Chapter 1 — Corolle
Busy checking the security office to make sure the skyscraper’s stringent rules actually held up, Aurore Laurent wished the night guard would quit trying to be nice.
“So, you’re from France, heh?” Bantered the amazingly unremarkable thirty-something. “I wonder what Paris is like during a blackout...”
“Still crowded, dirty and generally unpleasant, I imagine.” Groaned the young black-haired woman with a light accent, flicking through every set of keys in the cabinet.
“What? But...Doesn’t everyone want to live in Paris? Most beautiful city in the world, all that?”
“Tourists have it good. They don’t realize it’s basically just a giant cubicle office crawling with managers.”
The security dude blinked. His wife had depression and she sounded like a damn circus compared to this woman. He wanted to point out she had described just about every metropolis ever, but ultimately chose to let whatever was eating her die down.
It didn’t, but Aurore appreciated the silence all the same. She turned her focus back to the key panel. A cursory glance made apparent there wasn’t any set missing, but her job wasn’t to stop at cursory glances. In fact, after a mere five seconds of half welcome, half awkward silence...
“The conference room key’s missing on set 23.”
“What? Are you serious?” Gaped the peon as he verified Aurore’s finding. “You are. Well shit, I guess we do need a professional stickler ’round here.”
“Thank you so much for the validation. Oh, and while I’m at it, there’s a blinis crumb between your keyboard’s IOKL keys. Whoever keeps eating here needs to cut it out.”
The guard let out an embarrassed chuckle.
“You noticed that? Wow. Did you ever think about being a detective, ma’am?”
“Hm. Yeah, I did...When did that go wrong? Anyway...”
Aurore took out a company-issued smartphone and noted her findings, making the male employee visibly uncomfortable.
“Am...Am I going to get in trouble for this, ma’am?”
“Are you new here? This place is big on security but not on discipline. They understand that stress only makes people fuck up more. Besides, as the boss puts it, this ain’t a fucking schoolyard.”
The professional stickler put the phone back in her pocket, then turn:ed to the door.
“They’ll put a notice for the missing key to be returned. They’ll only start cracking down on people if it isn’t. And, yeah, okay, there’s too many people in the break room, but using it is part of your job. Good night.”
“O-okay, good night to you too.”
The door closed. Aurore smiled. Her day was done. Time to live. She flicked back a strand of her messy hair and made her way to the staircase. She was going up, way up...but she was just fed up with the elevator. Moreover, looking for the slightest imperfection in the company’s well-oiled security measures focused Aurore’s mind to an uncomfortable point. Exercise was as good a way as any to reset her brain.
And so she made her way up the skyscraper, gritting her teeth through the fire rising in her calves, vaguely thinking back to her day of work. Looking where nobody cared to look. Professional blind spot observer. A calm job, but a tedious one. Unskilled, yet essential, for where everything is carefully planned, the greatest risks lie where it’s not worth looking.
Perhaps accordingly, Aurore wasn’t paid for this impressive responsibility as much as she was given board and lodging with a pittance on the side. But as much as it sounded like indentured servitude, the French immigrant had no reason to complain. Because she wasn’t walking up to the CEO’s office for a stress-filled interview. She was going to the penthouse.
“Please submit your identification.” Sung the artificial male voice as she reached the very top of the stairs.
“Sure thing, Pablo.” Jokingly answered Aurore before theatrically showing her ID card to the camera.
Access was granted, and the military-grade door opened. Aurore stepped on the roof and smiled. She saw the house atop the skyscraper every day, but somehow, it always felt like a first time.
“Yep, wouldn’t trade that for an actual wage in a million years.”
It looked like a traditional European house, with balconies, wooden doors and a tiled roof. Nothing too special save for it standing five hundred meters above ground. But even a cursory glance through the curtained windows revealed an opulent interior. Chandeliers, Corinthian pillars, classical paintings with golden frames...Aurore didn’t quite get why her father’s friend had been so intent on hiding an imitation of a Parisian palace behind mundane walls, but heh, there was no figuring that guy out in general.
Confident she was truly alone in this place, the brunette discarded all her clothes and unceremoniously threw them on a golden Napoleon chair. Not that she was especially proud of her figure. It was thin, sickly, and lacked any outstanding curves. No matter. Miss Laurent didn’t associate being naked with sexuality whatsoever. She merely wanted to truly feel at home. So she stretched, yawned, then planted her ass on the antique sofa in front of the curved HD TV. She briefly considered turning it on, but decided against it when she remembered the Paris blackout.
“Oooh that’s right, we got a whole fucking evening of idiots whining about how the outage ruined their day. Count me out.”
So she got up and made her way out of the living room. The CEO -what was his name again?—configured the TV so it could only receive French channels anyway. The TiVo spared her the jetlagged late night programming, but in this time of crisis, even the prime-time promised to be tiresome.
Aurore was about to open the door when she noticed an unsightly black flake on the handle. She frowned, but left it where it was. She wasn’t compelled to correct the tiniest blemishes in her environment—she was merely doomed to notice them. This perfect abode was cleaned religiously every day, but her acute senses accepted nothing short of perfection. She was sure a fiction writer could wrangle this into an amazing gift, but as it stood, she only saw it as an annoyance. Luckily, there was a place where she was free to ignore the insignificant. A place right beyond the offending door. The swimming pool.
“Salut, chérie.” Aurore greeted with a playful smile.
Her bare feet walked past the useless changing room and to the marble tiles on the water’s edge. Far from your standard rectangular affair, the mansion’s pool was something straight out of a luxury spa. It had jets of varying strength, a jacuzzi corner, and was still large enough for exercise swimming. One hell of a pool, exclusively for her. Aurore went in through the underwater stairs, watching the ripples disturb the stillness. She created chaos, but for some reason, her senses didn’t latch onto it. In this place, everything simply floated away.
And so she began to swim, sometimes going for speed, sometimes just floating face up, sometimes enjoying the strong jets on her shoulder. There was no weird job situation here. No concern over the unsettling dollhouse she lived in. Only the simple happiness of living without anyone to burst the bubble.
Startled, the brunette spun around to face the door to the living room. There stood a woman in a dark blue business dress. A middle-aged but gracefully beautiful woman, with the delicate features of a film noir actress and striking hair of pure, silvery white. Certainly not a common sight, but one Aurore was accustomed to. After all, Mrs. Rivers was her psychiatrist. Still...
“What the hell are you doing here, Grace?” Asked the French girl, more confused than shocked. “You don’t have authorization!”
“What are you saying?” Smiled Grace Rivers with a confident smile. “I come here every day, don’t I?”
Aurore frowned. No way. She was always alone here, just as she liked it...Yet seeing her shrink stand beside the pool felt so familiar. In fact, she vividly remembered her sitting on the sofa just yesterday. What the hell?
“Hm, yeah, I guess you do...Sorry.”
“No harm done...By the way, I see you still insist on speaking English.”
“Well, if this place gets any Frencher, I’m going to shit Bourgogne snails, so...”
“Yes, your benefactor did make sure the New World had no presence here. I understand your rejection.”
“Even the on/off switches read ‘marche/arrêt’! I’m glad I didn’t get one of your stupid QWERTY keyboards but guy’s a fucking nut. Anyway, let me just dry off...”
Not the least bit concerned with Grace seeing her naked form, Aurore jumped out of the pool and reached for a beach towel hanging to a golden radiator.
“Do you still feel he treats you like a doll, Aurore?”
“Ha. Feel? Grace, look around you! I haven’t vacuumed the place since I moved in. That was...I don’t know, a long time ago. Yet it’s spotless!”
“Well, what kind of payment would this house be if it wasn’t cleaned during the day?”
“Of course the staff comes in while I’m at work! How do you think the fridge gets restocked everyday, fuckin’ magic? I’m just saying, why would he ever pretend I have the only key to the house? I mean, how did you come in, then?”
“Through a magic portal, obviously.” Jested Grace.
“Ha ha, good one. Allez, let’s see what kind of hundred-dollar course they left me this time.”
After giving her feet one last towel sweep, Aurore wrapped the cloth around herself and walked around the pool. She led the silver-haired psychiatrist through the living room and to the kitchen. Well, kitchen...the room was more of a miniature restaurant. There was no oven, no fridge, no sink. Just a classical style table set only for one. And how set it was. The wine lied in a silver ice bucket, already uncorked. The food, roasted Bresse chicken breast and leg served with cream and morels, was already on the porcelain plate, lovingly presented and...steaming hot.
“Look at this shit. Did they hire Bocuse? How did they even find morels in autumn?!”
With a look of despair, Aurore took out of the wine out of the chilled water with the embroidered cloth wrapped around the bottle’s shoulders. She took one look at the label and groaned.
“Un Chevalier Montrachet 1997. Allez, on se fait pas chier...”
Seemingly unconcerned by the food being fresh out of the oven, Aurore sat down, makeshift clothing and all, and grabbed the silver cutlery.
“I mean, I appreciate this, I really do, but a fucking burger would have been fine!”
“Does this...opulence disturb you?”
“Yeah, a bit. You know I never dealt with being born into the so-called elite very well, but still, I know I was lucky. But being pampered like this...this isn’t fortune, it’s just fucking creepy.”
Still, she helped herself to the luxurious meal. It was delicious, but then again she had forgotten how bad, or even mediocre, food tasted like. As the meat, mushroom and wine Aurore eventually realized that she was supposed to offer Grace some of her food. It was the polite thing to do, even if there was only one plate.
“Wait a minute.” She thought out loud. “I don’t give a shit about being polite.”
“I can confirm that. It’s why your father hired in the first place.”
“Yep. Congratulations on your treatment’s brilliant success, by the way.”
“Perhaps I simply led you to socialize with me, failing a greater audience.”
“That certainly beats being reprogrammed to love the rat race.” Nodded Aurore, before taking another sip of her grand cru. “But you’re right, you’re the only person I see as important.”
“Really?” Asked Grace with a neutral face. “How important?”
“I...Don’t know. Central? Can’t really find the right word.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will come to you soon.”
Aurore’s intense attention to detail did not extend to human body language. It was probably best.
“You seem troubled.”
The question pulled Aurore out of introspection. After the dinner, she had gone straight to her room to lie down on her gorgeous canopy bed. Kind of just spaced out, enough to be surprised when she saw Grace sitting at her bedside.
“Yeah, I...I think I just can’t get used to this place. Pool excepted.”
“Yet you accept sleeping here. I recall you saying it was the worst room in the mansion?”
“Ha ha, no, the bathroom is the worst. Friggin’ temple to cosmetic products. But yeah, the bedroom’s pretty bad.”
“I guess it’s the one that screams dollhouse the most. Look at the wardrobe!”
The antique dresser had nothing unsettling about it per se. It simply contained varied and exotic costumes rather than clothes. A cheongsam, a Disney princess dress, a skimpy tribal attire...In context, though, Grace understood Aurore’s concern. She only wore casual clothes, after all.
“So, let’s accept your benefactor does treat you like a doll.” She admitted. “Do you feel like one, Aurore?”
Silence. Aurore looked at her bed’s ceiling despondently and gulped.
“I guess I kind of do.”
Grace hunched over, intrigued but silent. The young French woman let her mouth open for a moment, then started to confess.
“I don’t feel bad. The employees are annoying me with their bullshit small talk but I don’t see them every day so it’s alright. The job’s not that boring either. It can be kind of fun to walk around every part of this building, see the people deal with their grown-up, responsible life and laugh because I’m standing from the other side of the fish tank. There was a guy this morning whining about scammers in a clearance sale. Even I could tell nobody fucking cared about his story but they just kept nodding and agreeing because he’s the manager. I mean, is that the wonderful normal life I’m missing? Non merci les gars.”
“Well, this profession was literally tailor-made for you.”
“It really is. Still...I don’t know, I feel like I’m slipping sometimes.”
“I can’t remember the last time I went in town. I think about it. Getting a big old dumb American burger with country potatoes and go buy some goddamn metal music. I think about it. But I’m busy when I do, and when I’m done with my daily checklist I just drift off and climb the stairs and go to the pool. I’m content with my life, mostly, but...I can’t seem to shake it up. Every day’s the same...I think that is what’s fucking with my memory. I mean, how could I forget you’re always here?”
The white-haired psychiatrist nodded.
“Perhaps you’re confused about me then.”
“You?” Asked Aurore, doubtful.
“My presence in your intimacy, my role perhaps. You say you are fine at work, but slip away when you’re relieved of it. The obvious cause would be the house itself, but I cannot exclude myself. After all, you know me very well. You know I was your psychiatrist,” Grace calmly said, “And now your friend, once we agreed yours was a...difficult personality, rather than a pathological one. Yet you were also confused when I asked about your perception of me.”
“Yeah, that’s true...”
“I thus propose we test exactly how important you see me.”
How important? Aurore wondered in echo. That was a legitimate question...She never felt like Grace had changed her personality in any appreciable way, but she did follow her since the age of ten. That had to have at least some impact, right?
“Alright, I’ll bite. How?”
Aurore felt something between her modest breasts. What? Since when was she naked? She looked down and raised an eyebrow. There lied an elegant metallic vibrator. What the fuck was that? Why did she feel her private parts tingle in anticipation? And for that matter, why in the possible hell did it feel so familiar? Aurore was in a state of utter confusion when the beautiful woman beside her ordered, in an unmistakeably authoritarian voice...
“Masturbate now, Aurore.”
The baffled French girl didn’t know the feeling that was engulfing her, yet it felt familiar. Like a feelings version of déjà vu. Déjà ressenti, as it were. It was like a vise securing her heart, suppressing the more familiar—and expected—feeling of revolt. Before she knew it, her right hand had already wrapped itself around the woman’s best friend, with the full intent to follow the path firmly set before it.
“Don’t throw a tantrum now.” Continued Grace Rivers, her lovely features now contrasting with the power in her voice. “You cannot resist me. Not anymore.”
A lovely sigh escaped Aurore’s sour lips as the dildo parted her dewey folds. Its mere presence was enough to throw her out of focus. When the motor activated, sending sparks all along her canal, she briefly forgot who she even was. Her face was twisted by anguish, but her body language was that of a woman in love. The baffling, inexplicable betrayal from a woman she trusted more than her estranged family should have been enough to drive her blind with fury, yet she felt her pussy taking control. Battering her thoughts with pleasure, flooding her brain with addicting passion. Aurore’s mind was like fine sand slipping through her fingers, refusing to let her latch onto anything as she was swept up. Utterly lost, defenseless against the obedience filling her, she had only one certainty.
This was routine.
“Yes, Aurore. That’s it. All nice and liquid now. Relax. Let reality go.”
“You’re still not going all the way through your programming, sugar.” Sighed Grace with a soft, wavering voice. “You’re supposed to masturbate after going to bed. This travesty of psychiatry does a disservice to us both.”
With sad eyes, the white-haired woman caressed a lock of her subject’s hair. She hesitated to go for the cheek, but couldn’t find the heart to do it.
“At least you properly forgot yesterday’s assignment.”
Aurore was still sand. But a very lovely, vulnerable, girly sand. The pleasure was eroding her outrage, and she started getting some stability back...But as a mewling, squirming, open little thing. Her right hand was dutifully executing the outstanding order. Her left one was caressing her erect nipples, because it felt very nice, and she liked doing it every day. Still, she had calmed down, and her mind was back...It was just on a shelf. Disconnected from a body that was very obedient to somebody else. Half conscious, she tried to stop her hands. They ignored her completely.
“M...Grace...I don’t...aaah...understand...What’s haaaAAappening, wha’ re you doing to m...mmeee...?”
“Something extremely condemnable, I’m afraid.” Replied Rivers with a pained sigh. “You are right about feeling like a doll. You are one.”
“And I’m your creator.”
“Wha-what are you saying, Grace, this is crazy, come on.”
“I wish I agreed. Unfortunately, this is very much by design. I’ve stopped being your psychiatrist and your friend...And you’ve stopped being Aurore Laurent.”
As the French girl’s womanhood continued to submit to the love bullet’s message, her heart sank. She felt dizzy. More lost and confused than ever before...but already felt.
“M-mais pourquoi...H-how, why are you...”
“The reason why you are losing track of time is because you disappear every night. You held onto yourself at first. But I fear I am more than a psychiatrist, my dear. I shape brains to a client’s liking. Countless women have been under my care and emerged as property.”
Her voice was straight. Clear. Honest. Too honest. The voice that emerged from Aurore’s lips, however, was high-pitched, lost.
“No, no, you’re lying, you c-can’t turn me into his doll...”
“Ma puce, if you were simply supposed to be that man’s poupée de porcelaine, you would already be prattling in the very most precious French and slathering yourself in beauty products. I’ve created French Maids out of Texans in less time I’ve been treating you. This...this is far more complex. You are no ornament. You are func...Ah, to Hell with this, I’m not going to recite you the whole laïus every night. Masturbate harder, puppet.“
To her horror, the helpless woman felt her hands double down on pounding her pussy, sending more mind-bending hormones to her terrified mind.
“Oh God, Oh God. SOMEONE! HELP! ANYONE, PLEAAAASE!”
“Tsk.” Chided Grace, wincing. “You might be employed in security just to be placated, but I trust you are still aware every wall here is soundproof.”
Despair. Aurore knew Grace -no, whatever monster had taken her form—was right. Tears welled up in her eyes. Almost enough to keep the sick, electric delight in her crotch from building up. Almost.
“Who’s...who’s paying you, dammit?!” Shrieked Aurore, tears in her eyes. “You can’t want to destroy me like this!”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I have to. I assure you though ; I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t know this wouldn’t end with your happiness. Happiness in slavery, yes, but experience tells me there is no better kind. You’ll eventually absorb the others, and you, the last free partition of your being, will accept your station in turn.”
Aurore wondered how she could possibly have asked that so calmly, or indeed asked that at all. She was in the clutches of an utter lunatic with inexplicable power over her. A lunatic she thought was her friend. Yet Aurore felt herself calming down, riding on pleasure’s soothing waves. So, yes, she asked questions instead of the more sensible screaming. She looked, too. Well, she couldn’t move her head, but she saw Grace in her peripheral vision, standing. What was that weird light in her hands?
“Yes. Very good girls. Very powerful, too. You really should try to hear their voice tomorrow, once you’re back.”
“What’s that weird...hmmm...light, Grace?”
“Something impossible. But impossible n’est pas Français, is it?”
That was one stupid expression Aurore never really cared for, but it sure seemed to apply now. She saw parts of the alabaster walls, mere flakes, peel off and fly towards the light. But not only the walls...the black chandelier on the ceiling, the wooden floor...it was snowing from all directions and into Grace’s hands. There, the flakes coalesced and took on a form Aurore couldn’t quite discern.
“Giulietta did a good job yesterday.” Grace idly said to herself. “And she is certainly an obedient girl, but your mind is a lonely one. It won’t latch onto its lessons without a bit more love. I wasn’t planning on that so soon, but...yes, Nami is perfect to till your mind for the seeds of docility.”
“Oooh God I’m gonna cum...I’m being brainwashed and raped and I’m going to cum godfucking dammit...Grace, please, you’re better than that...you know this is fucking wrong, please...”
“Yes. I know.”
Whatever the object was, Grace was now lowering it on Aurore’s terrified eyes. What was it? What were those pictures? Why did that Asian girl kind of look like her?
“And rest assured. There’s no such thing as rape to you.”
No answer. Aurore didn’t even notice that creepy line. She was looking at the pictures. The girl was very pretty. She seemed nice, too. Aurore didn’t trust nice people, but this girl was...there was a sense of intimacy about her. And all those warm colors around her...All of it was relaxing.
...It was much easier to enjoy the nice dildo in her wet little pussy now. So much easier to let go.
“But I don’t want to rel..aaaah...” She weakly protested. “I have to...have to...”
What did she have to do? She wasn’t sure. Everything was so confusing. There was warmth in her pussy, in her tits, in the nice pictures, in the girl’s smile. How was she supposed to find the words in her head again?
“Relax. That’s a good girl.”
Good thing Aurore’s body moved by itself, because she no longer felt like doing anything. Just let go. Let her mind float around the colors and enjoy lazing around. Let her thoughts lose all sharpness and devolve into fluffy feelings. It was a nice feeling, actually, letting her body do all the work. Like she did the day before, and the day before that. Actually, wasn’t this comfy stillness her true self? It was, wasn’t it?
A thread of drool trickled out of her open, smiling mouth. She felt really nice. No worries, no thoughts of objectification. Just lying there, relaxed, content. Passive. She kind of wanted to snuggle with a big plush toy, but it was too much work.
Grace allowed herself to smile despite her inner conflict. Aurore had ceased to be long ago. Her true, core being had been replaced with the moaning doll masturbating on the bed. Grace let Aurora have a normal persona to pretend she was still human. A poor facsimile with a flimsy memory that dissolved away with pretty lights and masturbation.
“It’s easier to let you go...” Sighed the twisted psychiatrist. “Tomorrow, with what Nami is about to teach you, you’re bound to sex yourself to nothingness before I even arrive.”
She closed her eyes, thought of the visor, and changed its existence with nothing but her mind. The doll lying in bed noticed the nice girl walking closer, whispering nice things. The doll didn’t understand her words, but she liked them. Her voice was happy. Things flashed on the screen, penetrating her soft mind. The doll was confused at first, then felt the familiar feeling of delicious passivity. They weren’t words, they were strings. Her strings, telling her how to be.
Obey. Cum. Become. Love. White strings, just like Grace’s hair. Reaching for her formless mind and putting it to action again. All without a single effort on doll’s part. It was nice. So she let the strings in. Puppet. Good. Happy. Mommy.
The strings pulled her to the Asian girl. You. Familiar. Trust. The girl smiled. The doll smiled too. Then she realized...she was standing in front of a mirror. Inadequate. Different. Solve. Doll’s mind realized this was wrong. She was not Asian, or cute, or busty. She unconsciously tried to correct reality. Resisting a bit...There.
The doll began to remember things about who she was. How much she loved her mother. How special her mother had made her. This world...it was ruled by reason and science and morality. This world! It made her groan just thinking about it. Nami Rivers was so lucky to have been raised as a mage.
Nami removed the visor Mommy had created through her limited magical ability. Poor Mom, still forced to rely on that stupid tech thing. Nami regained control of her body. Her sexy Japanese body. Smooth, hairless olive skin, E-cup breasts with brown nipples, hips of a porn star...All there. She pulled the dildo out of her quivering wet cunt—why ever cum from a toy when there are so many handsome boys? And knowing Mommy, she would soon be with a loooot of them. Nami sat up on her wide bubble butt and straightened her part blue, part white hair with a thought. Then, she turned to Grace.
“Hello, sugar.” Smiled the sun of Nami’s life.
She jumped out of bed and hugged Grace. She was so happy to finally be summoned in this boring world after months of gestating in big sister Aurore’s mind. She felt like she could turn the entire skyscraper into a dildo. That would be lewd. She giggled. Still, it would be wrong to use her powers without Mother’s say-so.
“What’s on your mind, Nami?” Asked Grace, fully thawed out of her ice queen demeanor.
“You know what’s on my mind, okaa-san, you created it! So! Who wants to believe in magic today?”