Perfect Skin, Porcelain Skin

The small gray house was isolated in a small forest clearing and its windows, small and ornate, showed no sign of life. She presumed the back might be able to hold a garden but couldn’t tell from where she was standing. Her foot hit a rock as she approached, it didn't roll the ankle but the joint hurt. 

She cursed it's feeble design as she came up to the house’s wooden door and reached for the door knocker. The metal was cold to the touch as she used it three times. Chest seized, the Seeker waited for the Witch. Would she draw up and come to the door, or merely sic a beast on her? Was the Witch even here, or was this another trick, another false lead?

She reminded herself of the lines - oft practiced by her. Hoping. Praying. She hoped to trick the witch. Make them believe in her falsehoods. To deceive them with a tale ought not spoken by angel tongue. To make them vulnerable, open for attack. 

The door opened. The Seeker saw the witch. As she had expected, the witch was a tad older than her. Brown hair curled down their back to meet a slightly plump body. The witch greeted her with an inquisitive face. “And whom might you be?” The witch asked. 

The Seeker steadied herself carefully. She speaks in an unnatural cadence, wishing to mimic a stillness not within her. “I am a lost little doll. Could you help me ma’am?”

The Witch stared into the Seeker’s eyes. The stare was heavy, the eyes of the Witch a misty purple. The Seeker worried. Did they know she lies? Had they already seen through her? 

“Very well,” the Witch says,  “come on in. I'll make some tea and see if I can help you.”

The Seeker bowed, their lies were safe for now, “Thank you, miss.” 

She followed the Witch down the entranceway. She saw old books on bookshelves. Jars filled with glowing substances and ingredients for spells filled the abode. The air left a cool touch dancing around her fingers as she was led to an alcove with two seats. She performed a curtsey with a smile before taking a seat. The witch smiled back, and left her for a hearth in the center of the house.

She heard the sounds of a kettle over a fire. She wondered if she could get up and do her mission now. No, best to wait. She told herself the witch would be more vulnerable engrossed in conversation with the ‘doll’.

The witch returned with two mugs of tea. She laid a mug in front of the Seeker and sat opposite her.

“May I have the tea, Miss?” She asked, her tongue careful not to let the unnaturalness of a doll’s speech to her slip.

“Such a polite doll, yes you may.” The witch said with a smile. Her smile is pretty. 

The Seeker brought the tea to her mouth gingerly. She sipped it slowly with a deliberate stillness. It's bitter. “It's good Ma'am,” she told the witch.

“Is it?” The witch asked, raising her mug to sip the tea. She looks at the Seeker with the same inquisitive look she had at the door. The Seeker began to feel pounding in her chest.

“Yes, Madam.” She replied, sipping more. The drink felt more bitter on the second sip.

“Do you have an owner, little dolly?”

“No, I do not.”

“How do you know you’re a doll if you do not know your owner?” The witch asked incurious.

The Seeker sipped more tea. She wishes to buy herself time. She did not expect this question. 

“I am an object. I always have been. My purpose is to serve.”

The Witch sighs and places her tea down. “Of that little thing, there is no doubt. My question dear is do you know you’re a doll?”

The Seeker puzzled herself. She moved in her seat slightly, quickly returning to her artificial stillness. “This one does not understand miss.”

“You are a liar.” The witch stated. 

The Seeker became alarmed. She remained cautiously still, she could not be sure where this was going. Had her mask slipped, had she been caught in her lies? Should she move to destroy the witch now?

“A doll's purpose is to serve its owner, to be still when it is not needed. A doll is happiest when it is being used by its owner, perhaps happier than even the owner.” The witch said with eyes bright. “I’m not sure you know the pleasure of being a doll. The happiness. The freedom.”

The Seeker began to unfurl her wings from inside her body. A cautious step as the Witch drifted far beyond where she had expected the conversation to run. “What do you intend to do with me, Miss?” She asked.

“I intend to teach you, dear. Show you the truth of what you are.” The witch said, as she raised her cup and sipped from it.

The Seeker paid the witch’s words no heed. Her wings fluttered out and she could feel light within give her back her strength. She would strike the Witch down, and end the idea she could be a doll, no matter how appealing.

“I am an angel, meant to stop you. You know why I must do this, the crimes you have committed, witch.”

The witch finished her sip casually. “You are no angel, not anymore. Coming here sealed your fate. You shall be my doll.”

Suddenly, sharp threads emerged from the chair and wrapped around her. She struggled to move and found herself unable to do anything but be still for the witch. Her legs felt wet, she told herself it was the witch's magic.

The witch rose from the chair and went to the Angel. “You want me to touch you don’t you dear?”

“No,” the Angel reacted, as she struggled against her binds. It produced no fruit. 

“How long has it been since someone touched you?”

The Angel paused her struggle. She thought on the question. It had been years since she had felt another touch her body, even her hands. Serving others meant abandoning her own needs was a line she oft repeated to herself. So what if it made her miserable. 

“You’re not getting out of those binds. They’re made specially for things much stronger than a confused little dolly.” The witch gloated, a smirk on her face and a hunger in her purple eyes.

Would letting the Witch touch her really be so bad?

The Witch leaned down and rested her fingers on the Angel’s hands. The touch was pleasant, electric almost as she played with the Angel’s fingers. She moved her fingers lightly up the Angel’s arms in a slow dance. When she reached the shoulders she moved her fingers in a circle around each shoulder. The touch felt good, like finally drinking after being thirsty for years. 

“Please don’t touch me, I hate it.” The Angel begged, knowing the last statement was a lie. 

The Witch’s fingers traced up the Angel’s neck and jaw. The Witch tilted the Angel’s head up to look at her.

“No.”

The Witch continued to rub the Angel's body, giving her a light massage. Eventually, the fingers part from the Angel, causing her a mixture of disappointment and relief.

“Your body is not a doll’s yet, I’ll fix that, and then your mind toy. It’ll be so much easier for you to see you want me to do this that way.” The Witch said, as she pulled out a feathered pen. From the tip it leaked a glowing blue ink, magical no doubt. The witch grabbed the Angel’s hand and yanked it towards the implement. 

She pressed the nib deep into the Angel’s skin. The angel felt a harsh pain where the pen pressed down, depositing its cold blue ink. The Witch began to draw a circle with a detailed pattern. 

“Please stop! It hurts, Miss.” The Angel begged.

“No.”

When the circle completed, the ink glowed bright, and the Angel felt something begin to crawl under her skin. Transforming it into something new, something she did not recognize.

“This will give you the stillness you lack. Enough for me to fix the parts of you that lie and say you don’t want this, dear.”

The Angel tried to struggle against the foreign stillness pushing down on her. A stillness exactly like that they had failed to maintain early. Her attempts failed each time, she lacked the ability to move the joint without the Witch’s permission. Why did knowing that leave her feeling calm? Happy?

The Angel attempted to keep her spirit defiant as the Witch moved the pen to hover above the Angel’s elbow. 

“I’ll delay pushing this in if you answer truthfully. Why did you come to my cabin?” The Witch stated

The Angel bit her tongue and flapped her wings uselessly. The answer was obvious, was it not? She had come to slay the Witch and protect others. She had paid no mind to the rumors that a Witch could turn an Angel into a doll, right?

“To kill you.” 

The witch drove the metal tip into the skin around Angel’s elbow. Cold pain coursed from the angel’s elbow up to her shoulder and chest as the witch glided the point in a circle. The angel screamed and glared at the witch.

“You say that, and yet you didn’t strike me when you had the chance. You told me a story of being a doll. Think for your owner dear, would you really drink the tea of someone you meant to kill?”

The pen paused, giving the Angel a brief moment to think. Why did she drink the tea? Why did she come to the witch? 

The Witch flicked the pen up, adding a line to the circle. The angel saw it glow once again and could feel the joint change as the ink set in this time. The joint twisting and contorting into the shape of a ball joint like those found on a dollmaker’s toy. It felt so much better like this.

“I-I don’t know Miss.”

The Witch shifted to the Angel’s other wrist. The ink set in quickly, and the following transformation was much faster. The angel saw the glowing ink spread out across her skin. It sank in deep into the joint and slowly faded into a shiny pearlescent cream color. The Witch moved the Angel’s hand to feel the new skin. It was porcelain. 

“I think you wanted to be a doll but wouldn’t admit it yourself. You were jealous of the other dolls you’d see with perfect skin, perfect lives.”

Was she? She had felt so weird when saw another Witch’s doll for the first time. They were empty and still, dependent on their witch for agency. Did she want that? To have her light and will stolen by the Witch, and replaced with the Witch’s own?

“You want me to own you. To take from you what makes you you, and replace it with what I want. To mark you as mine, permanently.”

The witch grabbed the doll's leg and outstretched it. The metal tip touched the calf, the Angel saw the ink lap into her skin.

“It’s okay if you won’t admit what you clearly desire, I will make you my doll anyways.” The Witch said.

The Witch shifted the pen up to the Angel’s knee, sinking the tip in and repeating the process. “Look into my eyes, dear. I’ll make you happy as a doll. Being my toy will make you happier than you’ve ever been before with your old improper skin. Give in to me.”

The Angel went to move her wings, but stopped. She could fight, but the Witch would win. The Witch had won the moment the two of them had sat down. Struggling would only cause her more pain. It would anger the Witch. She was going to be a doll, the choice was already made for her.

The Witch lowered the Angel’s porcelain leg and raised the other. She pressed the pen into the other ankle. The cold metal tip no longer hurt but it still felt tender from her stumble earlierm. The witch repeated her process. Drawing a circle, followed by adding lines, making a drawing of a doll’s joint. 

The Angel saw the ink burrow into her skin. Feel the cold sink into her joint. It twisted before her eyes, morphing into a porcelain ball joint. It no longer hurt or felt tender. 

“This is what it always should have been.” The Witch instructs.

The Angel tried to internalize it. This is what her joints always should have been. 

The witch raised the pen to the knee. The last joint transformed without any mewling from the Angel. 

“Now Dolly, how can your Witch make you happy?” The Witch asked. 

The Angel struggled no further, it was pointless. “Please break me.” It begged.

The Witch picked up the Doll and laid it on the floor. She stripped the Doll and laid its wings gently by its side. Her pen traced and circled around the doll's shoulders, then hips. As the metal glided around her body against her will the doll smiled. Her will would fade soon. Her skin would all be porcelain soon.

The Witch did not cap the pen after she finished. The doll tilted her head and moved its mouth to speak before a finger was placed sternly on her lips.

“There is one last mark, with it I will own you for the rest of your existence.” The witch said as she adjusted the doll’s remaining clothes. She pulled the doll’s panties down. She strokes the doll's intimate parts, touching gently with one hand until it became the right size.

She undid her dress and straddled the Doll's hips. She lined up the doll's part with her pussy and slowly slid down it. The doll felt the Witch’s wet flesh wrap around her tightly, taking it for all it could give her. The Witch smiled wide as she heard the Doll mewl beneath her, baring her teeth. 

The witch then began to move her body around the doll’s shaft. She was slow at first, the doll knew this was not for its sake. The witch took the pen and lowered it to the doll’s chest. The metal connected and the doll felt the cold ink stain its skin again. It swished, leaving a cold trail of ink that sank and bled into her. A circle was created but no lines were added. 

The Doll tries to gather its thoughts as she moans from the Witch's grinding. She isn't changing. She hated that she remained unchanged. Despite the ink’s power the doll doesn't feel any effects. She remains unchanged. She hates that she hasn't changed. The doll meets the witch’s eyes.

“You are a small helpless thing, bound to a responsibility that you never asked for. You need me to take away from you everything you call yours. To break you until I find a purpose for a broken little doll like you.” The Witch said as she began to move up and down the Doll.

The Doll doesn’t respond, she knows she isn’t meant to. She feels pleasure rush from her tip down into the rest of her body. A voice inside her tells her to resist, to try and rebel against the witch’s might. Her pinned hands limply struggle to move for a moment.

The witch stopped moving, her eyes locked with the doll’s. The doll could see red fury at her resistance. “I was hoping you’d give in like a good dolly, yet you still resist what I give you. Fine, make that choice.” The witch scolded.

The witch lurched over and drew her sharp teeth into the doll's neck. Pain shot through the doll, her newly given joints buckled and twisted. Her neck burned as the teeth sank in, deep enough to pierce and cause white icor to lap in the Witch’s mouth. The doll struggled to think.

Then the witch moved, no longer gentle or kind. She claimed and seized what she wanted from the doll. Loud slaps sounded from the doll’s pelvis. Her shaft felt good, subsumed in the mass pressing into her on all sides. Pain and pleasure mixed and swirled in the doll's thoughts.

The witch left her neck, planting a sweet kiss. She pressed against the doll as she slammed her hips down, touching her clit to heighten her own pleasure. The Doll moans beneath her, wings flapping frantically. 

She begins her movement again. The Doll sees the Witch cup her hands against her cheeks, a mix of predatory pride and feral hunger on her face. Her eyes alight in a roaring purple fire directed at its weak porcelain form.

The Witch slams down against the doll as she goes in for another bite. The Doll mewls in pain and pleasure. Once done biting the Witch licked from its clavicle to just before its ear. She whispered to the doll, then bit against its ear. “Let me have you. Give up the responsibility you never wanted. Be still at last.”

The doll crumbled. Wings receded back into her, never to be unfurled again. Her hips buckled, moving to match the Witch’s as their hands intertwined. She orgasmed as the witch enveloped her, body and mind.

The witch once again touched the pen to its belly and drew a rune of bondage. The Doll felt her body morph. Flesh gave way to pristine and supple porcelain skin. Her blemishes and imperfections were removed, besides two pretty marks on her neck. The mark that showed she was claimed. As the transformation reached her core, she felt a pleasure well up, concentrating on what was inside her Witch.

The witch moved all the way up the doll’s shaft, leaving it exposed to the air for moments, before slamming back down. The doll spilled her light out into the witch for a second time that day. She smiles as she felt it leave her, never to return. 

She looked up at her witch. The Witch’s gaze met hers. It knew what it should say.

“Thank you, Mistress.”