The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It’s been an unwritten rule that boys and men aren’t allowed to play with dolls. It’s not on any list of laws, in the police precinct or the church, but you don’t let it out if you do. Women can play with, feel, touch, caress, and yes… even lick forms made after the ideal they wish to obtain. But men aren’t allowed.

I’m Jim. Where I live, what I do, that doesn’t matter. You’re here for the story of Stacey.. or, Linda, at one point. How she went from Linda to Stacey is the brunt of this tale. You see, my doll of choice has always been the often overlooked Malibu Stacey series of dolls. Not Barbie, but better. They’ve always felt alive to me. And now, I have one that truly is alive; and quite a bit taller than eleven inches.

I keep my collection hidden, to avoid the ridicule that would otherwise befall me. I’ve had many dolls, but the one I could never part with is a mint (though not in box) original from 1958 first series. Stacey had such a figure, with long, sculptured legs culminating in wide hips and a pert bubble butt. Above her hips, her waist shrank to an impossibly small amount, and then expanded out where her chest carried her beautiful tits. In real life, they would have to be very fake silicone tits, but since Stacey was all plastic it didn’t matter. They must’ve been at least F’s by my guess, but all the later dolls after that year had reduced and slightly more realistic tits – one of the reasons I loved this one the most. Her shoulders were sloped and graceful, pulling your eyes (if they ever left the tits) up a long neck to a beautiful face with blue eyes and what others would call excessive, but what I would say was perfect, makeup, made up of bright red lipstick on big inflated lips, heavy pink blush, strong eyeliner, and heapings of purple eyeshadow. This wonderful face was framed by platinum blond hair, teased in a way that screamed both ‘50s’ and ‘slutty’ at the same time, the hair in back stretching down almost to her ass.

Yes, she was beautiful, and so were her clothes sets, consisting of a revealing and raunchy (even by today’s standards) low-cutleopard print swimsuit, a cheerleader’s uniform with short skirt and tight sweater, and a Stepford Wives style floral sundress with a large hat. I only wish girls today would dress more like that, so classic.

I always was keenly aware of her being a doll, but I always had dreams of her being my reality. What she would sound like, how she would act, how smart she might be. Most of the dreams ended up with her having a high-pitch valley girl voice, a manifesto of serving men – both through sex whenever they desired it, and through the cooking and cleaning skills most would associate to a woman from 1958, and an IQ that left her ditzy, airheaded, and easily containable but still able to operate an oven or a vacuum cleaner. That might not be what other people envision, but mine was the one that came true.

At the time of ‘the transformation’ (as I now call it), I was recently out of college and had just gotten and job and moved into a new apartment. My girlfriend, Linda, was two years younger and was still in college, studying the liberal arts. I never ‘got’ much from her, but she was not quite a prude. That is, she flirted with men to get her way, but when she was with me, I only got sex when she was up for it, and it was usually lights-out missionary.

Still, I liked her. She had constant complaints about me, but I think she genuinely thought I was a good, honest person. And, I almost was. I still hid the dolls and my fantasies towards them from her, but other things I didn’t hide. My general interest in the 50s was hard to hide, considering I wore retro Hawaiian shirts and khakis most of the time (being a liberal arts major, she had serious problems with the ‘gender roles’ of the era, but we worked it out). We had it good. But one day, everything changed. And so did Linda.

You see, I once had my dolls stored in a storage locker to keep them a secret, but I felt lonely with Stacey so far from me at night. I moved them back, but had them shoved in a corner of my closet with the label ‘OLD TEXTBOOKS’ on it. I mean, who would look in that? I was studying architecture, who on earth would want to see my old textbooks. Well, Linda did, apparently.

In a move that brought about her downfall, Linda looked into my closet when she was looking around my new apartment. She saw the box and opened it before I got a chance to say no. Maybe she was hoping to find books for Junior year so she wouldn’t have to buy them. Maybe she knew I was hiding something. Though I doubt the most that she knew what would happen.

“These aren’t textbooks… What the hell? Pink tissue paper.. Is this what I…

“Please, let me explain!”

“This is a Malibu Stacey! You chauvinist pig! I hate these things! They’re all about domesticated bimbos in sundresses – and wait.. HA! You’re not just a chauvinist pig, you’re a guy that PLAYS WITH DOLLS!

“Linda, please don’t take it like this. I only hid them fro..

“Look at this one! Those breasts are insulting! You can’t give girls idols like this! They need Marie Curie dolls..

“Please don’t hurt that one..”

“What, do you love her? You ass, I’m going to take this one and smash it into pieces! And then I’ll let everyone know you play with dolls! You’ll be a laughing stock! To think, I thought I loved somebody like you! You don’t get a real woman, and you won’t even get this tiny fake bimbo anymore!”

Well, she was either right about both or neither, because in the next second Stacey, who was in Linda’s hand with her arms a legs splayed out, somehow came alive. Yes, she was still one moment, and in the next, her nimble body of eleven inches had hopped onto Linda’s face, arms and legs spread eagle across it.

“What the fuck! Is this some kind of RC bullshit? I’ll get you for..

“AAARRRGHAPHLARGAAAA.. IT BURNS! GET IT OFF!” And I stood agape, unable to even comprehend the situation just watched as Stacey just… melted into Linda’s face. In 10 seconds, Stacey had disappeared, and Linda stopped screaming and just collapsed to the ground. She twitched and shook as she lay there, eyes open, mouth slack. But then.. It happened.

I kneeled over her, trying to think what to do. Do I call 911? How would I explain it? Do I leave her here? What’ll she do when she comes to? What if she doesn’t? And what the hell happened?

At first, I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but I thought I saw Linda’s facial features move. I focused on them… and they did. Her previously flat nose was thinning, forming a cute girlish one. Her eyes got bigger, then turned from dark brown to a bright blue. Her long forehead shrank, her ears got more dainty, and her chin formed a more ladylike point. Then.. the changes migrated down. Her neck lengthened, her shoulders curved, her waist shrank to something impossibly small. Her hips widened to somewhere around twice as big as her tiny waist, but her butt remained flat. Her legs got curvier beneath her jeans, and her feet arched for high heel use.

As these changes went on, I tore off her non-underwear clothing to see if I could stop them or something. I tried to push in when her hips had gotten big, but it did nothing. I decided to sit back and watch the now naked woman change completely. After the head to toe transformation, her skin, once a sickly pale, turned to a rich golden tan. And it was everywhere, an all body tan, a I later saw. She didn’t just turn tan, her skin glowed. Previously dimpled and imperfect regions became silky perfect without a blemish. You could say it looked almost like… plastic.

And at that point I think I realized that Linda was not going to be Linda much longer, but was well and irreversibly on her way to becoming my beautiful Stacey – a real, living, doll. After her skin changed, then I heard a light hiss. Her previously modest B cups were inflating… and inflating.. until they snapped the bra. The continued until they reached what I estimated to be an F or FF. These glorious titties stood high above her chest, in perky, pert glory that silicone (or saline?) brings. Then the hissing returned, now to her flat bottom. It inflated, lifting her off the ground and snapping her undies, until it stopped at some step between ghetto booty and bubble butt. And then, the last step of her physical transformation came: her hair.

Her shaggy, short cut brown hair first legthened. It went past her shoulders, and didn’t stop until it was only a little above her ass. Then the hair gradually lightened, heading from dark brown to light, from light to natural blonde, from blonde to near-white platinum. And then, in a poof of either smoke or hairspray, the hair somehow arranged itself in a high maintainence retro style, framing her flawless face with its perfect complexion.

Now, Linda had almost come to; she was moaning and putting her hand on her head like she had an awful migrane. I looked in her eyes one last time, as she looked up at me, as if to say “Help Me.” And then, the sparkling, intellingent eyes glazed over, and looked empty, like nothing was behind them.

Linda… or, as I shall now say, Stacey, looked at me, tilted her head, smiled, and said:

“Master.. Like, what do you need me to do for you?”

I could only make a helpless motion and my crotch, which had been straining my pants since her tits inflated. She gladly obliged, and pulled down my zipper. She teased a little, licking and fondling through my boxers, but soon enough, she got to business and pulled out my ready and erect dick. She swallowed the entire shaft in o ne go, not gagging at all. After the second pump, she managed to say:

“Master, your big dick tastes soooo yummy”

And then she continued on, faster until she pulled it out and jacked it off, obviously desiring some face painting. I sent a personal record load across her face, and into her eye, even managing to get some on her beautiful tan titties. She scooped it all up into her mouth and swallowed, licking her lips.

“Master, that was sooooo good. Do you wanna fuck, too?

Oh, I did. I fucked six ways to Sunday, in every position, recuperating in record speed each time. After I was too tired to move she still tried to wrap her tits around my limp dick. I decided to set her off on another project, saying the line I had always wanted to say to a woman:

“Stacey, go make me a sandwich.”

“Like, right away, master.”

She returned in five minutes with seven different kinds of sandwich, because she didn’t know what I wanted and didn’t want to displease me.

In the end, I got what I always wanted and dreamed of: a real doll, to cook, to clean, but mainly to fuck. She’s got a whole wardrobe now, with a leopard print swimsuit and several floral sundresses. I leave her at home and go to work, she’s always there for me at the door when I return, with cookies, a magazine, and a blowjob. I’m proud to say that I have disposed of my other dolls: Stacey one is the only doll I’ll ever need.