Authors Note: Thank you to RK Moreland for his wonderful editing style, I truly appreciate the tender care her treated my work with and explanations that will help me to improve my own structure and style. If you made it through the first chapter and enjoyed it enough to read the 2nd thank you very much for continuing to read this story. ~ellie
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Jillian stared at herself in the full length mirror of the studio. Only it did not seem to be her. A life sized boudoir doll on a large shining metal doll stand and base stared back equally unbelieving at her. She wanted to scream but in opening her mouth no sound came out except a whispered croak.
"A nice little side effect of the medication you have been given," Joe's voice sounded from behind her and she searched the mirror before her for him. "You will regain the use of your voice when you have learned some manners little dolly. Your Master would like that be to be sooner rather than later." Joe stepped forward into her sight and lower his voice menacingly, "Personally I don't mind how long it takes you as I will be the one to deal with your punishments."
Joe wheeled a box trolley behind her and slid its edge beneath her stand. Tilting the trolley back onto its two wheels he began to walk her toward the door. Jillian began to struggle in fear and the trolley stopped as he growled, "If you insist we can start the punishments now."
Jillian shook her head with what little movement she had, terror filling her and subduing her urge to fight the restraints. Their slow journey began again as they travelled a well lit hallway to another door and entered what appeared to be a small theatre or poetry club. She was placed on the small stage and left alone. She tried to look out at the shadowy figures she could see but the bright lights made it impossible to make out anything substantial.
"Hello, I am Dean" a softly spoken voice said from beside her as a tall thin man came into her view. "She looks terrified," the voice spoke to someone other than Jillian.
"Her arrival may have been a little more unusual than our normal collectables," A harder, now familiar voice responded and Joe reappeared to stand beside her; she could just make out his form from the corner of her eye. "She has had no time to fully understand her new position. It was considered best to have the appraisal done immediately to impress upon the doll her station and deter any behaviour that may cause discolouration to her beautiful skin tone." Joe took a small syringe from his pocket and pressed it to her neck. The smaller dose had the effect of making her more relaxed without passing out.
Dean nodded his understanding and looking out at the small audience, Jillian could see a limping figure make his way to the front of the seats. Dean smiled at Jillian and said quietly, "Just follow my instructions and there will no need to be frightened of anything." Clearing his throat, Dean turned back to his audience and moved so that they could view the collectable properly.
"Once again the rare quality of dolls produced by the Jack and Jill Company can be seen in this newest collectable boudoir doll," he began, his voice once raised gained timbre and he sounded commanding to Jillian ears. She mused over the name Jack and Jill Company trying to place it in her knowledge of dolls in the antiques market before realising how stupid that was. A company that made women into dolls to be owned and collected would never be a public entity. The drug addled haze that clouded her brain made her smile at her own stupidity and Dean took his cue.
"This dolls face is exquisite and shows a wide variety of emotions, a rarity in dolls such as this. Her wide green eyes and beautifully sculptured brows add even more to the expressions as do the dimpled cheeks," Dean paused pulling her ringlet styled hair up at the back before continuing. "There is a fading henna tattoo of the maker's intention which will no doubt be changed to a more permanent J&J brand after today's appraisal."
All the pieces finally clicked into place as Jillian remembered the ache in the base of her skull she had woken up with when last she was with Jacques Millieu. He had done this to her. She cursed that she never checked it out thoroughly and been more vigilant, but how could she have known this would be her fate. Unable to hide the drug addled confusion that came with the realisation of whom her captor was from her expressive face, she half listened as Dean continued to speak about her facial features. "Her hair is the natural colour leading to no discolouration long term and has been styled to the period in ringlets that fall softly beyond her shoulders. A very nice example of a well informed creator and expert stylist," he smiled and nodded to the audience in acknowledgement.
"She is wearing an antique black dress which I believe to be silk with four groupings of felt appliquéd flowers, three in the front and one in the back. Her dress is very full. There is some fading to her dress in front probably due to sun exposure at some time. It is not particularly noticeable or distracting while on display and mentioned for accuracy only. Likewise the lace covering her breasts is fragile and should be treated with care. She is wearing two necklaces around her neck which may have been added at the time of her creation and her addition to the private collection." Ignoring the shock collar he continued on as if he had explained its presence, "The second holding the company insignia as well as that of the owner." Dean painstakingly slowly removed the outer dress as Joe released and rebound her hands. Jillian was left bare breasted as she stood on inspection for the room and Dean, whose soft voice continued in his appraisal of her.
"Her undergarments are antique organdie and consist of a slip with ruffled bottom and a stiff piece of fabric that serves almost as a hoop skirt to give volume to her dress. Just beautiful!" Dean slipped it down over her hips to puddle around her feet. His hand grazed over her thighs and ass, "She has four tiered ruffled pantaloons and is wearing black silk stockings and black leather high-heeled boots of the era. The stockings are of the same fragile black lace as the accents that held her breasts and adorn the short gloves she wears."
It took little time to divest her of the pantaloons, boots and stockings. Jillian shivered as she stood bound to the life sized doll stand totally naked to the critical eyes of those who watched her. She felt her skin crawl as Dean ran his hands over her body and carefully inspected every inch of her. "There are no scars or blemishes visible on a soft pale skin. A light smattering of freckles across her shoulders does not detract from her overall appeal." Dean moved in front of her blocking her view of the audience and lightly ran his finger tip from behind her ear to the base of her jaw and then down her neck. Jillian was unprepared for this soft touch after her morning with the sadist Joe who had abducted her. After several long minutes his hands moved down and stroked over her breasts, playing with her hardened nipples. Dean kept eye contact with Jillian as if daring her to look away as he stroked and manipulated her body, making her hate herself for the way she was responding to his tender soft touches.
His hands stroked down over her ribs and back to her breasts as her breath quickened in response and her mind blocked out everything around her except this man's eyes and the feel of his hands on her. His hands traced down over her hips and caressed her ass, following this trail several times before his hand dipped between her legs, parting her damp folds and finding her clit, making her gasp. He pushed two fingers slowly and carefully inside her while his thumb gently rolled circles over her clit until she was trembling with need and on edge. He stopped abruptly and turned back to the audience fishing a handkerchief from his pocket to clean his hand.
"All her erogenous zones are fully functioning and respond well to touch alone, while my inspection was of a softer mode Joe assures me she responds equally to the harsher forms of touch as well." He looked to Joe who nodded in confirmation.
"This is an exceptional boudoir doll of a quality rarely seen and in such pristine condition. She is like a little piece of history of days gone by. Collectors could only dream of owning such a perfect collectable." Dean smiled and stepped away from the girl down into the audience. Jillian tried to follow his movements to be sure her suspicions about her captor were correct.
"Take her to the doctor now, so I can write up the full appraisal to go with the photographs," Dean said to Joe as he returned to the stage area. Jillian felt rather than saw the trolley move behind her stand and slide under the base. Even though she had readied herself the jolt, the strange weightless feel of being wheeled to another room along with the heavy sedatives in her system, made her feel queasy.
The strong smell of antiseptic assaulted her nose as another door was opened and she was deposited in the white room. Joe busied himself checking her reactions and reflexes before beginning to undo the restraints that held her in place. Jillian wilted limply as the head rest style collar of the stand and metal rod were taken from her back and neck. It was as if her legs were made of rubber suddenly and Joe picked her up easily as any thoughts she had about fighting her situation were made inconsequential amid the unwillingness for her limbs to cooperate with her brain.
Turning, Joe placed her in an examination chair and began to buckle her limbs into the restraints. Jillian wondered why this would happen as she could barely move of her own volition and the thought made her laugh. It was a strange mirthless soundless laugh that turned to tears as she began to realise that there would be no hero out there looking for her, her own body had betrayed any chance she had of fighting what was happening to her and her only other weapon, her voice, had been taken away along with the use of her limbs.
A new voice sounded in the room and unable to bare the reality of her situation any longer Jillian closed her eyes tightly willing it to be a dream, a nightmare that she could perhaps wake up from. The physical examination was so thorough that she felt violated by the clinical detachment of the doctor and his intense scrutiny of every part of her. He had asked a myriad of questions requiring only a yes or no answer to which she answered by a shake or a nod. He had taken blood and had placed a bed pan below the chair and angled it sharply before ordering her to pee. Seeing no other choice she let go of the stream she had been holding for some time with a little relief once the humiliation of the act washed over her.
