The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dolls

STORY TAGS: mc fd ff gr in fu

SYNOPSIS: A shy young girl, seeking friends, is invited to a house whose inhabitants look too good to be true.

DISCLAIMER AND NOTICE: This story is intended only for readers over 18, or, if different, over the age at which it is legal to view sexually explicit writing in your area. I, Leigh (), own the copyright to “Dolls.” You may not repost this story for profit, nor may you repost it without this notice attached. All characters in this story are 18 or older.

Dolls

by Leigh

Part 2 of 3

Molly awoke, staring into a dressing room mirror. Her normally wavy black hair had been forced into ringlets. Her eyes were violet, astonishingly bright, powerful, captivating. Hypnotizing. Her adorable face was made up in bright white, with sparkly blue eyeshadow and deep red lipstick. Simple colors, so the crowd could see. She was in the process of painting a heart on her cheek, with two halves and a jagged edge between them. A broken heart.

Suddenly, she realized something was wrong.

This isn’t home. I don’t know this place. I shouldn’t have woken up here.

. . .I don’t know what’s going on, but I need to get out.

Molly fully intended to put the face paint applicator down, and look around for an exit.

That didn’t happen. Her face kept its contented smile, her arm kept painting, and that was all.

Molly silently screamed.

Raw fear overwhelmed her. She tried to think of what to do and her mind seemed to keep going blank. All she knew was that she’d lost control of her body. How was she supposed to get out of this if she couldn’t goddamn move?

In her panic, she barely felt it when [a loose thread] began to retie itself around her mind. Had she noticed, she would not have known what it was.

Meanwhile, her body’s lips pursed cutely as she inspected her makeup. She added a few careful touchups with the cold paint.

Fuck, fuck . . . maybe this is a dream! Okay, I get it. It’s a dream. And if I know it’s a dream, I should be able to control it!

Okay. Stay calm, self.

Okay.

Now, I’m turning around and walking out of this room.

Right . . . now!

She ran one hand through her soft black curls, cooing happily at the silky sensation.

Well, that failed.

. . .Of course it did. I’m weak and I’m a failure. I’ve always been. I trusted Tessa, and I didn’t run when Miranda offered me the wine, and now they’ve made me into some kind of doll puppet. Because I have no spine. I hate you, self. I despise you . . . what’s my name again? Holy fuck! What is happening to me when I can’t even remember my—

Abruptly, she was distracted by her own lips. A striking crimson against the near-white stage makeup. They were puffy and plump and [sexy].

They made her cunny moist and eager, which was [a required response].

The doll realized she had been thinking about something, but moaning at the sight of her own erotic beauty took priority. If it were that important, she was sure she’d be reminded later. She [forcibly suppressed the distracting thoughts.]

She adjusted the top of her pink dress, to show more of her ample cleavage, and smiled approvingly at the heart-shaped cutout that showed off her abs. [Fuck am I ever a sexy little princess], she observed. The thought warmed her. It was [a required thought.] External, she vaguely sensed, but she paid no mind. After all, it was true.

The painted doll heard footsteps behind her, and felt her body turn, then stand. There were several people in the dressing room, but the doll was only permitted to look at one.

The first thing the doll saw was a huge, shiny ruby hanging on a silver necklace. Seeing it made the doll’s breathing quicken and her cunt pulse, which was [an absolutely mandatory response]. Then the doll’s vision was allowed to take in the plunging neckline of the woman’s black silk dress, and the jaw-dropping cleavage above it. That dress shimmered with subtle, curvilinear patterns that the doll could barely see. She then noticed the beauty’s exposed arms and legs: pale, strong and muscle-sculpted, like a deity in living marble.

Finally, the doll was allowed to crane her neck upwards, to see the woman’s face: youthful, but a little older than the doll’s own. Her black hair was cut short and spiky, both a contrast and a complement to her elegant dress. The woman had the same hypnotic, breathtaking violet eyes as the doll possessed; if anything, they were a bit more intense, a little more heart-tugging.

“You’re onstage in two minutes,” said the woman, smiling. “Best of luck, sis.” And her heart went all aflutter as the woman – [my sister, my best friend, the first person who ever made me cum] – blew her a kiss.

The doll smiled, bowed, turned, and began walking down a hallway.

Wait, what?

[Okay, I fucked my sister, which–]

. . . No! That’s – it’s just wrong! All of this is wrong!

The girl fought.

The girl fought, and in so doing, finally saw what she was fighting. Something had a grip over her mind, and was twisting it into unnatural shapes. It was suppressing and choking her visceral, fundamental feeling that girls don’t fuck their sisters. It was trying to warp the sisterly affection she had for her [Big Sister Tegan] into something impossible. And she fought, and held on to that one fragment of resistance: as her own, as her self. Like a mantra, she repeated: girls don’t fuck their sisters.

And with that mantra she fought the intense, vivid memory that flooded into her consciousness, drowning out all else. The memory of their schoolgirl tryst in the girl’s bathroom, with its clouded window and spackled walls. It was false. It had to be, because girls don’t fuck their sisters. She tried not to remember Big Sister Tegan putting her fingers to her lips and commanding absolute silence of her doll. She tried not to feel good as Tegan’s lips were on hers, forcing her doll against the back wall, sliding one eager hand under her doll’s plaid skirt . . .

No! That memory was a fraud. A lie. [Dolls don’t fuck their owners] — she still held onto that mantra, still repeated it. She never fucked, would never fuck Big Sister Tegan. Dolls don’t fuck their owners. They just don’t.

[Even if she’s so cuntmeltingly hot that just thinking about her has always made my face flush and my pussy leak? Am I so sure about that?]

The doll thought.

Honestly? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything, now.

[That’s not true. I’m sure of one thing. Dolls obey their owners.]

Of course. She was a good doll, and always obeyed Big Sister Tegan.

[So, when Big Sister Tegan gets hot for me, and wants to scratch me all over and abuse my cunt and bite my delicious dolltits, that’s okay, because she’s my owner. And I love it, because I am owned.]

The doll mentally shuddered at the memories that flowed into her at that moment. She knew it was true — so beautifully, deliciously true. She loved everything her big sister could possibly do to her.

She always had.

[So, when Tegan wants me to put on a show for her, I love that, too. Don’t I?]

Of course she did. Shows were fun. And pleasing Big Sister Tegan was the most fun of all.

[Good, then. Time to stop wasting mindcycles doubting, and get on with the show.]

* * *

The doll felt excitement, and a feeling of rightness, having returned to the correct flowpath, having joined her twinminds — her selfthreads — at last. Sadly, her newly unified consciousness would have to split itself again. But, this time, both threads would follow the correct, obedient path. [One thread] would stay back, aware, to guide her.

The other thread was required, now, to forget a few things. And so she did.

Instantly, her head was clear. She wasn’t in the room with her sexy sister anymore. Apparently, she’d gone down a corridor and stopped just before the stage. She was just hearing the end of a speech by a familiar girl. It was Tessa, the laconic blonde who’d taken her to her sister’s house [our house] last night. The boldness and excitement in her voice was something new, though.

“. . .so, put your hands together for the Porcelain Revue’s newest star, the queen bitch of burlesque — Amelia Stone!”

[Yep, that’s me!]

Amelia, relishing the lustful way Tessa spoke [the beautiful name my sister gave me], put on a confident smile as she strode onstage. The crowd responded with enthusiastic applause, and not a few lewd whistles. Tessa gracefully climbed off the stage, and went to sit in the audience, which seemed to consist entirely of stunningly beautiful girls and women. Amelia gave a cheeky wink, and enjoyed the way so many moaned and shuddered.

She quivered a bit with arousal as her gaze lingered on the few girls she recognized. The one with the blue hair [Nerissa] and the brunette with the pixie cut [Eryn]. They were all blatantly ogling her as she bent forward in the frilly dress and teased, showing just a hint of nipple, before pulling the fabric back up and giggling. Just before she turned away, Amelia noticed a woman, sitting off to one side, with huge tits and a pretty ruby around her neck. She was smiling and visually drinking up Amelia’s body just like all the rest.

Tegan Stone. Her sister.

Her [lover].

Amelia couldn’t help but give a low moan. She could easily smell her own arousal by the time she began the show, taking a seat at the right side of a small prop table. There was a glass of orange juice in front of her — judging from its smell, spiked with berry [nanowine]. She took a sip, turned to the audience, and poured a trickle of juice over her breasts, soaking the front of her dress. A paradoxical warmth spread from her tits and enveloped her body and cunt and mind. So good . . .

Already close, she knew the nanowine would break into her bloodstream and send her over the edge. Amelia braced herself against the chair for the inevitable. More suddenly than she expected, she was there. The room went white and she screamed as loud as she could in unbelievable ecstasy. The chair slid back a foot, her arms slipped and she collapsed onto it, drinking from a firehose of raw pleasure. The audience wildly applauded and chanted her name. [Amelia.]

As the cheers began to fade, Amelia came down from her high. She levered herself out of her chair, woozy for a half-second, but quickly regaining her full energy. On the opposite side of the table she saw a young man, about her age. He was blatantly ogling Amelia, with [the kind of disrespectful smirk a boy should never be allowed. Scummy boys deserve to be punished.]

“Eyes up here, asshole,” she snarled.

But the punk kid just laughed at her, and kept staring. [Damn, he’s got balls. . . . But mine are bigger.]

Amelia grinned sweetly and, much to her own astonishment, grabbed the boy’s neck and lifted him in the air. He tried to scream, but his voice was too constricted by Amelia’s strong grip, and he only managed a weak gargle.

“Don’t ever look at me again, you shitstain.”

Tegan’s sister reared back and, with one smooth motion, flung the kid deep into the wildly cheering audience, where he was deftly caught by two women. [He’s just a doll. He likes this. He just came, I bet.]

Amelia bowed, grinning, feeling a strange upwelling of pride at what she’d just done — how well she’d performed. But, with little time for reflection, it was time for the next act, which was announced to Amelia by a purr from behind. She turned, all smiles. Next to the table, a girl [catgirl] wearing some sort of fake [real] fur was naked, lapping up a bowl of milk on the floor. The catgirl’s [Kitty’s] tongue was absurdly long, and lewd thoughts filled Amelia’s mind as she watched Kitty lick. She brushed one delicate hand along the side of her six-inch white stilettos as she contemplated the adorable, lithe nekomimi.

“Come here, Kitty,” Amelia slurred: sensual, besotted. “I’ve got something new for you to lick.”

Kitty smiled, eager to obey, and crawled over to Amelia. Her eyes were wide, her expression pure innocence. She put one soft paw under Amelia’s dress, paused briefly, and pressed it against Amelia’s throbbing, soaked snatch.

Amelia shuddered, and she sighed, and all her existence seemed focused on her gash, which Kitty began wonderfully licking and prodding with her huge, soft tongue, almost cocklike but so much better, not bluntly thrusting but poking and prodding a staircase of more and more sensitive spots. Her body quivered as Kitty played with Amelia’s pussy like a ball of yarn, building up steam, occasionally scratching Amelia’s thigh or lightly biting her clit, but then backing off, letting Amelia almost recover before she started up again with a quivery purr.

Amelia’s moans became louder, and her vision of the crowd blurred. She wobbled unsteadily until a surge of energetic so-close frustration pushed her, unthinking, to grab the back of Kitty’s head and begin thrusting into her tongue. Kitty’s tongue stiffened and hardened as Amelia used her pet like a dildo, bucking and squealing at increasingly high pitch until another tsunami shattered her and she came with an almighty scream, spraying juice all over the catgirl’s sweet, adoring face, and collapsing to the floor.

She heard another loud roar from the crowd as she took Kitty’s outstretched hand and got to her feet. They bowed in unison, soaking up the applause. On impulse — somehow all her impulses felt scripted [but that’s okay] — Amelia took a quick kiss from the nekomimi, tasting her own juices. But it was already time for the next act. Kitty slunk offstage with a small pout, but they both knew they’d meet again soon.

Turning to the crowd, Amelia wiggled her adorable nose a bit, and thrust one hand to the side of the stage. As she did, a smoke bomb went off near the shadow-covered stage door. The smoke smelled like [nanoberries]. Amelia swiveled expertly on her stilettos, hands on hips, and turned towards the figure who was coming out of the smoke.

It was Kasumi — her skin painted [changed] to purple, who wore fake [real] elf ears, and who was doing absolutely nothing to disguise the huge purple skinmatched strap-on that tented her skirt. Just in case her plans weren’t clear, the towering nightelf held an equally huge bottle of lube. Oh god. Amelia felt herself turn to the audience and round her lips with exaggerated, playful astonishment, but all the while her eyes were smiling [I love this].

Kasumi’s low, melodic voice seemed to pulse with power. Every word compelled Amelia’s absolute attention. “You cost me a pretty penny, young Amelia. Human servants are not so easy to come by. But when I saw your huge, fuckable ass” — she grabbed a cheek and squeezed — “I knew I had to own it.”

Amelia lowered her eyes and curtsied. “I look forward to serving you, Miss Kasumi.” [My favorite game. I’m above her but sometimes I like to be used.]

Kasumi laughed, as she absently coated her dildo with nanoberry lube. “You’ll serve me no more than a doll does. Nightelves are very strong. And very . . . energetic.” She snarled playfully at the audience, who ate it up. “Present your ass, Amelia. We’ll see how long it survives.”

“Yes, Miss Kasumi!” Amelia eagerly leaned over the table and stuck her huge heart-shaped butt straight out towards the nightelf. She shoved her panties down her long, toned legs, then shivered as Kasumi stuck a lube-coated finger up her ass. Even the lube smelled like nanoberries. Amelia was breathing hard and her pussy was absolutely gushing while Kasumi held her wide, shiny, inhuman purple tool out to the audience, weighing it with one hand and laughing, dragging out the moment.

Amelia turned to the audience and grinned with anticipation. She found Tegan in her seat, and was pleased to see her big sister biting her lip, hand moving vigorously under that black dress. [I love making my big sis cum.] Suddenly the audience shouted in approval, giving Amelia just the tiniest bit of warning before that huge, berry-infused plastic cock pushed into her virgin [experienced] ass.

Amelia’s mouth went open wide as she lost her breath. Elf-Kasumi’s cock hurt. Truly. Doubts began knocking at the doors of her mind. But it was only a moment before the knee-buckling pain started melting into berry-pleasure, never entirely giving way but sending her on a rollercoaster of goodhurtgoodhurtgood and she pushed to make the dildo go deeper, her entire body thrall to her hole, her huge boobs heaving with each thrust.

“I love being your slave, Miss Kasumi!” Amelia screamed.

And she did! It was so much fun to give up all the power she enjoyed at her sister’s house, once in a while, and just be a receptacle. And that’s what she was, receiving a painpleasureful elf-fuck that stretched on and on. The giant nightelf began slapping her ass rhythmically, one side, then the next, slap, thrust, thrust, thrust, slap, and she was a naughty girl wasn’t she, oh yes, oh yessss . . . The plastic toy began shuddering and vibrating like a living creature, and somewhere in her head she imagined it spurting gallon after gallon of cum into her ass, and real or not that still sparked something inside her and there was a roar from within and a matching roar from the crowd and she yelled as she came and her entire being exploded in light —