The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Doll

Part 2

By Mr.Scade

I was a waitress when I woke up. I was checking myself on a mirror, my featureless face staring back at me, staring at my outfit. I polished my pink top with a handkerchief, fixed my short skirt and straightened the seams of my stockings. I was a perfect waitress; my latex clothes shone even brighter than my latex skin. Just like He likes it.

Suddenly I remembered him, my customer. He was waiting for me to take his order, to serve Him, to devout my existence to making Him feel good and loved, and give Him whatever He wanted.

I walked towards Him; He was sitting on a wooden chair, His hands resting on a wooden table, and He was naked. Yes, naked: nothing on Him; no clothes no shoes. Nothing. But He was the customer, He is the sole reason I, a waitress, exists; He is my reason to be. I stood next to him, and waited for He to acknowledge my existence.

He turned his head towards me and smiled. That smile, that game turning smile made me quiver inside; it melted my thoughts, and aroused me. I asked Him what He wished to eat, and told Him that He could do whatever He pleased to do to me. Wait… I said that? That wasn’t me but… It makes sense, I was a waitress, I have to obey his wishes, that’s why I am his doll.

He whispered something and asked me if I was enjoying his game. Yes. His game. It all made sense again. I was playing his game; I was His waitress and I had to play my role as best as I could. I had to obey his orders, bring Him whatever He wished, and enjoy it. I voiced this.

He smiled again; I trembled in arousal. He took the menu from the table – had I brought it to Him? – and feigned to look at it while his eyes wandered under my short skirt. I felt objectified: transformed into nothing more than a sexual parody for the delight of his eyes. It felt delicious and good and right – I was playing my role as best as I could. He said how utterly delicious I looked, how right my body looked encased in latex, and how perfect my waitress uniform was. Had I been able to I would’ve blushed.

I was starting to feel quite hot; I could hear my heart pumping blood in earnest and I could smell, trapped within my latex skin, the scent of my own sex. I squished my legs together, never breaking my waitress stance, and moaned a bit.

He whistled, a sound that echoed like a word, something that made me feel light-headed for a second. I brought my hand to my face and shivered at the touch of latex on latex. He said something and I missed it. I looked at his face, his manly, strong face, and apologized. He frowned; disappointed that I had, for a second, ignored my duties. I apologized again.

I felt a hand rubbing my encased sex, his hand. He was eagerly fondling my sex as I stood there, unable to move without his say so, unable to break character, unable to complain even if I wanted to. He told me that I had to concentrate, that as his waitress I existed to serve Him, that I had to give Him my complete attention, my very being. I nodded and moaned in agreement. He stopped touching me, much to my disappointment. But whatever He wanted, He could do. I was his. It was my character’s persona.

I asked Him what He would have and He told me He was having the special: a slutty, horny waitress. I blinked and thought about what he said. I asked him again, apologizing, and, this time, he whistled it. A slutty, horny waitress the sound came. That’s what He wanted, and that is what He would get. I was the waitress, his waitress, and I had to be slutty and horny for Him.

I lowered my top, allowing some cleavage to escape; I cocked my hip to the side, my hand lifting the short skirt; I pushed my tits and spoke in a sultry voice. He was pleased.

I told Him I was his, that I was the slutty, horny waitress He had ordered and that He could use me however He wanted. I moaned it with one hand suggestively playing with my breasts. He whispered something and I felt even hotter; I felt my sex tingling with painful arousal and my nipples pushing the latex as they grew. I began to masturbate through the latex, moaning how hot I was and how much I wanted to please Him. He smiled; I shivered with joy and arousal.

He ordered me to sit on his lap and I did, straddling Him like the stud He is. He kissed my neck with His thin, dry lips; I rubbed my breasts in response, wrapping my arms around Him. He kept on kissing my neck and my face and I kept on moaning until He ordered me to hump against him, to ride my encased sex over his naked penis. I did as He ordered.

I pushed and rubbed and pressed my latex-covered fruit against his rod. He groaned and moaned and pushed his glorious sex against mine; but, somehow, strangely, I could not feel it. I knew it was there, I saw it, smelled it, even touched it, but I couldn’t feel it against my sex. It was not the latex’s fault; I was able to feel my hands moments before. Something wouldn’t allow me to feel the tremendous power of his rod.

I began to moan and cry with arousal and frustration; every thrust, every rub made me hornier and hornier. At one point I had discarded my pink top; I was fondling one erect teat, my back arched, and His mouth sucking on the other. I was acting my role in His game: I was a slutty, horny waitress.

He groaned louder and I could feel his sex tense. He told me something, another fake word that made me feel strange and right at the same time. Suddenly I could feel his penis. It was as if He had made it so I could not, but now I could feel it. It was majestic, long and thick and strong. I rubbed faster and faster against it, my own arousal mixing with his. I ached to feel it inside me but that was of no consequence, He was the one who decided such things. He moaned a long moan and I felt something hot and liquid and sticky shoot out of his penis and unto my encased sex. I breathed in, drinking the smell of His pleasure, of a job well done, of my good acting; it was delicious. It was sweet and pungent and I wanted to drink it. But my latex hood made it impossible.

He said something, something related to my vagina and his seed and I exploded in pleasure. Another orgasm rocked my body, filling me suddenly, and then emptying me. My mind and thoughts and resistance left me, took a ride with my arousal and left when the gate was opened.

I rested my weight on his strong, naked chest, panting and moaning. He patted my back and I held him tight; He whispered something and I felt my whole word go black.

* * *

Cleaning. That was the first thing that came to mind when I woke hours, days, weeks, later. The second thought was that I had to prepare dinner, or was it to clean the house for Him? I can’t remember. The thing is that I suddenly had these cravings, these urges to do housework, to keep the house or flat or whatever it was clean and perfect for him.

I walked towards a shadowed closet; I could feel and hear a pair of pumps on my feet. I stopped walking, the sound stopped, and I looked at my feet; there was a white coating of latex on my legs – a pair of stockings, I figured – and the black pumps. My feet looked just like a maid’s. Then I realized it, my next role: I was to be a maid.

I turned around and stared at a mirror I had not noticed before. Seeing myself dressed like that made me realize what I was wearing; it was like a trigger, suddenly I could feel the extra tightness on my crotch, the ruffling of something like petticoats, something on my encased head… I could feel and see my uniform. A maid’s uniform.

I was a maid, an obedient, subservient maid.

I was dressed like one, perfectly, with the skirt that doesn’t cover much and is suspended by many petticoats, with the elbow-length gloves, with the dress with puffy shoulders and the ridiculous amount of cleavage… I even had the cute bonnet on my head. All in latex.

I kept on walking towards the shadowed closet, a smile hidden behind my latex hood. Inside the closet was a broom with a pretty, purple bow on top and a card that read “Maid”. I opened the letter first and read my Master’s orders; he wished me to clean the house and then meet him in his room. Oh, I could just scream in glee wondering what my Master was going to show me. And I did scream in glee.

I began to clean the house; tingles of arousal growing and becoming jolts, sparks, torrents and oceans of pleasure with every step I took, with every rub and scrub, every action I took to meet his orders. That was the best part of being the maid, the subservience-pleasure. Any order he gave me, I relished and completed just to make him happy and feel the obedience-induced arousal.

I swept the floor, washed the dishes, scrubbed the tiles...

Eventually I finished by duties. The house was sparkling clean and I was a mess of moans and groans. The pleasure I felt out of cleaning – thus obeying Him – was so strong I had to stop, sometimes, to rub my sex with the broom or anything I had at hand.

I was walking up the stairs, feeling the latex rubbing against the latex, smiling a from ear to ear at the prospect of his commands and his flesh. I walked into his room, his shrine, his sanctuary – the place where I was less than nothing and the game was more real than anything. He was not there.

A deep sadness came over me as I realized my Master was not in the darkened room. I wanted to call out for him, to show him my presence, but I dared not speak without his permission and I dared not walk into his sanctuary. Suddenly he spoke, his delicious voice vibrating throughout the room and my body. I shivered in excitement as his words filled my being. His majestic voice came from the bathroom and he ordered me to go to him. I did as ordered.

He was in a bathtub, candlelight giving his naked body a mysterious shade; I couldn’t see his face. I stood there and drank his image. Eventually He spoke to me, ordered me to walk closer and give him a bath. He had asked me to touch his naked skin! I, a lowly maid, was ordered to touch my Master’s skin! I curtseyed and spoke my happiness, making sure my Master’s eyes would follow my breasts and then down my body to my legs. Master likes that.

I walked to him, my hips swaying from side to side, my fingers shivering. I kneeled next to Him and He told me something I immediately forgot, something that relaxed my body and made me feel good; it was like flying in the mist- a thick, almost palpable mist made out of His power over me (such is the realism of His game). I took a soap bar and the still-watering hose and began to softly rub his back, softly, in circles, first his upper back, then, even slower, his sides and lower back, until the lingering male smell of the soap became part of him. He turned around, lying with his chest – so much stronger than mine – open for me to touch and caress. I soaped him in wide, circular motions, starting from his right pectoral, touching his left, and then meeting at the centre of his chest and starting all over again; I touched and squished, moaning as if it was me being touched, enjoying the contour of his muscles and the perfection of his skin under my latex fingers. Then came his slender and chiselled arms; I caressed them lengthwise, going down and then up, and in circular motions where it was needed. I scrubbed his bony hands with care and diligence, I rubbed his shoulders with loving strokes and I smelled his armpit – how do I love that scent – as my fingers worked their magic under there. Eventually I moved to His legs. I placed the hose on top, following the soap on my other hand like a shadow, moving up and down, left and right, in circles and zigzags, moving in erratic patterns that made him chuckle in delight. I reacted, too. Then I scrubbed his bum and, finally, I touched his sex. I scrubbed the sides and then, softly, and lovingly, I moved my fingers in a strange pattern over his sack, under the length of his shaft, around the base, wrapping it with my soapy latex hand and stroking, softly. His cock – had I called it that before? – began to stir and grow, soon I couldn’t cover it with my hand and soon he began to moan ecstatically. Suddenly I had this craving, this need to wrap it with my fingers and taste it; but the latex on my face was an obtrusion and my Master had not ordered it, so I shrugged the idea off, wherever it had come from. I felt his cock spasm in my hand and then I felt an oozing, warm liquid start to dribble down my hand. He had orgasmed. And so did I. His pleasure is my pleasure, after all. When the panting stopped, I cleaned the pungent stuff. Finally, I moved the hose to his head, letting the stream of water pour down on his brown hair. He opened his thin mouth and mouthed his enjoyment. He whispered something and then I could see nothing, but then I could see him again, my hands drying his body.

I stood there, my head bowed, my hands stroking each other in front of me, my legs slightly parted, standing in submission and waiting his orders. Playing his game. He placed his fingers on my cheeks and told me that I was a perfect maid, that I had completely pleased him with my obedience and subservience. I trembled and shivered and moaned, his praising words filling me. I felt another hand caressing my encased sex and then I felt his thin lips eating my latex-covered face in the earnest. And I simply stood there, enjoying his touch, unable to move unless he said so, until I heard his voice say something, another imaginary word that went into one ear and came out the other like wind moving inside empty space, and then I slept. Then I slept.

* * *

I was sitting on the petal-covered bed; and I could feel the petals rubbing against my bum, the chilly wind coming from a window I had not noticed before, and I could feel the candlelight humming its song on me – shinning. I looked around the room, looking at nothing but shadows and flames and then I noticed I was naked and I was aroused. My hand was on my breasts, next, touching my skin all over me. Both hands were. The touch of skin on skin made me think of kisses and of hugs, made me think of the way some people need direct physical contact to feel a loved. It felt strange. Something was missing. Wasn’t it? Yes, something was missing, something to cover my doll’s skin. I was a doll, right? And dolls have latex skin. Yes? But was I really a doll? Was it not a game Master and doll played?

I stood and walked around for a bit; the cold floor felt strange without the latex covering my fingers, the night chill felt foreign without my latex skin. Latex skin? It sounded… off, odd, like it shouldn’t be. But it felt right, too. I walked past a closet and saw a broom standing next to it and then I had this craving to clean. But that craving has always been there, so I ignored it and kept walking to where He was supposed to be.

I walked into a kitchen and I saw him sitting on a wooden table, reading a small book. This time, he was dressed. I walked towards him, a sense of peace unwavering inside me; I stood next to him, waiting for him to speak or recognize I was there, just like always, just like all mornings. Eventually he spoke, in whispers, he called me by my name and I answered him with his name – Master – and a smile. He told me to sit and I did.

I was sitting, my naked bum itching, and my eyes were glued on him. Suddenly, I asked him about the game. He smiled and told me he enjoyed it and that I was perfect. I shivered in pleasure; I always shiver in pleasure when he praises me. I always have. He then asked me, ordered me to tell him who I was – who I am. Strange thing to ask someone, don’t you think? I mean, I am me, unique, one, his. I doubt a little role-play game would’ve changed that. I’ve always been like this and I always will be.

But he had asked something of me and I did as ordered: I told him my name and I told him about my hearth, I told him about my youth and my teenage years. I related how much of a slut I’ve always been, how, when I was young, I would think only of sex and how to please, of sucking and fucking and just letting myself go and swim in the river of carnal ickiness. I told him about my love of small trinkets and big gifts, my love of tight outfits and latex and bondage (then, it felt strange to say that), how I loathe crumpling buildings and old age. I told him everything, absolutely everything. I gave myself to him on that moment, when I opened myself to him and gave everything that makes me who I am. But, had it not been like that since forever? He is a new person in my life, but I have always been a slut, I have always been obedient to those whom I date, I have always loved latex, I have always given myself, body and soul, to those who, on occasions, own me. I am, after all, a doll; and will always be.

He smiled in approval, his thin, delicious lips moving slightly, as if whispering something, as if chanting a word lost to everyone but him. I didn’t feel weak or good or aroused like times before and times after; I simply felt. I smiled back and asked if I could serve him. He nodded, softly.

I walked towards him and sat on his lap, my legs wrapped around him, my arms going under his arms and caressing the back of his head. I kissed him once, twice, thrice… I rubbed my naked, wet sex against his hardening member. I straddled him like the stud he is, like the slut I’ve always been. I could feel his sex against mine as I rubbed, softly. He was smiling and groaning slightly and I asked him if his maid could serve him forever. He nodded.

I smiled back and told him that I needed to be covered in latex, all the time, for I am a doll. He laughed, his laughter more like a moan, and then whispered something and the world went dark… like it always did, like it always does.

Fin