An Artist’s Masterpiece: Book 4

Book 4

August 2049

Book 3

Chapter 1

The next day, week, month; they were torturous, even by her standards. The days sitting in the light of her drawing room, the evenings greeting guests in the parlor or away in the community, and anytime in-between or beyond servicing her husband, always silent; Emily worried about her sister. Why was she not home already? Great Ormond Street never took this long, she should know! Oh how she cried and cried for her dear, innocent, intelligent Anne! Or she would have, if her eyelids didn’t flutter at a ceaseless pace of seventeen and a half times per minute.

It was a long five weeks later that Emily received news. Humphrey came bursting through the door to her drawing room, with a touch tablet in hand, and sat next to her on the chesterfield. “Oh my, darling, this is quite firm. How do you sit here all day? No mind, let me show you something special.” And with a quick motion he touched her temple until a click was heard. It was like she had been given back her full sight! Her eyes darted around, slow to focus but altogether not too atrophied. This was indeed a luxury and for a serene moment she loved him for his generosity. She looked to him, shuffled her sizeable arse and hourglass figure closer, and he wrapped his arm around her armless shoulders, holding the black mirror in front of her. Two years deprived of human touch save for these moments had Emily’s chest abuzz and her juices dripping past the invaders in her nether holes.

But ignorance is indeed bliss, for when he turned on the display, she found a horrid slideshow of photographs sent from her brother’s address and letterhead over the wireless. And then he whispered sweet nothings and stories of altered perfection into her ear:

Photo 1: Anne restrained in bed, looking with tear-stricken eyes toward the camera. Missing her arms from the shoulder and hairless from head to toe. Her feet point straight down, and fine sutures can be seen on her ankles and closer to her knees. Her waistline, even uncompressed, is more accentuated, and her ribcage is noticeably foreshortened.

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Photo 2: Anne unconscious in a pinkish chemical bath to treat her skin, submerged with air supply. It might be the lensing of the bath but her breasts and behind had grown immensely.

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Emily averted her eyes. This was simply too much! She could not bear to see her sister uncovered and degraded as such! Even when Humphrey grabbed her sensitive breast in his vice-like grip, and threatened to use her arse exclusively for a year, she did not look. But she finally broke when he reminded her he could just re-adjust her vision so she didn’t have a choice. She felt more saliva slide down her throat.

Photo 3: A close-up of Anne, or she thought it was Anne, for her face was modified, with blossoming lips, flawless latex skin, and a vacant but flirty stare. Her propped-open mouth was like a tight tube and featured bumps and ribbing, a half length tongue, and no uvula. So that’s where her gag reflex had gone. Her throat featured a breathing hole and a rose of a different shade than Emily’s. “It’s how I’ll tell the two of you apart,” her husband jested tellingly.

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Photo 4: Anne in gynecological stirrups, a close-up between her smooth legs. Anne’s floral lips look different than Emily’s, Humphrey remarks, even after the silicone skin treatment, and her mons is more prominent. She already wears a healthy-sized plug in her rear bud, and Emily has no doubt she has experienced a doll’s waste removal system.

Photo 5: Anne in clinical white, restrictive undergarments, suspended from the ceiling and walking in heels on a treadmill. Her bald head and immense mammaries are held proud by her surgically-forced posture and extremely tight stays and underbust. Two silver rings, unlike her gold, clip her nipples to the top edge of the bust. One can see the glistening shine coming from the juices dripping down her chin, chest and inner thighs as she stares dutifully, directly in front of her.

Emily just blinked; dazed, scarred.

“That last one was taken two days ago. My dear wife, you don’t know how lucky you are to have had the time I allotted you to adapt and learn your place in this household. All of the lessons you have been taught by your maid and I will need to be taught to your sister in a fraction of the time, just two months total! I can only absolve myself as I let her read her silly books too for a time, like you. You should really thank me,”

And with that he pushed her off the couch and down to the floor in front of him, and watched as she unsteadily crawled on her knees towards his open zipper and raging erection, which he had no doubt sported since first receiving the photographs from Bramwell earlier. She hesitated, full of hate and still in shock, but he easily overpowered her by grabbing her fake golden locks, pulling sharply, and bending her at the hips to meet her ready mouth to his cock. Once it was past her lips, her mouth responded on its own and any motion she made with her tongue was only supplemental to the automatic processes at work, as her contracting muscles coaxed his dripping precum forth. Once she had taken him to the hilt, her eyes reset so she could only stare at the aging hips her head now rested upon.

“Ah yes… my dear… you are certainly welcome.”

Chapter 2

Early that September, Anne’s arrival was finally announced. Emily only knew the date because her husband had practically bounced out of bed the day before. His sadistic flair for surprise had largely left him now that all of his assets had been obtained and conquered. “I’m going into London today, Lovely, to shorten my travels bringing our new toy home on the morrow. I will be staying at the gentlemen’s club, oh you know the one run by the House of Enhanced Venus that I’ve told you all those stories about.” He was met with silence. Stories? Or had they been veiled threats, Emily wondered.

After Humphrey departed, Emily was led through the longest day of her life, for impatience does not suit a dolled woman. First, her automaid helped her top-heavy body rise from the bed, her gigantic breasts – left unsupported by the night stays – swinging below her open, drooling mouth. Her pointed feet were led blindly into bedroom mules far below her line of sight, and she was lifted to a standing position. Her automaid led her to the adjoining private washroom, a room which was necessary for her involuntary lifestyle. First she squatted over her waste-relief mount, feeling her bowels released, cleaned, and a silicone toy cleaner solution rinse Humphrey’s semen from her holes.

Then, she was led to the wide walk-in shower, her night stays were removed and her minute waist was pressed into a tight, C-shaped brace mounted to the wall. The only time of day she was ever truly nude, this held her rigid torso safely upright whilst the automaid went about turning on the warm water and cleaning her thoroughly with fine scents and soaps. Emily saw across from her a newly installed brace mounted to the opposing wall, and remembered her first time in this routine. Oh how she had fought and fought! Of course it had all been futile as the minute her maid pressed her into that brace, her weak legs below could only scramble against the smooth marble floor. She had then been subjected to ten minutes of the most excruciating nipple torture from the robot’s gloved hands for her “inefficiencies”. Somehow, she must warn Anne not to make the same mistake!

After the shower, her fearsome day corset with bust was cinched tight by an auto-lacer on the wall, and then those devilish prongs on the strap below were seated in her extra-sensitive holes, like every other teasing day. On days like today when she was alone in the eclectic manse they were especially cruel. They were designed to not trigger her contractions, but she almost wished they would for some form of relief. The maid pulled at her nipple rings inconsiderately to clip them to the underbust, and Emily could already start to feel them throb in protest. A fleur-de-bouche was deposited in her leaking mouth and pumped to a tight seal, and she was promptly covered in fine hosiery and lingerie, then laden down with fabric and dresses until she was the perfect womanly idol her husband demanded, before finally her hair was done and makeup touched up.

She was then led for her first daily tour of the house, which usually meant a bee-line to the parlour for that was all her constrained breathing could handle. After two-plus hours of prep, she waited docilely for another two, staring at the endless bookshelves she could not read, yearning for the lunch bells to ring. When they did, her nutritional paste was deposited in a realistic rubber replica of Humphrey’s erect manhood, which was then lodged in her open mouth for her oral workout and feeding. A second inserted phallus contained an Earl Grey-flavoured shaft which Emily enjoyed dearly as it leaked clean water from the tip down her throat, hydrating her for dessert. Once resealed, the doll was led out to the porch to gaze upon the fine gardens and gentle pastures in the distance. Gaze upon but not to comprehend: for her fixed-focus eyes could no longer fathom the rich, painterly complexity of this landscape beneath the greenish blur she saw.

This proceeded through the early afternoon, sitting in the shade, until her second trip to the bathroom, then back to the drawing room until dinner, a meal which was usually prepared solely for her husband. While going through the motions, perhaps having some phallic refreshments while he would prattle on about his day, she would fidget and wait for him to signal the maid to undress her upstairs.  Now, upon sitting down at the empty table, she realized that the folds of her dress had bunched up just right between her prominent flesh cushions! Oh yes finally! From afar, one would have seen a beautiful Lady of Leisure, staring into no-space, a bergamot watercock extending from her lush lips, her breasts heaving as she struggled to rub her fleshy pear of an ass into her seat in the dining room. An hour later, repeatedly exhausted, Emily had only managed to torment herself further. She was despondent, screaming and crying inside. Anne would be here tomorrow, Emily realized fully, and this is the sorry life that is laid out for her! As an older sister she had not been able to protect her own blood, even with the sacrifice of her own. She was utterly, hopelessly useless.

Her chance was gone, and as her maid prepared her for bed, replacing her dress and charms with night stays, Humphrey’s inert replicas (for her three holes), and the tight sheer cocoon, all she could do was wait.

Chapter 3

The next day was much like the last, except two automaids attended the needs her husband prescribed, as she was led through the grounds. One of these Humphrey had recently purchased for Anne, as his other automatic servants were busy keeping the estate prim and proper. So it was that Emily was just completing her short garden tour when she heard the quiet whir and rumble of Humphrey’s autocarriage far off near the front gate. If her rose had not been aflutter from the decorous walk, surely it was now.

Emily minced on her heels as fast as she could around to the front entry and carport, her maids in leisurely tow. As she made it to the front steps, the carriage found its way up the slight hill to deposit its passengers, and within a few minutes, there stood Humphrey with Anne in his arm, staring blankly, silently. As far as Emily could tell from her peripheral vision, her sister’s face was recognizable, but altered towards Humphrey’s vision of twisted beauty enough that they could be twins, nevermind sisters. Her head was adorned with similar golden locks, and above the hem of her traveling coat and her open bosom, right above her clavicle, lay a small pink-white rose, unlike Emily’s deep red.

She didn’t know what to do, and so was almost thankful when her automaid forced her to proceed inside, leading the way into her home like a good hostess does. Guided inside to the drawing room by their merciless maids, Humphrey followed behind for the view. “Dearest, aren’t you going to say ‘Hello’?”

She could not believe it. After everything he had done, he still jested. It overwhelmed her, and submitting to her instructions on courtesy, Emily took small, graceful steps towards her doll sister. Their eyes did not meet. They did not speak in warm tones of reunion. When she reached Anne, she faintly heard the ragged breaths of someone still in shock. What could she do? What was left? What had she needed most when she had returned from her final, imprisoning doll conversion surgery?

Touch.

Without a consideration for the spectator in the room she walked closer to Anne, and pressed her body forward, not enough to unbalance the poor newcomer but enough for their restrictive busts to press together quite lewdly. Emily did not care, and it surely showed on neither of their faces. And through her one form of intimacy, of embrace, she matched her sister’s stormy chest with her own, and she heard and felt her sister’s breathing slow.

“Truly touching.” her husband mocked. “Maids, bring the girls to my room and prepare them: I need to get acquainted with Anne, and Emily I want you there of course.”

Chapter 4

And so began another stage in the increasingly miserable life of Emily Battersby. Was this the worst yet? In some ways, yes. If asked – and if she had been able to answer – she would have undoubtedly answered yes. No only did she suffer now, but also the person dearest to her in the entire world, her beloved sister Anne: sweet, innocent Anne who, because of her doing – Emily blamed her own gullibility for everything – was now condemned to a life of suffering as a mute and helpless sex doll as well.

Yet at the same time, much as she hated to admit it even to herself, the day that the modified Anne doll was brought into her home represented the day that her life improved. Before she had been alone in her suffering but now she shared it, she had a confidant, someone with her who understood. That moment when they had pushed their gigantic chests against one another, felt each other’s’ pulses beating and stared mindlessly at one another’s modified faces, then there had been a communion and even though the sisters were now unable to talk to one another, in a strange sense, mentally, they had never been closer.

And not just mentally either. On that first meeting as dolls, Humphrey had ordered them upstairs immediately and had the automaids undress them both down to their stays. Then began their joint initiation into the new sexual reality of their lives.

The first change was that from that day forward, Emily always had to share her marital bed with another woman. Literally. And that woman was her own sister. After the automaids had prepared them, Humphrey had both of his dolls kneel on the floor and then he inserted his rock hard tool, firstly into one mouth, then the other, Emily, Anne, Emily, Anne, bringing him close to orgasm and then withdrawing on the brink of release. Then he had Emily lie on the bed face down with her legs spread wide and he lay atop of her, using her generous firm buttocks as a pillow, before lowering his new doll symbolically down onto his raging member and taking her virginity with a cry of joy, jetting his copious seed deep inside her only moments afterwards.

And that was how Humphrey had vaginal sex from then on, with one doll as his pillow and the other as his pleasurer. More often though, he would enjoy them anally, the two sisters on their knees presenting their glorious bottoms to him whilst he would spear one and caress or slap the other until his seed was spent. And then it would be time to sleep, his head still nestled in-between the wide buttocks of one, or perhaps the firm breasts of another, waking only to use the mouth of the other girl as his urinal.

That however, was not the end of it.

As a prelude to sex or as a show for his friends (and that circle included Branwell), Humphrey now developed a new kink. He would have the automaids lie his two dolls on the bed and then attach their nipple rings to one another, before then inserting an enormous two-ended dildo into both of their love caverns and a similar monster into both of their mouths. They were then required to bring each other to orgasm repeatedly, the onlookers taking bets on who would reach climax first. Another game they played included watching the girls go at it, whilst an automaid masturbated them to completion; the one who spurted his seed on the doll-pile was given the privilege of a blowjob by the doll of their choice.

The humiliation was crushing and Emily’s mind was torn. On the one hand, the knowledge that she was coupling with her own sister and engaging in the awful sin of incest mortified her, but at the same time she loved the sexual stimulation which was far more loving and consensual than when Humphrey took her. Her attachment to Anne had only grown through their shared fate and this act, although lewd and obscene, was one of the rare chances that they had to truly be together and demonstrate physically the mental and spiritual closeness that they both felt.

Outside of the bedroom though, life was hard. Although always together, they could not communicate with one another in any way. Emily would hope and pray that the automaids sat them together although this was rare and they were generally left on different chairs across the room from one another where, because of their locked eyesight, they couldn’t even look at each other clearly. On the rare occasions when they were seated side-by-side on a chesterfield or sofa, Emily loved to feel the enormous mass of her sister’s bottom squeeze up against her own and they would lean on each other’s shoulders and listen to their breaths through the two flickering roses. Moments such as those made life almost bearable.

But others were the opposite. Such as on her birthday party when Branwell paid, as a birthday treat for his sister, for a professional photographer to come in and take some family portraits of the three “happy siblings”: two vacant dolls with inhuman tits and non-existent waists flanking the leering and evil-looking brother with a hand wrapped around each of their minute stems. The best of these photos was then blown up, framed, and hung alongside another of the three siblings as children in the same position. These two hung prominently on the wall of the drawing room as constant reminders of their sad, sad lot in life.

Equally traumatic was the news announced casually by Humphrey one brunch as they sucked on their mush-filled phalluses that their father had just passed away and that Branwell was now head of the family, and had both inherited all his wealth and put their mother into an old people’s home, despite the fact that she was only fifty-five. They had not been particularly close to their father, who had always preferred Branwell and whom Emily at least partly blamed for selling her to Humphrey but even so, the death of a parent is always hard, particularly when one is forcibly unable to grieve.

That though, was the life of both of them now. Sex, boredom, helplessness, mush, more sex, and humiliation: a sad and sorry life that was to stretch on ad infinitum until they went to their graves, forgotten as people and remembered as dolls.

Until, that is, on the fateful day when we find them now:

A month after the grandiose celebrations for Emily Battersby’s 23rd birthday. Emily and Humphrey lie in their marital bed together along with Emily’s sister and companion, Anne. Humphrey is using Anne’s enormous bottom – or is it Emily’s, he struggles to tell the difference between them – as a pillow like usual whilst Emily’s equally large derriere bounces up and down on his member, milking him delightfully as he reaches up and squeezes her taut and over-large breasts. He is in seventh heaven, enjoying the greatest pleasure that life can bring, when he suddenly feels a strange tightness in his chest and the feeling of blood rushing to his head. He stops his exertions and clutches his breast but it does no good. The tightness spreads and he feels pain. He realises that this is serious and croaks out “Help! Get help!”

His two lovedolls stare silently into the middle distance, passive and unmoving, and Humphrey realises in horror that he has an enormous problem.

Book 5

Serving the Dear Leader: Part 9

Links to all parts of the story:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Chapter 14 – Strangers in the Night

Three nights later Yong-Hee was sleeping in her bed, catching up on some rest after a hard day having the a ;politburo member’s piss squirted down her throat, when the light suddenly snapped on and a voice said, “Get up!” Startled, she wondered what was happening, for the voice wasn’t that of Comrade Jun but instead a male voice, a soldier in the People’s Army. “What is happening? What have I done?” she asked in some fear, scared that she might have displeased the Dear Leader in some way. She’d heard terrible stories about prison camps for those who tried to subvert the regime and she hoped dearly that she wasn’t being mistaken for some sort of a traitorous person.

“Put on these clothes,” was all that the soldier said.

The clothes were not her Pioneer uniform but instead the normal attire of a worker. As she put them on she felt dowdy and plain but at the same time was glad to be free of both gag and monoglove. Then, when she was dressed, she was led out of the room and then the building itself by the soldier and without a word, bundled into the back of a car.

The car sped them down the mountain and then, to Yong-Hee’s surprise – and some relief – the railway station. The time on the clock read 04:10 and the Departures board stated that the express to the capital was due to arrive at 04:20. So, she was not being taken to prison but instead to the big city, the place that she had heard so much about and dreamt about but never thought that she would be seeing. But the question was, why?

At 05:00 the train arrived and she began her long journey. Although the soldier did not travel with her, there were plenty others on board and she knew that the carriage attendant had strict instructions to keep her safe. So, she sat back and watched the scenery pass by her window. Seeing such a beautiful country, she was not surprised that the Imperialists had tried so hard to capture it, only stopped by the wise generalship of the Great Leader of course. However, what was more confusing was how devastated and broken everything looked. Yes, her home county was the same but she had always assumed from watching the TV that most of the country was a Glorious Beacon of Socialism.

At the terminus she was met by another soldier who commanded her to follow him and they circumnavigated the ticket barriers and ID checks and got straight into another waiting car. Then they sped along the empty roads of the great city up into the hills before passing in front of a vast palace which they then drove round the back of. Then she was ordered out and marched into the building, down lots of corridors and up several flights of stairs to a small bedroom. In the room was an outfit laid on the bed. “Shower and then get dressed in these,” said the soldier and then report downstairs, third door from the left, Room 42.”

Yong-Hee stripped and then stepped into the en suite shower. After washing away the dirt of the journey, she re-emerged and put on the outfit. She couldn’t believe it: it was a beautiful hanbok made of the finest materials in white, blue and pink with an exquisite decoration for her hair. Over recent days, perhaps because she’d seen Him copulating with an inferior foreigner, Yong-Hee had begun to have some slight doubts about the Dear Leader. How stupid she had been? Was not this proof of His love for all His people? She had been granted a trip to the capital and then dressed in the finest silks. Who on earth could match the Dear Leader for wisdom and generosity?

Dressed in the outfit, she felt like a real lady and loved the way that it swished around her as she made her way downstairs. There she found the room that the soldier had mentioned and entered it. It was empty but there was some sweetly-scented tea and half a dozen cakes. Hungry and thirty after her long journey, Yong-Hee grabbed a couple and then helped herself to a cup of tea. Then she waited. After about ten minutes later she heard footsteps approaching and two figures walked into the room. One was a beautiful lady, also dressed in a hanbok of stunning colours. She was about fourteen years old and was exquisitely made. Behind her walked a young girl of about twelve, also dressed in a hanbok. “Aha, Comrade Yong-Hee?” she asked. Yong-Hee nodded and they bowed to one another. “My name is Comrade Chu and I am in charge of you here. You are probably wondering what is happening to you, but do not fear. In His infinite generosity, the Dear Leader has decreed that you are to be blessed with some time serving Him in the cpaital as thanks for the excellent work that you did in Platoon 72 when He visited there recently. Hmm, looking at you, I can see why He was so impressed; you’re very pretty girl, very pretty indeed. However, first things first. Du-hyang, mittens!”

The young hanbok-clad girl bowed and then approached Yong-Hee with a pair of white silken mittens which she proceeded to fit on the Pioneer’s hands. As she did so, Yong-Hee noticed that Comrade Chu was also wearing an identical pair. When they were on, Yong-Hee discovered that they were padded and inside had some sorts of rods so that she could not bend her hands. They were tied at the wrists with pretty ribbons and it was clear that with them on her hands were merely two useless paddles and without outside assistance, she could not remove them. “Like with Platoon 72, we must be wary of Imperialist infiltrators here in the capital,” said Comrade Chu by means of explanations. Yong-Hee nodded gravely for she was fully aware of just how insidious the imperialists were. Then, her hands rendered useless like the older ladies, Comrade Chu gestured for her to sit and snapped an order at Du-hyang to feed them both a cake and then present dainty cups of tea to their mouths to sip. “Du-hyang is my apprentice,” explained Comrade Chu. “She will take over my role one day but in the meantime she must fulfil my every need.”

Over the tea and cake that following, Yong-Hee learnt that the Dear Leader had specially requested that she be sent down to the capital, primarily because of her “first-class sucking skills” and that He would be arriving that evening by helicopter accompanied by “a Platoon 72 member who comes from Pridniestrovia”. Her duties would now be to accompany Him whenever He did On The Spot Guidance and to service His needs when He needed them servicing. Generally she would wear the hanbok, but on days spent on “desk duty” she would have a different outfit.

The Dear Leader did arrive that evening and they all lined up to greet Him as He stumbled out of the helicopter, Valentina helping to prop Him up. Du-hyang handed Him a bouquet of flowers and then He lurched towards Yong-Hee, gave her a special kiss and then ordered her to accompany Him and Valentina to His bedroom. There both girls undressed (except for the mittens of course and Valentina’s monoglove), and He attempted to enjoy a period of congress with both but the sheer amount of alcohol that the Dear Leader had imbibed (and was continuing to imbibe), prevented this and within twenty minutes He was fast asleep, snoring loudly, as the two Pioneers caught up with each other’s news by His side.


Chapter 15 – Plagued by Reactionary Thoughts

After that first night – and the activities the following morning when the Dear Leader was far more able to enjoy congress with his pioneers – began a new period in Comrade Yong-Hee’s life which caused her to have strange doubts about her role and that of the Dear Leader Himself. Naturally, she kept those doubts to herself, sure that they were the result of being subconsciously affected by some imperialist propaganda or thought control, but nonetheless, they still bothered her.

Her role now was to accompany the Dear Leader wherever he went and then to service Him when He needed it. This duty she accepted eagerly, knowing full well how much He gave to the Motherland of His time and energy, tirelessly travelling the length and breadth of their sacred and embattled land giving valuable On The Spot Guidance to comrades in every province. When He was doing so, she would accompany His entourage, the only pioneer to do so as Valentina could obviously not be seen in public due to her inferior race. Then she would be dressed in a hanbok, arms unrestrained and would smile charmingly and then, when needed, would follow Him to a private chamber where He would ravish her, use her mouth as a receptacle for His seed or water, or simply caress her lovingly. This Yong-Hee did not mind, for it was her job, but what worried her was how rarely she did it. She spent a total of two months based in the capital yet she only went out with the Dear Leader giving On The Spot Guidance a total of four times.

Of course, Yong Hee was well aware that He had other duties to attend to and far more often she was dressed in her Platoon 72 uniform, arms in a monoglove, and taken to His spacious and beautifully furnished office where she had a little cupboard underneath His mahogany desk. Her face was then strapped to the opening and every so often, in between working, He would thrust His tool into it for her to have the glory of swallowing His sperm or water.

However, even these days could not have numbered more than ten during the entire two months and for the rest of the time she accompanied the Dear Leader as He lazed by the pool, played on His private funfair, went riding His horses, completed a round on His private golf course, watching porn films in His private cinema or indulged in a session in His dungeon where either she or Valentina, (or both at once), were whipped, stretched and tortured for His sexual gratification.

And whatever He was doing, she never once knew Him to rise out of bed before eleven.

But why all this bothered her more than anything else is that, in between her hard work servicing the Dear Leader, Yong-Hee continued her political education and every day on the news there were reports of the Dear Leader visiting factories and collective farms, army battalions and schools giving invaluable On The Spot Guidance yet she knew full well that, a few select occasions aside, He had not been doing that at all and instead had spent most of his time lazing about, drinking and using her and Valentina for His sexual pleasure. Naturally she asked Comrade Chu about this and the older lady replied in a blasé fashion that of course a lookalike was used most days.  More worryingly still, after a while Yong-Hee began to notice that the few occasions when the Dear Leader did bother to fulfil His duties as President, were on outings when He would be most likely to meet attractive young female comrades. He never once missed an outing to survey a dance troupe or female university.

All of which caused her to awake at night with His tool flaccid inside her and wonder if, perhaps, He wasn’t such a superhuman saviour of the People after all. Indeed, on very dark nights, her bottom still throbbing from the assault on it earlier, she even wondered if He was in fact, not just a lazy, corrupt playboy who was simply living off the backs of the hardworking citizens of the Motherland. Naturally, the moment she had such thoughts, the more reasonable and rational side of her told her how ridiculous they were, how her mind was being addled by contact with evil imperialists and that it could even be Valentina’s fault since she was so very foreign, but nonetheless, they continued and Yong-Hee hated herself for having them.

Thus it was that, at the end of her time in the capital, she was almost glad when she was replaced in the middle of the night by another member of Platoon 72 and sent packing on a train – which stopped in the middle of nowhere for seven hours due to an electrical power shortage – back to the platoon base up in the mountains. At least there, maybe, she could order her thoughts and return to some sort of normality.

And let her poor body recover from the repeated assaults upon it.

Links to all parts of the story:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Serving the Dear Leader: Part 8

Links to all parts of the story:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Chapter 12 – A New Friend

The next morning, after the Dear Leader had enjoyed another bout of passion with the pretty Pridniestrovian and then a lengthy lie in, Yong-Hee was taken to her room for a shower by Comrade Jun and then dressed in her usual uniform. As the Dear Leader was in the complex and some pioneers would be needed to serve Him, all the usual political and sexual education was cancelled. However, to Yong-Hee’s surprised, she was called to Comrade Kim whom she found standing in her office with none other than the pretty Pridniestrovian. However, what was more surprising was that the Pridniestrovian girl was not dressed in her foreign clothes, but instead a Platoon 72 pioneer’s uniform complete with monoglove and gag and, what is more, she did not look very happy about it.

“Comrade Hong Yong-Hee, thank you for joining us. I have called you here today because of two reasons. Firstly, I have consulted your school records and it seems that you studied the decadent imperialist tongue of English whilst in Hamyong Province. Is that true?”

Yong-Hee nodded.

“And you achieved a reasonable degree of proficiency?”

Yong-Hee nodded again, less surely this time.

“Good. Now, as you can see, Comrade Valentina from Pridniestrovia has joined our platoon today in order to serve our beloved Dear Leader. Usually, as you know, Platoon 72 is for Children of the Motherland only, but on this occasion, our Dear Leader has wisely and graciously allowed an exception to the rule. Comrade Valentina has joined us but sadly your copulation partner, Comrade Ju-Ae has left the platoon. In the ball last night, the President of Pridniestrovia was most taken with her and used her for his pleasure and thus, in the interests of proletarian solidarity, the Dear Leader has granted her request to serve the President of Pridniestrovia permanently as his sexual servant in Pridniestrovia.”

Yong-Hee felt sorry in the depths of her heart for Ju-Ae having to leave the beloved Motherland and lie with a foreigner. How glorious was her contribution to the global proletarian struggle, but how hard also!

“Comrade Valentina does not speak our language so you must talk to her in English and introduce her to the platoon. I will remove both of your gags.”

Comrade Kim did this and Comrade Valentina let forth a flurry of angry Russian. Then Yong-Hee spoke to her. “Hello Comrade Valentina. Welcome you to Platoon 72 of Young Pioneer. Big welcome you! We happy here! You happy here!”

“What you mean, ‘Welcome Platoon 72’? I am go back my country today!”

“No, you stay here. You lucky in Platoon 72, big honour. Everyday you make happy Dear Leader.”

“No! No! I can’t! I must go back! What about my family? I only signed up for this for a week because the money was good. I need to go back to Tiraspol. I can’t stay here being fucked by that old pervert!”

Yong-Hee didn’t understand the word ‘pervert’ which was probably just as well. “No, you stay here. You Young Pioneer. You in bed make many happy Dear Leader. Everyday me you practise sex play so make Dear Leader maximum happy.”

At this point Valentina burst into tears.

Chapter 13 – The Politburo Conference

That afternoon the President of Pridniestrovia left and all the pioneers went to see him off, including Valentina who glared at him and struggled at her bonds which, for some inexplicable reason, made the strange foreigner roar with laughter. On his arm was Ju-Ae, dressed in a beautiful hanbok and looking very scared at what the future might bring. Yong-Hee’s heart went out to her.

Afterwards all the pioneers were taken to the gymnasium where they had their exercises and watched a short film extolling the virtues of the Dear Leader who cares for the People and the Motherland like a father cares for his children in direct contrast to the leaders of the imperialist nations, and then Comrade Kim explained that several pioneers had been honoured to be selected as Servicers during a conference that the Dear Leader was holding with His politburo following the important visit of the President of Pridniestrovia. The names of the lucky few were read out and to Yong-Hee’s delight, she was one of those picked.

She and the other chosen pioneers were then led to the dining room where they were fed a bowl of noodles with real meat in it and then, to their surprise, were stripped totally naked. Then each pioneered was had oil massaged all over their bodies and strange garments were brought out. They were all in black and made out of thick rubber and it soon became clear that they were some sort of all-encompassing body suits. Comrade Jun started to fit Yong-Hee’s. At first it was much as she expected, a suit that covered her legs, then her bum and body and arms but then she began to realise, with a degree of horror, just how all-encompassing the suit actually was. “You are all to be attending the Dear Leader and the great men of the Motherland and they shall be discussing extremely important issues of national security. Therefore, they cannot leave the room for fear of secrets being leaked to the Western imperialist spies and you must neither hear the negotiations nor see any confidential files, maps or images. Therefore, wearing these suits is absolutely necessary.”

To Yong-Hee’s – and the other pioneers’ – dismay, the suits continued up the neck and covered the entire head save for three holes: two tiny ones at the nostrils and one for the mouth. However, before it was fitted, plug were fitted into her ears which were attached to a small device which Comrade Jun called an i-pod and which were, apparently, popular amongst the bourgeoisie of the decadent nations, and this was then attached to the back of her head where her hair was also bunched up. Comrade Jun pressed a button on it and it started to play revolutionary songs and stirring speeches by the Dear Leader Himself. Then a large ring gag was produced and fastened around her head causing her to keep her mouth open all the time. Then the hood was fitted and Yong-Hee’s world went black and she was alone with the sound of revolutionary marching bands.

She stood there in her own cocoon and then her rubber-clad arms were bent behind her in the usual monoglove and a collar fastened around her neck. She was then led by this collar for a certain distance until having a hand pressed on her head so that she knelt and then the chain was attached to something and Yong-Hee found that she couldn’t move further than a few centimetres.

And so there she stayed, the wisdom of the Dear Leader filling her head, for a period of time that she had no idea about. Nothing happened except that after some time she detected the smell of tobacco which made her realise that the elite of the Motherland were probably all in the room discussing confidential and important matters. The speech finished, then music began, then there was another speech, then more music and after a while the original speech began again. It was all on loop.

Then, whilst she was listening to the Dear Leader talk inspiringly about grain production in North Pyongan Province for the third time, she felt her chain tugged and to her surprise – and disgust – a flaccid male tool was inserted into her ring-gagged mouth. Then, horror of horrors, slowly water began to trickle from it, gathering in speed until it was a gushing torrent of acrid urine hitting the back of her throat. Trying to combat the natural gag reflex, the young pioneer gulped it down as fast as she could feeling violated and humiliated and yet also knowing that it was an honour that she should be glad for as she was serving the Motherland and, who knows, perhaps the penis in her mouth was that of the Dear Leader Himself?

Once the flow had finished and she had licked and sucked it dry and it had withdrawn, she began to think about it and wonder as to what it all meant. And then she realised: had not Comrade Kim said that the men were not allowed to leave the room because of the machinations of imperialist spies? But what if the room had no sanitary facilities? How great was the wisdom of the Dear Leader she realised at this point to provide an alternative to using the toilet and how ingenious was His solution to the quandary. Of course, that still didn’t stop her feelings of disgust, but now that she understood why this was happening to her, it made it easier to bear.

And so it continued until Yong-Hee realised that it wasn’t just the Politburo members who needed to use the toilet for she felt a familiar build up in herself, no doubt due to the fact that she had endured two streams of piss jetting into her throat during her incarceration in rubber. But what was she to do? She tried to hold it in but soon it became unbearable and so she let flow. The pee, with nowhere to go, simply stayed around her, seeping between her skin and the rubber, making it even slippier than before. She felt it trickling down her legs and longed to clean herself but of course, it was impossible. Instead she was entombed in rubber, getting hotter and sweatier, having pee spurted down her throat from the tool of an unknown male whilst her own wastes swilled all around her and endless speeches on the construction of new apartment complexes for steel workers in Ryanggang Province filled her ears.

After some time, something else unexpected happened. Something different was thrust into her mouth. It was a tube. She sucked on it and soup came through. She sucked and sucked realising that it must be dinnertime and the Dear Leader had thoughtfully considered the needs of His anonymous rubber-clad pioneers. After the soup, some water was fed through which was so clean and refreshing after all the pee. But then came the afternoon session, more of the same, with her politburo member peeing regularly, no doubt due to him drinking lots of water as the pee did seem to get more diluted.

She herself was also peeing on a regular basis and the liquids sloshed about in her suit, warming her further. Then came the need for something else, which she tried to stop, but again it was inevitable and after some time her solid waste was also mixed up with the rest. Thankfully, it wasn’t long after that when she felt her chain being tugged and she was led, her legs aching terribly from having been kneeling so long, to her room where she was freed from the terrible rubber prison, cleaned thoroughly by Comrade Jun and then thankfully put to bed.

Not that her ordeal was over though. The conference continued for another three days.

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Doll Wife: Part 10

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Edwin had been back from his business trip for about a fortnight, (and Charity had been exceptionally relieved to get out of her pee-drinking attire and back to ‘normality’ with a night-time session of congress), when there was a knock on the front door. The maid opened it and to her astonishment, in walked Samuel Baines looking extremely furious indeed. He demanded to see Edwin and the two retired to the study whilst Chairty sat in her usual silent contemplation.

When they emerged an hour later, Edwin was wearing a smile and after Samuel had left, he turned to his doll wife and said, “Hmm, I think we’ll be seeing some changes around here soon.”

Sure enough, three days later Samuel called round again and the two men again retired to the study. When they emerged Edwin was again smiling but this time he said nothing.

The third time that Samuel came, he was not alone. Instead he was accompanied by his wife who was most reluctant to enter and had to be manhandled by her spouse who was angry in the face. “Edwin old chap!” he exclaimed, as he pushed the real Chairty onto a chair, “I admit it, I was wrong and you were right! Have the bitch and may she behave better for you than she has done for me!”

“No! No!!!” screamed the woman Charity, clinging onto her husband’s coattails but he merely ignored her, turned tail and left, leaving her lying weeping on the floor. Charity the doll longed to put her arms round her and comfort this doppelganger in distress, but as they were forced into a tight monoglove at the time, she of course, could not. Edwin Clayhanger merely smiled and said, “Welcome home Charity, we shall speak on the morrow,” before retiring to bed and taking his doll wife with him.

On the morrow they did speak and it all became clear. It transpired that that day at the fete the two men had had an in-depth conversation about the real Charity. At first Samuel Baines had been livid that Edwin had modelled his doll wife on his real spouse, but when Edwin had told him how the real Charity had strung him along, he mellowed somewhat and said, “Ed, I understand now how you feel, but you are mistaken; my wife is no whore or gold-digger but a good and poor girl.”

“If only you were right,” Edwin had replied, “and I hope to God that my point-of-view is never proved to be the truth to you.”

But doubts had been put in Samuel Baines’ mind by his old friend, doubts fed perhaps by inklings that he had already he. He hired a private investigator to follow his wife whilst he was at work and discovered that she visited a strange house every afternoon, the house of one Daniel Povey, a well-known local gallant. That was when he’d gone round to Edwin for advice and Edwin had suggested he ask her about her plans for the coming day. “Oh, just to visit old Mrs. Povey on North Street,” she’d replied, which had put his mind at rest somewhat, but just to be sure he’d asked the investigator to dig a little more.

Sure enough, the investigator had dug and Samuel had not liked what he’d found. Yes, Charity had gone to Mrs. Povey’s house, but Mrs. Povey had been holidaying in Llandudno at the time! Indeed, only Daniel had been at home! Again Samuel had visited his friend and again Edwin had offered his advice. “You must confront her and see what she says. If she admits it, then order her to stop; if she does and she repents, forgive her, but if not then you must finish with her.”

“But how can I? She is my wife!”

“Adultery is a good reason for divorce. Even the Bible says so!”

“But what will become of her? I still love her but disgraced so she will never get another husband and her family won’t have her back! I don’t want her to become destitute or a prostitute!”

“Your concern as a husband honours you, but it is not just you who have loved her. If you must divorce, send her to me; I shall accept her as a companion for my Charity and I can ensure that she never disgraces you or any other male ever again.”

The next night Samuel had confronted Charity and she had admitted to an affair. She had not however, repented. “He is a better lover and a better man than you can ever be!” she’d exclaimed, her tongue loose with wine drank with Daniel Povey that afternoon. Her husband, tears in his eyes had begged her to repent and desist but the more he grovelled, the more she mocked him. Then he switched, realised how right Edwin Clayhanger had been all along and so dragged his wife to the home of his friend.

“A Lady’s Companion!” exclaimed the real Charity, indignant. “I am a lady and she – it – is only a doll. How can I be a companion to that?!”

“Charity my love, you were a lady, but you are no longer. Your husband is at the court now instigating the divorce and has placed you in my care. As your guardian I shall of course agree to the divorce and then employ you as a Companion for this Charity here, the Charity who gives honour to the name, not disgrace; the Charity who is the wife that you should have been but never were due to your own sinfulness!”

“No! Never! Anything but! I shall leave here, turn to prostitution, anything…”

But the maid had already placed the chloroform pad over her nose and mouth and she was sinking into the chair.

A week later…

Charity Clayhanger the Doll Wife sits in the sitting room, the clock slowly ticking, watching the hours pass by. Her life now is as it has been ever since she wed Edwin Clayhanger except that these days there are two important differences. The first is that sat by her is another figure, another doll, a doll identical to her in every respect, from the beautiful peach gown to the brown ringlets with yellow ribbons in them to the same rubber face. Even their names are identical: Charity Clayhanger. She is Mrs. Charity Clayhanger, the wife of Edwin Clayhanger; the other is Ms. Charity Clayhanger, her Companion, until recently Charity Baines but since her divorce she has taken on the surname of her guardian. Her ex-husband, incidentally, has recently announced he will be remarrying, to a doll wife formerly known as Shelley Woods but now to be referred to as ‘Arabella’.

As they sit their Mrs. Clayhanger recalls that evening well. She watched as the maids undressed the unconscious real Charity, gave her three successive enemas and then dressed her in her new latex underskin. When she awoke she, like the doll Charity, was force-fed several litres of nutrient-enriched water and then sealed into a doll suit with an exact copy of her real face at the top. Then the wig was produced and the dress and the two doll Charities were born.

The other crucial difference is what will come tomorrow. Edwin, ever the gentleman, announced to the two Charity dolls in his life that despite the fact that one was his wife and pure and the other merely a Companion and enmeshed in sin, he believed firmly in fairness and forgiveness. Therefore, he has forgiven his former love her misdemeanours and shall treat her as he treats his wife. This week Mrs. Clayhanger shall drink and eat and enjoy congress with her husband whilst Ms. Clayhanger sucks pee out of her bottom in sealed silence. After tomorrow though, the roles shall be reversed for a week and Ms. Clayhanger shall ‘enjoy’ the attentions of a man whilst Mrs. Clayhanger shall enjoy the fruits of derriere.

And so it shall continue until the Good Lord takes either Edwin, Charity or Charity.

Twenty years later…

And so here we find Charity Clayhanger, widow of the late Edwin Clayhanger, sat in the parlour of the Chiswick Home for Widowed Dolls. She sits there, a blank-faced, brown-eyed doll with the features of a twenty year-old whom her late husband once loved. Besides her sits an identical doll, a doll whose face, under all the rubber and latex, once looked like the fake face on the front. Their dresses are no longer crinolines for fashions have changed now and they wear large bustles but their hands are still encased in tight monogloves and they sit there in silence as the clocks tick, the only other sound being an almost imperceptible slurping as they both suck pee out of their bottoms to quench the never-ending thirst generated by a life enclosed in latex

FINIS

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Doll Wife: Part 9

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The doll life continued in its mundane fashion for Charity for several months until one evening over dinner her husband announced that he was going away that Friday for a couple of weeks on business. “Alas my dear, I cannot take you with me, but don’t worry, I shall ensure that you are kept safe and secure, ready and eager for my return.”

When Friday came, she was taken to her room, her outer garments removed and the maid placed the chloroform pad over her nose until she blacked out.

She awoke covered in her clear latex undergarments like she always did but this time something was different. Around her waist was some kind of container of black rubber. It was connected to her tubing somehow and had a valve on the side. Then her Charity costume was produced and fitted over her, encasing her in the warm rubber again. Once fitted, the maid showed her her new image in the mirror. She was the same as normal except where her narrow hips had been, she now had massive wide matronly hips. She wondered at first and then realised that, like the narrow waist caused by the corset, it was an optical illusion caused by the rubber container that was fastened around her like a bum roll underneath. But what was the purpose of it all? The maid then produced a polished silver belt with ‘Property of Edwin Clayhanger’ engraved on the front and fastened it around her middle, locking it off with a small padlock. “Your husband has the key to this and it can only be unlocked when he returns,” she explained. Charity was confused; he said that he would be gone for months so how would she cope? Then she realised. Her maid fiddled around at her enormous hips and opened a valve and then attached a tank full of slightly-coloured liquid to it which was then pumped inside her hips. She felt them fill around her until there was pressure all around like a tyre and then the valve was sealed off. “Unlike your school costume M’Lady, this system means that you can be continually refilled without removing the costume allowing for months of continual wear. Sir has said this is mandatory for whenever he is away and the belt prevents removal.”

Charity’s heart fell. After her time in hospital and weeks as a newly-married doll, she’d hoped that at least she would never be forced to subsist on her own pee again yet now it was back and more permanent than ever. She sucked to try and work out how this new system worked and after several hours it was clear. Essentially it was the same as the system at St. Werburgh’s but with an added stage inserted. Rather than drinking every week, she had her bum bags refilled every few days and she drank from these, sucking directly from the bag into her mouth. This went down through her body into her bladder after which she peed into her bottom. When this was full she needed to suck to free space in the bum bags and then her bottom would drain into them and the whole process would start again. Charity realised that drinking from her own bottom was to be a feature of her life for many years to come.

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Doll Wife: Part 8

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The church fete was the main social event in the village and as her husband was one of the most prominent citizens, they were both expected to attend. So it was that Charity was dressed in her full regalia – albeit without the breathing hood which Harry had considered may shock some of the ladies at the event – and they went off to the field where the event was held.

It was trying in all manner of ways for Charity. First of all, the field was most uneven and wearing her ballet boots she found it exceptionally hard to balance, leaning on her husband for support all the while. Plus the exertion of walking round all the bric-a-brac and cake stalls whilst her spouse held polite conversation with the vicar and local notables was most tiring and her legs ached after only a few minutes. But the biggest shock of all was when they entered the large marquee where the teas were being served and she came face to face with someone whom she had never expected to see at all.

Herself.

When I say ‘herself’, I don’t mean the old Emily Carter but instead her new self, Charity Clayhanger. But I don’t mean the doll wife Charity Clayhanger but instead a real, flesh and blood Charity Clayhanger, there in front of her, on the arm of another man. As their faces met she gave a gasp beneath her suit and would have fallen were it not for Edwin’s firm grip. And judging by the reaction of the other Charity Clayhanger, she was just as surprised!

“Edwin! What…?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Baines!” exclaimed Edwin cheerily, “What a pleasant surprise! How are you both? But first, please, let me introduce my wife, Mrs. Clayhanger. Charity darling, these are Samuel and Charity Baines, both childhood friends of mine.”

Charity the doll curtsied but Charity the woman merely looked aghast. “But Edwin, she’s…”

“…a doll? Yes indeed, I have a doll wife. I appreciate that this might surprise you; I must admit that it was never a turn in life that I expected to take but a friend suggested it and do you know what, we are both exceptionally happy together. You really should have considered it, Sam old chap.”

Sam Baines looked as if he did not know where to put himself. Charity Baines on the other hand, seemed now to have completely recovered her composure. “Edwin, it was not the fact that she is a doll that surprised me; you and a doll wife would always have been an ideal match in my eyes, but the fact that she is… she is me!”

“Well yes, I can see how that might be a bit of a shock, but I needed someone to base her upon and who better than my oldest and dearest female friend? I’d have thought you’d have seen it as a compliment.”

“A compliment, why to have a human being encased in latex and…”

But she never finished her sentence for her husband took her by the arm and said, “Now, now Charity dearest, decorum. Listen Edwin old chap, I think you and I need a word… in private. We can leave the ladies here for they must be tired with all this strolling around and we can have a wander.”

“Excellent idea old chap.”

And so it was that one Charity found herself sat opposite the other, engaging in conversation as ladies do. Except that this conversation was all one-way.

“You poor thing,” exclaimed the real Charity, putting her gloved hand on the rubberised arm of her doll copy. “You poor, poor thing! I know that there is no law against it but to think that he did that to you.” The Charity doll looked back at her with a vacant smile. “I can’t believe that he chose to make his doll wife a copy of me. Well… I can believe it, the fiend! He always wanted me, right from when we were teenagers. We were practically engaged and he always talked as if our marriage was a foregone conclusion. Perhaps then it was; after all, who else is there in this village of his standing and stature? But how could I marry a man who views women as mere objects, chattel, dolls…? It was an offer I couldn’t turn down, only postpone. Until Sam moved back into the hall of course, after all his years in Europe, and I caught his eye. When he proposed I snapped his hand off. Your Edwin was distraught of course; he always did love me in his own way; but I never thought that if he could not have me in the flesh, he would recreate me in another way, in this sick and perverted fashion. Oh you poor thing, you poor, poor thing!”

When her husband told her the story that evening it was very different. He admitted to being hopelessly in love with the real Charity and that she had returned his affection, or so he thought, but merely she had been a gold-digger, stringing him along until someone richer – like the excessively wealthy Sam Baines – came along. “I was devastated when I heard that they were to wed, I couldn’t leave my room for a week,” he confessed, “but do you know what, time has taught me that I was the lucky one. She never lived up to the ideal that her pretty face suggests, whilst you my darling are silent, submissive and pure, everything that a wife should be. Sam allows her too much freedom, he really does and he shall come to regret it, he really shall!”

That night as she lay stretched-out spread-eagle on the bed, her husband made love to her with a vigour that she had never previously experienced, shouting out her name at the top of his voice as he exploded within her rubberised hole.

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Doll Wife: Part 7

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She descended the stairs, her gorgeous dress sweeping the steps and was led to the dining room where her husband sat at one end of the table and a place was prepared for her at the other. Although she had accepted that a degree of the doll life would be continuing for her now that she was married, this sight rose her hopes that she might at least get proper meals, all be they liquidised ones. However, when her spouse began to speak, she realised that such was not the case.

“My dear Charity, good morning and don’t you look so radiant today. I have so long waited for this moment, when we can dine together as husband and wife. I thought that it would come many years ago but alas, that was not to be but even so, here we are at last. Now, your former headmistress has told me all about the unusual diet which you were kept on at school and indeed, it seems to have done wonders for you so I have decided that I don’t want my little dolly wife to forget all that she has learnt and so I have decreed you carry on in the same fashion for your breakfast and lunch each day, but for dinner, that being the special meal of the day as it were, we can have something different. However, as we are now united in the eyes of God, it is only right and proper that we share everything, so I have asked the cook to prepare you a tasty breakfast, three parts God’s water and one part mine laced with all the vitamins and nutrients that the doctor assures me you need to stay in your current radiant condition. Does that please you Charity?”

Please her? Did it? Not really, since she really longed for some of the milk he was drinking, but the doll mind was so engrained in her now that she merely nodded mechanically which caused him to smile. “Charity, oh Charity, you are a delight! I must thank Mr. Cartwright for suggesting I take a doll wife instead of chasing after shadows! I’d never considered it before you know; you shall soon learn my former plans, but he came to me, said that he had been landed with a ward who was neither intelligent nor pretty but who could be moulded into a doll for a reasonable bride price and I thought, why not? If I can’t have Charity one way, I’ll have her the other and here you are!”

A maid approached with a large four pint porcelain bowl with a lid on the top and a rubber tube leading out which was attached to her gag. Dutifully she sucked as he husband explained her new life. It was much diluted but the taste was still strange, not being her own and she realised how unnatural it now felt for her to be drinking someone else’s water.

“My dear, I’m afraid I’m a rather busy man what with the company to look after and all, so you’ll be without me all day and also for periods when I leave on business trips but I have been assured that your training at school has helped prepared you for such waiting. Whilst I am away I shall arrange some permanent enclosure so that no one may be tempted to violate whilst I am not here, but whilst present I wish access so that I can fulfil my duties to you as a husband. You will be pleased to know that you will be living as a lady, a lady of leisure and that requires a monoglove at all times when I am not present although in the evening I shall enjoy the touch of your mittened hands. I believe you have been trained in such garments so I imagine that is no problem for you. Anyway my love, this house is yours, you are mistress now and I am sure you shall love each and every day spent here!”

But did Charity love each and every day? It is hard to say. Certainly they were largely the same; each like that first one. After breakfast Harry had gone off to his work and she had been laced into an unforgiving monoglove with a tiny bell attached to the end. It caused her arms to ache and go dead but whenever she needed something she could ring the bell and a maid would come. She then went to the ladies’ sitting room where she sat on a couch and waited. Her bladder was getting full now from all the liquid she had consumed and so she let loose and it flowed into the black bag under her bottom, causing the pee to slosh about. Her maid asked her if she wanted tea which she did and a pint of liquid was brought to her which she sucked up. She sat for a while but she was bored in the sitting room so she went out into the garden. However, to go out there her husband had decreed that her rubber skin needed extra protection so a rather strange extra layer was added; a transparent full head latex hood with only a small hole for breathing and then an enormous summer bonnet over that which gave her tunnel vision. Wearing this hood was one of the most terrifying experiences of her life. It reduced her vision – which was pinhole anyway – with only the near ground being clear and the distance fading into a haze of latex but more than that it only had a tiny hole to let air in and when she breathed it closed around her face, only expanding like a balloon again as she exhaled. At first she was scared she would suffocate but slowly she realised that she would not die in it but her air was now stale as it was mostly recycled and she really had to labour her breaths to get any into her lungs. Nonetheless, strange as this may sound, it also excited her somewhat down below and she wished at that moment for her husband to service her.

She sat for around an hour in the garden, all her efforts expended on the hood which sucked in front of her face with a scrunching sound and then blew out again with another scrunch. Then her maid arrived and told her that she had a visitor, a local lady wishing to offer her congratulations on her marriage and so she returned to the sitting room where the bonnet and hood were removed and her breathing became clearer again.

The lady in question was one Arabella Montague, the wife of a local landowner who was friendly with her husband and, to Charity’s surprise, also a doll. She was dressed in a ridiculous pink confection and also had her arms strictly laced into a monoglove that matched her dress. They could of course, not communicate at all, but their maids did it for them. Her maid thanked Mrs. Montague for her visit and informed her that she was enjoying married life. Mrs. Montague’s maid then said that her mistress was well and had brought some magazines for her to read. These turned out to be copies of a publication called ‘Doll Monthly’ and were dedicated to women living as doll wives. Her maid offered tea and two pints of liquid were brought and tubes attached to their mouths. Then reading stands were brought and set up in front of the ladies and together they perused the magazines. The articles were all about women living as dolls, different doll fashions, waste recycling, liquidised food ideas – most dolls it seemed, were not fed primarily on urine – and meal hints; restraints, rubber underclothing, doll schooling and the like. There was a large feature on husbands who regularly changed their doll wives’ faces and Charity wondered if Harry would ever do that for her. Then, after an hour or two, Mrs. Montague left and Charity retired for dinner, another two pints of diluted pee with vitamins. By this time, on top of her breakfast, she had consumed four pints and had been peeing herself regularly, the liquid collecting in her bag which was now forming a rather sloshy cushion for her to sit on. The afternoon followed a similar pattern but with no visits and by the end the bag was full to bursting and she was sat quite high on her new, self-made pee cushion.

At six Harry returned and went straight to greet her. He kissed her on her rubber cheek then went to his armchair, sat down, asked her to kneel in front of him. Then he opened his trousers, got out his manhood and got her to suck him to climax whilst he stroked her wig lovingly. Then they retired to the dining room for dinner which, as promised, was a different kind of food for Charity. That evening it was a kind of pumpkin soup placed in a large bowl which she sucked up eagerly, delighting in the exquisite taste after such different fayre all day, looking into Harry’s eyes and realising that she loved her new husband very much for caring so much about her. Then they retired to the drawing room, he unlaced her monglove, sat her on his knee like a little girl and told her a story whilst caressing her miniscule waist and huge breasts before she was taken by the maid up the stairs, stripped of her clothing, had her bag removed, (it’s contents saved for future meals), and fastened on the bed again waiting for her husband. This time though, she was not laid out like a starfish, but instead on her front with her legs attached to the bottom posts, but her arms held behind her in a single sleeve. Cushions and pillows were placed under her so that her rubberised bottom, so long the source of all her nutrition, was presented lewdly in the air. Harry soon came, whipped out his manhood, lubed it thoroughly and then proceeded to take her anally pumping in and out quite painfully, filling her hole completely before finally depositing copious quantities of his seed in there and plugging it off, then turning her over and refastening her in the spread-eagle position before relieving himself in her mouth again, kissing her goodnight, wishing her sweet dreams and going to sleep. To us that may sound terrible, but we have not been trained at St. Werburgh’s Finishing School for Young Ladies and for Charity her prime emotion at that time was of adoration for the man who had demonstrated so clearly that she excited him, that he wanted her.

And such was the life of Charity the doll, day after day, each much the same as the last, continuing ad infinitum until the day of the church fete.

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Doll Wife: Part 6

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Finally the day of the wedding came. Emily was awoken early and dressed in a tight corset that was laced steadily down. Beautiful white stockings were fitted to her rubberised legs and then stunning white ballet boots. Her bottom hole was plugged with an ivory plug and then dozens of frilled petticoats fitted. Her corset was tightened again so that she fainted and after she was brought round another round of lacing began whilst long gloves were fitted over her rubber hands. Then came the enormous crinoline and stunning dress and finally veils, seven of them in silk that blinded her completely. There she stood, silent, gasping for breath, blind and a vision of virginal beauty. Slowly she was led away to the service.

The service was torture. She had to stand and kneel totally blind, fighting to stay conscious and suck air into her tortured lungs. However, two points she did remember clearly. The first was when the priest announced her new name: “Do you Charity Emily Carter take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband…?” Charity. She was to be Charity from now on! And the second moment was when he lifted all those veils to kiss her rubber face. She was surprised: her new spouse was a youngish man, only a little older than her Emily self, and not ugly. She felt his lips kiss the rubber and thanked God for relieving her from the clutches of Miss Parker.

Then came the meal with her guardian making a speech on her behalf and her new spouse extolling the virtues of a doll wife in his. Peering through her eyeholes she could see several other dolls in the crowd, silent and not eating and wondered if there was some kind of crowd which specialised in doing this to their wives and daughters. Still, whether there was or not, her training had taught her not to question, merely to be. She was a doll now, a doll wife and she needed know no more than that.

After the meal, Charity was led away from the table by a maid and up the stairs of her new mansion home. She arrived into a glorious bedroom with a fine four poster bed in the middle of it. The maid divested her of her heavy dress and then all her undergarments and then attended to her toilet. Empty and clean, she was led to the bed where she was lain out but then to her surprise, there came some unexpected extras. Her arms were stretched out to the top posts and cuffed there whilst her ankles were stretched to the bottom ones. She was lain spread-eagled, unable to move a muscle. Then the light was turned off leaving her almost totally blind. There she lay, panting in silence, waiting for her new husband not as a wife but as a passive love doll.

She waited and waited, for what seemed like an age but then she heard a door and felt a presence near her. “Charity! Charity!” said a male voice and someone climbed on top of her. He fiddled around her private parts and then she felt an erect penis enter her latex-sheathed hole. He pumped away and she tried to reciprocate but could only manage the slightest of movements. As he fucked her he caressed her hard narrow waist and her tender rubber-covered tits which hurt somewhat but she could do nothing to stop it. She longed to hold him in her arms as she’d imagined doing with a husband when she was younger but obviously dolls do not do that. As he worked away she compared the experience with her youthful fumblings with Johnny Baxter. In some ways this was far worse; she had no say in the matter, she was totally at his mercy, she was entirely passive, it was not romantic at all, not a meeting of two willing bodies, more a rape. Yet the virtual blindness, her sheer helplessness and her doll-like appearance in another way excited her, turned her on and made this special. The two experiences were from separate worlds just as she was no longer a living, breathing girl but instead an anonymous rubber love doll.

Once he had finished he lay on her a while panting and then climbed onto her face and his cock thrust through into her rubber-coated mouth. “I believe you like how this tastes,” he said to her and immediately warm pee started flowing into her mouth. She gulped it down obediently but gagged a little. His pee was not hers; it tasted of alcohol and smelt horrible. Hers was neutral and… well, her own. But she knew that she was his now and so she continued to swallow, tasting pee for the first time in weeks and when she had finished she sucked him dutifully dry.

In the morning Charity awoke with her new husband lying on top of her. He was snoring soundly but she could sleep no longer. She longed to wake him and perhaps enjoy some more intimate activity but of course she could not. She was a Charity doll now; all she could do was lie and wait. As she did her bladder filled and she longed to drain it but unlike in her days at the school she could not so she held it in. Eventually, after a couple of hours he woke. She was worried he would want to enjoy her hole again which would be difficult considering her need for the toilet, but he did not and instead climbed on her face again and this time used her mouth to relieve his tensions. He bounced up and down on top of her causing her to struggle to breathe, her enormous breasts bouncing up and down with each laboured breath but this only aroused him all the more until he exploded into her mouth. The sticky liquid that now graced her throat was a new sensation for her; somewhat salty and with a unique aftertaste and she realised at that moment that this would become a regular alternative to urine for her.

He left her, the semen still coating her mouth and after a few minutes her maid came. She took her to the bathroom and then attended to her toilet, emptying her full bladder and giving her a thorough enema but then, after plugging her bottom as before, a large, a catheter was inserted into her pee hole which was attached to an empty rubber bag which was fastened under her bum. No explanation was offered and Charity could hardly go ahead and ask so she just stood docilely whilst it was screwed into place and then the maid dressed her in copious silken underclothes that she’d have loved to have felt directly on her skin before then dressing her in her new attire as a wife. Unlike at the school, her dress was now the very opposite of plain, a glorious creation in yellow silk printed with tiny flowers and decorated with every manner of bow and frivolity. It had a high lacy collar and in her brown sausage curls little yellow ribbons were tied. The only disconcerting thing was that on her hands, already difficult to use since they were covered by two layers of rubber, padded mittens were tied so that they were rendered absolutely useless. Ballet boots were then laced to her feet and when she was led to the mirror she saw the image of a very girly, prissy young doll lady with a smiling face and not a care in the world. It was shockingly innocent, almost childish, yet at the same time the enormous globes of her heaving fake breasts and the minuscule waist hinted of a very adult alternative reality. That was Charity; that was her from now on.

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Doll Wife: Part 5

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Life continued in the same surreal fashion for Emily the Clarissa doll as the months rolled by. She had been told that she would stay in the school until her waist reached 15 inches and at first she tried to work it out at half an inch a week, but that time passed and she realised that the reductions were getting smaller as she neared her target. Certainly she felt them and was always gasping for breath. However, one day, after about six months she was summoned to Miss Parker’s office and the schoolmistress announced that she would be getting married in a month’s time but that first she would be going to hospital in order to have her marital improvements undertaken. Emily wondered what improvements could be done to someone who is totally sealed off from the world but then realised with joy that after marriage she would no longer be a pee-drinking rubber doll anymore. That surprised her a little when she thought of it for she had now got very used to her situation and the prospect of consuming anything other than her own waste was strange to her now. She recalled Miss Parker’s words about a doll-mind being formed and she realised that she was now passive and accepting of most things, including the fact that she would be taken to hospital to have her body altered without any consultation.

The next day she left and was transported to Gt. Ormond St. Hospital in a sealed car. This was the first time she’d left the school save to go to church, but with her blinding veil she saw nothing and after the car stopped she was led walking blind down several corridors and then ordered to sit in a chair. When her bonnet and veil were removed she discovered that she was in a private consulting room with a bed covered in white latex. Her maid undressed her and then removed her Clarissa costume. Stood in latex only she felt quite naked and emptied her waste into a bucket on the floor. Then her mouth tube was removed and the chloroform covered her nose.

Emily awoke aching and tired and with a blinding headache. She found herself strapped to a bed, covered in latex but not her Clarissa costume. There was a gag in her mouth but no tube connected to it and instead she was being fed by a drip into her arm. She tried to raise her head and see what had been done to her and when she did gave a small gasp of surprise. Fastened to her chest were two of the most enormous breasts that she had ever seen, each easily as big as her head! She shook her body and they jiggled beneath the latex but still stayed proud and alert. So, her new husband wanted her to have a massive bosom then! But what else?

Sometime later a nurse arrived. She smiled and said, “Glad to see you’re awake again Miss Carter. Those new breasts of yours are some of the largest we’ve done for a while but I’m sure they’ll please your husband. You’ll find them very hard and distended; he especially requested that I believe. What you won’t know that is that down below we’ve trimmed away some of your excess flesh petals to leave a smooth hole which is far more doll-like don’t you think? Anyway, I’ll be back regularly if you have any problems.”

Emily didn’t have any problems and besides, doll life had taught her just to lie and wait. She recovered in the hospital for about a week and at the end was able to feel her heavy new breasts with her latex-covered hands. They certainly were hard and round and looked completely fake but then again, she was half doll now anyway, was she not? At least she did not have to drink pee all the time now and everyday she was allowed to drink water and even juice which was a totally unexpected pleasure and like heaven for her.

When she came to move again, she found walking hard. Her breasts were very heavy and threw her whole body forwards. She had to spend hours practicing with the nurse before she could finally leave.

Emily was not taken back to the school but instead dressed in a different doll suit and removed to a hotel. This doll suit had no internal plumbing and so instead she had to use the toilet again like a normal person although there was still a plugs in her bottom hole to prevent accidents, her vagina, now freed of its excess flaps of skin was now left free, beyond the latex lining that penetrated it for a couple of inches. What was also different now was the mouth. Like before, this appeared like a pair of smiling lips, but inside it was very different, a ring keeping her teeth open whilst latex still coated the inside. However it also contained, just behind the teeth, an extra layer of rubber so that items could enter the mouth like her drinking pipe but were now harder to remove and had to be put in more deeply, coming out with a ‘Pop!’ when they did. What was also new was her face. Gone was the Clarissa doll and in her place a very realistic latex face of a young lady in her twenties with sweet brown eyes and long brown hair in ringlets. She was certainly very beautiful and Emily guessed that was why her husband had chosen it.

In that hotel she was laced into a longer corset and her training in walking continued. Then, two days later, a dress arrived, a glorious creation in white with a seven-foot wide crinoline, white silken gloves and lots of frills and bows. She was fitted into it and adjustments made and then stripped again.

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Doll Wife: Part 4

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Life at St. Werburgh’s Finishing School for Young Ladies was like a surreal nightmare for Emily. On that first day she had been taken to the room with the other dolls – or students which of course is what they were – and sat on a chair where she had stayed for hours, unable to move easily and instead just sweating profusely, breathing with great difficulty whilst all the while her pee circulated from her bladder to her bottom to her mouth and then back down to her bladder again. The only other activity was to watch the other dolls – who were all referred to as ‘Clarissa’ by the maid and Miss Parker – but they all had different numbers on their necklaces – and watch the clock tick by through her pinhole glass doll’s eyes. Then at five the maids entered and they all rose and trooped into the next room which was a large dining room. There they were all sat at a table with Miss Parker at the head. Everyone was served food, roast beef and vegetables which looked delicious, but of course only Miss Parker ate, for they had all already dined on quite different fayre. Then, after dinner they rose and returned to the sitting room for another hour, before being collected for bed at seven.

To reach her bedroom Emily had to climb two flights of stairs which was not easy in her ballet boots and rubber, not to mention the wide crinoline, but she got there with her maid’s help and found herself in a small box room with a trapeze. In the middle of the room she was then undressed back to her doll skin, shift and bloomers but that was all, and then was told to sit on the bed and the maid did something very strange and unexpected. She got a bowl and knelt at her charge’s feet and then fiddled around with her rubber skin under the ball of her foot. There was evidently some sort of opening or valve there and small holes in the latex body suit underneath for a flow of liquid was released into the bowl. “That’s nice and clean now isn’t it?” said the maid to her with a smile but Emily didn’t understand what she meant. But as she was repeating the process with the other foot, she realised; it was the sweat that had collected during the day; the maid was draining her costume! After this she was tucked into bed. However, her arms were then guided to the sides of the bed where they were cuffed whilst her legs cuffed at the foot. There was to be no attempt at removing her costume and after she was tucked in and kissed on her smiling rubber mouth by the maid, she had to just lie there and suffer until, after many hours, sleep eventually came.

The next morning she was awoken early and redressed in her uniform. Then she was led downstairs for a surreal breakfast with Miss Parker and the other dolls before then the morning lessons which were all about walking gracefully on the ballet heels. For over an hour they walked in circles around a yard whilst the maids helped them and Miss Parker maid comments and criticisms. It was hard and thirsty work indeed and the constant movement caused her to be continually leaking pee into her bottom but at the end she was much better at handling the boots and could walk unaided.

Then came a surreal lunch and after that another hour of lessons, this time in a classroom. Miss Parker wrote a passage on the blackboard and all the Clarissa dolls had to copy it on slates, not an easy task when your hands are covered with two layers of rubber and one of kid. The passage that they copied was about the role of wives with the ideal wife being silent and submissive to her husband. ‘Dressed like this,’ thought Emily to herself, ‘I don’t have much choice!’ Then they all retired to the sitting room again for several hours of watching and waiting. As she sat there drenched in her own sweat, her mouth tasting of pee, Emily started to pass the time by seeing how long she could hold her bladder and then how long she could hold her pee in her bottom. Strange as this might sound, the latter activity, although slightly painful, was beginning to excite her down below in a way that she thought was probably inappropriate, but with nothing else to occupy her time, she continued with it. Then after that it was dinner again, another hour in the sitting room and bed.

The days all followed exactly the same pattern except that the lessons were different on different days. She was trained in walking with ballet boots, wearing a monoglove and on what to expect when she became a wife. They watched a video of different improvements made to women, with some being given gifts of enormous bulging breasts or fat pouting lips. Watching this, Emily would have love to feel her own breasts but as her arms were firmly pinioned behind her in a tightly-laced monoglove at the time, then this was obviously not a possibility.

Things changed however, on Sunday, the day of rest. Ever since she’d been sealed into her Clarissa doll costume Emily had been looking forward to this as Miss Parker had told her that on Sundays the costume is removed. Also, as the week had passed she’d noticed a difference. Whereas at the beginning her pee had come regularly and she’d felt bloated, by the end of the week it was far smaller in volume and more acrid in taste. She guessed that this was due to the loss of liquid through sweat and she was desperate to fill up with clean water again, plus she also hoped that she may get some time out of her costume and perhaps even a meal to enjoy as well so Sunday was like a beacon of hope for her.

On Sunday morning she was awoken extremely early, about five, by her maid and, to her delight, stripped of her shift and bloomers and then her Clarissa doll suit. Standing there in all the clear latex, she felt a little cooler but not much different, but eager to undress further and feel the air of the outside world on her skin. Her maid got out a bowl, carefully un screwed her plumbing and told her to empty her bladder. This she did gladly and the pee that had been circulating through her body for an entire week was now all collected in the bowl. It was a rather dark green now, and she was glad to be rid of it but first she needed to taste some of the real pure water. However, instead of this, her maid instead took a damp pad from a box and held it over her nose. “Breath deeply,” she ordered. Emily did so but then immediately felt weak and dizzy. She realised it was chloroform. Within seconds her world had gone black.

When she awoke she found that she was lying on her bed. She was still dressed in all her clear latex but she felt different: drier and cleaner yet somehow tighter. She turned to look at her maid who was sat by her bed. “Ah, you’re awake, good. You have been out for over an hour. During that time I have undressed you, bathed you and given you a thorough enema. I bet you’re feeling fresh and clean now; you certainly were very dirty and smelly after a week in there. You’ve also been laced to new dimensions, an extra half an inch has gone from your waist and a quarter inch from your neck. This will continue until you are fifteen inches around the waist, the dimensions preferred by your husband to be. Now, we need to get you ready for church but here’s the bit I imagine you’ve been looking forward to: it’s time for your weekly drink!”

She produced a medical stand with a large gallon bag of clear liquid with a hose running out. This hose she attached to Emily’s gag and the confined girl began to suck eagerly. After a week of pee drinking this was heavenly, the most beautiful drink she had ever experienced, real amber nectar. After only a pint or two though she began to feel full but carried on sucking; she now knew the consequences of drinking too little! Finally it was finished, and the tube unplugged and replaced with her regular plumbing. She felt clean and good but at the same time devastated that she had not experienced life outside of her suit. As if reading her mind, the maid said, “Here at St. Werburgh’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, our students are not allowed to be conscious outside of their latex suits; it helps undermine the doll mind mentality that we are working so hard to achieve.”

After that she was sealed back into her Clarissa doll suit and then dressed in her uniform. Today though, since they were going to church, there was more. Her gloved hands were fitted into a muff which locked in place making it impossible to removed them and then a heavy cloak was draped over her and fastened up the front. Finally a large bonnet was fitted atop her head with a thick veil which rendered her blind. Then, fully dressed, she was led out of her room to church.

How long the walk was she could not say, for blinded it was impossible to measure time or distance but she reckoned only about half a mile or so. But in her rubber and ballet boots, weighed down by her cloak and blinded by her bonnet and veil, it was a real trial. As she shuffled along she realised that to the outside world she, and all the other students of St. Werburgh’s Finishing School for Young Ladies would appear as normal young ladies such as are to be found in any good school. No one would know that in fact they were forced to live as pee-drinking rubber dolls. As she walked the movement broke her bladder again and almost immediately she began to suck from her bottom. The taste was better now, less acrid and cleaner, but tinged with the harsh knowledge that she had a long time to wait before she could be refilled again.

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