The Witchs Dollhouse Pt 05 Finale

Phil didn't open his eyes so much as he focused until the world reformed around him.

He didn't sleep -- couldn't sleep -- the closest he could manage was to black out.

It was his only means of escape now, slipping in and out of a void in which tranquil silence embraced his arrival and sheltered him from a world of madness.

All because of his new body, a body that could not grow exhausted, did not require food or drink and was always in a state of hyper-sensitivity. It was a prison he was trapped inside, a tomb from which he was tormented every day without end.

No, not a tomb, there wasn't anything merciful like an end for it to be likened as such.

It was an odd thing to be afraid of, an eternal life surrounded by beautiful -- if not fake -- women that lived to service him so thoroughly. If he was given such a fantasy before coming here he would have accepted it without hesitation.

But the constant pleasure was mind shattering, his sanity was crumbling and he had no control over the events that transpired. His body may have not needed rest but his mind was exhausted, the screaming synapses sparking all over his body never dulled and his brain was struggling to process the stigma overloading his senses.

Had he still had his original body, Phil had no doubt he would have been comatose if not dead from the experience.

He could only hope to be so lucky now.

He lay there, his body didn't ache and felt like he had slept a well rested slumber but even so he failed to summon the strength to get up.

As he lay there he tried to think about how long he had spent in this impossible mansion. It was too tough to say accurately -- days had passed at least, more than a month at most but how long exactly was the question...

Time, it seemed, had given up on him.

He remembered the first days in this body vividly, his mind was never given the chance to repress it. Passed around the horny dolls like some kind of toy in the hands of a horde of bright eyed children, he was practically torn apart and put back together, rearranged to suit their tastes as they took their time easing their own sexual torment.

Every doll had once been a real girl, some had spent centuries in this house, some less than a few years, all of them had been sexually tormented every second through a link to their original bodies and filled with lewd thoughts of Philip.

Their minds twisted and warped into obsession, their bodies a time bomb of pent up frustration with no relief, they took it all out on the man they were brainwashed into loving with all their heart and soul.

After that he was taken by the dolls dwelling in the basement, obscenely huge titans that consisted of fat and extremely exaggerated proportions. Each resembled the mistress of the manor, only where she had a petite form, these colossi where larger, breasts bigger than watermelons, hips wider than a tree trunk and an ass to match. They towered over him and with no effort at all, carried him into the basement for him to suffer in the dark.

Hours passed as he was reduced to a toy in their grasp -- straddled by their gigantic bodies and crushed between their fatty mounds, his body felt like putty being moulded against the bodies of his captors.

It was impossible to see in the dark, the skylight that would be the only true light source in the room was kept shut the whole time and the air became clammy and hot with the excess of bodies moving around in the cramp space.

Philip didn't think the dolls could actually sweat but they had a process that mimic the function. Salty liquid seeped from their skin, oiling up their bodies nice and sleek and washing over Philip's body to match. As Phil's tiny frame was crashed and rocked against the gargantuan hips around him, he found himself glued to their bodies as they carried him around and drowned him in an ocean of flesh.

It was entirely possible whole days had passed as he was trapped in that limbo though it was difficult to say any more, he was awake the whole process and his mind refused to adjust to the sensations he was overwhelmed with. Impossibly, every time his penis was wrapped inside a pussy's folds, enveloped by titanic tits, compacted inside a tight anus or suckled by a hungry mouth, it felt as fresh and new as his virgin experience.

It was difficult to concentrate and impossible to acclimate himself.

There were periods when the dolls were all seemingly satisfied and for a brief period he was free.

The first time it happened, the absence of feeling made him panic. In the dark, the certainty of dozens of bodies crushing him kept him ironically tethered but now, he almost thought he had lost it and was falling infinitely into an eternal void.

When he finally calmed down enough to get his act together, he managed to get up and trip onto the prone form of another doll, waking her up in that instance and prompting her to wrap he arms around him and engage in more sloppy sex.

The rest woke up shortly after and joined in.

The second time it happened, he had been stumbling around the dark, uselessly tripping over every little thing before finally being caught.

The third time his eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, but one of the dolls had collapsed on top of him, forcing him to spend too much time prying her off. By the time he had reached the exit, he had collapsed outside before a mob of sticky flesh had dragged him back into the dark, barely waiting to reach the bottom of the stairs before violating him again.

The fourth time was successful and after escaping the dark prison and stumbling into the blinding light above, he wondered the corridors aimlessly, unsure of where to go next.

It wasn't long, however, before he found himself being pulled into another room -- a living room if it could be called such.

It was small, more of a large closet than a room, with two chairs and a coffee table, a dresser and a window.

Here he was pushed into one of the comfy leather chairs and straddled by a doll with short blonde hair, who proceeded to grace her lover with numerous kisses on the face, her legs intertwining around his as her currently dribbling pussy rubbed up against his eternally erect dick.

As she melded her lips to his, he noticed one of the dolls had laid down on the table, her hips raised high to offer him a view of her rose pink pussy as her fingers slipped inside, stirring up the clear fluid that poured out and teasing the starving orifice in preparation for him.

Next to the window, her curvaceous form silhouetted against the golden rays of the morning sun, a doll with long, auburn brown hair danced seductively, sliding her hands across her body, twirling her limbs and wriggling her hips with lewd abandon.

The blonde didn't seem to mind his wondering attention, his lips belonged to her while his eyes were possessed by the others.

The teasing would continue but eventually even the dolls couldn't contain themselves any longer. From the chairs to the window, the walls and the floor, Phil and the dolls violently slapped their hips together as they tumbled through the entire room.

The dolls that weren't taking his penis inside them had him taste their body or stuff his fingers in waiting holes while the third doll drowned her crotch in his unending semen, screaming primal arousal with a mad grin as she relived countless years of continuous erotic torment.

After that point it became a blur.

He didn't have a schedule to his time in the mansion, probably one of the reasons it was so difficult to remember how much time had passed.

If he was found, he was fucked -- that was the sole rule. The dolls would stand by in the hallways or hide away in rooms. Sometimes they were in a type of stasis, much like when he first arrived in the mansion, but more often than not they were active.

They never returned to their original, stoic states. Ever since the first day of his new life, the dolls remained in a state of unabated arousal and were often found masturbating to themselves whenever they weren't in stasis.

The moment they saw Philip however, they drop whatever it was they were busying themselves with and throw themselves onto him, daring to do the deed right there and then or dragging him away somewhere more private to indulge in him there.

Even one doll took hours of non-stop sex and creampies to satisfy, and if Philip was lucky, he'd get a chance to escape before another doll caught up to him.

IF he was lucky.

Sometimes more dolls would walk in on the act and join in, adding to the orgy more and more. But more often than not when he had finally satisfied all present, he'd immediately be grabbed by a new group of dolls, dragged away to a new room where the cycle would repeat itself anew.

There were rare occasions too when the dolls from the basement would emerge from their dark lair to hunt him down and drag him back in for their turn. It was unusual to him.

Unlike the dolls above, the dolls below remained impassive and stoic. Whereas the dolls of the manor seemed to take great joy in violating their guest, like he was a lover they had been lusting for after so long, the dolls of the basement treat him as if he was a means to end.

Like fucking him was their sole function rather than an activity to take joy in.

Likewise, some of the surface dolls would steal him away from the basement if given the chance. Their attempts weren't always successful but they didn't seem to mind joining the basement orgy either.

This had been Philip's life for an unknown period of time, during which he made many attempts to escape.

He couldn't remember all of them, but there were a few that stuck out.

He learned early on that the doors to outside the manor were no longer working. Every attempt to break them down received no positive result, it was almost as if they had become mere decorations on the wall rather than a portal to the outside.

Same with the windows, they didn't even rattle in their frames when he slammed into them or threw furniture.

The exception were the windows leading to the inner courtyard.

When he was first checking them out, a doll had caught and fucked him while he was hanging half-way out the sill.

Trapping him in place with the window frame while they sucked off his defenceless bottom, the impatient lovers eventually pulled him inside to take him there and then.

The moment he got a chance again, he returned to the window, hoping to scale the inner walls to the roof and from there...

Unfortunately his plan failed before it even started, the roof was built higher than he could reach and the walls were smooth -- far too smooth to be as old as it was -- to gain a decent foothold.

It was like the witch had redesigned the whole estate to prevent any kind of escape, a supernatural fortress from which there was no departure.

Didn't stop him from trying though and, of course, he failed to reach the roof, instead he crashed into the courtyard.

He couldn't feel any pain in his body though the impact was a shock.

A leg disconnected and bounced away into the bushes, which was more of an inconvenience than anything.

Before he could crawl away, two dolls he recognized: the mother and daughter combo, emerged from nowhere and dragged him deeper into the courtyard to a large, twisted pine tree -- bare of leaves despite the warm summer day.

When he struggled they removed his other leg and set to smothering him in their affection.

The daughter clung to him like he was her most favourite person in the world, and in some respect he was. While she drew him into a deep kiss, her youthful and energetic body nuzzled against his own as if trying to physically merge their bodies together. The mother, meanwhile fastened her lips to his and bobbed to a hidden rhythm, her serpentine tongue dancing along his shaft.

They eventually shifted to a more lascivious display of love. This continued, just the three of them, until Philip finally found and reattached his missing limbs, escaping the courtyard at last.

Another attempt was to escape via the skylight in the basement.

It was difficult to time, the basement dolls were always present in the dark after all and the head of the house was in no apparent rush to chain them back up like when he first arrived.

The first three attempts were mistimed.

Phil quickly abandoned the first attempt from loss of nerve and barely escaped the second time after wandering the abyss blindly, rousing the dolls from whatever qualified as "sleep" and escaping just before they could grab him.

The third time was less successful.

He managed to find the chain that served as a pulley to open the skylight and managed to reveal the starlight above before the horde had finally caught him and smothered him within their numbers.

On the quite literal bright side he was no longer swimming in absolute obscurity, the silver light of the outside world piercing the gloom illuminated his surroundings and let him at least see the face of his companions.

But the squirming mass eclipsed the light quickly, an argent outlined shadow wriggling in mockery of his escape attempts as the dark consumed him for another time.

He was able to get a sense of time because of it; the silver starlight bled orange then a radiant gold then back to it's ivory sheen during the abyssal feast.

When he was free at last, he got a good look at the skylight and the wooden frames caging his freedom before leaving. It was a few days later when he was able to make his next move.

He found what he was looking for in the attic room, a dusty place he hadn't set foot in since his first day in this nightmare.

It was cobwebbed and rusty and far from peak condition but it was more than enough, better than anything else he could have found.

He returned to the basement, opened the skylight and quickly climbed the chain that lead up to it.

His body was purposely designed to be weak to prevent resistance but even as he was, he could manage to climb to his goal.

He hung from the skylight, clinging to it with his legs as he dangled half upside down.

He took the hatchet he had clenched in his mouth and hacked at the frame.

Unsurprisingly the rusty edge bounced uselessly against the tough wood but he persevered, spending so long hacking away a small entry into the shaft that lead outside.

After significant effort and determination, his efforts were rewarded when the wood finally began to splinter under his blows and he began to renew his assault with reinstated vigour.

At one point a wail drifted up to him and when he looked down from his perch, he saw the dolls reaching up to him as if to embrace him, their once emotionless faces were now pained and sad as if understanding what he was doing and powerless to stop from doing it.

Phil took that as a good sign. If it bothered them this much then surely that means this will work? Right?

His hope overcame his screaming muscles and burning limbs, he willed himself to tighten his grip and swing harder.

Finally he created a hole big enough for his skinny frame to squeeze through, discarding the axe as he did so.

He rested on the skylight after climbing through, getting feeling back into his numb body. And then he started climbing.

The shaft was tall but unlike the estate's walls, the rocks that made up the walls of the chimney were uneven and offered so many purchases and footholds.

He took advantage of the oversight and climbed higher and higher, reaching for the sun and the cloudy sky. Reaching for the outside world and for peace from this hell.

His hand reached out and was stopped.

He frowned.

He patted...something...a solid wall of something cutting him off from the outside world.

No, no, no, no!

He felt it, smacked it, punched it, screamed at it but it didn't even rattle, there wasn't even a mark where his breath met the surface or where his finger prints should have been.

It didn't feel like glass, it was somehow softer just rigid -- like the air itself had become a wall to stop him.

He could still feel the cold wind, the sunlight on his face, like there was nothing there but sure as sin there definitely was...SOMETHING.

He felt like crying, and when he looked back down Phil almost did.

Something was climbing up the shaft.

He thought it was the dolls, the something was clearly multiple bodies squeezing themselves up the narrow chimney, but their bodies were slimmer, some were missing limbs and pieces of themselves and they all shared the same silver hair.

The Amalgam snatched him from where he stood and dragged him into it's writhing body, the numerous dolls that made up the creature compressed and compacted Phil as he slid down the tunnel of flesh like a gullet.

They crushed his body between them, he slipped through regardless only because their forms were oiled up and wet from the never ending waterfall of pussy juices slathering their bodies from every conceivable angle.

He tumbled into the dark, hot breath filled the confined space, the sweet scent of a womanly paradise suffocated him, kissable faces, bouncing breasts and perky asses filled his view as his sense of direction was torn from him.

Up was down, left was right, he fell and tumbled and spiralled infinitely downwards, crushed and embraced by soft bodies and wet flesh.

Finally he fell, face first, into the bottom. His head was shoved through an opening ringed by breasts which consumed his face as he was squeezed through the tight, narrow hole.

Only his face emerged and he was surrounded by the dolls of the basement, who took to smearing his upside down face with sloppy kisses, their tongues dragged across his skin and hands ran through his hair.

His body was no less consumed.

Moist bodies tightly pressed themselves against his own, wet asses slid up and down his arms, mouths took in his fingers, toes and cock greedily, hands fondled his balls affectionately and tongues were driven into his arsehole as if the taste was a rare delicacy.

A tug of war was taking place at the same time too. The dolls were trying to pull him out into the open if only to taste more of him but the Amalgam was stronger, it sucked him back inside of itself and he suffered the uncertain, directionless world of steamy flesh.

This time, his lower body was pushed through the hole, everything below the chest was exposed and, like fish to a hook, the dolls latched on his legs and took his pulsing member into their mouths, drawing out mouthful upon mouthful of semen.

As Phil's arms were restrained by disembodied female bodies, a lone face emerged from the shiny, pale bodies.

It was a relatively pretty face barring the blank eyes staring through him. The face then opened it's mouth wide, revealing it's tongue and another behind that.

And another, and another.

A squirming host of fleshy organs, thick strands of bubbling saliva bridging between them, emerged from the doll's gullet, her throat bulging from the sheer amount contained within her.

Phil was both repulsed and captivated by the sight of a thousand tongues slithering together like the tentacles of a sea anemone ready to pull it's prey inside. He then noticed that the doll's mouth was still opening wider and wider, far more than any human girl could manage. Her jaw practically unhinging, the roiling mass of pink flesh spilled forth and presented itself to Phil.

It leaned into him, tentatively touching his face as if to get a feel for the man it was about to inevitably violate and Phil reflexively shirked away from it's slimy touch.

Hands emerged from around him. They sealed him in place and pried open his jaw, beckoning the tongues to infiltrate his meagre orifice to fill him completely.

And it did.

The vile mass surged into his throat, filling his entire mouth with squirming wet flesh that spread further to his throat. Technically Phil's new body didn't require air to breath so he couldn't asphyxiate but he still went through the same motions on reflex. So while there was no threat to his life, the feeling of his airways blocking up caused him to panic and flail as much as his constricted body could.