In a rare moment of clarity, Becka lay on the bed and thought back over all that had happened since she had met Pete. She was such a different person now, she had become embroiled in her lover's fetish fantasies, and they now seemed to have an inexorable hold on her, an intoxication or perhaps it was an addiction. The word suddenly seemed to have a resonance that echoed along the corridors of her mind, like a constant and faithful companion.
For Becka realised that her will had been broken, that she would unerringly make whatever perverted twisted choice Pete presented to her, and she loved it. In fact, she realised that she loved it all the more, and her juices would soak her, when her choices separated her inexorably from her humanity. Pete longed for her to do this, and although he never pushed her, she would willingly embrace them, swelling with lust and adoration of him. The sexual lust even now made her heart thump in her chest, pricking at her nipples and seeping into her latex encrusted cunt. Her adoration for Pete and all he loved had come to define her. She was as firmly fixed in place as a stamp pressed to its hinge inside its collector's album.
Oh yes, she had choices -- she knew in some far off distant perfect world choice was always available. She pictured with bitterness her friends sitting around a dinner table somewhere and telling her so, their unspoken accusation of her duplicity hanging over the meal. They would not be able to understand her desire to be consumed, the impossibility of resistance, the urge to feel once more and again the wave of powerful orgasm that made every one of her nerve endings buzz with an erotic charge. Her sexuality revved in an atmosphere too pure, too high an octane that it threatened to accelerate away, crashing into a life too overcharges for her to bear, yet bear it she would.
Lying on the bed, Becka tested once more the knots that bound her wrists, secured them behind her, and she felt another small globule of her juices squeeze through her slit and slickly coat her cunt. The movement shifted the face before her. She stared into the vacant round eyes, inches from her own, and the mocking pleasant smile stretched broadly over the impossibly large face. The eyes huge, round and an unreal bright green with a plastic sheen. Their blank stare of obedience held her gaze, and Becka reflected that stare with her own, locked so close eyeball to plastic eyeball. She felt hypnotised by the glare of their unrelenting, indifferent stare which held her thoughts locked in inactivity, and the lack of stimulation left her mind shutting down, her thoughts sluggish. Her mind revolved slowly, around and around the same thoughts, like a mantra she was too dense to absorb, so having to repeat it over and over. The softly spoken lilt chiming at the limits of her consciousness making her envy the dolls perfect form, its singleness and clarity of purpose, and she sensed, in some indefinable way, the enormous pleasure the doll received each time it was taken out to be used. How could anyone envy a plastic sex doll like she did?
The relentless hours had left Becka feeling weak, her muscles atrophying. She didn't feel able to move her arms, even if they hadn't been tied. But tying them had been important, it had forced her into immobility and to become used to it. Each time she shifted, the bulbous plug trapped inside her mouth, connecting her to this doll, shifted. A dribble of doll cum would slither down her throat and settle with painfully monitored slowness into her belly. Slowly, Becka felt her mind clearing, as if she could, with an effort of will, force her thoughts to break out of their debilitating cycle. Her awareness seemed to slowly lift and circle, like a fog twisting in mesmeric coils shifting and gradually lifting, spiralling upwards releasing their grip upon her. New thoughts started to appear in her mind, but Becka could not control them. Memories started to float through her, images of her journey to this point where she lay with the fire of longing burning in her belly to become one of the dolls in Pete's collection.
Becka had always loved dolls, and especially little Barbie dolls. As a kid, she had made a huge collection of them and she loved being able to dress them and play with them. She had been an only child, and hadn't been very good at making friends at school either. She remembered all those years of being bullied just because she was short. "Little Squirt!" they had called her. Playing with her dolls comforted her. There was a security and a reassurance she felt during that play, because the doll always behaved exactly as she wanted it to. Now, looking back, she thought that part of the pleasure was the absolute control, the certainty that the Barbie doll would never do anything unexpected or unwanted. It had no will of its own.
Well Pete was a match made in heaven. She couldn't believe a guy would be interested in doll stuff. Yet his house was full of little models and figurines he had collected. Many were from movies or TV shows, he had a lot of gaming dolls or figures which he would painstakingly paint in uniforms. Yet he also had Barbie dolls and other pretty little dollies that looked so sexy! That was amazing. She loved the tiny teeny outfits he had made for them. On the smaller models, he had painted sexy outfits that fit tight over their bodies. He paid such particular attention to their design, with little metal rings in their belts that caught on the angle of their hips. As she had picked them up, the light had glittered from the metal and a dusting of sequin spray over their faces gave them a magical allure. She had squealed with delight at them, and her heart had melted. She had found her soul mate.