The Game
by BevG
The waiter appeared as if from out of nowhere, interrupting the stare smoldering between the two. Simone was the first to look to him, leaning back as he placed a bowl of soup before her. Across the table, Candace merely offered the same half-smile that infuriated Simone.
“Thank you,” Simone said, placing a napkin across her lap, the green of the linen contrasting sharply against the black, knee-length skirt.
The waiter dismissed himself, leaving the pair alone again.
“I just don’t understand you sometimes,” Candace muttered, shaking her head, sending her blonde hair swirling about her shoulders.
Simone sipped the soup from a spoon, her face wrinkling.
“What’s wrong now?”
“The soup is cold.”
“Send it back.”
“I will. He’ll be back in a minute.”
Another shake of the head.
“I swear, Simone, you are the greatest waste of natural talent I have ever seen. You could have him crawling back here with the soup in two minutes. What’s the use of having this ability if you don’t use it?”
“I use it when it’s appropriate.”
Candace rolled her eyes then settled back into a predatory smile. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and exposing a shapely calf, covered by opaque silk stockings. Her leg began to swing, slowly, over her knee, the steel of her pointed heel catching the light hanging above them. It winked like a distant fire. Simone glanced at Candace’s heel, then stared into her companion’s eyes.
“The heel? Really?”
Candace folded her legs back under the table and sighed.
“Well, if you aren’t going to act like the Dominant you are, then perhaps you would be better serving under someone.” Candace stirred her coffee. “So to speak.”
“Just because I don’t feel the same obsession to have everyone under my influence doesn’t mean that I’m anything less than a Dominant. Kandi.”
Candace’s grin widened.
“Is that the game you want to play, Simone?”
“I’m not of a mind to play any game with you. These meetings were supposed to be a way to exchange ideas, not to undermine the other.”
Simone hadn’t realized how far she had leaned forward across the table until the waiter returned, his hipster hair detracting from the semi-tux he wore.
“Is everything all right, ladies?”
Simone met Candace’s eyes again and took another sip of her cold soup.
“Perfect,” Simone smiled up at him.
“And what point was that supposed to make?” Candace asked after the waiter her left. “and mentioning Kandi? You’re just being a bitch.”
“As I recall, you enjoyed being Kandi.”
“And you enjoyed creating her.”
“It was fun,” Simone said with a grin, balling the napkin from her lap and setting it on the table.
“Maybe we should have our next meeting at my home. I promise the service is better.”
“Neutral ground. That was always the bargain.”
“Yes... well. I think maybe we should renegotiate.”
“If you think so, Kandi.”
Candace shivered, then composed herself, all in the blink of an eye. Through gritted teeth she hissed, “I told you not to call me that anymore.”
It was Simone’s turn to wear a predatory smile. “I just wanted to remind you that you’re given to flights of submission, as well. You just love those dolls, don’t you?”
“Maybe that’s why I have so many.”
“Or maybe it’s so you can see what’s in your heart. External manifestations of your deepest desire. That sounds about right. Don’t you think, Kandi?”
“Shut up, Simone.”
“Your little trick with the heel started this. Today, anyway. But you are always pushing. Maybe you deserve some pushing back. Back into your dolly box, dressed so pretty. Not too different from how you are dressed right now. A bit more pink, I should think. Don’t you think so, Kandi?”
Candace stood, upsetting the chair behind her.
“One more word from you, and...”
“What? You’ll tie those blonde locks into pretty pigtails for me? Let me make you shiny again?”
“That’s it. We have always played by certain rules, Simone, and you broke the first. No triggers.” Simone quieted herself, standing straight, smoothing the white silk dress. “The gloves are off Simone. That desire you’re talking about wasn’t just mine. I think it’s about time you realized that.”
“It was a pleasure, as always. Kandi.”
Fire burned in Candace’s eyes as she turned her back on Simone and marched out.
The car turned the corner, the driver a slim brunette who wore the latex driver’s uniform perfectly. Candace tried to remember if she had been a dancer before their meeting, but it was of little importance, now. Tawny was the driver. That is how Candace thought of her, and, more importantly, how Tawny thought of herself. That was her purpose. Her only ambition.
“Window up, Tawny.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Tawny replied, rolling up the window separating the front and back seats.
Alone, Candace hiked her skirt to her waist, allowing her fingers to push aside the elegant underwear and dive into her dripping pussy. The thoughts of Kandi had filled her head for a moment, the mindless obedience, the beauty and simplicity, the sheer pleasure. She wouldn’t show weakness in Simone’s presence, but she had to release, had to feel her dolly pussy filled. She released a loud moan, teasing her swollen clit as she tugged at the strap of her dress, pushing it down to expose a full breast.
With two thoughts in her head, she came, giving her nipple a twist as she exploded. She did love the dolly inside her, of that there was no question. The other thought that kept her from slipping completely away into that doll dream was how certain she was that Simone would soon feel that same pleasure.
Simone stepped inside the open door to her home, her servant attending. Trixie, or at least that’s what she was called now, stood at attention on high-heeled boots that framed her legs well. The garters that secured the tops of the boots to the skin-tight shorts and buckled top strained as Trixie sunk to her knees.
“Welcome back, Princess,” Trixie said, smiling demurely.
“Thank you, Trixie. Please help Sara with dinner.”
Trixie rose with a nod and exited to the kitchen. Alone in her home, Simone sighed, shaking the awkward meeting with Candace from her thoughts. That would be the last of their lunch dates, she was sure. Shame, though, as they had been so close at one time. Until Candace began her habit of collecting every stray who crossed her path, subjecting them to her every whim. There was little choice given to her submissives, and that was the most infuriating part for Simone. They were toys, where Simone’s subs were loving and cared for, if somewhat lost in their bliss.
Simone was shaken from her reverie by footsteps approaching from the staircase. She looked up to see Patty descending, stepping carefully on her tall black heels, the maid uniform she wore revealing her ample chest.
“Mistress?”
“Yes, Patty?’
“A call came while you were away. Miss Candace.”
“That was fast.”
“Mistress?”
“Nothing. Thank you, Patty. If you would draw a bath, please.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Patty marched up the steps, giving Simone a pleasant view of the girl’s bottom. Truly, one of her better acquisitions. The call from Candace would be an apology, she had no doubt, nor did she have any intention of returning the call this evening. She would have a bath, then retire. If the bath treated her well, maybe a servicing from Patty, to whom she had paid little attention to of late.
The water was warm and safe, like a liquid blanket, washing from her the stresses of the day. Distantly, from downstairs, Simone could hear the front door open and close, followed by voices. She raised herself from the water, feeling the cool air of the bathroom twist her nipples into hard points. She tilted her head, her damp auburn hair sticky against her skin. She had resigned herself to leaving her bath when the door opened and closed again and the house returned to silence.
“Patty?”
The click of heels up the steps followed, then a light rap at the door.
“Is Mistress in need of anything?”
Simone relaxed. “No, Patty. Who was at the door?”
“A package, Mistress.”
“At this hour?”
With a sigh, Simone lifted herself from the water and wrapped the wide, welcoming towel around herself. Her feet smacked on the tiled floor as she dried quickly, flipping her hair into a hasty ponytail and slipping into the robe that awaited her.
When she opened the door, Patty was waiting.
“What is it?”
“A box, Mistress.”
“Probably Candace’s make-up present. Come along.”
Simone made her way quickly down the gently-winding steps, Patty clicking along behind, more slowly. When she reached the foyer, Simone realized this was no ordinary gift. The box was more of a crate, nearly six feet tall, wide enough for her to step inside. A clasp held the crate shut, fastened by a padlock with the key resting in its place. On the surface of the box was a small envelope, taped in place. As she approached, Simone could smell a hint of Candace’s perfume, a deep, sweet smell that always reminded her of lilac.
She circled the crate once, looking for signs of danger.
“Who delivered this?”
“A young man,” Patty replied, “He was wearing brown.”
Simone narrowed her eyes at the crate, wondering what strange whim had seized Candace, now. She lifted the envelope from the crate, flipping the unsealed velour open. The scent of Candace’s perfume was distinct, and the note within was damp from it. Simone unfolded the note.
Simone-I was angry because you reminded me of the desire inside me. I’m sorry
to have left the way I did. I hope someday I can return the favor.
-Kandi
Simone returned the note to the envelope and wiped the sweet-smelling residue from against her robe.
“Patty, I want you to dial 911 if anything should happen. You and Trixie will both be perfectly normal should they arrive, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” came the expected reply.
Simone twisted the key in the lock, unclasping the crate and swinging the door wide, the scent of that perfume assaulting her again. She drew her hand to her mouth as the box opened. Inside, the crate was lined with a rose-colored satin, like a decadent boudoir, a pillow fixed at the top, she assumed for comfort if the box were laid flat. Standing there, in the center of the box, a smile raising the corners of her mouth, was a girl.
For a moment, Simone thought she was a toy, albeit an expensive, exquisitely detailed toy, but the slight rise of her chest denied her artificiality. Her long, blonde hair framed pale skin, treated somehow to appear shiny, like plastic. Her lips were ferociously red, eyes pale blue, and when she blinked, she did so quickly, eyes popping wide open again. She wore a pink and frilly babydoll nightie and sheer white stockings, and Simone wondered idly if they were the ones Candace had worn earlier. She stood on pink heels with ribbons at the tops of her feet, her arms limp at her side. She was, undeniably, beautiful, a living doll with a body that screamed to be touched and fondled. She noticed that her nails had been painted a similar shade of pink, creating an illusion of lightness all around her.
Simone took a step back and gaped, her head buzzing.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Bambi,” the girl replied. “I’m you.”
Candace found herself pacing back and forth over the thick carpet of the main room, anxious for the phone to ring. She was sure Simone would call, would demand an explanation, but it had been quiet thus far. Surely the overconfident bitch couldn’t bathe all night?
When the phone finally did ring, she could hear her favorite slut, Anna, recite the words she had been programmed to say. “Mistress sent you a lovely crate. She will send for its return the day after tomorrow.” Anna repeated it several times before Simone gave up. The click of the phone returning to the cradle made Candace nearly clap with joy. Simone was too soft-hearted to put the girl on the street in that condition, and that would prove to be her undoing. Her weakness.
When Candace had prepared Bambi for her delivery, formerly a college girl named Sandy, she thought she remembered correctly, she had prepared quite the cocktail for Simone. She had delivered the crate in person, providing enough of the toxin to Simone’s submissives to effect a single suggestion that they had no choice but to follow. The perfume coating the note, and much of Bambi, was laced with a powerful suggestive neurotoxin she had used in rare cases, as it often led to erasure on a grand scale. Added to that was a healthy dose of hallucinogen and anti-anxiety medication and the whole cocktail was constructed for one reason and one reason only—to convince Simone that she was, in fact, a doll named Bambi.
Simone shook her hands up and down, still circling the box. The phone call to Candace had been a waste of time. Candace was also growing frustrated with the girl in the crate, who would say nothing but, “I’m Bambi. I’m you.” The joke had gone far enough.
“Patty, get this girl to your room, prepare her for bed. In forty-eight hours, she’ll be gone.”
“What girl, Mistress?’
“The doll! The girl! Whatever.”
“What doll, Mistress?”
Candace froze and stared into her servant’s eyes.
“Are you telling me you do not see a girl in that box?”
Patty appeared to be on the verge of tears, ashamed to disappoint her Mistress. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I see nothing.”
Candace calmed herself, scratching at her hands that felt suddenly very itchy. “It’s all right, love. It’s not your fault. Candace must have played quite a trick on me.”
Candace had gotten to Patty, somehow. That meant that Patty was no longer trustworthy. It meant she could be in on it, too, knowingly or not.
“Go to your quarters.”
Patty nodded and dismissed herself.
“You, too, Trixie.”
Trixie nodded and followed, leaving Candace alone with Bambi. She approached the doll carefully, her mind whipping lightning fast from one scenario to another. What was the meaning of the girl?
“Okay, Bambi, just you and me, now.”
“I’m you.”
“That’s what I hear,” Simone muttered. She reached to the girl’s skin, running her fingers over it, struck by the smoothness of it. It must be some sort of latex spray, some thin coating to give the doll it’s appearance. Her fingers lingered on the warm, synthetic skin, fingers tracing the corners of her mouth, over her lips. When her finger reached the center of the girl’s mouth, her lips parted, accepting Simone’s finger in the wet warmth. Simone felt arousal course through her, an involuntary response to the overt sexuality of the girl before her. When Simone pressed closer to the doll, she found the scent washing over her, that sweet musk, now combined with the faintest aroma of her own sex.
“You are beautiful.” Simone whispered against the doll’s ear.
“You are beautiful,” the doll replied.
Simone stopped. “What did you say?”
“What did you say?”
“Stop that.”
“Stop that.”
The same words, the same intonation. She was a parrot of Simone. Looking over her shoulder for signs of her submissives, knowing they would be safely tucked away in their rooms, Simone tittered a little.
“This could be fun.”
“This could be fun.”
Impulsively, Simone leaned into Bambi, kissing her soft and welcoming lips. Bambi responded in kind and Simone realized that her every action was being mimicked by the doll, a living reflection of herself in word and deed.
“I’m a horny little slut,” Simone giggled.
“I’m a horny little slut,” Bambi repeated, accompanied by a duplicate giggle.
When Simone’s hand strayed to Bambi’s breast, Simone realized that Bambi was now cupping Simone’s own breast.
“I love Simone,” Simone offered.
“I love Bambi,” the doll replied.
Simone pondered this further. Was the doll referring to herself or to Simone? Or did it make no distinction between Bambi and Simone? Was she aware that there was a difference?
“I’m Simone.”
“I’m Bambi.”
Simone raised the nightie and stroked the doll’s sex, feeling the cool air as her own robe was lifted by the doll’s hand.
“I love to please you.”
“I love to please you.”
“This is making me so wet,” Simone murmured, squeezing against the doll’s fingers, feeling her own fingers gripped.
“This is making me so wet.”
Simone continued with abandon, fingering her own pussy through the doll’s, feeling the same dips and tensions in the girl’s body. They sank to their knees, Simone stroking the hardened nub of the doll’s clit, groaning in pure pleasure as her own was attended, until she rocked, back arching, in intense orgasm. The doll came, too, or, at least, mimicked Simone’s own movements.
As the orgasm subsided, Simone found herself stroking the doll’s arms, waist, as if she were caressing herself.
“Good dolly,” she purred.
“Good dolly,” the doll replied.
Simone felt a wicked grin slip across her countenance as an idea struck her. there was one way to break the mirror-like responses of the doll. She had to do something which made it impossible for the doll to ape the action. Simone rose to her knees, the doll matching her again. She paused, staring into Bambi’s eyes, noting the girl’s beauty and watching the way the girl’s face softened as her own smile shifted from cunning to pleased.
“So pretty.”
“So pretty.”
Simone bunched the nightie at the girl’s waist and lifted it over her hear, becoming momentarily tangled in the girl’s arms as she approximated the action. She marveled again at the shine of the girl’s skin, the way her nipples caught the light of the room, then held the girl’s face in her hands. The fingers against her cheeks were warm and slightly damp from Simone’s own juices, which added to the arousal already filling her. She realized that she was just as nude as the girl, save for the doll’s stockings. She scooted closer to the girl, sliding her fingers down her legs to remove them, enjoying the sensation of fingers stroking her own bare legs. Now, to stop the cycle.
Simone leaned forward, pushing the girl onto her back, and Bambi offered no resistance. As Simone crawled down her body, she nestled her head against the girl’s waiting pussy, already wet to the touch and sharply sweet to the taste. Simone moaned in surprise as the doll’s tongue copied her tongue’s ministrations and Simone pressed her hips against the girl’s face, feeling the doll’s hips raise in kind. Thoughts of upsetting the doll’s copycat behavior washed away in bliss as she licked her own pussy through the doll, exploring its folds and teasing the clit again, feeling her stomach begin to spasm with another orgasm.
As she gripped the doll’s ass, fingernails digging into her own, Simone felt her mind grow hazy and soft, lost in the lust of the moment. She collapsed against the coated skin of the doll, feeling a surprising, uninspired action from the doll as her hair was softly stroked. Soon, she drifted into sleep.
As Simone slept, the doll’s programming activated, sending Bambi to the crate she had arrived in, peeling away the satin lining to reveal a hidden cache of vials and material. The night would be long for Bambi.
Simone awoke, head full of cotton. A voice was repeating over and over, “I am a dolly. My name is Bambi.” Simone could feel her lips moving with the words, but she could no longer hear her own voice. Her eyes looked into Bambi’s, her hair matted a bit by the headphones on her ears. Vertigo consumed her as she saw lips mouthing the words she mouthed. Simone raised her hand, pulling the headphones free, watching as Bambi did the same. Bambi paused, staring down at the pale, shiny arm holding the headphones. They were the same. Simone’s eyes drifted down, seeing the pink babydoll nightie covering her, the heels with the tiny flowers on the top, the stockings. She raised her hair to eye level, seeing blonde strands swirling between her fingers.
She turned to the reflection before her. “I am a dolly. My name is Bambi,” they said in unison. Bambi took a step forward and Simone took a step back, matching the motion. Simone felt her back rest against the soft satin of the crate.
“You are a dolly,” Bambi said.
“My name is Bambi,” Simone replied.
The door of the crate closed and Simone could hear the padlock slide through the clasps and latch. Within the box, the dolly mantra began again and Simone could no longer tell if the sound was from a speaker hidden away in the box or her own lips. She stood still, the words sinking deeper into her soft mind.
The crate stood in Candace’s main living room, the lights muted for the moment. Candace shivered in anticipation. The crate had sat in its current location for over an hour, assuring her that the contents were truly docile. Surrounded by some of her favorite slaves, Candace turned the key in the lock, casting it to the ground. She flipped the clasp open and took a breath.
The lid opened, faint perfume wafting out. Standing in the crate, eyes forward, was Simone, or the shell of Simone. The hair had been dyed blonde, teased out a bit, the skin coated with an opaque plastic spray which lightened the tone, her lips fiery red. The clothes matched the doll’s that had been delivered to her home. She would need implants, Candace decided, to fill out the nightie she wore, and the outfits that Candace had already imagined for her, but the image was almost perfect. Now, the final test.
“Step forward,” Candace whispered to Simone. Simone obeyed.
“What is your name, dear?” she asked.
“I am a dolly,” the girl replied. “My name is Bambi.”
“Welcome home, Bambi,” Candace grinned, leading the doll from the cart and into her new life.