Uniforms Control Your Mind
by Mr. Scade
“She’s ready, Sir.” Said the droning voice from the speakers.
The man didn’t say a word, he just stared at the gir- “Doll… she’s a doll now. I have to remember that.” He said it with distaste in his mouth. He stared at the doll sitting on his living room. The speakers overhead went silent, the owner of the voice disappearing as commanded.
He looked her over, and couldn’t control his manhood from reacting. He had to readjust. White… why did I chose white? He thought, but the answer was obvious. White always aroused him. White took him back; back to when he was young and impressionable; back to a pair of massive breasts, a pretty girl, and a joyous time. White was his favourite colour. His manhood tingled in anticipation.
“She looks perfect.” He said, a reluctant smile forming as he drank in her curves trapped in that white racing swimsuit. Trapped, that was a good word. He knew she would never be able to take that off, no more than she could take her legs off. It was part of her. Part of the doll.
She was his doll, just as he had wanted for some time. He disgusted himself, but, then again, who didn’t sometimes?
He hoped she had enjoyed the conversion.
The thought made him want to escape his own skin.
“Rise.” He whispered and the doll opened her eyes. Blank and white like her swimsuit. Nothing behind those eyes. His manhood strained against his blue lycra prison. Why did I decide to wear… them today?
The doll didn’t do anything until he said, “Time to play.”
What followed was a blur. A blur of shame and pleasure and things best left to the imagination. It was a blur of smiles, of monotonous giggles turned groans and moans of pleasure. Of skin against skin, of lips against skin. Of one prison of white rubbing against a prison of blue. It was a blur, in which one could lose the better part of his self.
When everything was done, he sat at the edge of his bedroom bed, naked safe for a pair of tight, tight, tight swimming trunks. He always wore them. He loved the feel of soft lycra. The doll lay unmoving next to him.
“What have I done? I am a pig! A disgusting human being!” He screamed, rising fast, one hand over his face, keeping the tears in, and the other slammed hard against the wall. The plaster broke and dust fell to the floor, pain shot up his arm but he didn’t notice.
The doll didn’t register the outburst.
He stared out of the window, tears going down his cheeks. For a long time he stood there until her forgot why he was angry. He turned around and saw those blank eyes, and that white swimsuit, and felt his manhood harden.
He didn’t realise when he grabbed the lamp and threw it at the wall. He didn’t realise when he sank to his knees. And he didn’t realise when he said, between sobs, “The doll… make it… make it go away…” He sobbed harder, to no one. “The doll... doll... make this… make this guilt… fade.” He whispered the last word.
The doll stood, silently. Dolls never made a sound.
He barely had time to look up before the doll pressed her body against his face.
Darkness took his guilt away.
She felt guilty at what she had ordered. At first. But then she had seen his body, his beautiful, manly body. She owned a doll now, a man doll, with a perfect body, a teasing image of blue swimming trunks covering the perpetual hardness she so desired. The blank smile on his face made her wet every time she saw it.
“Doll, use me.” She commanded, before jumping on the bed.