to ensure
that he could see himself, rigidly fixed in stereotypical feminine
posture, in the large mirror next to him.

"Well? What do you think?" After a further moment's impotent struggling
in which he was unable to alter his humiliatingly camp position so much
as a millimetre, he simply growled at her  again.

"Hey. Perhaps you're right. I like the pose..." She thumbed the red
button on the pendant again. He felt an indefinable tautening all over
his feminized frame. "...But there is something missing." Lori glanced
at her watch again, then turned the aluminium suitcase round so for the
first time he could see its other contents. He felt fear deep inside the
flawless white walls of his plastic-clad abdomen. He was acutely
conscious of the weight of the faux breasts, clinging to him as if they
were actual flesh.  (When was this perverted game of hers going to end?)

A mobile phone lay on top of the grey foam padding in the case. Lori
picked it up, and thumbed a number. "Hi...Yes, it all went well. No
problems." She looked at him candidly. "Your...merchandise...will be
ready for collection in, oh...give me an hour. Okay. " She thumbed the
phone off, and took from the case a small chrome flask topped by a s
"Now the first lesson a new dolly has to learn, my love, is that you
can't go growling at people." She thumbed the amber stone, reached up,
and opened his jaw.

"What are you going to do to me? Wha...glub" He got no further, as she
pinched his nostrils shut with one hand, and forced the tube past his
teeth, into his mouth, with the other. She inverted the flask, and
watched as thick white liquid coursed through the transparent tube into
the back of his throat. He coughed, and gagged.

"I'd advise you to swallow, my dear, in case you drown." His mouth began
to fill. Just as she thought the excess would flood from his mouth, and
that he might truly prefer drowning to obeying her by breathing, or
swallowing, he gulped. Immediately he felt a Novocain-like coldness
seeping through his throat. He opened his mouth to protest, but when he
tried to articulate, his tongue lay limp in his mouth. He found he
couldn't even hum. ("What has she done to me?")

She sighed, and withdrew the tube from his mouth, dabbing off the excess
from his lips with a tissue. They said it worked in seconds. It seemed
they were right. She stood back, as the liquid took hold.

"That's you done with growling, or any other kind of unladylike noises
for at least a month, my darling." She returned the flask to the case.
"Don't worry. Only the finest organic ingredients. And when it starts to
wear off, we'll give you a top-up." She assured him. "Seen and not
heard, like the good dolly you are. That's your motto now. The Haitians
used to use the stuff on nagging wives. They called it dumb cane. A very
specific plant toxin, which paralyses the larynx...And now that you are
nice and quiet, my little dolly, we can finish our game."

Next she took a series of masks from the case. Dumb, immobile, and
posed, encased in his new feminine and plasticised form, he could only
watch helplessly as she laid them out before him. There was one painted
in bright acrylics made up to look like a white-faced Japanese geisha
girl; one with the hardness and sheen of fine porcelain, crafted to look
like a Victorian china doll, complete with gloss black painted-on hair;
one, a smooth featureless oval of blank-faced chrome; another, also of
chrome, with severe, stylised yet recognisably female robotic features;
a wooden puppets face; and finally, one which Lori held up to him.

It was eerie. Formed in the same resilient vinyl which held him fast, it
was the perfect blank mask of an automaton, lips a hard-edged gloss-red
cupids bow, held open in a perpetual - accommodating - 'O' of surprise;
eyelids a shocking bright blue, with absurdly long lashes, outlined in
exaggerated black eyeliner, framing beautiful, blank blue glass dolly
eyes. And on each flawless cheek, a big, glossy red painted circle. It
was face of a doll, a little china doll. In fact it was exactly the face
of Coppelia, his living doll, from the club. "Recognise her ?" Lori
sneered. "Here - let  me show you how it works." She thumbed the amber
stone on the pendant. He felt again the imperceptible, yet useless
softening in his limbs. Lori let the pendant drop on its chain to hang
between her breasts, and tipped the mask back. The bright blue eyelids
fluttered delicately and clicked shut with an audible, soft plastic
'tick'. She brought the mask vertical again, and the eyes snicked open.

"You should appreciate this. Weighted. Just like the, ah, real thing ?
If you know what I mean. Lay Dolly down, and ah, look, she goes to
sleep. Pick her up, and she wakes up. Cute, no? Press the hidden stud
here..." Lori pressed in the centre of the left painted cheek. Another
plastic click. "And the eyes lock, open or closed. You get to see out,
from your side - unless someone want to put Dolly to bed that is - but
no-one can see in."

She turned the mask round, and he saw the blunt tube extending inwards
from the open lips. "I think you can guess how this part works by now.
Wouldn't do for Dolly to try and bite anyone who was playing with her,
would it ? Besides..." She walked slowly towards him, rotating her hips,
dangling the mask teasingly from one hand. "A good Dolly is like a 7-ll.
She should never close... At either end." Lori ran a hand teasingly
round his soft vinyl buttock, and the butt plug shifted exquisitely
inside him, reminding him of his helpless, opened availability.

Again, even in the extremity of this moment, he was humiliated to
discover that the enforced passivity was not altogether unpleasurable.
Imprisoned as it was, he felt his trapped and camouflaged cock attempt
to stir. Lori stood directly in front of his fixed form, a knowing smile
playing over her lips, and ran her free hand slowly over  a breast,
along the gloss white stomach, moving lower. He felt every inch of her
caress through the suit, as if the suit actually was his skin. He even,
he realised, had felt her caress the soft vinyl breast. How could that
be?  Lori pressed the heel of her palm firmly over the slit of his new
doll sex.

Once more, he was ambushed by sensation. Lori smiled, and ground the
heel of her palm into the root of the doll sex again. He felt an
intense, erotic pressure. Lori slipped one finger in, then two,
exploring the artificial slickness of his new flesh. The sensation was
incredible. Against his will, he opened his mouth, and gasped - or would
have done if any sound were capable of rising from his dumb-struck,
paralysed larynx.

Clearly, this was the moment Lori had been waiting for. In an instant,
as his lips and teeth parted, she forced the tube of the Coppelia mask
past them, forcing his jaw immediately into an unwilled but helpless
relaxed receptivity, the tube simultaneously gagging him and holding his
new doll mouth open and ready. Her finger traced the outline of the
mask, as it seemed to suck itself onto the last of his exposed human
flesh, sealing it invisibly into the boundaries of the white vinyl form:
and then it was done.

He now viewed the world through the Doll's blank glass eyes, restricting
his vision to a forty-five degree arc directly in front of him. Lori was
out of view. He heard her walk away. During the fitting of the mask, she
must have turned him, for now he could see nothing but an expanse of
bare white, featureless tile. No sooner had he registered the new
situation, than she had clicked off the light. He heard her steps
receding down the hall, and then he was alone in the dark...

Rage burned within him. She had left him there, just like that, as if he
were no more than a chair or a table, an object to be used and left
until it was used again. He wasted futile minutes struggling to
move...anything. Every part of his body was locked solid, immobile. He
exhausted himself,  uselessly. Fixed, as rigid as a piece of garden
statuary, and rendered into a feminized object indistinguishable from
and as unremarkable as any shop window mannequin, his frantic thoughts
chased themselves wearily round and round...

Perhaps he slept. Perhaps the cocktail of drugs he had been forced to
take had side effects. Perhaps he dreamed. It seemed he recalled a
rustling of silk; someone holding him - shaping him, again, against his
will. His feet, stiffly plastic, being raised, something being slipped
on them. Upper limbs being posed. And one pure vision of Lori, standing
before him, holding a plainly artificial wig of black synthetic hair,
wound up and styled into a ballerina's tight bun,  a toy-like tiara
already in place on the top of it. Laughing at him as she reached up
towards his plastic face, and kissed his frozen lip. "Pretty Dolly."...

The lights came on. And now, surely, this was the final insult. He was
facing the mirror. In the mirror he could see: glossy black patent
high-heeled pumps; white satin-finished gartered stockings, sheathing
glossy white plastic dolls legs, arched and defined by the high heeled
pumps rising to...a child's idea of a ballerina's tutu, all floating
stiff  and dainty net, standing out so straight from the narrow waist
that the straps of the garter belt were plainly visible beneath; a
beaded, pretty patterned satin faced and tight laced corset bustiere
from which two perfect globe shaped breasts almost spilled; arms
elegantly extended, sheathed in silk evening gloves from exquisitely
poised elbow to fingertip. The fingers of each posed hand lightly
gripped the hem of the tutu; the left foot was drawn up and cocked
behind the right, and the top half of the doll in the mirror inclined
stiffly from the waist. She was posed in mid curtsey. And she, as he
took in again the blood red 'o' of the dolls perpetually surprised
mouth, her bright circled cheeks, her tight bun of black doll hair...was
him. Lori had taken him, and made him into his own Coppelia !

"Who's the living doll now my sweet?" It was Lori, materialising beside
the rigidly posed mannequin which had once been the husband who had
betrayed her. "My, but you're pretty. A pretty little dolly. I can see
you being in demand." She met the blank blue glass of the dolls gaze,
and held it a long long time. Revenge. Then she turned, and said: "Okay
boys and girls. The merchandise is ready for collection. Have you got
the paperwork ?" Two tall, heavily built young men walked into the room,
one pushing a chrome two-wheeled hand cart. Both wore black pendants,
like Lori's, round their necks.

The doll dressed as Coppelia, remained, of course, absolutely
motionless, frozen in mid curtsey. But behind the close fitting mask,
the one who inhabited her now and gave her life felt a descent into a
new burning shame. The two young men were familiar. They knew him. Many
a night he had stood with them at the bar of Husymans Club, drinking,
laughing, talking football and cars, eyeing the women they would select
for the games later on. And now they were staring at him, tricked out in
a tutu, and turned into a dumb, female sex toy.
But...Perhaps...perhaps...They didn't who he was. Or who he had
been...In this nightmare without end, it was all he could cling to.
Until Lori said: "Well ? What do you think, boys? You think he regrets
trying to, ah...stiff...you guys now?"

They all laughed, then, and the bigger man, Brad, gave a low whistle of
appreciation.

"Wow. Good job! She's cute. Isn't she ?" Hearing himself spoken of as
'she', in that easy, proprietorial way caused the immobilised victim a
new flush of shame. Anxiously, he watched through his blank, wide open
doll-cute eyes as Brad circled him slowly, appraisingly. Brad had a very
evident, very large bulge tenting the front of his faded jeans. "You'd
never guess, would you ?"

The big man paused at the doll's behind. Jacked up on the high heels,
posed forward at the waist, Coppelia's frilled tutu rose up at the back,
exposing a rouched grey silk suspender belt. But no other underwear.
Lori had deliberately not fitted the girl-doll she had made of her
husband with any panties, and so his slick white vinyled, upholstered
ass, butt-plugged in the rear and kitted out with a doll-sex version of
a vaginal slit at the front, was exposed and available to anyone who
might pass by.

Brad slapped  a Barbie-smooth, ample ass cheek and grinned. 'Coppelia'
rocked stiffly under the impact, teetering almost past the point of
balance, and came to rest again. "I think this is the hottest little
dolly we've had for the club since that guy...Oh, help me out here,
John." Addressing the second man.  "You know. The one we turned into the
Raggedy-Ann doll...Guy tried to welsh on his payments, way back in '94
?" John scratched his head in thought. "Ah...Nope. Can't say as I recall
his name now. Not so sure he can, anymore either." They both laughed.
"No. But seriously, I know what you mean Brad. Happens to 'em all
though, don't it ?A few weeks of heavy action, then, bingo! Those
dollies...Well, they just really - become - dollies, you know what I
mean ? Something in their pretty little heads just seems to  sort of,
you know, go...And there they are. Gone...I kind of like 'em that way...
Hey, anyway. We can't stand here yakking all night if we want this one
installed in the club for tomorrow night. Someone's booked the ballet
school set and this fine piece of merchandise is going to be the main
attraction. Let's get the little lady to sign, and we are out of here.
Marie! Hey, Marie ! Get in here with those papers."

Matter of factly, Brad thumbed the pendant round his neck then roughly
took hold of the frozen and feminized, vinyl-encased but now pliable
form that had as recently as the previous night been his drinking
partner, and without further preamble, began raising and straightening
the girl-doll's body at the waist. He moved his unshaven face close to a
sculpted ear, and whispered. "Shouldn't have tried it, Buddy. There's
always a few wise guys like you figure they can have all the gain with
none of the pain. We expect it. But they learn. You'll see."

He pulled the plastic coated arms down, rigid and straight at the sides,
working the doll's individual stiff little gloved fingers into flat
blades, then begun adjusting the angle of the painted face. Slowly
'Coppelia' was becoming posed 'at attention'. Inside the female form, a
mans spirit raged, uselessly...and with failing strength.

Now a woman entered the room. Slim, about 5'4". Long black hair scraped
back in a pony tail, trim breasts jutting under a black  roll neck
sweater, cinched at the waist with a broad black patent belt. Tight
black ski pants and pointed black patent pixie boots completed the
ensemble. She was holding a clipboard and pen. Her face was familiar.
She put her hands on her hips and smiled broadly at the mannequin in the
tutu. In that moment, there was another stomach churning recognition.

"So this is our new Coppelia, huh? Well now, little dolly. You're what I
call - convincing. In fact, you really seem - made - for the part." She
favoured the blank painted face with a long slow wink. Could Lori
possibly know ? This woman, the woman she was standing so calmly next
to, was the very same woman a few short hours ago had been dressed as he
now was, his little sex toy, his Coppelia. Only she had been flesh and
blood, and moved with robotic pretence. Whilst he was now a thing of
vinyl and paint - and could not move at all, unless posed by another.

Brad, satisfied with his adjustments, thumbed the red button on his
pendant, and again the mannequin before him felt an indefinable
tautening and firming across his new vinyl flesh, locking him into
position. Lori began speaking to Marie. "Let me see if  I've got the
contract straight...Ah..."she began to read  from the sheaf of papers on
Marie's clipboard. "Okay...in return for letting you have my husband,
hereafter referred to as 'the doll Coppelia' or 'the merchandise'..."
Again, the cruel words cut through him. Attempting to concentrate on
Lori's words he was astonished when Brad abruptly reached a beefy arm
around his corseted waist, and simply lifted him clean from the floor,
tucking him under his arm as if he were no more than a length of wood.
He was helpless to react as, moving swiftly into the horizontal plane,
his weighted dolls eyes fluttered, and snicked shut with a soft but
audible plastic click. Sealed in sudden darkness, disorientated, he
heard Lori still speaking, apparently not even acknowledging this latest
indignity visited upon her former lover.

"...upon request and without let or hindrance, for the exclusive use of
any or all of the fully paid up and accredited members of any branch of
the Husymans Club for a period not exceeding six months, the Club in
turn will not seek to recover any debts incurred by the doll Coppelia in
it's previous capacity as a club member...blah blah blah...from the
joint account...blah blah..."

"Hey John. You got the hand cart there? I left the box out by the front
door. It'll be easier to crate her up out there."

"Okay". In darkness, he felt himself carried a couple of steps, then
abruptly restored to the vertical. His weighted doll eyelids fluttered,
and snicked open again. He saw, reflected in the mirror by the bathroom
door that he was now positioned on the hand cart, a pretty toy ballerina
posed rigidly at attention, reduced to the status of an object, a thing
to be picked up and moved from place to place at the whim of others.
Lori didn't even glance in his direction, so engrossed was she in the
terms of the hellish contract that seemed to be sealing his doom. Again,
he strained to listen.

"Yep. It seems okay. And I get to have him...her...it, whatever, back
during the days, so the s.o.b. can keep up with his work ?" Marie
smiled: "Subject to any special events, for which you are entitled to a
separately negotiated fee, yes. It's our standard contract, though of
course you are fortunate that your Coppelia can earn money for you by
working from home at a regular job as well. If you choose to grant her
the mobility to do so, of course. Most people in your position don't
have that option...Which brings me to the other option we talked about
before. The leaseback ?"

"We..ell. I don't know. Six months to clear the debt is one thing, but
to sign Coppelia there," And now she did look at him, all dressed up and
rendered absurd in his toy-like dumbness, his plastic fixity. She
flashed him a grin of pure poison, "...Over to you for good...I don't
know if I hate him that much."

"It's okay." Marie said. "You've got six months to think it over. But
remember, if you decide to go for it, there's a ten percent franchise
holder stake for you in the Oakland outlet. We view the dollies as very
valuable assets. Besides - you've seen the club...and we've seen you. I
think you're the kind of woman we'd like on board. And if you're worried
about your dolly, don't be. You ever heard of the Stockholm Syndrome?"

Lori shook her head.

"It's where people in...extreme situations...like hostages ? Get kind of
brainwashed by it. They end up identifying with the situation. Think of
Pattie Hurst... What we've found with the dollies is that after the
first month or so, they come to accept the new role. Actually, they
become the things, mentally. And if they look like they're heading that
way - we help them get a little further with it. With some neat
subliminal techniques the CIA developed, some surgery... A little of
that, and it's problem solved. We've got some in storage at the club
right now who paid off their debts years ago - and sister, you better
believe they don't want to come back."

Locked inside his new skin, he raged. Never. Never would he accept this
terrifying new state. There had to be a way to escape. And he would find
it, and then he would make them all pay...

"I'll think about it." Lori said. And then: "Okay boys.  She's all
yours. Take her away."

Brad tipped the hand cart back and the mannequin reclined back with it,
the weighted doll eyes fluttering half closed. He felt himself being
rolled smoothly out of the bathroom, and along the hall towards the
front door. Through the fuzz of his new long lashes he saw a long oblong
box with the lid off by the door. Stencilled on the side of the box,
which appeared to be made of tough corrugated card, were the words
'Handle with Care: Fragile.' Brad stopped and brought the hand cart
vertical again before the box. Straining to look down through fully
opened eyes now, Lori's lover saw that the box was half full of styrene
chips. A plastic sack with more chips sat at the head of the box. (No
way! No way is this happening!)

"Okay." Brad said. "Let's crate 'er up." Again he felt himself being
lifted: Brad and John manoeuvred the high heeled feet over and then into
the box, and then he was reclining back, and back, and back into the
styrene foam. His doll eyes fluttered, and closed, sealing him again in
darkness. He felt rough lips against his vinyled cheek. A kiss.

"Sleep well, Princess. Until tomorrow night."

A soft pattering as they covered over the rest of  the pretty plastic
ballerina that now lay in the box with styrene chips, covering her
completely. The sound of a lid sliding down over the box. Then, very
muffled now:"Let's get this merchandise delivered."