Playing with Dolls

By Orestes

orestes007@hotmail.com
ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Orestes

***
 This work is copyright (c) 2000 by Orestes. You may  
download and keep copies for your personal use as long 
as all author related information and this paragraph 
remain on the copies. I don't mind if you send it along 
to a friend, repost it to an appropriate newsgroup, or 
post it to your adult-oriented web site, so long as you 
don't charge money for any of these activities. No 
alteration of the contents is permitted.
***

Dear sir,


   I feel silly writing this, and I'm not sure why I'm 
doing it. When I talked to the receptionist in your 
Minneapolis sales office, she suggested that I should 
put my feedback in writing. I don't know if I ever 
really intended to give feedback at all. I just noticed 
the office phone number for the first time today and 
decided to call. I probably should have noticed it 
before, because I've had Arlene for a while, and have 
undressed her many times.

   There I go again. I feel completely silly. I've 
named her "Arlene". As a guy, it's bad enough that I'm 
admitting to having one of your dolls, but the truth 
is, I've also named her, bought her clothing, and given 
her a whole personality of her own. 

   I didn't buy Arlene in a store. That detail seemed 
important to me for a while when I first started 
playing with her. At least I hadn't actually gone to 
the girl's section of the local toy store, and chosen 
the one with the prettiest bows in her hair.

   Hell, I'm not that much of a sissy.

   Your receptionist told me that it was really 
important to include every detail, no matter how small. 
I guess it's important for your market research or 
something. I'll try to be complete, and please don't be 
upset if some of the details are a bit... well, 
personal. I just really want to do a good job of this 
letter, and I don't feel like I could leave anything 
out.

   At first when I received the package with Arlene in 
it, I was a bit concerned. The sender was Mike Robey, a 
photographer I'd worked with on several occasions. I 
had visited his apartment the previous week, and I had 
been nervous about hearing from him ever since. I was 
expecting an angry phone call, or even a few lame 
attempts to have me fired from my position at the 
magazine. What I wasn't expecting was a doll.

   You see, he wasn't home when I last visited his 
place, but I met a girl there. I should've walked away 
right then, but she told me that she was expecting Mike 
to call, and I really needed to talk to him about a 
deadline he was treading dangerously close to. 

   Just thinking about how to write it down, I realize 
that the rest of my visit really sounds like something 
out of a typical male fantasy, like a Penthouse letter 
or something. The girl was named Ashley, and she looked 
like every one of the waifish sixteen year old models 
that Mike made his living photographing. And like each 
of the models I've ever met, this girl had been pumped 
full of "attitude" by agents and clothing designers.

   I had interrupted Ashley during her half-grapefruit 
breakfast, which, in a nutshell, was the weird part 
about the whole thing. I couldn't figure out how any 
up-and-coming model would end up having breakfast so 
scantily dressed in Mike Robey's apartment. Not only 
was he a second rate photographer, but he was 
chronically shy. Sure, he'd told me about his 
infatuation with girls like Ashley before, but I'll be 
honest that I never thought he had a shadow of a chance 
with these girls. 

   So I sat near the window, waiting for Mike to call 
back from wherever, and wondered how he managed to 
score with a girl so obviously out of his league as 
this one. Like any guy who's telling it honestly, I was 
tracing the outline of her nipples through her T-shirt, 
and hoping to catch a nice view of her ass as she 
padded about the kitchen in bare feet. 

   Then it got really weird. The hair on the back of my 
neck stood up when she gave me an appraising look, and 
decided to have sex with me.

   " Ronnie, why don't you come upstairs with me while 
we wait ?, " she asked. Except it wasn't really a 
question. It was like she was booking a quick session 
with her hair stylist or masseuse. In her self-centred 
reality, she simply expected everyone to go along with 
her whims. Ronnie. Ugh! Nobody calls me that except my 
little sister.

   The shame of it is, usually when people have that 
much attitude, they're right. People do jump to their 
commands. I followed closely behind her, my heart 
beating out of my chest, knowing the whole time that 
I'd probably catch trouble for it from Mike later on. 

   As soon as we were in Mike's bedroom, she crawled up 
onto the bed. The pose she took would have looked more 
fitting on the plastic women who work for Los Angeles 
porn films than on a the skinny little frame of a 
teenage fashion model. She looked over her shoulder, 
with her tail in my direction, and the loose T-shirt  
hanging low enough to give me a view of her pointed 
little breasts.

   " Do I seem like a stuck-up little bitch to you ?" 
The question hit me from out of nowhere. The soft 
hairless area surrounding her pussy was exposed by the 
revealing cut of her panties. Form this point of view, 
she didn't seem nearly as full of herself as she had a 
few minutes before.

   " Oh, c'mon Ronnie. Admit it. You think that I'm an 
arrogant, self-centred girl, just like every other 
model you've met. "

   " I might have thought..." I tried to dodge.

   " Please, " she whispered, running her fingers along 
the waistband of her panties, " call me a stuck-up 
bitch. Tell me how nice it'll be to teach me some 
manners. "

   Who talks like that ? It was like a bad movie 
script. I was more than willing to play along, though. 
I was beginning to see how Mike had made ground with 
this one. If she enjoyed being humbled in the bedroom, 
what better target could there be than a second-rate 
photographer with a four inch dick (okay, that's just 
speculation, but it sure sounds right).

   " You love the attention, don't you ? You love the 
way every guy in the room watches you while you pretend 
you don't notice, " I was trying to get the tone 
exactly right, and I was warming up as I went.

   " Yes, " she admitted, rubbing herself now through 
those tight little panties.

   " Everyone makes a fuss out of you. They curl your 
hair for you, and paint your face. They doll you up in 
their clothes, and tell you that you're the most 
beautiful creature to ever stand in front of a camera. 
And you lap it all up, don't you ? You love being 
superior to everyone. "

   "Yes," she squeaked, burying her face in a pillow, 
and pivoting her ass lewdly.

   " Underneath it all, though, you're just a wilful 
little girl. What you really need is someone to put you 
in your place. You need someone to teach you some 
humility. "

   I took hold of the waistband of her panties with my 
left hand, and held her ass in place. With my other 
hand, I gave her a sharp little slap on the bum. She 
reacted with a sexual groan that told me I had hit on 
exactly what she wanted.

   Everything about this was forbidden and exciting. My 
body trembled with lust, and my mind burned with the 
knowledge of how wrong this was. She didn't belong to 
me. At this age, she didn't even really belong to Mike. 
She belonged with her mommy and daddy.

   Ashley was a little girl. Maybe she didn't know it. 
Nobody treated her like a kid. She had been a sex 
object since the time they took the first picture of 
her. She lived in an adult world, amongst men and women 
who all wanted her, for various reasons. 

   I could feel myself taking advantage of the little 
girl in her. Here I was, giving her the spanking she 
craved, while calling her a bitch, a whore, and a stuck 
up little cunt. The words came easily to my lips, and 
she loved them all. I pulled the crotch of her panties 
aside to find her neatly trimmed pussy glistening with 
arousal.

   I knew that I would feel guilty roughly thrusting my 
cock into the teen model. I knew that I would regret 
it. But I also knew that I wouldn't stop myself. This 
was a fantasy. Maybe it wasn't necessarily my fantasy, 
but it was a fantasy nonetheless. 

   So when I received the package from Mike the next 
week, I didn't know what to expect. I thought he'd be 
pretty pissed off if he found out about the way I had 
played along with Ashley's game. When I opened it and 
found a doll inside, I didn't know what to think.

   It was a weird sort of message from him. My first 
impression of the doll was that it was remarkably 
similar to Ashley herself. The doll had slender 
proportions, dark hair, and even somehow conveyed the 
vague sense of superiority that Ashley gave out when I 
first met her. 

   Odd, I thought. It's odd that Mike would send me 
this. What was he trying to tell me ? I left a couple 
of messages on his machine, and set the doll aside for 
further thought.

   I don't know at what point I took a look at the doll 
again. It just caught my eye a lot as I was around the 
apartment, then I would find myself staring at it. 
Heck, let's call her Arlene. It feels funny for me to 
call her "the doll". I know her so well. If she wasn't 
Arlene when she arrived at my door, she became my 
little Arlene soon afterwards.

   I probably don't need to tell you this, as you're 
the maker of the doll, and probably know more about it 
than I would, but the more I looked at Arlene, I could 
see a versatility in her. Sure, Mike had dressed her 
like his girlfriend, and given her a "model makeover", 
but there was something underneath. I was certain of 
it.

   Two days after she arrived, I found myself holding 
Arlene absently while I was working on the final draft 
of an article. Arlene was a pleasant distraction from 
the kind of drivel we pump through the pages of "Just 
Sixteen" magazine. I mean, really, how many times do we 
need to put together a quiz to tell a girl that her 
boyfriend is a real hottie ?

   It's funny... despite the fact that I helped throw 
together the magazine each month, I really had no idea 
of what goes on in the mind of a teenage girl. 
Everything was just a formula, and formula goes a long 
way. Look at daytime talk shows. All they have to do is 
slap together a lie detector test, a boot camp 
counsellor, and paternity testing, and the rating will 
just keep coming. For a girl's magazine, we pack 
together a half-dozen quizzes, photo layouts of the 
latest boy-band, and an interview with one of the 
actresses from "Friends", and we can sell all of the ad 
space we can pack in.

   I sat Arlene at the edge of my desk as I worked on 
the latest-greatest quiz. The girls who read our 
magazine have probably outgrown their dolls, but in a 
funny way, I'll bet it was an easy transition for them. 
It's just switching from one target market to the next, 
and they weren't terribly different from each other. 
It's all about image and insecurity, despite the "lady 
doth protest too much" arguments from my pseudo-
feminist female colleagues at the magazine.

   Like I said, I never really understood what goes on 
in the minds of these young girls, but when I looked at 
the exquisite little doll that Mike had sent me, I 
think I caught just a hint of what it must be like to 
be caught up in the image and insecurity that sold 
dolls like these.

   On a whim, I decided to play along for a while. What 
would be the harm, I figured. Besides, the way Mike had 
styled the doll, it looked so much like Ashley that it 
was a bit creepy. Just a little change of the hairstyle 
would be enough to change the whole look.

   It's funny that I didn't really think to myself, 
"I'm playing with a doll. " It just never occurred to 
me until later. Well, six hours later, if you want to 
know. I got so *into* it, that I lost track of time. 
You see, she really did need some hair colouring. I ran 
down to the drug store, and bought the perfect shade of 
honey blonde. 

   It suited her much better, and I was surprised at 
how well it worked on the dolls hair. From there, I 
just kept on styling and brushing her hair, aiming for 
the perfect look. Then, six hours later, I caught 
myself. I was contentedly brushing her hair, humming 
something silly as I played. Played. That's when it 
struck me that I was actually playing with a doll.

   Well, you can guess that I set her aside pretty 
quickly. I was embarrassed just thinking about it, but 
I knew had a bit of a taste for it. If I'm honest with 
myself, I had already named her Arlene during that 
first session, and I was beginning to make up a whole 
fantasy life for her. I could feel my heart pounding 
with... I don't know... excitement maybe.

   I finished my work on the computer, and e-mailed it 
in to the magazine. Strangely enough, the play session 
seemed to have improved my writing. I always felt a 
little self-conscious writing the kind if mindless 
stuff that would appeal to a teenage girl. This time, I 
just let myself go, and I really felt like I was able 
to relate to the girls who would read it.

    I tried not to think about Arlene for the next few 
days. I found it disconcerting to think about my own 
reactions. I even caught myself blushing a couple of 
times when commercials came on TV, aimed at the Barbie 
crowd, and I found myself watching with an unhealthy 
interest. 

   That's what I was most ashamed of. I mean, anyone 
could get absorbed in a stupid activity, and feel a bit 
silly about it later. What bothered me was that I knew 
I liked it. I thought about it often, and found myself 
making up little stories about Arlene. Sexy little 
stories.

   If my friends knew I was having sexual fantasies 
about a doll, I'd just die. Despite the fact that I 
work for a girl's magazine, I hung with a bit of a 
macho crowd. They ribbed me about my job sometimes, but 
we all knew it was just for money. Hell, my friend 
Scott was looking to get me a job at his rock magazine. 
This wasn't forever.

   As I said, though, it would totally throw these guys 
if they ever found out about the way I fantasized about 
dressing and undressing Arlene, and the kinds of things 
a guy could do with her body.

   It wasn't until I hit a writer's block that I 
brought her out again. The magazine needed some quick 
material for the web site. I had the whole day to 
finish, but I just couldn't seem to get myself started. 
I was distracted by my own thoughts of Arlene.

   I'll just get it out of my system, I told myself. A 
little guilty pleasure, and I'd be back to writing in 
no time.

   Arlene was a real cutie. As soon as I brought her 
out from my bedside drawer, my heart swelled with a bit 
of pride over the good job I'd done with her hair. It 
totally changed the way she looked. Before, the doll 
had seemed to reflect the waifish kind of girl that 
Mike Robey was infatuated with. Now, I could see a 
whole new girl emerging.

   I don't know how a simple change of hair did so 
much, but Arlene's proportions seemed more generous 
now, like the kind of girl I fantasized about. The 
clothes were all wrong, and so was the eye colour, but 
I could see the potential there.

   Felling like I was sneaking into a porn theatre, I 
took a drive out to the mall, and stopped in a toy 
store. Hiding my shame just slightly beneath the 
surface, I walked through the doll section. I wandered 
casually around for a few minutes before stopping to 
look at what I wanted. Doll clothes.

   The store didn't have everything I wanted, but it 
was a good start. I chose two outfits on their own, and 
then I had to buy a couple of dolls too, because I 
really liked what they were wearing. You can't imagine 
how silly I felt, walking up to the front of the store 
with all this doll stuff.

   " They're for my daughter, " I explained nervously, 
as if I really needed an excuse. The clerk seemed 
inwardly amused by my explanation, which only brought a 
new shade of red to my face.

   I couldn't wait to get home, where I could explore 
my perversions in private.

   You might wonder what I was trying to make Arlene 
look like. I had a picture in my head. In the same way 
that Ashley had probably been Mike's ideal sex fantasy, 
Arlene was mine. She was a smart, athletic college 
girl, with wonderfully tight curves, and a smile that 
could knock you over. 

   I knew where the fantasy came from, of course. In my 
time at college, there were a few girls who had really 
blown me away. Sara was a hockey player with all of 
Arlene's athletic curves. Becca was my first college 
girlfriend. She was a little conservative about sex, 
but she was the punch behind Arlene's smile. I dated 
Rose after I left college, but there was more than a 
hint of her sexual mischief in my doll's personality.

   My hands shook as I began to unbutton the clothing 
that she had come to me in. They were designer clothes, 
just like a model would wear, and I wondered where Mike 
had found them. Beneath those clothes, Arlene was 
perfect. Her breasts were as full and round as I could 
have hoped for. It was weird. She had seemed so tiny 
when she came to me. Her hips were round and wide, and 
I imagined how perfect they would be  for holding onto 
while I fucked her from behind. 

   Okay, those are strange thought to be having about a 
doll. My cock was so hard, I needed to unbutton my 
jeans. I even began to stroke myself a few times as I 
dressed and undressed her.

   There was one more thing I needed to do to make her 
perfect. I left here there, her body exquisitely 
displayed in clothing stolen from other dolls, and 
rummaged through my closet. When I found what I was 
looking for, I raced back to her.

   I was so careful. I dabbed a little model paint onto 
the tiny brush, and mixed the colours with care. I 
wanted just the right shade. Finally, I brought the 
brush to her, and then pulled back to survey the 
results. I fell in love with her instantly. Now, 
beneath her honey blonde curls of hair, sparkled the 
most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen.

   An alarm clock broke the spell for a moment. 

   Alarm clock. What was it for ? The deadline. I 
always gave myself an hour's warning. But I couldn't 
have spent the whole day playing already, I argued to 
myself.

   I needed to pull myself away, I knew, but I was just 
too horny and excited to stop playing now. I needed to 
cum. That would set me back on track.

   " What kind of sexual mischief can I find today, " I 
made a little voice for Arlene. God, that felt right. 

   I looked around my play area. My eyes rested on the 
dolls I had purchased and stripped of their clothing. 
Okay, so compared to Arlene, they were just chunky bits 
of plastic, but I wasn't going to be choosy. My cock 
throbbed from hours of arousal.

   " Look who's here, " I made Arlene notice the other 
dolls. " It's babysitter Kerri, and her friend Sandi. 
What are you girls up to with all of your clothes off 
like that ?"

   Not exactly brilliant dialogue, but hell, I was 
playing with dolls, not writing something for a 
Broadway show. I bent Arlene down on her knees, fully 
dressed, and had her crawl over to where the other 
dolls were laying. 

   " Oh, my. You girls are almost as naughty as I am, 
ignoring your babysitting, and playing with each 
other's bodies like this. Is there room for one more to 
play ?"

   Arlene crawled between little Kerri's legs, and I 
made some sounds for her as she discovered the younger 
girl's pussy. In the meantime, I had the Sandi doll 
climb onto Arlene's back, like a horsey, and begin to 
slap her ass in encouragement. 

   " C'mon girl, lick it good, " I made a new voice for 
Sandi. " I'm next, and I'll ride your face harder than 
that. "

   It was such a silly scene, but Arlene was wonderful 
at it. I could almost see her extending her pink tongue 
into the young babysitter. I jerked myself as I made 
the girls writhe in pleasure, finally squirting my cum 
all over poor little babysitter Kerri's pussy, and 
Arlene's face.

   I had been right. Once my orgasm subsided, I was 
back in control of myself. For the first time in hours, 
I looked around the room. Doll clothes were strewn 
everywhere. My own clothes were off too, although I 
didn't remember removing them. 

   Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed 
something. In the building across the alleyway from us, 
I had a fairly good view into the window of a young 
girl. She was usually pretty careful to draw her shades 
at night, but since I'm always home, there's been the 
odd occasion when I've caught a glimpse of her changing 
her clothes in the afternoon, or making out with a 
boyfriend on her bed.

   Just harmless stuff, really. I wasn't really 
interested in a girl so young. Heck, she probably still 
had a few dolls of her own.

   But tonight, our positions were reversed. The lights 
were off in her room, but I could see her shadow by the 
window anyhow. Oh fuck, I swore at myself. She had been 
watching me play with my dolls. She had seen me naked 
and jerking myself off onto them. How could I have been 
so careless ? 

   I closed my shades and prayed silently that she 
wouldn't tell her parents.

   I had to put it out of my head. Now that I was 
finished with Arlene, I was able to concentrate on 
writing. In less than an hour, I wrote one of the best 
articles I had ever done for the magazine. I clicked to 
send it off, and then collapsed into bed, with images 
of plastic girls floating in my mind.

   You might think that this is as embarrassing as it 
ever got. I mean, there's something really emasculating 
to admit that I had totally enjoyed playing with those 
dolls. The problem was, it just got worse from there. I 
became absolutely obsessed with Arlene.

   Every time I looked at her, she seemed to more 
perfectly embody my deepest male fantasies. She was 
smart, and sexy, and loved to tease with her body. It 
even seemed like her breasts had increased in size a 
bit, still natural looking, but so big and firm that I 
got hard just thinking about them.

   My obsession extended into my personal life. I 
called off a date for that first Friday, because I knew 
that the girl wouldn't be able to excite me the way 
Arlene did. I spent a lot of the week in the mall, 
cruising for the nicest clothing for her. This might 
sound strange, but I didn't even limit myself to the 
toy stores in this search. I would buy sexy clothing in 
adult sizes, just thinking about how good they would 
look on her if she were real. 

   There was a much better selection that way anyhow. 
It would have bothered me to spend this kind of money 
before, but I had no problem spending hundreds of 
dollars to fill my drawers at home with new skirts, 
tops and panties.

   I still was able to make my writing deadlines. Truth 
be told, now that I had some insight into the way young 
girls think about fashion and boys, I was a better 
writer than I had ever been. I was writing with a 
different voice. Arlene's voice. The other writers and 
editors at "Just Sixteen" were overjoyed.

   My friends weren't quite so pleased. Within the 
three weeks after I began playing with Arlene, I had 
cancelled every Thursday night basketball game in 
favour of playing with my dollies. I hadn't really seen 
much of anyone I knew in that time. I could do most 
anything by e-mail anyhow. Except for clothes shopping, 
that is.

   Finally, I think my friend Scott became curious 
about my odd behaviour, and dropped over for an 
unexpected visit. I wasn't feeling quite myself, and 
the last thing I needed was a visit from any of the 
guys. I'd been playing Arlene steadily for three days 
at this point. I'd become quite good at doing her 
voice, and I even called through the door in character.

   " Who is it ?"

   " It's, uh... Scott... Ron's friend. "

   I opened the door for him, blushing a little because 
of the way I had greeted him.

   " Come in, " I offered hesitantly.

   Scott was looking at me in a strange way as he 
entered. Suddenly, I was quite sure that he would know. 
He would know everything. Some of the clothing I had 
bought was strewn over the floor. I had been playing 
Arlene's character all day.

   What surprised me was that he didn't seem upset by 
it. He seemed more... interested than anything else.

   I never thought he would be. I told you he worked 
for a rock magazine, and he looked the part. He was a 
tall guy with long black hair, and tattoos over much of 
his body. He still smoked pot almost daily, and was a 
binge drinker. They guy made no bones about being a 
chauvinist. 

   And here he was, faced with me playing with dolls, 
and he just seemed pleasantly intrigued.

   I couldn't think of what to say. When it came out, I 
regretted it instantly. I spoke in Arlene's voice 
again, in the mischievous tone I had practiced so 
often.  "Did you want to maybe, play with me for a 
while ?"

   " Okay, " he answered, after a tense pause. My heart 
leaped. Was it possible that there was one guy around 
who understood how sexy these little doll games were ?

   Apparently, Scott understood. He began to unbuckle 
his belt, and pull his jeans down to his knees. I could 
see his cock bulging in the front of his underwear.

   It's funny that I never questioned his actions. At 
the time, I was just thrilled that he wanted to play, 
and it only seemed vaguely weird that my friend was 
pulling out his penis to join the game. 

   I brought Arlene to his cock, and allowed her to 
worship it.

   " Oh, it tastes so good, " I made Arlene say, 
between smacking my lips and making the sounds of a 
blow job.

   Scott got right into it. He could obviously 
understand how beautiful Arlene was. He looked down 
into her eyes as she continued to play with his cock. I 
raised one of her hands to the base of his cock, in my 
mind's eye, allowing her to feed more of his length 
into her face.

   " Oh, man, you're one hot piece of ass, " Scott told 
the doll. " Maybe I'll come back and fuck you in the 
rear sometime. Oh, jeez. Keep going. Show me your tits 
girl. "

   I was so excited that he was speaking to Arlene 
directly, as if she were real, that I played right back 
to him. I had Arlene remove her tight blouse, and groan 
with pleasure as his cock swelled in her throat. Scott 
loved her big breasts, and even reached down to fondle 
them as he enjoyed the sensations on his prick.

   With no warning, Scott pulled his cock back, and 
jerked himself above Arlene's face. His knees almost 
buckled as he squirted his jizz over both sides of 
Arlene's cheeks and forehead. He continued to grunt and 
bite his lower lip as he coaxed the last droplets of 
cum onto her lips.

   As he began to pull his clothing back on, he 
addressed my doll one more time. " Tell Ron not to 
worry about skipping basketball. With a piece of ass 
like you at home, who could blame him ?"

   When he left, my heart was pounding at a pace I'd 
never known. I needed to bring myself off. I sat back 
on the sofa, and spread my legs to play with myself. 
When I closed my eyes, I replayed the scene in my head. 

   It's funny how the memory works. With my hand down 
the front of my clothing, and my body aching for 
relief, I could see Arlene in my head. It wasn't the 
plastic doll version of Arlene. The way I remembered 
it, she was real. I remembered the scene as if she were 
really there, greeting Scott at the door, and dropping 
to her knees to suck on his cock.

   Even harder to admit to myself was the fact that in 
the scene, I fantasized myself in Arlene's role. It's 
only natural I guess. I mean, I had been playing with 
her so much these days, I was bound to relate to her. 
But as I rubbed myself towards orgasm, it made me blush 
know how vividly I could remember the act of sucking my 
best friend's cock, even though I knew it was just 
playing.

   I could remember the feel of his hand on the back of 
my head. I wondered if he had really placed his hand 
there while he played with Arlene, or if it was just 
more of my twisted imagination. I even thought I could 
remember the feel of his cock stretching her throat.

   Most of all, I could remember the feel of his cum 
hitting her face. The feeling was so convincing, I 
reached up with my left hand as I continued to 
masturbate, and ran it along my cheeks where I could 
imagine feeling his stickiness on me.

   I froze for a moment when I felt something *real* on 
my face. How utterly humiliating. Scott must have 
gotten carried away, and inadvertently splattered me 
with some of his cum. As much as that bothered me, I 
was so aroused, that I couldn't stop the rush of my 
coming orgasm. I continued to rub my face with my 
fingers, taking guilty pleasure from the dirty deed of 
smearing his cum over my lips and chin.

   Damn, he really got me good. I could swear it was a 
full load on my face.

   I've never fantasized about guys before. I think it 
was just a weird situation. It was like I couldn't stop 
playing Arlene's role when I was this horny. I gathered 
his cum on my fingers while I replayed the blow-job in 
my head. When my body finally gave me my reward, I 
could feel Arlene's mischief take hold, and I sunk my 
fingers into my mouth. 

   God, I felt like a slut.  

   I bucked my hips up and down as I rubbed myself 
through the pleasure, and squealed excitedly in 
Arlene's voice. By the time I was done, I was 
exhausted. I picked up a pair of panties from beside 
the sofa, and wiped my face with it. Then I dropped 
into sleep, and the kind of dreams I always imagined 
that a college girl would have.

   In the next few days, I replayed the scene with 
Scott many times in my head. Playing the part of Arlene 
had made me feel so very sexy, and it was a feeling 
that was extending into my every day life now. I liked 
nothing better than to comb her hair, and apply her 
make-up, and dress her in cute little outfits I bought 
down at the mall. Whenever I saw the results in the 
mirror, I could feel my body growing warm.

   Now that I knew what it was like to play with other 
people, I really couldn't get it out of my head. I 
toyed with the idea of calling Scott back and inviting 
him over to play. I don't know. Some part of me still 
thought it would be a little weird.

   My face burned with shame as I considered my other 
options. I needed to find someone else to play with, 
but it would mean revealing my dirty little secrets. I 
couldn't stand the idea that some guys would make fun 
of me for playing with Arlene. 

   In the end, my worries were for nothing. You 
wouldn't believe it. I hardly believed it myself. I 
finally took the chance one night. I dressed Arlene up 
as sexy as I could, and took her out to a college bar 
in the neighbourhood. The way I figured it, Arlene 
would really go for a couple of drunken frat boys. 
Besides, at least I wouldn't humiliate myself in front 
of my own crowd. 

   I was prepared for the worst, but once these guys 
saw Arlene, they were more than a little receptive. 
Guys were buying me drinks right away, and were coming 
over to check out Arlene's body. Most of them were even 
polite enough to ask permission before they touched her 
body, and played with her tits. I was the centre of 
attention. 

   " Miss, would you mind taking this somewhere more 
private, " the bartender finally asked me. I blushed, 
knowing I had become a little giddy with the excitement 
of the scene. I pulled Arlene's clothing back into 
place, and invited a couple of the guys back to my 
place to play some more.

   Any doubts about guys wanting to play with my doll 
were gone. I made all sorts of excited noises for them 
while they explored Arlene's body. One of them held her 
in place roughly as he pretended to fuck her from 
behind. The other guy loved the way I smacked my lips 
and moaned while he took pleasure in her mouth. They 
each came twice, and to tell the truth, by the time we 
were done playing, I was actually physically tired from 
all the effort.

   Since then, everything has just become easier. I'm 
playing Arlene full-time now, and I've never been so 
popular. Scott kept his word, and came back to try 
fucking Arlene in the rear end. He fucked her 
violently, and called her all sorts of dirty names. 
God, the way I made her buck and moan, it's no wonder 
he keeps coming back. That's the great thing about male 
fantasy. No real girl would enjoy the kind of constant 
sexual attention that Arlene was looking for. Well, no 
real girl I know of, anyhow. 

   But Arlene has all sorts of plans. There's the 
teenage girl who lives across the street. It's funny. 
She's probably the same kind of girl who reads the 
article I write. Before, when I had seen her watching, 
I was ashamed of myself. Now, when I see her watching 
me play with Arlene, it gives me a perverse kind of 
pleasure to show off Arlene's perfect body. She must 
feel pretty inadequate in comparison. That's okay. It's 
just a matter of time before she comes over to play 
too. I can already see that she wants to.

   Other things are easy now too. Like last week, I 
didn't have enough money for rent because I spent it 
all on clothes. My landlord, who's usually a real 
asshole about this sort of thing, was more than 
understanding. He actually even stayed a while to play 
with Arlene with me. He told me that his wife likes to 
swing too, and they'll come up for a visit this week. 
They're not the most attractive couple, really, but in 
a strange way, even that appeals to Arlene's 
mischievous nature.

   So that about finishes my feedback. I really love 
Arlene. I don't know how you made a doll like her, but 
she's really changed my life. I would have called 
sooner, but as I wrote before, I didn't notice the 
phone number until just now. I'd love to hear back from 
you.

xoxoxoxo


   Dear Ronnie (and Arlene),

   Thank you for sending your letter of feedback. It 
makes me so happy to hear how much you've enjoyed 
playing with our product. She's quite unique, really. 
As you can well imagine, we've had a great deal of 
feedback from guys like yourself who have enjoyed the 
doll. It's always interesting to see what the male 
imagination can come up with, and I must say, I'm 
looking forward to a little playtime with Arlene 
myself. 

   It may come as a bit of a surprise to you, but in 
all likelihood, you haven't played with the real doll 
in weeks now. She's probably sitting undisturbed in 
your bedside drawer right now. 

   That idea is going to take some getting used to, but 
you'll come to accept it. Once you come here to live 
with us, you'll realize that many guys will want to 
play with you, and the doll has nothing to do with it 
anymore. In fact, they'll pay my company good money for 
hourly play sessions with "Arlene". Here, you'll live 
with other dolls of all the variety the mind can 
create. We'll have great fun watching all of you play 
together.

   In the meantime, I want you to give some other man a 
chance to live out his fantasies. I know you'll be 
reluctant to give her up, but the sooner you send your 
doll onto another guy, the sooner you can come and live 
in our "dollhouse. " Might I suggest that your friend 
Scott would be a good candidate? It will be fun to see 
what kind of a girl a misogynist like him will dream 
up.

   You'll do exactly what I say, won't you ? Of course 
you will. Every good little doll wants to be played 
with, and I'll make sure you're played with long and 
hard. When you're done with this letter, destroy it. 
Get rid of anything that might lead investigators 
towards your new life, and catch a bus to Minneapolis.

   Oh, and about the girl across the street you 
mentioned in your letter. She sounds interesting. 
Please phone the office with her name and apartment 
number. There's another new product that we'd love to 
send out to her.

***

Any comments can be forwarded to: 
orestes007@hotmail.com
All of my stories can be found at: 
ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Orestes
