A note to my readers: Enjoying life in the dollhouse so far? You may have noticed some foreshadowing of darkness to come. It has arrived. Step lightly. CW: Mind control, Dollification, Non-Consent, Capture, Substances. All characters are adults.
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Thread the Needle
"I have to go pee," Ana whispers besides me and pads off to the bathroom. I snuggle deeper under the covers and begin to drift once more. Daddy is away on business again and Ana's tiny snores beside me have been a comfort these past few days. I always struggle without him, and without Ana the house would seem to empty. Even the staff have taken a half a day off this morning. It is Sunday after all.
Citrouille has already been picked up early this morning for his weekly adventure walk. I'd been hesitant to let him go anywhere without me, but the posh walking service has been taking him for a day of hiking in the woods with other dogs for about a month now. The ferocity of his tail wagging when the puppy camp bus arrived for only the second time had told me everything I needed to know. He simply loves it, especially now that spring has sprung. I smile to myself anticipating the pictures that the service will text to me later. I slip back into a slumber dreaming of puppy snuggles and the pancakes I'll share with Ana in a few hours.
Last night we stayed up late without our Daddies present to tell us it was bedtime. I squirm a little and squeeze my thighs together thinking of Ana's body pressed against mine. We'd kissed and touched, slipping our fingers inside of each other, and eventually entwined our thighs in a slow grind. Slick pooling between us, I'd been able to slide my most sensitive parts against hers, the smoldering friction bringing us both to a sweet and gentle release. That had only been the first time of the evening.
Needless to say, I sleep like the dead and when I yawn and stretch to reach for my lovely friend, I find her side of the bed cold. My eyes open wider and I sit up with mild alarm realizing that Ana hasn't returned to bed. It's my turn to head to the bathroom, hoping she's not ill.
My feet hit the cool marble tile as I cross the threshold but my search comes up empty. The tub is dry and so I know she hasn't lingered here for a soak. I sniff the air. No whiff of breakfast drifting from below to indicate that she's gotten hungry waiting for me. No bubbles. No pancakes.
My body stiffens and I begin to feel a chill creep down my spine as I head for the stairs. The house is so silent and empty this morning that I can hear the ticking of the grandfather clock below before I even hit the landing. My dread grows with each tic, each step.
Animal instinct tugs me towards the parlor with its cheerful yellow and cream hues. As my bare toes reach the plush nude carpet my heart lodges in my throat. I'm used to time doing strange things here in the dollhouse, but the moment I see her lying lifeless on floor, pastel teacup inches from her tiny hand and coffee painting the floor, it simply comes to a stop.
I fling myself at Ana, praying I'll find a pulse, but find myself dragged back by my waist before my fingers can even brush her throat. She looks completely helpless with her silk robe askew, exposing her soft blue panties and pink nipples to the air. I want to scream and cover her, but find I can produce no sound.
"She's not dead," a strangely familiar voice soothes gently in my ear. Tears sting my eyes but still I don't cry out. "Auto-start coffee pots are a funny thing he whispers. It's amazing how easily a few drops of rohypnol can just find their way into the brew."
I can't see his face but I wrack my brain trying to place his voice. I'm certain I have heard it before. Garbled memories from the past few months try to surface before eluding me. Maybe it's the panic setting in. I fight harder, grasping at straws.
I struggle as the man twists me in his arms to face him and I'm struck by his startling blue eyes piercing me from behind yet another mask. The memories return in a deluge, the man standing at the top of the stairs, Citrouille's bite, and finally the garden party. Something about the night of the art exhibit still escapes me, but I know with certainty that I have seen these eyes unmasked before.
Jonathan
.
I can feel his muscled form beneath his nondescript clothes. He restrains me easily with one hand, reaching forward to stroke my face with the other. His eyes widen in surprise when my teeth clamp down on his fingers. He releases me in his shock, shaking his hand and my head in an attempt to dislodge my teeth. I let go and try to flee, only to find myself tackled to the floor. "I like your spirit," he growls. "I think I'll enjoy more it when you behave well enough to be my good girl instead of just my little doll, but doll may have to do for now."
I'm no match for his strength and I fear that he will take me right here on the floor. I attempt to prepare myself for this reality, but instead find myself staring in horror at the object he removes from his pocket, an elaborately gilded skeleton key.
He crushes me under his weight and this time I can't help but whimper as he jabs the key against my throat. It won't work
, I think silently,
only Daddy has my key.
Frustrated, Jonathan snarls above me before he schools his face and resumes his deceptively gentle tone. "It's alight little darling, you'll respond to my key soon enough and in the meantime, there's always ketamine." This time when he reaches into his pocket, he produces a syringe. I struggle anew as he grips the cap between his teeth to unsheathe the needle. I see the metal glimmer in the early morning light.
I'm dressed only in one of Daddy's t-shirts and so completely bare from the waist down. I know
