Chapter 5: Finishing Touches

Catherine wasn’t sure how long she’d been a happy doll sitting on her bed, but when the world came back into focus it was hard for her to feel quite as horrible about that as before. It wasn’t her choice to simply… drift away… but it wasn’t so bad, either.

What would I have been doing…? Bronwen was done with me, and that meant there was nothing left for me to do… or… was she…? Was I… even… Catherine clenched her thighs around the featureless mound nestled between them. Was I even present when she was here if she didn’t want me to be…? She was talking to me, she was touching me, changing me, but I don’t… I don’t think I said a word to her on my own…

She quivered, her chest feeling so flush. Her nipples throbbed at her chest, but they didn’t feel any different than they had a moment before. They felt so much stiffer than they usually did, but Catherine knew a good reason why they wouldn’t be softening any time soon.

I don’t think I did anything on my own… and I don’t think I wanted to…

Her hands idly felt over the coverings of the bed on either side of her before Catherine sighed. It wasn’t a sad sigh, either. She was calm and happy. Bronwen was making her into a perfect dolly, and that made her feel so pretty. Catherine had always been a cute enough woman, but being a pretty dolly felt so different.

“I’m a good dolly!”

Saying the words without expecting them made Catherine smile.

Being a pretty dolly left no room for her to feel anything but confident about how good she looked. Being a polite dolly left no room for her to doubt which actions she should perform and which opportunities she should allow to pass her by. All of those worries were out of her hands. She simply had to be a good dolly—and that was what she was by default.

Her pussy was gone, and Catherine still felt aroused, so aroused, but she didn’t need to worry about solving it. If anything, the heat she felt all over her body was a nice sensation to enjoy as she fluttered her eyes and let the world drift along without her.

Bronwen makes me feel so good… every time I see her… I feel more like I know…

“Bronwen is always correct…!”

Saying the words, hearing them, Catherine wasn’t sure which felt better but that wasn’t something she needed to worry about. Both experiences were simultaneous, and one necessitated the other. She didn’t even need to worry about hearing or saying those words too much and feeling them become stale. She wasn’t the one who decided when they came out from her lips.

Bronwen decided that, and she didn’t feel the need to reiterate that truth. It was still soaking through her brain, granting Catherine a supernatural calm. She could have laid back on the bed, her head on the pillow, but that would have meant taking an action on her own.

Why would I need to move… When I could just stay still and be a good dolly…?

“I’m a good dolly!”

Her thoughts were slow and languid, but those words were firm and insistent. Catherine’s perceptions themselves were slowed, not concerned with keeping track of anything moment to moment, but her voice was strong for her owner’s pleasure. Every time she spoke those words it was important they carried the same eager joy they had the first time.

That was what Bronwen wanted, so that was what Bronwen deserved.

Sometime later the wave of submissive bliss passed Catherine by, and she mewled at its loss. Her eyes drifted down to her hands and marveled at how it felt to rub her fingers together.

“Plastic… I’m really plastic… like a doll—I’m a good dolly!” Catherine’s eyes rolled back into her head, and her mouth fell open as she let out a low, quiet moan. “Mmm… I never wanted plastic surgery but being like this… it’s really nice. My body is being perfected, and all I need to do is just… let it happen!”

Squealing to herself, Catherine collapsed back onto the bed. She didn’t bother to move so her head would be on a pillow, but she did lay on her back with her legs dangling over the side. Idly her feet kicked back and forth, but it was less an intentional motion than some long forgotten instinct coming back to the forefront. She was happy, and that happiness was tingling through every part of her being down to an atomic level.

“I can’t wait to see what she wants me to look like when I’m finally perfect—The shape of my body is for you to decide!” She moaned again, her eyes falling shut. “Ohhh… I’m just a dolly, and she’s… she’s my owner, she’s in control she’s… she’s… You’re the one that matters!”

The arousal was too much for Catherine to resist.

She knew she couldn’t cum, knew there was no relief for her to find, but it didn’t matter. Her hands stroked over her clothed breasts, savoring how firm they felt under her dress. While she didn’t try exceptionally hard, she found that touches that before would have made her breasts distort into any manner of new concave shapes offered nothing but the convex curves. Her nipples were hard plastic points reaching out through her bra and her dress, but they felt like that was their natural state now—hard, firm, and plastic.

“Ohhh… Yesss… I’m so… so… Plastic…!” Catherine whined, her hands trailing down her body until they were able to clumsily lift her skirts. “Oh and if my breasts feel like that… I want to know… need to know… how does it feel… down here…”

Sure enough, sliding her fingers down under the lace of her panties revealed the smooth mound that before was flesh was now as plastic as her fingers or her bust. No matter how hard she pressed it was unyielding and unnatural. It marked her as something inhuman, someone whose lust could not be fulfilled while having a body that would be fun to gaze at, to play with—just not designed with Catherine’s pleasure in mind.

“You’re the one that matters! Ohhhh… You’re the only one that matters, Bronwen…!” Catherine’s voice shuddered. “Wish you could… be here… to play with me… use me… lonely but… I know that’s fine… dolls don’t need to be played with all the time… nnnn…!”

Catherine’s voice caught in her throat, and her hips moved in only the most minimal of ways. Attempting to embrace the empty, vapid nature of her doll state, of allowing the world to drift around her, was so much sexier than it was to rub herself. Stroking over her doll flesh, over her plastic mound, was a leftover of behaviors that weren’t yet worked out of her system.

It was unimportant, but Catherine lacked the volition to fight against the desires to touch herself.

So… horny… so… Mmmm want Bronwen to play with me, want her to use me… To make herself cum… just to… kiss me… Her eyes fluttered, her thighs clenching uselessly around her hand. No one kisses like she does…! Her kisses make everything so… tingly… so warm… so… perfect… want her… want her to want me, want… need…!

Wish Holly could be here to feel this with me…!

Breathlessly screaming, less even sounds than gasps and sharp exhales desperate to communicate her bliss, Catherine agonized on the edge of an orgasm that would never come. Before she could lament the absence, before some lingering part of her could regret…

It was easier to let the world move around her, and her hand fell from between her legs. Her body didn’t need to move. She didn’t need to move. All she needed to do was smile.

“I’m a good dolly!”

Good dolls always smile… Good dolls just need to be pretty and happy, waiting to be used… Even if Catherine’s thoughts would have moved more swiftly, it was simply so much easier and better to feel everything drifting around her than it would have been to worry about what happened to her.

Smiling was enough of a task to occupy Catherine as the moments, then minutes, slipped away. Her arousal didn’t fade, but her need to interact with it was long gone. She would still be aroused when Bronwen arrived, and would be more than happy to be used or please her owner, but it wouldn’t bother her if Bronwen just wanted to brush her hair, put her in another dress, or anything else.

Catherine was a dolly, and that meant being blissfully content laying back and waiting for her owner to be ready to play.

Minutes or hours—possibly even days later—the door to her room slid open. Catherine did nothing to react. Remaining immobile, not needing to breathe, not needing her heart to beat, barely needing to do anything at all, was so much more erotic and rewarding than any human action could have been.

“Oh my! Looks like you were naughty again… but how can I blame you?” Bronwen giggled as she closed the door behind her. Yellow eyes shined behind the bangs of her red hair, peering across the room to savor the sight of Catherine’s spread legs, lifted skirts, and slightly-arched back. “You have such a fun plastic body now!”

Her eyes never left Catherine’s body as she slowly stepped closer. Her smile grew with every step, her eyes widening as if to take in more and more of the sight. Between another blink her eyes shifted to red, and her tongue reached out to wet her lips.

“Wasn’t I right when I said that this was exactly what you should be?”

There wouldn’t have been time for Catherine to even gasp before the words spilled out from her smiling lips. “Bronwen is always correct!”

Bronwen clapped her hands together, wiggling her hips as she nodded her head. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear! You’re a much more polite dolly now… and you know, I think that I’m realizing what I missed—it’s a crucial detail. There are a few others here or there I’m still debating—do you really need nipples?—but there’s something vital that we need to solve.

“You don’t have a name!”

Catherine mewled in confusion. She had a name, or at least she was certain she used to have a name before Bronwen insisted otherwise. It was impossible for her to struggle or resist, but she was too deep in the river of doll space bliss to even try remembering what it might have been. She was now a nameless doll, her mouth hanging open as though the revelation stole something deeply important from her but she lacked the capacity to even express her loss.

“We really should give you one… I could have asked you for your old one—but whatever it was, it wasn’t the name I gave you, and that’s important!” Bronwen’s eyes hooded as she sat on the bed next to her dolly, her fingertips stroking idly along an exposed thigh. “There are so many names we could give you…!

“I’ve always been a fan of Leisha, you know…” A fingertip reached up and flicked one of Catherine’s ringlets. Though it was just a coiled lock of hair, the touch was from her owner, and that was enough reason for Catherine to clench and groan. “But you really aren’t a Leisha, are you? Hmm…”

Bronwen’s eyes shifted to green as she blinked. Her nails made their way up under Catherine’s skirt, tracing a curious path along the very tops of her thighs before curving their path towards Catherine’s dry, smooth panties. More aroused, and feeling more the perfect doll as a result, Catherine’s body remained uselessly limp. Fully grasped by her state of submissive doll-surrender.

“Gwendolyn…? No… No…!” Bronwen huffed as she traced a finger right along where Catherine’s slit would have been if she still possessed functional genitals. Instead, her finger simply stroked along smooth, flawless plastic. “You would think this would be easier. I have so many dollies, after all… Not just every woman makes the perfect doll, either, so it’s not like I’ve run out of names… Hmm… Nenetl is nice and all but—

“Dorothy!”

Bronwen’s eyes flickered to red, and she leaned down to melt her lips into Catherine’s. It was a brief kiss, but the bliss it illuminated through Catherine’s distant consciousness was immense. Anchored to reality by Bronwen’s presence, nothing existed but her owner’s obvious delight. “You… are Dorothy! Whatever, whoever you were before? Forget it. You’ve always been a Dorothy, I just needed to find it inside of you, and now you can be a happy, pretty, lovely little Dorothy forever! It’s the most perfect name for you, isn’t it? Isn’t it what you’ve always been named, deep down inside?”

“Bronwen is always right!”

Dorothy spoke the words even louder than she might have otherwise. It was impossible for the doll to climax, or to feel any relief from her lust or the tormenting need it drove through her body. Knowing so deeply that she was pleasing Bronwen, that her very nature was what her owner wanted to find, it felt like something so much better than any physical pleasure ever had.

Made her happy… Catherine would have sighed, but Dorothy remained silent and motionless. Smile… Smile and be a happy, pretty doll… Nothing important in my mind… nothing at all…

Your Dorothy… always been Dorothy…

Deep…

Down…

Dorothy could have spoken those words, could have insisted how much truth she felt in Bronwen’s words, but that felt wholly irrelevant and unimportant. Bronwen knew what she needed to know—that Dorothy was her devoted, obedient doll. Nothing she could do would prove that more than her utter lack of reaction or insistence on anything besides waiting for her owner’s whims.

Catherine had been a person, once.

Dorothy had always been a doll.

“I am! I am always right…!” Bronwen kissed her doll again, savoring her motionless lips and her immobile body as her fingers grasped and squeezed at the many hard, plastic curves of her toy. “I’m always right, and you’re always a good dolly!”

“I’m a good dolly!”

Bronwen waited until Dorothy finished speaking before kissing her again, her tongue thrusting in again to stroke wet and dominant over Dorothy’s hard plastic tongue. There was no magic to make Dorothy somehow more plastic, but it was unnecessary. Her eyes no longer needed to close. Her skin was shiny and smooth. Her eyes were empty. Her hair was immaculate.

Dorothy was the perfect doll.

When the kiss broke, Bronwen purred huskily into her doll’s ear. “I’m going to spend all night putting you in different dresses, different jewelry… touching up your makeup… but I think this look is going to be my Dorothy’s ‘default look’! We just need to make sure you have a special outfit for the ball, or for any special holidays, or, or…”

Just as Dorothy was content to lay back immobile, speechless, a puppet never given any strings, Bronwen was overflowing with energy and excitement. Dorothy was more than happy to be dressed up, dressed down, or used in any way Bronwen wanted.

That was her purpose, and she was so grateful to Bronwen for making this her life.