The Witchs Dollhouse Pt 03

Author's Note: This seriously shouldn't have taken as long as it did, I was planning to release this last month but between multiple rejections and re-writing the first draft because I wasn't happy with how it went I was pretty delayed. Well that and I'm a lazy ass, and I apologize for that.

*****

Philip awoke quickly and out breath, feeling like he only escaped sleep by physically running from it, he slowly got out of bed and groggily took note of his surroundings.

He was no longer in the dungeon, as he had come to know it, but he was still in the manor back in one of the bedrooms on the second floor.

At this point he didn't feel upset, just pissed off.

That was twice now this hell hole got the best of you! Came his judgemental thoughts.

He should have been more careful, faster perhaps and maybe he wouldn't have been caught up in that trap, but regardless he couldn't just sit and dwell on things he could have or should have done.

Dragging his tired body off of the warm sanctity of the bed he quickly scanned the room, resting his glare on the corner and the doll, petite with a single ginger braid, that stood there with its arm outstretched an a card in her hand.

He snatched the card away immediately and scanned its contents, just as before it mocked him on one side:

One more time and you're here forever!

And on the inverse were his instructions:

Next to the attic among the spares.

As he turned to leave he caught a glimpse of the attending doll and thought something about it seemed off. Physically it looked like any of the dolls - bar the ones from the basement. Aside from their small but shapely proportions it shared the same faux flesh, the same lifeless, unseeing eyes and-

Ah that was it - this one was smiling.

Objectively there was nothing off-putting about the smile, it was simple and sweet, full of innocent intent like a loyal maid encouraging her master to face the day with healthy enthusiasm.

But to Phil, after all he'd been through, it felt as though a malicious imp was ridiculing him and his failed rebellion, as if it were expecting him to fail and was egging him onward to his demise simply so that he could hurry and get it over with.

In a moment of blind fury, Phil was dimly aware of a hollow impact on his knuckles and that the doll was now lying on its side with its head rolling steadily to the opposite corner of the room its loving smile still stretching its cute face.

The sight disturbed him, not because of the smile but because of the possibility that these dolls were once living people.

Did she feel that? Was she even aware of what was going on?

What did it matter though? In the end he was leaving and never coming back.

He left the room and stalked down the surprisingly, and unnervingly, empty corridors to where the attic was.

As he walked he reflected on his memories of his rape in the dungeon.

Despite his unresponsive and tired state he could recall almost every moment and minute sensation during that time with one factor leaving a great impact on him:

A day had definitely passed during his time in this mansion, perhaps two days if his first rape was equally as long.

Did his parents not think him staying at the mansion this long was suspicious? Or was there something stopping them from reaching him? If only he still had his phone.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Phil decided to get to his destination as quick as possible, hopefully this time the room wasn't rigged to shut him in with whatever buxom beauty was willing to accost him this time.

Phil stopped before the two doors at the end of the mansion, the door on the right was indistinct and ordinary.

Originally this simple wooden frame had him spellbound, his heart quickened and his body flushed when he was near it and he felt urged to find what was inside it but now the spell was gone.

Because the dweller within the room was gone too.

Phil clutched at his chest when his thoughts lingered on the purple-eyed girl, the spectre haunting the mansion that stirred an uncomfortable familiarity and passion in him.

Surely she couldn't have been the witch that cursed the mansion all those years ago. But it was entirely possible she was related to the witch in some way wasn't it?

Philip shook his head, aggressively beating down his thoughts and feelings to focus on the task at hand.

All that mattered was leaving, and then none of this bullshit would mean anything.

Phil turned to the iron door on the left, its appearance mirroring the basement door did little to allay his nerves.

Initially, this door was locked but now it swung open with as little ease as the basement's door as if it too wished to urge him into a welcoming trap.

Concerned that this one would close behind him, Phil paused a moment and took to the attic next door where he acquired an assortment of boxes, filled with antiques and junk alike, that he piled in front of the neighbouring door.

It was enough to keep the door from closing completely yet light enough that, in the case of an emergency, it could be kicked away to close the door and seal inside whatever demons pursued him.

Then, as if to draw in all the courage within his soul, Philip took a deep breath and stepped into the mystery room.

It was brightly lit, thanks to curtain-less windows set in the left wall, dominating the whole space from floorboards to rafters. Thanks to this, Phil was able to ascertain the contents of the room, though it took him a moment to comprehend exactly what he was looking at.

The entire room, with exception to the open space in its centre acting as a path, was packed to the brim with stone statues of various women.

They were all depicted to be naked except for lacy underwear tightly fastened to their nether regions and each and every one of them wore an expression of extreme euphoria.

The effigial garden wore an atmosphere of life that the dolls seemed to lack, it wasn't just a matter of their faces capturing a moment of believable rapture but rather their presence itself.

Just by standing in that room, Phil felt like a hundred eyes were watching him, or a moment of claustrophobic delirium pressing down on him, smothering him as if he was being embraced on all sides by countless beings.

In the silence of his gathering thoughts, Phil became aware of a muted humming in the room, it wasn't coming from any one location, more like it was present everywhere he turned. Unable to pinpoint the location of the noise, he put up with the sepulchral buzz and continued to examine the room.

There were two doors in the room, one to his right — which was locked but was decorated in a rather flamboyant manner in contrast to the dingy conditions of what he assumed to be some kind of storage room. Its flowing purple and pink emblems were at odds with the rest of the estate's cardinal red colour palette.

The other door was straight ahead from where he came in from: it was simple in design if not a little more worn down and weathered by age compared to the rest of the mansion. With a gentle tap (little more than a ghost of contact on the dusty wood) the door swung open unconditionally and without resistance.

Unlike the room before it, there was no light source inside so Philip had to make do with what filtered through the door frame.

He stepped into the room, the floorboards complaining when they met his weight, taking care to remain as close to the door just in case.

Though it was hard to see in the absolute dark, he could make out piles of something gathered in the small room.

Stepping as close as he dared and reaching a reluctant hand towards the nearest "thing" and pulled out a doll.

He stumbled back towards the door frame, expecting the sleeping figure to rouse itself awake and pursue him as well.

When nothing happened he took a closer look, pulling the body closer into the light.

It shared the same physical properties as the other dolls but this one had no arms attached to it, furthermore its hair, long enough to reach down to her thighs, was whiter than freshly fallen snow, as were her eyes.

The doll didn't show any signs of life at all, even when the dolls were on standby they had a presence to them but this one felt...well...empty.

It wasn't just her either, from the pile were several other dolls, with the same hair and eyes, some missing limbs and some without any limbs at all. There were even a few heads without bodies, stray arms without an owner and torsos that were basically glorified onaholes.

Determining the room to be some kind of storage for spare or unused doll parts Phil returned to his search for the key.

Though the edges of the room were piled high with discarded body parts the centre remained a clear zone where only dust littered the floor. At the end of this clear zone, at the edge of the light peeking in through the door frame was a complete doll sitting on the border of light and shadow, her silver hair was notably longer and spread out into the gloom where it was swallowed up by the displaced spares. It lay down on the ground, eyes closed in peaceful rest with its hands positioned on its raised buttocks, spreading its gaping ass-hole

And predictable, the key was inserted into its anus with only the bow surfacing from its womanly sheath.

Mastering the art of sighing and cursing simultaneously Phil stepped up to the doll and, hooking his fingers around the key, heaved it out.

He remarked on how difficult it was to free the key, as if the ass-hole it was lodged in was trying to suck it in deeper, every time he pulled, the dirty entrance would pulse and tighten, embracing the key deeper into itself.

After a great deal of effort however it eventually came loose with an audible squelching sound and covered in sweet smelling liquids that Phil didn't want to question. After his previous two experiences, Phil learned his lesson and decided to make a quick exit before anything could prevent his escape

Or so was the plan.

A grip as unyielding as death clasped at his ankle and the young man instinctively turned back to face the young doll, its white eyes now illuminated by a slowly expanding violet haze, staring up at him with with a blank stare.

"Get off of me, I don't have time for this!" he protested.

Phil began dancing and shuffling, trying to shake loose the silent straggler clinging to him but the girl - no, the thing - refused to relinquish its grip on him.

Without even a breath the empty effigy wrapped its arms around his thigh, the intertwined limbs resting dangerously close to his exposed balls. The extra weight made it difficult to shake it off, even more so when the creature began clawing at his torso and grinding its body against his leg, humping it like a dog in heat.

He could feel it claw at his skin and digging its fingers into his ass cheeks, its malleable lumps enveloping his knee and a smooth wet slit slipping up and down up ankle.

Phil quickly lost his balance and, with a yelp, fell on his back, the empty doll now on top, still clawing at him.

Clutching the key tightly in his hand Phil started to shuffle backwards, away from his attacker, but the thing immediately grabbed his ankle and pulled him back towards it, crawling over him until it was on top of him, its hips still mindlessly grinding against his body.

With her eyes mercilessly locked onto his, the doll darted forward for a kiss, aiming for the lips but scoring a cheek when Phil reflexively turned his head. But she wasn't so easily dissuaded and began a relentless cat-and-mouse chase, peppering his forehead, neck, cheeks, nose and ears in kisses and licks as she playfully pursued Phil's lips. All the while her pussy began sliding along the length of his shaft, trapping it in the crease of her vulva and painting it in her slutty nectar.

The stimulus was enough to make him cry out but he endured to avoid giving it the opening. He began flailing his limbs like a trapped spider to get out from under her but she secured each of his limbs and pressed herself against him, the feeling of her full weight pressing down on him as she continued to grind against his penis was too much.

Eventually she succeeded in latching onto her prey's lips, running her tongue across them and nibbling on his lower lip until he cried out, waiting patiently to seize and dominate his mouth.

As he lay there, Phil could hear movement from around them and out the corner of his eye, noticed shadows shifting among the piles of spares.

Emerging from the heap like a reanimated corpse from its grave, the incomplete dolls, drawn to the presence of a man, began to shuffle towards the restrained intruder, predatory gazes locked onto his idle frame.

Panic truly set in as he saw the reinforcements approach, knowing full well that it was truly over once they descended upon him. He wriggled and writhed in the grip of the one holding him down but she refused to budge, she didn't even break off their kiss no matter how much he bucked. Her lower mouth too had refused to part with his penis and instead rose to suffocate his glands, positioning them in the entrance of her pussy, the feeling grew more torturous.

One wrong move could insert the whole thing into her depths and then he would truly be a prisoner of her body, bound in her embrace while the other dolls piled on top and pulled him into depravity.

Phil tried on more attempt at escape: he shifted his weight to the left as if to try and shuffle out from under her and predictably, the doll, in a single moment, shifted her weight to adapt.

Phil seized the advantage while he had it and immediately poured all his strength into his right side, twisting the two of them until they rolled over and Phil was now on top.

In surprise, the doll's grip loosened and Phil freed one of his hands, using it to strike the doll in the face and knocking it away from him.

Now free of the succubus's snare, Phil backed up to the door, risking a look back at the approaching dolls.

They shuffled after him in broken forms. Some were missing limbs and barely standing, some weren't standing at all and had to crawl, he spotted one without a jaw, her tongue hanging limply and saliva flooding down and streaming onto her body.

Disgusted by the sight, he shut the door and ran, kicking the boxes away from the second door and slamming it shut.

Reaffirming that the key was safe in his hand, Phil let off a sigh of relief, he was almost there, he could practically feel the fresh air on his skin again.

I'm not out of the woods yet though.

Knowing the dangers the mansion still held he cautiously stepped into the corridor.

BANG

A thunderous noise caused Phil to stumble, he looked back and saw the iron door shudder in its frame as another bang sounded out.

He immediately turned and ran, hearing the thudding grow in frequency until a clamorous clatter indicated that the door had been broken down.

Whatever was pursuing him had just gotten out.

He sprinted down the corridor and came to the stairs of the main hall in no time at all, taking the steps two at a time and jumping the last four or five.

Dashing to the door he fumbled, in his rush, to stick the key in the lock, managing in the end and swinging the doors open.

He had little time to appreciate the bright sun or the verdant grass or cool spring breeze as he started to sprint down the lawn to the exit.

He took one step and fell flat on his face when something reached out and snagged his ankle.

He turned his head and screamed. Staring back at him was a doll with white eyes and short silver hair, it was missing an arm and the only one it had was currently gripping his foot. What was terrifying however was what the doll was attached to:

An abhorrent appendage, crafted from the limbs and torsos of the spare dolls and shackled together by streams of silver hair, intertwining the pieces like muscle fibres holding a skeleton together. Each limb wriggled in their place and each body undulated and danced suggestively while every eye that could catch a glimpse, locked onto their prey.

A strand of hair snaked its way up the doll's arm and wound its way up Phil's leg, an assortment of arms joined the endeavour to gain purchase on his defenceless body.

Phil, for his part, continued to kick and scream, clawing at the floor as if to drag himself further outside and away from the nightmare behind him, but either he was too weak or they were too strong or both.

The hair had encroached upon his torso now and the grasping hands had reached his upper thigh and were straying dangerously close to his defenceless member and vulnerable buttocks.

Phil glanced back again and saw the tip of the abomination had opened up like a worm's maw, strings of viscous liquid bridging the edges of the opening as he looked into the squirming wet insides of a hundred bodies vying for his presence, more arms reaching out like slender tongues waiting for a taste of him.

"Not like this..." He begged with tears in his eyes. "I'm so close, please! NOT LIKE THIS!"

Sobbing and struggling, Phil's resistance was futile as he was dragged closer to the waiting maw and into its depths. The arms now had a grip on his hips, his waist, his chest and then his shoulders, the hair wrapping around his body in a gentle coil as his body began to slowly disappear under a tangle of limbs.

The maw consumed hum up to his head, leaving it exposed while the rest of his body was embraced on all sides by gyrating, wet flesh. When the opening closed, securing him in place, a doll's rear end was pressed against his face, swallowing him into the cavern of its cheeks and mashing its vulva against his mouth in a dirty kiss, its puckering ass-hole pulsating in front of his face.

Another doll had pressed itself up behind him and enveloped his neck and ears in its kisses and tongue, the sloppy slurping most vivid in his ears than the squirming, clammy flesh around him.

With a volley of wet smooches behind him, his vision enveloped in ass cheeks and the sweet taste of a woman's forbidden garden rich on his tongue and his nose, Phil was truly blind to everything except the experience his body was being put through.

Wrapped up in the silky coils of the dolls' hair while simultaneously being constricted by the oppressive flesh around him made for a wonderful stimulant. He was bound so tightly, he could barely squirm in his prison, forced to endure the shifting mass around him as it crushed his body between it.

He was dimly aware of hungry slits rubbing against his body, his hips, legs, everything, coating him in juices while mounds of flesh rubbed against him in the claustrophobic space, their pointed peaks digging into him.

Lips and tongues often caressed his skin in the intervals, trailing the length of his spine or planting themselves on sensitive areas, tasting dirty spots like his armpits and ass-crack, swallowing his fingers and toes, no spot was too safe or too dirty to be tasted.

His penis, however, took the worst of it.

Fully erect, it was easy pickings for the dolls' assaults, the stimuli affecting it often changing on the whims of lasciviousness.

Lips would trail the length of his shaft from his root to his urethra while tongues tasted his testicles, snaking around the orbs to fill them with sperm. It was caught between wet vulva as it glided along the length of a cunt, sandwiched between jiggling buttocks, ensnared by bountiful breasts, played by toes and feet and crushed between taut bellies.

An impossible combination of sensations brought only by disconnected beings attacked him, every one too good to endure forcing him to cry out and accept a mouthful of womanly taste from the doll's honeypot before him.

His tongue instinctively explored the depths of her caverns, but before it could be recalled, the tunnel constricted around the fleshy organ, drowning it in sweet juices like a root in generous soil, binding it in place, hungry for any kind of visitation to its secret tunnel.