On the other hand, if you like it, please let me know! Write to me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Second Party's Notes: This is still the same story that EHY came out with years ago the only difference is the fact that I tied all three stories into one. Starting with To Life Part 2 then connected it with To Life Part 3, and then finished it with his To Life Part 1. Now EHY has a great story and he deserves credit, and I had e-mailed him all this but heard nothing back. So... I'm sharing it with the world, only please thank EHY for writing it.
If you would like to read original stories here's where you should go: http://www.p-synd.com/auc/other.htm
My earliest memory is of light. At the time, I had no idea where I was, or even what I was, but now, thinking back, I think I was being uncrated for the first time.
It took me a while to grow used to my sensations. At first all I saw was blinding light and color. Sound was just a constant buzzing in my ears, and every touch burned and hurt and pleased all at the same time. It didn't occur to me that it might mean anything, and it certainly didn't occur to me to try to do anything about it.
But over time, I did learn how to see and hear and feel. I was posed in the window of a ladies' boutique. In front of me was a street with many cars that passed by and people on foot too. Of course, I didn't know they were cars and people at first. They were all a mystery to me. I couldn't understand how it was that they could move about and do things. It seemed almost unnatural to me, like – like how watching a bird fly must be for you. Sometimes I tried to move myself, but of course I couldn't. I was made of rigid plastic. I was not designed to move about. I was designed to stay where I was put, and to model beautiful clothing.
There was a grey-haired woman named Evelyn at the store, who sometimes came into the window and adjusted my hair or brushed dust off me and the other mannequin in the window with me. (I usually couldn't see her directly, but only reflected in the window at night. It was a long time before I even realized that the two mannequins I saw reflected in the window were myself and another – and longer still before I realized which one was me.) Every so often she would pull a curtain across the window, then take me apart and undress me, then come back later and put me back together, dressing me a different way. I always loved whatever she dressed me in. I sometimes think she knew that.
A long time passed. Months at least; maybe years. Then I noticed that the window in front of me was being covered with a large sheet of paper, by a couple of men in jeans and overalls. One of them picked me up awkwardly and carried me out of the window into the store itself. He leaned me up against a wall.
The other man was carrying the other mannequin from the window, and he leaned her near me. They did some more things I didn't really understand at the time, and then left. I was confused and disturbed. I didn't understand why I had been taken out of the window. It seemed wrong to put me where nobody could see me. I know this may be hard for you to understand, but I knew that my entire reason for existing was to display clothes and be seen by people. Nobody could see me there, and I was not happy about that.
More time passed, and now I did not even have the daily movements of people outside the store to help me keep track of time. It seemed the store was closed, because no one came inside for a long time.
As I told you, sometimes I lose track of time completely. The next thing I remember, I was in a room I'd never seen before. There was a female mannequin in front of me, and after a moment I realized I was facing a mirror, and the mannequin I was seeing was myself. I was fully assembled, standing on a pedestal about six inches high. I wore a white cotton bathrobe tied loosely around my waist, with nothing beneath it except the post that helped to hold me upright. That was strange, I thought. The bathrobe seemed to be nothing worth modeling.
Then a man came into view. His face was on a level with mine, which made him about six inches taller than me. He had dark brown hair and a thick, neatly trimmed beard. He stood in front of me, blocking my view of myself in the mirror, and looked me right in the eyes as he spoke to me — I think he was the first person who ever did that.
"Hello, Angela," he said, and it surprised me even more when I realized he was speaking to me. I hadn't known before then that my name was Angela. Or maybe it wasn't; maybe he just decided to give me that name. "My name is Royven. Can you hear me? I think you can, even though you can't answer. But I'm going to try to change that for you, Angela, if you'll trust me. Will you trust me?"
I had never thought about trusting anyone before. It doesn't make sense to think about trusting someone when you have no power to do anything whether you trust them or not. It didn't matter whether I trusted Evelyn to dress me nicely: I was her mannequin and I would wear whatever she dressed me in. It didn't matter whether I trusted the men who took me out of the window: I couldn't stop them if I wanted to, and I couldn't help them if I wanted to. But this man, Royven, was speaking to me as if what I thought actually mattered. As if he was going to do something that I might have an opportunity to interfere with. To you, who have always been able to move and speak and object to anything you don't like, perhaps that doesn't sound like much, but to me it was... I don't even know how to describe it. It was an incredible feeling. It was almost like being kissed for the first time.
And I decided — I decided! — to trust the man who had asked me to trust him. Of course, I had no way to tell him so. I could not alter my expression so much as a hair. I could only hope that whatever Royven was, he would know that I had decided to trust him. He said nothing to indicate any knowledge of my decision, but after a few minutes, he placed his hands on my temples. At first he looked into my eyes, but then he closed his eyes, and the lines of his face tensed as if he were exerting a great effort on something. I had no idea what he was doing, but whatever it was, I wanted it to succeed — more than I could remember ever having really wanted anything before, I wanted Royven's work, whatever it was, to succeed. Something like a gray cloud seemed to pass between myself and Royven, masking my view for a moment, but then it passed, and Royven opened his eyes. He looked at me, and smiled.
"You did trust me!" he exclaimed. "Look." He stepped aside, letting me see myself once more in the mirror. I didn't notice anything different immediately... but then I saw my eyes. My eyes, which I knew had been but dry paint on the plastic surface of my face. No longer. They were now wet, living eyes! My irises were the same bluish-grey color they had always been, but now instead of simply being painted circles, they were real eyes, almost as if I were a real woman!
But that was not the end of my excitement. After a moment of staring at myself, I realized that my new eyes were beginning to hurt. At first I did not understand what was wrong, but then it occurred to me that whenever I saw living people, they often closed their eyes for an instant. Perhaps, I thought, perhaps if my eyes were real like a living person's eyes, perhaps I could blink like that as well. But how? I'm sure this will sound silly to you, but I had never before moved any part of my body by my own will, and I simply didn't know how to do it. But Royven knew how to help me.
"You can move your eyes now, Angela," he told me. He held up his finger in front of my face. "Focus on my finger," he said, and I tried to do that. He moved his finger across my view. "That's not it, Angela," he said. "Move your eyes to follow my finger. Come on — it should be almost automatic." He moved his finger back and forth again, but I still didn't know how I was supposed to follow it. "Okay, I'll try one more thing. I hope this doesn't hurt you." Then with his other hand, he slapped my face. It didn't hurt, but it surprised me — and when I recovered from the surprise, I realized that my eyes were tracking Royven's other hand! He lowered his hand, and my eyes lowered with it, and that made them hurt less, so I lowered my eyes even farther, till I couldn't see anything at all and my eyes didn't hurt at all anymore. Then I looked up again, and I could see just fine — and I could look around and see in different directions!
"There you go, Angela!" Royven cheered. "I knew you could do it, if you only trusted me." I blinked again, just to prove I could, then I blinked several more times because it was so new to me to be able to do anything at all! I was so happy, I wanted to smile, to laugh, to jump for joy... of course, I could do none of those things. I stood motionless on my stand, making no sound, with only a vague dreamy look on my lips... but my eyes and my spirit were smiling.
"Enjoy your new eyes, Angela," Royven invited me. "I can't do any more tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow and I'll animate some more of you." I blinked all night.
True to his word, the next day (or at least, after a period of time that could have been a day) Royven returned. I blinked in greeting. "Hello, Angela. How are you feeling?" I could only answer by blinking my eyes. "Today I'm going to try to let you move the rest of your face. I think you'll like that." I knew I would. "Now remember: you have to trust me. This won't work unless you want it to. Okay?" I blinked again. Royven paused, then placed his hands on my face. I wondered what it would be like if I could move against his hands. I blinked a few times, but his hands were away from my eyelashes, and the rest of my face was still rigid plastic and didn't so much as twitch when I blinked. Royven closed his eyes and concentrated. I decided to close mine too, since I could, in case that would help me concentrate on helping whatever he was doing to work. After a moment, I began to feel a strange sensation in my face. It started out as a slight itching in my cheeks — at least, I think it was what you call an itch. It was a feeling I'd never known before, and I didn't like it much. The itch spread from my cheeks up to my forehead, and down my nose, and across my lips and chin, and became almost a kind of burning. I wanted Royven's work to succeed, but now I also wanted the burning to go away, and without even thinking about it I scrunched my face up in! ! a grimace, as if I could squeeze out the imaginary flames on my face that way. Immediately, the burning sensation stopped. I relaxed and opened my eyes to find Royven smiling at me — and for the first time ever, I smiled back!
Royven stepped aside so I could see myself in the mirror, and as I had hoped (but hardly dared to expect), my entire face now looked like living, movable, human skin! "Wonderful!" Royven exclaimed. "You're really very good at this, Angela. I'm glad." I tried opening my mouth, but I found that while I could smile and frown, my lips still could not part. Royven seemed to notice what I was trying to do. "I haven't hollowed out your mouth yet, so you can't yet open it or speak. Actually it will be a long time before you can speak — I'll have to transform your chest first, so your lungs will have room to expand when you breathe, then your lungs, then your voice box. But as long as nothing goes wrong, Angela, we'll get there eventually."
He reached up and caressed my cheek with his hand, and I tried to brush against him. Not yet able to move my neck, the best I could do was to twitch my cheek, but I did that, and smiled at him. He was making me alive, and I would do everything I could to make sure he knew I appreciated it.
The next day was a bit of a disappointment, as Royven transformed my scalp and hair. I had been looking forward to opening my mouth, or turning my head, but Royven said the transformation was easier this way. I could only see a slight change in my hair, but Royven ran his fingers through it and seemed to enjoy it, so I assumed that whatever he had done was worthwhile. I could also feel the slight give in my scalp when he pulled lightly on my hairs, and that was a pleasant feeling.
The day after that, Royven transformed my neck, and I found myself able to look around almost the entire room. Not that there was anything much to see, but the simple fact that I could see it at all was amazing to me.
The next time Royven came to me, he seemed a little distracted, and didn't greet me in his usual fashion. "I can't decide what to do next," he told me. "I probably should do your hands next, then your arms and shoulders, and continue down the outside of your body. But I'd also like to give you a real mouth now. I'm pretty sure that will work just as well. I've decided to leave it up to you. Smile now if you want me to do your mouth first." I smiled at him — I'd been wanting a real mouth for days. Hands would be nice too, I thought, but I could wait another day for them.
Royven seemed pleased with my choice. "Okay, a mouth it is. Remember, you still won't be able to speak yet." He placed his hands on the sides of my jaw and concentrated. I seemed to feel a huge bubble appear inside my head. It grew and grew and grew until I thought my head would explode — and then suddenly my lips popped open and let out a puff of air. For the first time, I could now feel inside my mouth a tongue and teeth, and I could move my tongue around inside. I opened my lips in a wide smile, to show Royven what he had done.
But Royven didn't notice immediately. His eyes were still closed, and his hands dropped to my shoulders and pressed hard against them, as if he were holding himself up by using my body as a crutch. He was breathing hard. I didn't know what was wrong, or how I could help him. I bent my head down and nuzzled his head — the only way I could get his attention to let him know I wanted to help.
After a moment he looked up again, and without another word, he pressed his lips against mine and kissed me hard. I was surprised, to say the least — first at what he was doing, and then at how good it felt! I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I let him do whatever he felt like doing, and did myself what came naturally — which was to do nothing. I let his tongue explore my new mouth (which I had not even finished doing myself yet), while his hands caressed my cheeks and jaw. It was a wonderful feeling, the most amazing thing I had ever felt, and I wondered if there was anything I could do to make it last longer or feel even better.
Eventually, he relaxed, and reluctantly drew his lips away from mine. Several seconds passed, during which I did not move at all, but simply let my lips remain parted as far as Royven's tongue had opened them. It was as if in the pleasant shock of new sensations I had forgotten how to use my new powers of movement. I think I even worried Royven some, as he rubbed my cheek with his fingers and called my name concernedly. I smiled then, to show him I was still fine, and had enjoyed the kiss immensely. "Oh, good," he sighed. "I was afraid something had gone wrong." I shook my head and smiled even wider. Something had gone very right. "That was very tiring," he said. "I think I probably should have done your hands first. But, no permanent harm was done, and I think you enjoyed your mouth quite a lot, didn't you." I agreed. "I need to go rest now. I'll be back tomorrow night."
Over the next few visits, Royven transformed my hands, then my arms and my shoulders. That allowed me to for the first time touch my own body — both the smooth silkiness of my human-like face and arms, and the hard plastic that was still my torso. And, of course, my deep red hair, which was now soft like human hair. I also discovered another use for them when Royven ended the kiss that had been added to our daily ritual — I could show him just how much I enjoyed them by pulling him back to me for a second embrace. Next came my breasts, for which Royven had to unlace my robe. He was quite polite about it, carefully explaining the need to directly touch some of the part of me that was to be changed, and ensuring that I didn't mind him undressing me. Of course, I didn't mind. I was made to wear whatever someone clothed me in. A mannequin never has need of modesty. Nevertheless, he carefully covered me again when he was finished.
Then came my stomach, my upper back, and my lower back, followed by several days when nothing new happened. Royven explained that creating my mouth had been harder than he had expected, and he expected that giving me lungs would be just as hard if not harder, so he wanted to make certain he was fully rested before attempting it. During that time, I found that even with my new powers of movement, and the new pleasures I had learned to feel from Royven's touch, I did not feel completely happy. It took me surprisingly long to realize the reason. I was — I am — a mannequin. I was designed and made to be seen and looked at by everyone, but here in this empty room, no one could see me except Royven. It was nice to be able to move, but to me, it was not enough. I had to be seen. I had to be dressed in beautiful clothing, and placed where real people would see me and be inspired to try to dress as beautifully as I. That is my life — if a plastic imitation of a woman can be said to have a life. Unfortunately, I could think of no way to tell Royven how I felt. I could only wait until he gave me the power of speech, and then I would explain. That saddened me, but it was okay. I am used to being patient.
I didn't have to wait all that long. For three visits, Royven worked no magic upon me. He simply greeted me, and we kissed, and he spoke to me of inconsequential things. The second visit, after kissing, we found that both of us craved the continuing touch of each other's hands. Royven removed my robe to better caress my breasts and enjoy the smoothness of my back as we embraced. I ran my fingers down the buttons of his shirt, and he removed it for me so that I could feel his rough, hairy skin, so unlike my own. I felt we might have stayed there for weeks. But Royven's patience was limited, unlike mine, and he eventually drew away and put his shirt back on. He began to put my robe back on, but I shook my head and showed him I was happier without it, so he left it off.
The next day, however, I had grown more depressed about being kept hidden away. I kissed Royven as usual, but I did not encourage him to stay with me any longer. He asked me what was wrong, but I could not explain. I tapped my chest, my throat, and my lips, to convey my thought: When you transform my lungs and give me a voice, I will explain. I think he understood.
The next day he returned. This time he stood behind me, pressing his chest against my back, and cupped my breasts in his two hands.
"This will be difficult," he said, "but keeping as much of your chest against me as I can should help. It also feels good," he added, and I could only agree. I saw in the mirror Royven's face as he strained at whatever magic he was using to transform me, piece by piece. Again I concentrated on how much I wanted Royven to succeed in creating lungs for me. Gradually, I began to feel something inside my chest. It grew slowly, pushing my chest out to make room. It became painfully large, and just when I thought I would surely explode from the pressure, it began to grow upward, into my neck. I closed my eyes to try to shut out the pain. For a moment, I felt my body begin to grow rigid again, as if I were being transformed back into a lifeless mannequin, and my eyes would have flown open in shock had they been able to at that moment. Please, let this work... let this work, I thought desperately... and finally, I felt a rush of air gust past my tongue and out my open mouth, the pain vanished, and I could move freely again above my hips.
But as soon as I knew that, I felt Royven's skin slide off of mine, and heard him collapse to the floor behind me. My legs still made of unbending plastic, and held up by the slender rod that held my waist well above the floor, there was no way I could reach him to try to help. The most useful thing I could think of to do was to clap my hands together hard several times, hoping the sound might wake him up.
Royven remained unconscious behind me for long enough for me to grow accustomed to having lungs. I quickly discovered that, just as after I had gained the ability to move my eyes, I needed to blink every so often, now that I could breathe, I needed to do so fairly regularly. At first I needed to think about each breath, when tightness in my chest reminded me to inhale, but after a while I found it grew automatic. By the time Royven awoke, I no longer needed to pay any attention to my lungs.
"How long have I been out?" Royven asked as he struggled to his feet. I shrugged — even had I known, I could not have told him. I had to turn my head awkwardly to look at him, until he'd recovered himself enough to stand in front of me. "I hope that's the hardest bit," he said. "As much as that hurt, I don't think I made any mistakes this time. I think we'd better wait a few days for your voice." I was saddened by that, but I would not have asked him to go faster even if I could have. I reached for him to draw him close enough for a kiss, but he only offered me his cheek. I kissed it gently, smoothed his ruffled hair, and smiled. I could wait.
I think he didn't come to see me for a day or two then. At any rate, the next time he came to me, he was ready to give me a voice. After the difficulty my lungs had given him, I was prepared for another ordeal, but it turned out to be easy. Royven simply rested his hands on my neck, pressing his thumbs against my throat. We concentrated, and I felt a tightness in my throat that went away after a few breaths.
"That was easy enough," Royven remarked. "Can you speak now?"
I tried it. I thought it would be difficult to do — I had been watching Royven carefully the last few times he spoke to me, and noticed how his lips, teeth, tongue, and lungs all had to be coordinated. But this too turned out to be easy. I simply thought of what I wanted to say, and... spoke.
"Thank you, Royven," I said.
The pitch and tone of my voice sounded exactly as I had always thought my voice would sound, if I had one, but it wasn't quite right somehow... I had spoken with no inflection, just one word after another. I tried again. "Thank you, Royven." This time I could hear some emotion. I almost sounded real, I thought. I tried one last time, and this time it was perfect:
"Thank you, Royven!" I cried. "Oh, thank you!"
Then I rested my voice for a while, as we kissed deeply and joyfully.
When we finished, we spoke for a long time. I told him of all the feelings I had been unable to express before. He asked me all the questions he had known I could not answer, and now I answered them. I asked him very little. He had already given me so great a gift; I felt I had no right to ask for anything else. But there was one thing I had to ask for anyway. I needed him to take me someplace where I could be seen, not just by him, but by everyone.
"That could be a bit of a problem," he said.
"No, no, hold on — I want to do this for you if I can. The trouble is... well, there are rules about the things I can do. One of them is that I can't tell you exactly what the rules are, so don't bother asking. And I can't let many people know what I've done for you."
"That's okay," I said.
"I don't need anyone to know that."
"Well, anyone seeing you now would know there's something very peculiar going on, and I can't allow that. Even after you're fully animated, I couldn't let you simply go off by yourself. But... now that I've transformed you — well, most of you — into mobility, I can easily transform you back and forth. I could even allow you to transform yourself. Then, I could arrange for you to go back to a store and... Work there, I suppose, as a display mannequin."
"I would love that," I agreed.
"You'd have to stay immobile all day," he warned. "You could only come to life when nobody would see you."
"I'm used to being immobile," I pointed out. "But you would still be able to come to me at night? And finish the rest of my body?"
"I think I can arrange to be able to visit you often," he agreed. "Probably not every night, but often. I could let you transform yourself at night even if I'm not there, as long as you agree to keep yourself hidden. Let me go see what I can do," he said.
He kissed me quickly, brushed my right nipple quickly, and left.
He returned later with a plan.
"I've found a place for you," he announced. "I can't put you in a store window where people passing by might see you come to life, and a mall or department store would have security at night that could make things difficult. But I know you want to be seen by as many people as possible, so I found a large boutique that will be perfect. There are mannequins in the windows there, but they also keep mannequins inside. I've arranged for you to be taken on there to display clothes inside the store."
"That sounds fine," I agreed. "Will anyone know I can come to life?"
"No, only me. I've made sure the owner and the staff won't pay too much attention to you. You should be treated just like any other mannequin, except they'll tend to keep you near the back of the store, away from the windows. That way you can come to life at night if you want and nobody will see. And I'll be able to visit you at night easily."
With everything agreed upon, the next thing Royven had to do was to make sure I could transform myself. "I need to transform you back to a mannequin myself first," he told me. "I can do that with a spoken command. Are you ready?"
I composed myself, with my arms bent at the elbows and my fingers slightly spread. I opened my eyes wide, watching my reflection in the mirror. I took a deep breath, smiled, and nodded.
"Angela, freeze-order," Royven said.
Instantly, I saw myself change in the mirror. The joint above my hips had been a dividing line. Below it, my waist and legs were solid, painted, rigid. Above it, my torso was soft and alive. Now my top half changed. My skin lost its lifelike tone and once again was plastic. The dark color at the tips of my breasts faded, and my nipples shrank to small bumps. My hair became stiff fibers, and my eyebrows almost sank into my temples. The entire process took less time than the sigh that stopped, frozen in mid-exhale. I tried to lower my arms, or turn my head, or open my mouth, but I could not. I was, once again, completely helpless. Royven reached up and touched my face, gazing into my frozen eyes. "You are exquisite," he breathed. His obvious pleasure at the way I looked was enough to keep me from minding my helpless state, even when he simply stared at me, and touched various parts of me, for several minutes. Eventually, he proceeded. He placed his hands on my shoulders and concentrated. This time, all I felt was a short, quick, spark inside my chest. Royven looked up into my face again.
"You now have the power to transform yourself," he told me. "You can't do it yet, though. Once you've been frozen with that verbal command, you can't come to life again until I cancel it. Being the sentimental sort of soul I am, I set it up so that the release signal is this." And he leaned forward and kissed my motionless lips. Aside from the delightful sensation of being kissed, nothing else appeared to happen.
"There," he said when he had finished kissing me. "You should now be able to animate yourself. You'll need to concentrate hard on it, though. I didn't want it to be something you could do accidentally."
I concentrated hard. I wasn't sure what I was trying to do, but after a little while, I sensed something like a switch in my mind. I knew that was my body's "on/off switch." It took me a little longer to figure out how to mentally “flip” it, but Royven waited patiently while I tried. Eventually, I got it. The switch in my mind turned on, and my upper body transformed back into flesh that I could move.
"I did it!" I announced.
"Excellent," Royven said. "Now make sure you can transform back."
Now that I knew the trick, transforming back to a mannequin was easy. I spread my hands out, and brought them together as if to clap, then flipped the mental switch off again with my arms in motion. I felt them instantly slow down to a halt. Once they were stopped, their texture changed, and I was again a mannequin. But this time I was not completely helpless, for I could turn the switch back on again. I did, and my hands regained their lifelike texture and began to move together again. They touched in a weak clap.
"It's easy now," I said.
After Royven left for the night, I transformed myself back into a mannequin. As nice as it was to be able to move, I really had nothing to do most of the time. As long as I knew I could free myself if I wanted to, it was more relaxing to be plastic. I freed myself when Royven returned.
He was carrying a large box. "Everything's ready," he told me. "You'll have to stay frozen for a few days, most likely, but from your condition when I walked in, I gather you won't mind that."
"No, that's fine, but why?" I asked.
"I'm going to have to have you delivered there tomorrow," he replied. "Tonight I'll dismantle you and pack you up nicely. You'll arrive at the boutique tomorrow afternoon. I don't know if you'll be unpacked immediately, but I can't see why they would wait long. I'll come to see you as soon as I can, and release the freeze order I'll have to give you tonight, and then we can see about continuing to transform you. Your waist is next."
As he spoke, Royven had been pulling bits of shaped foam out of the box. As he finished, he stood up in front of me. "However, before all of that," he continued, "there is one thing I want to do."
I had already seen what he was planning. Our arms moved around one another, and our lips came together. I had learned a lot since my first kiss, and this time I participated completely, knowing this kiss would have to satisfy us both for some time. When we finished, I felt a sadness, but only a little. I would miss Royven, but at last I would again fulfill my purpose.
"How should I pose?" I asked Royven.
"Good question. I'd say you should definitely keep the same expression on your face that you had when I first found you. As for your body... hmm. What do you think? You're the professional."
We spent the next while working out a pose. I had no choice about my legs, which I still could not move. That was actually helpful, since it left my feet in the right position to wear high-heeled shoes. I decided to turn my head slightly to the right this time, instead of the left, and at Royven's suggestion I twisted my body just so. My arms I left down, with my left hand almost touching my thigh, and my right slightly behind my hip. Royven started to arrange my hair, until I reminded him that it would still be flexible even when the rest of me was not, and the boutique's visual designer would arrange it as he saw fit.
When we were both satisfied, I lifted my chin and flipped that mental switch. My body hardened, preserving my carefully selected pose permanently. Royven walked all around me twice, looking at me closely.
"Perfect," he announced. "Angela, freeze-order." I didn't feel any change at that, but when I looked for the mental switch that would allow me to move again, I couldn't find it. I would remain posed like this until Royven decided to allow me to move. But as long as he kept his word to send me to the boutique, that was fine with me.
He proceeded to dismantle me. He carefully removed each of my arms and legs, and placed them carefully in the box, making sure they were well protected so I would not be damaged in transit. Then he lifted my head off of my shoulders, and held it in front of him so that I was looking directly up into his eyes. "I hope you are happy, Angela," he said. "I'll see you in a few days."
Then he wrapped my head carefully in soft cloth, and added it to the box. Finally, he separated my waist from my upper torso, and packed each of them.
Time passed. I felt the box move, but I could not hear anything from inside my padded box. But it didn't seem like very long before I felt myself being unpacked again. I felt soft, gentle hands on my plastic surface, placing my waist on the support rod, attaching my torso, and then my head. Now I could see that my new visual designer was a young woman, shorter and wider than me. She wasn't especially attractive, but she was dressed in stylish causal clothes.
She talked to me as she put me back together. At first, I was surprised — my previous merchandiser had never spoken to me, and I wondered if she knew I could come to life. But after a while, I realized she talked to all of her mannequins, not because she thought we could hear her, but just to pass the time while she worked. Her name, I later discovered, was Jeanette. "You're a pretty one," she said. "A little serious for the misses' department, maybe, but that's okay. Here are your legs... hmm, let me figure out what you'll be wearing before I put these on, so I don't have to take you apart again. Excellent legs... no chips at all. Nice shape, too. Good. Let's see if I can find something that'll take advantage of that. Swimwear, maybe..."
She walked off. I paid attention to my surroundings, and noticed I was in a smallish room filled with tables and shelves containing all sorts of things. There were items of clothing scattered about, some piled up in a heap, others neatly folded, yet others hanging from various hooks. There was another mannequin in the room, but she was far enough to the side that I could not see her clearly.
The designer returned, carrying a one-piece blue swimsuit of some smooth, shiny material. "I think this will do nicely," she said, as she easily fitted it over my torso. Then she put my arms on, which kept the shoulder straps from falling off, and fitted my legs through the appropriate holes in the bottom of the suit.
Finally, she wrapped a matching sarong around my waist.
"There," she announced. "That'll be lovely. Now, we just need to do something with your hair..." She brushed it carefully, and draped its length over my left shoulder. "Excellent," she decided. "Now to get you out on the floor... then I can go home." She brought over a wheeled dolly, and carefully maneuvered me onto its ledge. Then she tipped it backwards and wheeled me out onto the display floor.
I was impressed. This store was much larger than the one I had previously worked in. The lights were mostly off, but there was still enough light to see by. We passed through the eveningwear section, and then arrived in the misses' department. There were several other mannequins here, mostly smiling young girls. Many of them were dressed in pretty dresses and skirts, but I was wheeled into the swim section where there was another mannequin on a pedestal wearing a two-piece printed swimsuit. The woman rotated the cart so I was angled away from the other mannequin, then lifted me off the cart and on to the pedestal. Finally, she dusted me off with a cloth, ran a brush quickly through my hair, and stood back to admire me.
"Excellent. That should make her happy." And with that, she left.
A few minutes later, the rest of the lights turned off.
I waited in the dark for some time. Eventually it began to grow lighter. I heard a door open, and someone moving around. The lights came on. A little later, there were the sounds of a few more people. An Asian woman walked into my area and looked at me for a moment, then moved on. Later, other people came through, and I began to feel useful again as they saw me. It wasn't until the afternoon that my area began to see serious traffic — I've noticed that younger women seemed to shop primarily in the late afternoon on most days. One of them even decided to buy the same style of swimsuit I was wearing!
For the first time in what seemed like ages, I was satisfied again. I was doing what I was created to do.
To make my happiness complete, however, I wanted Royven to return and allow me to move again. He didn't come that night, or the next. I began to wonder whether he in fact intended to return. But the next night, well after the store had been closed and all the employees had left, a few lights came on near me, and Royven approached.
"Hello, Angela. I hope you've been enjoying yourself." He looked me up and down.
This pedestal was a bit higher than the one in his workshop, so I was almost looking over his head.
"I like your new outfit," he said, sounding pleased.
"I'm going to let you move again in a moment. Make sure you remember exactly how you're posed now. You're going to have to be standing just the same way come morning. All right?" Of course, I couldn't answer.
He didn't wait for an answer, either, but climbed up on the pedestal with me, and kissed me. It started out as a gentle kiss on the lips. But almost as soon as his lips touched mine, I felt my mental switch come back, and I turned it on. My body came to life, and I reached for Royven and pulled him against me joyfully. Our kiss turned passionate, and lasted long.
"Oh, Royven," I cried when we broke free, "I'm so happy now! It's wonderful to be here and to be able to move and be with you sometimes!"
We talked and touched for a time. I felt the strange tightness of the form-fitting swimsuit I wore, when it slid across my skin as I moved. Then he told me he was ready to continue transforming me. That night, Royven transformed my right hip and thigh. He thought it looked rather strange that I could now kick my leg upward, while my knee and ankle remained one rigid length of plastic. It felt odd too, so I didn't play with that ability much.
Eventually, it was time for him to leave. "I'll leave your animation under your control for now, Angela," he said. "But remember to pose and freeze again during the day. I've tried to ensure that no one on the staff here will notice if your pose changes a little bit, but I can't tamper with them too much. And of course, if they actually see you moving around, that would be a bit much for them to forget. I've also arranged for you to sense something of a reminder to pose, about ten seconds before someone comes into the store. Now let me see you pose for me, just to be sure."
"Certainly," I said. I was sure I could pose perfectly — after all, that was what I had been made for — but I would do anything to please Royven. I ran my fingers through my hair to make sure it was properly draped over my shoulder, then posed my arms as they had been. I assumed my "modeling face," tipped my head up, and transformed myself back to a mannequin.
Royven looked me over carefully. "Good job. That looks perfect to me," he said. "Of course, it may get harder when you can move your legs too. You'll have to make sure to get back on your stand."
I transformed myself again. "It's not hard," I said. "You don't have to worry."
After a good-bye kiss, he left, and the lights went out. I remained animate for the rest of the night, just to enjoy the feeling, but as it began to grow light, I felt myself grow just a little bit stiff, and my on/off switch seemed to flash brightly in my head. That would be pretty hard to miss, I thought. I assumed my pose, and flipped my mental switch. A few seconds later, I was to all appearances an ordinary mannequin.
The days passed pleasantly.
At night, when the last employee turned out the lights and locked the door behind her, I knew I could take advantage of my new freedom. Sometimes I chose not to — after all, there wasn't much to do standing on my pedestal — but just knowing I could move if I chose was heavenly.
Royven returned, not every night but often enough, and transformed the rest of my right leg, and my left. The only part of me that remained plastic was the space between my legs and an area around that, where I had a hole into which a normal stand fit. Royven showed me that he had replaced my original stand with a slightly different style, which ended in a curved fork that I more or less sat on like a saddle, and showed me how I could lift myself off of it. Then he lifted me off the pedestal and down to the floor. For the first time, I could now walk about on my own. Royven held on to me for my first few steps.
"Careful now," he warned. "Walking may not be easy the first time you try it."
But it was. Just as when I spoke for the first time, I discovered that my body knew what to do. I didn't try to move about quickly, but simply walked about at a slow, comfortable pace. I could feel my hips swaying as I walked, and the slight rustle and brush of my sarong against my thighs. And most importantly, I could decide where I wanted to be! I could walk around the store and see the backs of things, and things that had been behind me. I looked into the eyes of another mannequin, and wondered what she thought of me walking about on my own.
Royven saw my gaze. "Do you think the other mannequins are jealous of you?" he wondered aloud.
I thought about it. What would I have thought, before Royven?
"I don't think so," I said.
"They're probably wondering why I can move, but they probably don't understand why I want to. Before you started transforming me, it never really occurred to me to move. To be honest, it still feels kind of weird. Nice, but weird. I wouldn't want to give it up permanently, but I don't think I'd want to be moving all the time either."
Before he left, Royven made sure I could climb back up on the pedestal and sit back on my stand without his help. I was a little clumsy, but I managed. I decided I had best make sure I got back on the pedestal as soon as it started getting light, since I wasn't sure I could get back on and assume my pose in the ten seconds I would have when I was warned that someone was coming.
The next evening, Jeanette rearranged the displays. She moved me into the eveningwear section, and dressed me in a long blue dress. This outfit didn't show off my legs very much, but I was well posed to show the shape of the dress, and it did contrast nicely with my red-brown hair. I wondered what it would feel like against my legs when I came to life and walked around in it.
But I waited a little while to find out. I wanted Royven to see me posed in it first.
Fortunately, he came that night. He whistled his admiration. "Wow," he said.
I came to life and smiled, but otherwise continued to hold my pose. "You like it?" I asked.
"You are truly lovely," he said. "In fact... Angela, may I take you to dinner?"
"Royven, I'm a mannequin. I don't eat. I'm not even sure I know how to eat."
"You can eat," he told me, as I climbed off my stand and pedestal. "Not a lot at once, and I don't know if you'll be able to taste it, but you can eat enough to look realistic. When you transform back to a mannequin, the food will go away."
"If you say so." I was a little dubious... but I was intrigued by the idea of going out among real people. Why, as I was now, no one but Royven and myself would know I wasn't just like them. "I'd love to go anyplace you would like to take me," I said.
Royven let us out a door in the back of the store. I watched as he took a spare key from the top drawer of a desk in the back room, and then punched in the code to reactivate the burglar alarm. We left, closing the door behind us.
We returned to the store several hours later. I was deliriously happy, having found myself the object of attention from virtually every man nearby in the restaurant at some point. Eating turned out to be harder than walking, but not too difficult. It wasn't much fun in itself, but I enjoyed the feeling of doing something once again that I had never expected to be able to do. But it was Royven's company that I enjoyed the most, and I think he felt the same way about me.
After deactivating the alarm and putting the spare key back in the desk, we walked back out onto the floor. It was still dark, of course, but a bubble of light surrounded the two of us wherever we went — more of Royven's magic, I assumed. I never asked him very much about how he did what he did — I was quite happy with it even without understanding it, and I figured asking him about it might possibly change things for the worse.
"What do we do now?" I asked. "I mean, if I were real... I don't want this to end just yet."
He leaned down and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed myself against him, kissing him hungrily. I felt him reach for the zipper in the back of my dress, lower it, and begin to ease the dress off my body. I kicked off my shoes, but otherwise let him undress me. He sat me down on a bed that had somehow appeared behind me, and I waited while he removed his own clothes.
"I think," Royven said, "If you like, it's time for me to finish your transformation. That last bit of you is going to be important for what comes next... at least, for what I'd like to do next."
I was filled with confused, delighted, overwhelming feelings. I had never been aroused like this before, nor so charmed by anyone or anything. "Whatever you think is best," I said. "Just tell me what I should do. I trust you completely."
"Then lie down," he said softly.
Naked now, he regarded me, looking as if he were considering how to proceed. I waited... not precisely patiently, but confidently, knowing he would act as soon as he was prepared. He climbed onto the bed, and straddled my legs, placing his hands between my legs. I can't describe how wonderful that felt, and I began to moan with pleasure. He moved his hands out to my hips, but the warm sensual joy continued and increased. I closed my eyes.
"Angela," Royven said, "you need to help me. Concentrate on making this work. Don't let whatever you're feeling distract you."
I tried to set aside the surges of lust spreading from my crotch out into the rest of my body. I want this to work, I thought over and over. Let this work. I want this to OHHHH! — to work... Then Royven moved his hands back between my legs, and I could scarcely think as waves of the most intense sexual feelings I had ever imagined coursed up and down my body. I felt my hips pushing up against Royven's hands, my own hands flat against the bed.
Suddenly I knew there was something wrong. I knew it, but my mind was so clouded with desire and lust that I couldn't think of doing anything about it, as Royven's hands groped up my body. I felt his caress on my breasts, and then his weight on my stomach, and his warm breath on my lips as he kissed me hungrily, pressing himself against me. Something was pressed against the smooth plastic between my legs, looking for an opening that wasn't there but in the process igniting a fire of passion that erupted in an explosion of ecstatic pleasure inside me—
"No!" Royven cried.
Suddenly there was nothing beneath me, and I fell to the floor with a clatter. I was a mannequin again, helpless even to open my eyes to see what was the matter. I couldn't find the mental switch to transform myself, whether because it was gone or because of my state of mind I didn't know.
"Angela, it's gone wrong." Royven was speaking quickly, sounding panicked. "I don't know what that will do. I'm going to try to let you move enough to pose — no time to get to your pedestal, just pose here on the floor as best you can. There won't be—ahh!" He sounded as if he were in pain. "No time. Go!"
I could move, but just barely. I felt Royven's hands on my arms, wrenching them into the right pose. I struggled to open my eyes and compose my face, then spread my fingers properly while Royven arranged my legs. Once or twice it felt as if the hands on my legs had actually passed through my legs — but I was very distracted and had no effort to spare to think about that.
"Feet!" Royven cried, his voice sounding faint. I tried to angle my feet properly. I could no longer feel his hands on me, and I could no longer move my face at all to look for him — my pose had my eyes facing straight up at the dark ceiling. As hard as it was to move at all, it grew harder, and then I froze up completely. I heard Royven's voice, very faintly: "Sorry... bye..."
As far as I could tell, I was now alone in the dark.
I felt I was posed very nearly correctly, although my fingers were a bit off and I couldn't be sure my expression was quite perfect. But there was nothing I could do about it now. There were still alternating waves of pleasure, panic, and terror running through my plastic form as I lay there on the floor, naked and helpless in the dark. I could not find the switch that should have allowed me to move again.
My feelings grew calmer as time passed and nothing further happened, but the switch remained nonexistent. In the morning, the manager arrived as usual and turned on the lights. A little while later, Jeanette found me. I wondered what she would do.
"That's strange," she said. Calmly, she picked me up off the floor and set me back on my stand. I saw her face once or twice, and noticed her expression was totally blank, like a poorly-made mannequin. She carefully brushed me off, and collected the dress I had been wearing. While she was working, the manager, an older woman named Lauren, came over.
"What are you doing?" Lauren asked.
"Oh, nothing," Jeanette said. "This mannequin fell off its stand last night. The dress is a bit dirty." I wondered how she thought I had come to fall off my stand, but Lauren didn't seem to.
"Well, dress her in something else and put that one in back," was all she said. "I need you to help me with the new display in Bridals."
Jeanette did as she'd been instructed, and a little while later I was back on display, wearing a new outfit — a sexy black minidress and spiky heels. Maybe a bit of my sexual pleasure still showed on my face, and inspired Jeanette to dress me in something sexy.
Night came and the employees left. I felt around carefully inside my head, looking for the switch that should have allowed me to come to life. It simply wasn't there. Royven didn't return, either.
If I was never to move again, I decided, this was the place I wanted to be. I was doing what I did best, what I had been made to do: standing still on a pedestal for all to see and admire the clothes I wore. That was all any mannequin could hope for, and all any mannequin should want. Once, that had been all I hoped for too. But now... I had known the pleasure of freedom. I had known the pleasure of love. I wished that someday I might know those pleasures again.
I did not expect I ever would.
Many weeks passed. I modeled fall fashions, then winter wear, then spring outfits again. Jeanette, the visual merchandiser who was responsible for dressing me, had a fine fashion sense and I was always pleased with how she dressed me. The days passed quickly. I was not aware of every minute; when nothing interesting happens around me for some time I tend to sort of drift off and lose track of time. After a while, I began to wonder whether my memories of Royven, and of being alive, were real at all. Perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. But I was sure that my arms had not always been down as they were now, with my right left hand almost touching my thigh, and my right slightly behind my hip. I knew that once, my arms had been crossed in front of me, until Royven gave me the power to move them. I had selected my current pose when he arranged for me to work here at Lauren's Fashions, and I had struggled back into it with my last few seconds of freedom, after the accident that left me helpless once again. I had once been alive and mobile and free, but now I was no more than I had been in the beginning: a mannequin, beautiful, but unliving and unmoving.
I was aware, however. From my position on a pedestal near the back of the store, I could observe the women who worked in the store as well as those who shopped there. Here, I could even hear their conversations frequently – my previous position had been in a store window, from which I could hear very little.
Friends of Lauren, the owner and manager of the store, often came to visit her there. Most of them were women who shopped there, but during the winter I overheard some of the salesgirls talking about Lauren and her new boyfriend. The name kept changing, though, and I realized Lauren must have been dating several men in a row. (You try understanding a woman's love life by listening to her employees talking about her. Now imagine doing it when you're a mannequin who has only had one love in her life, and has never grown up or talked to another girl. It's pretty confusing.) Eventually the name started to stabilize on Ned. Then, a few weeks later, it became Peter. Then it was Al, who I actually saw kiss Lauren. I didn't think very much of him, and I guess Lauren didn't either, because a few days later the girls were talking about Lauren's new new boyfriend, Martin.
Martin, they liked. When I saw him, I liked him too. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a neat beard – a bit like Royven, actually, but he was younger and burlier than Royven. He was also a carpenter, apparently, because he started doing lots of little building projects around the store: putting up shelves here, fixing a pedestal there, putting in new lighting today, and so on. He often stayed in the store after hours to do some work. Although his main project was in the front of the store, where I could not see him, I often heard him hammering and sawing and running power tools late into the night.
Some days later, though, he must have decided to take some time off from his project to look around the store while there was nobody else there. I must have drifted off, but I was suddenly brought back to awareness by the feel of hands touching my legs. Large, rough hands, that slid up and down my bare legs, lifting the skirt of my short black dress. After a moment, Martin's head rose into view, grinning. He didn't say a word to me. He rubbed my shoulders, rather pleasantly. Then he sidled around behind me, and I felt him lower the zipper on my dress before he slid the straps off my shoulders and pulled the dress down my body. I knew his purpose wasn't simply to change the outfit I was modeling, but that was okay with me. It had been almost a year since anyone had treated me as anything other than a sales tool. Not that there's anything wrong with being a sales tool – it was, after all, what I was created for – but I am also a woman, or at least an imitation of a woman. It was nice, I thought, to be treated sometimes as a woman.
Martin left my dress crumpled around my ankles, and ran his rough hands up and down my back. He slid his hands between my arms and my body, and cupped my firm breasts, fondling them. The sparks of pleasure his touch ignited coursed through me.
He came around in front of me again, now standing on the floor a few feet back from my pedestal. "You are a sexy little thing," he mused – not exactly speaking to me, but then, he had no idea I could actually hear him. Then he approached me again, and began touching me again, running his hands around my torso, along my thighs, across my cheeks and forehead. He lingered around my crotch and nipples, and I wished I could move so I could moan and sigh and pull myself against him – but of course, I could only stand there, mutely accepting whatever he did to me.
He backed away from me for a few seconds, fumbling with something I could not see – but when he came back, I felt something cool and hard lightly strike my knee as it dropped to the floor, and something else warm and almost as hard press stiffly into my waist. Martin wrapped me in his arms, took my leg between his own, brushed his stubbly cheek against mine. I realized he was doing what Royven had been trying to do before the accident. He wasn't as gentle as Royven, which was disappointing but still satisfyingly sensual. What was much less satisfying – or at least, much harder to endure – was the fact that I could not respond to his touch. I was used to immobility in general, but this was something else. As much as I enjoyed the sensations of his touch, I was more frustrated than I had ever been before that I could not respond in any way, but only stand there while he pleasured himself with my body.
I felt something warm and wet on my stomach, as Martin relaxed. His caresses stopped, leaving me wishing for more. The absent grin he wore, though, suggested he'd gotten what he wanted.
After a moment, he seemed to wake up again. He looked into my unblinking eyes for the first time, and gently brushed a bit of my hair to the side. Then he leaned forward, and gently kissed my plastic lips.
Suddenly, everything changed. I felt my body begin to change, for the first time in almost a year. I looked within my mind, and once again I was aware of the mental switch that had allowed me to come to life, back before the accident – and the switch had somehow activated! A few seconds later, I could move again! "Martin!" I cried, reaching for him. But the man had already stepped off of my pedestal, and now turned around to face me with a shocked look in his eyes. I smiled, to show him I didn't mind what he had done to me thinking I was a mere thing.
"You can't be alive," he said slowly. I wiggled a bit to prove otherwise, and lifted myself off my stand so that I could come down and touch him. "It's okay," I told him as I stepped out of my dress, over his pants, and down to the floor. "But it's been so long since I could move... can we do that again?"
That seemed to shake him out of his shock, and we reached for each other simultaneously. Oh, it was heaven to actually be a part of this embrace! To run my hands along Martin's rough hairy arms and brush my nipples against his shirt, and nuzzle his jaw with my cheek. To press my body against his while he caressed what was now my soft, pliant skin instead of hard rigid plastic. I closed my eyes while my back arched from pleasure, and I felt his lips touch my shoulder. I sighed with pleasure, and leaned in to Martin further...
...only to find I could not inhale again after the sigh, or pull myself away from him. I had transformed into unmoving plastic again, in the midst of this passionate embrace! Why had that happened? A kiss was supposed to allow me to move, not prevent me from moving! And now, of all times! I wanted to scream and cry in frustration, except of course I couldn't.
I stood there, mute and helpless, stretched out sexily, with my hands pressed against Martin's back and side. Nothing seemed to happen for a minute. With my eyes frozen shut, I could not see Martin's reaction, and I had no idea what he might be doing or thinking. I finally felt him extricate himself from my rigid grip. I felt myself start to topple over, but Martin caught me around the chest and set me on my feet, which, fortunately, were still posed to take my weight.
"Okay," he finally said, "what are you? I know you moved, because a couple of minutes ago you were up there looking like a dummy, and now you're down here looking like some kind of sex toy."
A sex toy? I thought miserably. I hoped he'd give me a chance to move again before the store opened.
"Well, okay, not quite a sex toy," Martin added.
With a burst of arousal, I felt his fingers touch the bare plastic between my legs.
"Okay, whoever you are, this isn't funny anymore!" he called out.
It's no joke, Martin, I wanted to say. I really am a mannequin and I really did move and I really do want to move again but I can't...
I felt him touch my face again, this time as if checking to verify that it really was hard plastic. He knocked on my forehead, then my chest. Then I felt a sharp stinging on my cheek – he had slapped me, hard!
"This can't be a joke," he finally admitted. There was another pause, and I'd have given anything just to be able to guess what he was thinking. I was thinking, Please kiss me again... I wasn't entirely sure that would let me move again, but it was the best guess I had!
I suppose he figured it out too, although it took him a lot longer. I finally felt his hand around my left wrist and his warm breath against my shoulder, followed by the touch of his lips there. At first I thought nothing was going to happen, and I was going to stay frozen like this – but after a few long seconds, I felt my body grow soft and movable again. I opened my eyes and looked around to see him standing next to me, with a widening grin on his face.
"I'm not a joke, Martin," I said, beginning to relax. "I'm not sure why I changed back like that—"
"It was when I kissed you, wasn't it," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes, but that isn't supposed to —"
"And then when I kissed you again, you changed back."
"Does Lauren know about you?" he asked.
"No, I don't think so." I said.
"Royven said it was important that nobody else knew I could move. Or at least, not many people. I hope only one person is okay."
"So I'm the only one who knows you can move?" I didn't realize the implications of his smile just then.
"Except for Royven," I said. "But I —"
"He's the man who made me able to move in the first place. But there was an accident, and he disappeared. I think. At least, I haven't seen him since then, and I haven't been able to move since then either, until you kissed me."
"So it's just you and me then," he said.
"Yes, and I'm so happy you found me! It's been over a year since I could move and I've been so lonely..." I tried to embrace him again, but he was still holding my wrist.
He seemed to think about something for a second, then he gently pushed me away.
"I need to finish what I was in the middle of. I mean, before touching you. Go get cleaned up, and we can have some more fun in a little while."
I was disappointed, but I tried not to let it show too much. After all, he'd just come, even if I hadn't been able to enjoy it fully. And I supposed he did have to do whatever it was he was doing. And there was a sticky white smear on my stomach.
I had to ask him where to go to clean up. He pointed me toward the bathroom, and it didn't take me long to figure out how to operate the water and get myself clean. While I was there, I fluffed out my long red hair and watched tiny motes of dust float out of it. Jeanette took care to dust me well whenever she changed my clothes, but it had been several days since the last time. I let my hair cascade down my back. I also took off the high-heeled shoes I had been wearing, since it seemed silly to be walking around wearing nothing but the shoes.
When I felt as clean as I knew how to get, I followed the sound of power tools toward Martin. It turned out he was working in the front window of the store. I walked around to the edge of the window, so I could talk to Martin without being seen from outside.
"Martin? I'm ready," I called.
I thought he would probably tell me to wait – after all, it had only been a few minutes. But it couldn't hurt to try. Or so I thought. His head, at waist level, peered around the corner at me. I smiled and put my hands on my thighs, assuming a pose I'd once seen on a mannequin wearing a sexy black lace outfit. He just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he put something down, stood up, and came over to me. I lifted my hands to undo the buttons on his soft flannel shirt, but he took my left hand in his, lifted it to his lips, and before I realized what was happening, kissed it. I opened my mouth to protest, but I didn't have time to utter a word. Unwillingly, I transformed back to rigid plastic.
Martin stroked my cheek with his thumb. "I'm going to have fun with you later," he told me. Then he gave each of my nipples a quick touch, turned, and left me there while he went back to work in the window.
I don't know how long I stood there, my mouth hanging open, my eyes wide, my hands up in front of me... my feelings on fire. I couldn't believe the way Martin had treated me, deliberately freezing me and leaving here. I was used to being treated like an object by Jeanette and the others who didn't know any better, but Martin knew I was more than that. And his parting comment didn't leave me quite comforted. He hadn't said I was going to have any fun – and I now knew he would be perfectly willing to enjoy himself with my body without regard for my feelings. I just didn't know how he would do it.
When he finally packed up his tools and stepped out of the window, I didn't know whether to be relieved or distressed anew. And I didn't find out immediately. He ignored me and headed for the back of the store, carrying his toolbox. I heard noises that told me he was clearly doing something, but I couldn't guess what. Finally he came back to get me. He picked me up from behind, tipped me over sideways, and carried me through the store. On the way, we passed the spot where I had stood. There was now another mannequin there in my place, wearing the black dress I had been wearing. It was a blonde, not a redhead like me, but her pose was similar to mine.
He carried me to the back room of the store, and set me on my feet. He then proceeded to fiddle with my left shoulder joint. It took him a few tries to figure out how, but eventually he removed my left arm, then my right, and laid each on a table. He didn't say a word to me while he worked, although he did seem to touch a lot more of my body than was necessary. Each unnecessary touch set off another little burst of unwanted desire that I could do nothing to fulfill. Once my arms were off, he detached my torso from my legs and carried my top half out the back door. He lay me face up on a strange lumpy surface. A moment later, I felt his hands on my legs, which he carried outside and laid next to my torso. Then he brought out my arms. My right arm he tossed onto something soft, and the left he lay across my legs. He placed a soft bundle on top of my stomach, then lowered something over me that latched with a sharp clang. I was in the dark, alone, in pieces, and I had no idea what was going to happen to me.
I heard the sound of an engine nearby, and soon I felt myself moving. A few moments later, I felt a hand on my right wrist, and my fingers brushed what felt like Martin's face. Then my hand was draped across a rough, rounded cloth surface – Martin's leg, I think, although I still can't be sure. He spent most of the trip alternating between fondling my hand and arm, and fondling himself with my rigid fingers.
Later, he got me to his home and brought my pieces inside. He piled my limbs on the floor, and stood my upper half on a table. He looked me over thoroughly for a time, then turned me around again and lay me on my back. He picked up my left leg and began to reassemble me. "I'm about ready to make love to you again," he told me, stroking my thigh with his hand.
I sighed inside. I didn't want to make love to him any more.
"I hope you're still as horny now as you were in the store," Martin continued.
As if to make sure I was, he rubbed the featureless (but very sensitive) plastic between my legs. It wasn't necessary. My body still tingled with arousal – I still hadn't completely gotten over my last night with Royven, let alone what Martin had done to me earlier that evening, and was still doing a little bit every time he touched me. But I wanted to make love to a man who actually loved me, not someone who just treated me like an animated (sometimes) sex toy. Martin didn't love me any more than I loved my pedestal.
Now that my legs were attached, Martin picked me up and set me carefully on my feet. "I wonder if you can feel it when I do this?" he mused aloud, rubbing my firm breasts. I certainly could feel it. "Do you like it?" Oh, did I like it... but how much more I would have liked it if he would allow me some freedom!
He finally stopped to reattach my arms. I was now once again standing with my arms stretched out in front of me, as I was when he had kissed my hand to freeze me before I could undress him. Before I had realized just how little he cared about me, even knowing I was a conscious being. Martin walked around me slowly, admiring my body from every angle. Occasionally he would reach out and touch my shoulder, or my cheek, my eyebrow or my ass.
"You are truly a beautiful piece of work," he declared.
Despite the dislike his casual treatment had inspired in me, I still found satisfaction in his admiration of my appearance. If only he would allow me some of the pleasure he took from me...
He bent over my hands again, and kissed my left hand. Slowly, as he watched, my body transformed back into living flesh. When I could move, I closed my mouth, lowered my hands and looked at the floor. He took my chin in his hand and tipped my face up again.
"What are you going to do with me?" I asked.
Martin grinned. "I hadn't decided, exactly," Martin said. "How about you continue where you left off? Undress me, for starters?"
I grimaced. "I don't want to now," I said, hoping he might care.
"You did before," he said. "Why not now?" He honestly seemed not to realize what had changed. For some reason that brought my anger to the surface. "Why not now?" he repeated.
"Because you — because you treat me like some kind of thing you can just use however you want! You use me like a sex doll, and then when you find out there's a bit of a real person in me who actually wants to enjoy herself too, you put me off, and then you freeze me again to wait for you, and you take me home with you without even asking me if I want to go! You don't even have the decency to talk to me like a real person before you start feeling me up again, and then you don't understand why I don't want to make love to you?!"
I half expected Martin to kiss me again halfway through to shut me up. I think he thought about it too, but he didn't do it. He waited for me to stop on my own, and then asked calmly, "What do you mean, there's a bit of a real person in you? You're not going to tell me some story like you were once a real girl and some evil sorcerer put a curse on you."
"No, of course not," I said. Perhaps I should have lied, but it didn't occur to me then. "I am a mannequin."
"I thought so," he replied. "I wouldn't treat a real girl that way."
My eyes widened. "You wouldn't... but then why would you treat me like that? I'm real too!"
"Of course you're real," he said. "You're a very beautiful real thing. But you're not a real girl. You're a real mannequin. Somebody manufactured you, and they sold you to Lauren's store."
"To model clothes, not to be a sex toy!"
"Okay." He let go of me, and I took a step away from him. He pointed at the table. "There's a pile of clothes there in your size. Let me see you get dressed."
It occurred to me that I might have let the conversation get off topic. Still, it had gotten me a chance to get some distance from Martin, and to put on some clothes. When I looked through the pile, I saw Martin at least had some good taste, even if it leaned a little more toward the sexy and revealing than I was in the mood for at the moment. I chose a short, close-fitting, deep blue dress. I wasn't usually dressed in underwear, but he had brought some, and I decided I wanted as much clothing over my body as I could have, so I put on a pair of frilly panties and a lace bra that fastened in the front. (I wasn't sure I knew how to fasten one in back.) I slipped the dress on over that, wondering just how long I'd get to keep them on. I didn't expect it to be long.
Meanwhile, Martin talked to me. "So you don't want to make love to me now," he said. "What do you want to do?"
I didn't get the feeling he was necessarily going to let me do what I wanted to, but there seemed no harm in answering. I had to think for a moment to come up with an answer. "I want to go back to the store," I decided. "Let me put on the black dress and go back where you found me. I'll pose again and turn back into a mannequin."
He looked surprised. "You want to go back? Why? You don't think somebody else is going to come along and kiss you tomorrow night, do you?"
"Of course not," I had to agree, but then immediately thought about Royven. "But that's where I belong, on display. When you let me move again, I hoped you would be a man who would love me, and who I could love. But you aren't. You just want a pretty sex toy, and that's not what I am."
"I could tell," said Martin, his gaze dropping to my crotch (now covered by the dress). "But I'll tell you what. If you do everything I tell you to do tonight, then in the morning I'll take you back to the store."
I was leery of his offer.
"And you'll let me get dressed and pose where I'm supposed to be, so nobody will notice anything unusual?" Martin nodded.
"And you won't take me out of the store again?" I pressed.
I thought about insisting he not use my body as his personal toy any more, but I didn't think he would agree to that. As long as he didn't take me out of the store, I figured I could tolerate anything he would do to me. I could always choose not to come to life for him, as long as I changed myself back to my immobile form before he kissed me.
"If you insist," Martin agreed. "But you must be good tonight, or I'll keep you here forever."
I sighed. "I accept your offer," I said.
After all, how much could he humiliate me in one night? And I did feel I owed him something for allowing me mobility, if not freedom. Even if he kissed me helpless again before he left me, I would enjoy a night of motion. Besides, I could think of no other way to get back to the store.
"Excellent," Martin announced. "Then you can begin by undressing me."
I sighed, and looked at the floor. But there was no alternative. I had agreed, and my only chance was to do as Martin wanted. I walked over to where he stood, and began to unbutton his shirt. He ran his hands through my hair and along my face as I slid his shirt off. I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and knelt to lower them and his underwear down his legs. He lifted his feet so I could remove them completely. He had already removed his shoes at some point, so I pulled off his socks. Before I could rise again, he told me to take his erect cock in my mouth. I obeyed, wrapping my hands around his legs for support. At his orders I began to move my lips up and down his shaft, caressing it inside my mouth with my tongue. He moaned with pleasure – his pleasure, not mine, of course.
"Give me your hand," he said. I looked up to see him reaching down, so I reached up with my right hand. "Continue," he said, taking my hand in his.
I felt him caressing the back of my hand, and examining my fingers. He began to flex and press his crotch against my face, distracting me somewhat and forcing me to grab his thigh tightly with my left hand. I reminded myself to pay attention to his stiff member, and focused on my tongue and lips... until I realized I could no longer move. Martin had kissed my hand again. I felt like a mouse being played with by a cat, the way he kept turning me on and off at will.
Now that I was motionless, Martin clasped my head in his hands and began moving back and forth in my mouth. It seemed I could feel his shaft going all the way into my helpless mouth and shoving against the back of my throat each time he moved. But I suppose this wasn't having the effect he wanted, because after a few minutes of this, he stopped. He tried to pull away from me, but my left hand wrapped tightly around his thigh prevented him. Instead, he kissed my right hand again. I let go of his thigh, and pulled back so he was out of my mouth.
"Stand up," he told me.
I obeyed, running my tongue around the inside of my mouth to clean away the taste of him inside me. He turned me around and put his arms around me, clasping my breasts from behind. Even with the cotton dress and bra over them, his touch felt incredibly sexy. He leaned his head over my shoulder and brushed his cheek against mine. On top of all the other unsatisfied stimulation I'd been receiving, he was exciting my body so much I couldn't entirely control myself. My legs grew weak, and I leaned back against Martin, letting my eyes drift shut with a long, slow sigh. It occurred to me that I should open my eyes before Martin kissed me again, but I didn't manage it. His lips touched my jaw, and in seconds I was doubly helpless – from sexual passion and from being a plastic statue. He kept running his hands over my body as if nothing had changed. Eventually his hands made their way to the hem of my dress, and he lifted it up over my head and down my arms. He was a little awkward doing it because the way I had frozen, I would fall over if he didn't support me, but he did get the dress off without letting me fall.
Next he picked me up and began carrying me. With my eyes closed, I could not see where we were going, but he lay me flat on my back on a soft surface. I decided it was probably a bed when he sat down next to me and began running his fingers along my thighs and my stomach. His touch drifted all the way down my left leg, which was bent such that it never quite touched the surface of the bed, and he played with my foot for a while before working his way back up my right leg. When he reached my panties again, he lifted me by one leg and slid my panties off. A moment later, I felt his fingers at the clasp of my bra, and that too was removed. The bed began to bounce a little as he moved, putting one leg over me so that he sat straddling my thighs. He cupped my breasts in his hands again. I felt his warm breath on my solid surface, followed by the wet touch of what could only have been his tongue, playing with my rigidly erect nipple. If only he would come just a little closer and kiss my breast so I could move, whether to moan in the ecstasy my senses tried to fill me with or to somehow force him away from me I didn't know, but now I had no choice but to lie there and bear the terrible delicious wonderful agony... He stopped, and I couldn't decide whether I was glad or not. But he moved over me again, lying on top of my naked, helpless body, and began to caress my face. His chest lay against my breasts, supported by their plastic rigidity. I could feel his hard member pressed up against my sensitive, sexless crotch, and I could feel my instinctive desire to take it inside me through an opening I knew I didn't have. Then I was distracted by the sensation of firm pressure on my lips.
Slowly, gradually, I felt them soften against his, and my breasts grew yielding under his weight. I opened my eyes to see his face before me, but so aroused was I by my situation that I couldn't think straight. I let myself join his embrace, kissing him hungrily, hoping he would allow me some time alive to drain off some of the intense energy he had been creating in me. It felt so good to move against him, to feel my hands move through his hair and my tongue inside his mouth and my hips against his body... if only he loved me as Royven had, I would have been in paradise, but even though I knew he didn't, at least he was someone to make love to, someone I could direct my lust at even if he didn't care at all... I could hear muffled sounds coming from my throat, and part of me wanted to throw my head back and scream in passion, but I knew if I let this kiss end I could not let him kiss me again and oh, how I wanted to kiss him, to love him, to feel him inside of me and OHHHHHH!!!!!
I felt him buck against me, and warm liquid squirted between my legs, layering the one part of me that was still not flesh. His kiss relaxed, and I could feel the tension spraying from his body, but I wasn't finished yet. I put my hands around his head to hold him against me and continued to kiss him desperately, hungrily. I moved against him, but I could tell he no longer meant it. He reached up and pulled my hands away from him, and rolled off of me onto his back.
"Please, I'm not done yet," I said, turning on my side. I ran my hand across his sweaty chest. "Just a little longer," I pleaded.
"Later," he said, not even opening his eyes. "I'm thirsty. Get me a glass of water."
"But Martin, I'm —"
He interrupted me. "Go!"
I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed. I really had no choice. I got out of the bed, a bit unsteady on my feet at first. I looked around for the first time. The bedroom lights were off, but there was a light outside the open door that lit the room enough to see by. I found my way to the kitchen, located a glass, and filled it with water. While I was there, I cleaned Martin's cum off of myself. It occurred to me that while Martin had sweat profusely during our exertion, my skin was still perfectly dry except for where his perspiration and cum had dampened it. I supposed I was not quite so human as to sweat. Nor, for that matter, to be thirsty.
When I returned to the bedroom, I found Martin still lying in bed, but he had turned on a light near the bed. I sat down on the edge of the bed, crossed my legs, and turned to face him. "I brought you water," I told him, holding it out to him. I noticed that there was a mirror on the wall in which I could see my reflection.
"Good," he said, not moving.
I waited a moment, then transferred the glass to my right hand and began fondling him with my left. I was still incredibly aroused, and I still hoped to convince him to help me relieve it. After a few minutes, he took a deep breath, and sat up. He sidled around behind me, and began stroking my shoulders and back.
"You did a good job tonight," he told me.
"Thank you," I said politely. "But I wish you would consider my pleasure a little more."
"Hmm," he said. The motion of his hands on my body changed, as he began to massage my shoulders. "How about that?" he asked.
"It's nice," I said honestly. "But it's not all I want."
"I know, you want to go back to the store and inspire lust in lots of people, not just me."
I actually laughed a bit at that. "Well, I wouldn't have put it quite that way."
Although he was at least partly right. "What I really meant is the way you just make love to me, like I don't even matter. As long as you're satisfied, you don't care if I am – and I'm not."
"I know," he said.
He reached around me again and touched my breast. I gasped in sudden pleasure as he fondled me. I took his hand in mine and moved it down between my legs, but he drew it back up again.
"Not yet," he said, "I want to talk to you now." I decided that was okay, and let him tease my breast. "What would you do if other people knew what you were?"
"Other people?" I asked. "Like who?"
"Oh, I don't know. Friends. Strangers. Anyone."
The constant unrelieved sexual stimulation I'd been receiving made it hard to think straight. "I don't think that would be good," I said. "Royven said he couldn't let many people know what I was. He never said what would happen if people found out, but, well, he did something so Lauren and Jeanette and the others wouldn't suspect what I was, so it must have been important."
"Nothing bad happened when I found out, did it?" Martin asked.
"Actually, I'm not sure," I said. "It's been a very long time—Ohh!" He had switched his attentions to my other breast, surprising me. My hand shook, and some of the water in the glass I was still holding spilled onto the edge of the bed. "Do you want this?" I asked, when I could.
"Soon," he said. "What were you saying?"
"Well, I think that when I used to come to life, before Royven disappeared, I think I changed faster then. Maybe it takes longer for me to change now because you know I'm a mannequin."
"Interesting," he said. He slowly moved his hand down my smooth skin toward the space between my legs. When he had reached about to my navel, he spoke again. "By the way do you have a name?"
I had thought he would never bother to even ask that! Pleased, I started to answer, but as I began I felt a quick touch at the base of my neck. I began to say, "Royven called me..." before I noticed myself freezing up again, "Ange..." I couldn't finish the word before I lost the power to speak.
"Angelina," Martin said, giving the place where my sex should be a quick, teasing rub. "I dated a girl named Angelina once. Or did you say Angela? Or maybe Angelica?" He slipped the glass of water out from between my unmoving fingers. "Not that it matters much when you can't answer to it anyway." He drank from the glass, then replaced it in my stiffened hand. He got out of bed, and walked out of my sight.
I should have known better, I thought. He had used my lust to trick me into thinking he might actually come to care about me. He didn't, I knew, and he never would. He played with me because he enjoyed playing with me. If he let me talk, it was because he liked the sound of my voice. If he let me move, it was for his satisfaction, not mine. If he asked me my name, it was to tease me with the thought that he cared. And if he had promised to take me home to the store, it was to persuade me to do as he wanted.
Martin returned and looked into my face. "Yes, you do have a lovely smile," he said. "I like it."
Now I knew why he had bothered to talk to me after sex – to get me to smile before he froze me.
He ran his finger across my lips. If I could have bitten it off, I would have. But he just got back into bed behind me, letting his touch drift across my helpless body as it would, and he turned out the light. His last words that night were, "Good night, Angelina."
I was sure it had been, for him.
The night passed. I sat there, trapped on the edge of Martin's bed while he slept behind me. Eventually light began to seep through the bedroom windows, and I knew that soon Lauren and Jeanette and the others would be opening the store. I wondered whether they would notice I was missing. Royven had told me he had made sure they wouldn't pay too much attention to me, and in fact they had picked me up and dressed me again after the accident without seeming to question how I had gotten off my pedestal in the first place. And Martin had left another mannequin in my place when he had taken me. If they didn't notice I was gone, there didn't seem to be any way I could get back. Even if Martin left me free some time – which I didn't think likely – I had no idea where I was, or where the store was, or how I might get from one place to the other.
There was a sudden burst of music from somewhere near me. I heard Martin start moving behind me. Nothing happened for a while, then Martin moved again and the music stopped. He sat up and brushed his hand along my back, then got out of bed and walked away. He returned a while later, wet, with a towel around his waist. He caressed my plastic cheek with a damp hand, and rubbed my lips with his thumb.
"You're a fine sight to wake up to," he said.
That was all the attention he paid to me. He moved about the bedroom, getting dressed, and when he was finished he took the glass of water from my hand and left, without another word to me. I stayed where I was for the rest of the day – alone, unseen, unmoving, and unloved.
And that was how I existed for days. Martin didn't get home until late that night. I wondered if he was out with Lauren, or enjoying another one of the mannequins at her store. I didn't get to ask, even had I wanted to, because he didn't even bother to let me move. He did spend a little while touching and teasing my body, but when he was finished he just picked me up and set me on the floor. Because of my pose, I ended up lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling, with my legs crossed up in the air. He tickled the sole of my foot before leaving me there for the night.
The following evening, he put me back on the bed. He leaned down and kissed my lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, my body returned to life. As soon as I was able, I stood up, and did one thing I had been dreaming about ever since he had last frozen me. I raised my arm, and struck him hard across the face.
Or at least, I tried to. Martin saw what I was doing.
Effortlessly he grabbed my wrist and held my hand away from him. "Naughty, naughty," he said calmly. He grabbed my other wrist as well and forced both of my arms down to my sides as he kissed my forehead. A few seconds later he let go of me. My own body held me prisoner once again.
Martin turned me around to face the bed, and sat down on it himself, his back against the wall, looking at me. "Here are the rules, Angie," he said.
"First of all, you don't ever try to hurt me. Second, you do whatever I tell you to do. Third, if you don't obey the First and Second, you don't do anything at all, because I don't let you move at all. You're every bit as beautiful and sexy standing there right now as you would be if you could move, so don't think I care which form you're in. If you want to be allowed to move, you'd better make sure I enjoy it when you do. Got it?" He paused, as if to let me answer. Of course, I could say nothing.
"I was thinking I might leave you alive for sex again tonight, but now I won't. The next time I do let you move, you'd better remember what I said."
As he had promised, he made love to my plastic form again that night without ever kissing me to life. He did the same the next morning. Both times his touches, his caresses, his nuzzling and his teasing filled me with desire – raw, unfocused desire to touch, caress, nuzzle and tease a man who loved me, or even Martin who didn't, or even just to gasp and moan and arch my back and move! More desire than I could quite believe I could feel, I who for most of my existence had had no desires at all! Enough desire that I felt it should even be possible to move an inanimate plastic body... but no amount of desire would do that. Only a kiss would let me move, and Martin would give me that only when he wanted, not when I did.
Over the next few days, he did occasionally let me move. The first time, I apologized for trying to hit him. I didn't want to, but after lying helpless for so long I had realized that an apology would probably make him feel somewhat more kindly toward me, which it did. He didn't talk to me much, and he didn't encourage me to talk to him. He let me watch a movie curled up alive against him, which I didn't really understand because I had so little knowledge of how real people behaved outside of clothing stores. He invited me to sit with him while he ate once (he knew I could eat but didn't offer me anything), but when I asked too many questions about what the food tasted like, he asked for my hand and kissed me into silence, even though I said I would stop. He left me frozen most of the time, though, except sometimes for sex, after which he would freeze me again, never in bed with him. Once he even froze me, started to go to sleep, then seemed to remember I was there and dropped me onto the floor.
One of the worst things he did was when he picked me up one afternoon when I was frozen sitting on the couch, and put me on the table. He caressed my breasts and face before kissing me hard. That usually meant he wanted to make love to me, which got me feeling lustful, so I leaned into the kiss when I came to life. I stood up. Then he pulled his mouth away from mine for just a second before kissing me again. When I froze in his arms, he picked me up and carried me to a closet, where he shoved me into the back behind a rack of his clothes. Later, I heard voices outside the closet, and I realized the only reason he had kissed me was to bring me to life long enough to stand up so that I would fit in the back of his closet while he had guests over! It didn't help that he didn't even bother to take me out again until late the next day.
After many days of this sort of existence, Martin had a new idea. He had left me kneeling next to his bed that night (saying, "I want your face to be the first thing I see when I wake up tomorrow"). After his shower, he turned me around to face the rest of the room as he dressed and talked to me.
"I want to take you to dinner with some friends tonight," he said.
"My friend Mike's got a new girlfriend he's been showing off everywhere he goes. Hot stuff, she is, but not compared to you. ‘Course, she wasn't designed to be beautiful like you were. Now, you've got to be careful, because you don't want to let them know you're actually a mannequin. That means you smile a lot and you do what I say and you don't talk much, because you don't know enough to sound human if you ask lots of dumb questions. And it means you be very sexy and very good and make me very happy, because if you don't, I'll kiss you in front of them and you know what that would mean. What do you say?" He kissed the top of my head so I could answer.
"What about Lauren?" I asked.
"Lauren? What about her?"
"Aren't you dating her?"
He grimaced. "Sort of, I guess. But that's not your concern, and it isn't Mike and Kate's concern either, so don't you mention her to them."
"All right," I said. "I'll do my best."
He had gotten some more clothing for me since he had acquired me, although the first I knew of it was when he began dressing me. He had frozen me, of course. He put on me a bra and panties that I didn't actually get an opportunity to see until later, a white blouse, and a short black skirt. He also brushed my hair out, and while he wasn't as good at it as Jeanette had been, I decided later when I got a chance to look at myself in a mirror that the results were quite good. I was very pretty. I decided Martin would probably succeed in making Mike jealous.
This evening was the first time Martin had ever allowed me out of his home. I sat next to him in the front seat of his car, and he left me free to look around the city as we drove. We passed a number of storefronts, and I looked for Lauren's shop just in case, but I wasn't surprised when we didn't pass it. We ended up at a busy restaurant, where Martin parked the car and we got out.
We met Mike and Kate at the door. Mike was a big man, like Martin, but blond and clean-shaven. I didn't consider him especially attractive. His girlfriend, on the other hand, was quite a sight. She was short and blonde, with lively blue eyes and a pretty smile. She wore a gray tee shirt and a pair of jeans, both tight enough to show off her fine shape.
"That's her?" Mike asked, staring at me.
I could tell he was impressed – he couldn't take his eyes off me. Kate smiled at me, but then noticed the look on her boyfriend's face and whacked him gently in the stomach.
"Mike, Kate, meet Angelina," Martin introduced us.
(I had told him my name was Angela, but he had already decided to call me Angelina.)
"A pleasure to meet you," Kate said.
I decided I liked her. Mike, I wasn't so sure about. He ogled me too much and talked to me too little.
Then again, I didn't talk much either. Mike and Martin were clearly old friends, and most of Kate's attention was focused on Mike. She did talk to me a little, but when I started to warm up to her, Martin slapped my thigh under the table and I decided he thought I was talking too much. So I just smiled and got shy. Meanwhile, Martin was talking about me like some kind of trophy. He even fondled my breasts a couple of times, just to show how "close" we were. I kept wondering if he was going to slip and kiss me by accident – or not by accident – but he never did.
Bored with the conversation, I started to look around at the other patrons of the restaurant.
I noticed several of the men looking at me, although most of them looked away when they realized I had noticed them. One man, though, particularly caught my attention. He had blond hair cut simply but neatly, and deep brown eyes that seemed to draw me into them. His face was not handsome like the men in the movie I had watched, but he seemed... kind. Friendly. I mean, most of the time when men stare at me, I get the feeling they're imagining ripping my clothes off and making love to me right there. That's not necessarily a bad thing. But from this man's stare, I only felt admiration and longing. Perhaps even... love?
Like everyone else, when my gaze turned toward him, he dropped his eyes and concentrated on his food. But I kept looking at him, and a little while later he looked up at me again. Across the restaurant, our gazes met: his beautiful living orbs and my painted and animated eyes. I imagined in that moment that a bond of some kind had grown between us. Even with Royven, I had never felt that sensation.
The moment passed, and I knew there was no such bond. I turned back to Martin, hoping he hadn't noticed that my attention had wandered. It occurred to me, briefly, to excuse myself, walk over to the man, and ask him to take me away from this horrible man who had kidnapped and enslaved me, but of course I did nothing of the kind. Martin could easily have grabbed my arm and stopped me, changing me back into a mannequin in front of all these people, and I had no idea what would happen if he did that. I was quite sure it wouldn't be anything I wanted, though.
Finally, the evening ended. Martin hugged me close to him, and I smiled and pretended I wanted to be there as I said goodbye to Mike and Kate.
"You did that very well," Martin told me, once we were safely in his car again. "I'll have to find some way to reward you."
"You could take me back to the store and let me go," I suggested.
He only laughed. "No way, gorgeous. You belong to me now."
But I was watching the route we took back to Martin's home. The sight of the blond man at the restaurant had made me think that there might be men out there who would treat me better than Martin did. And that if I was able to escape from Martin somehow, perhaps I might find one of them who could protect me from him and take care of me. The blond man, I somehow knew, was such a man, and that restaurant was the only clue I had of how to find him again.
When we got back to Martin's home, he sent me to his bedroom and told me to get undressed. I took off my shoes and socks, and unbuttoned my blouse. That was when I saw for the first time the sexy red lace bra Martin had put on me earlier. There was a matching bikini bottom beneath my skirt. I took a minute to admire myself in the mirror. While I was there, Martin came in behind me, put his arms around me, and started fondling me. I expected him to kiss me, but he didn't. I guess that was his version of a reward for my "being good" that evening. He picked me up and carried me to the bed, and made love to me without freezing me until we were almost finished. But he did kiss me hard on the lips just before I felt I was about to reach a climax of enjoyment, and I never quite did. He came between my legs, and I just wished he'd continue for a few more minutes. Some reward.
But it turned out there was a little more reward that neither of us expected. Shortly after he finished with me, Martin rolled off of me and went to sleep, leaving me in bed with him for the first time. I was surprised, but as long as I couldn't move and nobody could see me, it didn't matter much to me where I spent the night. A few hours later, though, I felt Martin begin to move next to me. He moaned a little in his sleep, and threw his arm across my body. A few minutes later, he pulled me closer to him, so close that I could feel his warm breath against my bare shoulder. I wondered what he was doing, and especially why he only did one thing at a time, and then paused for minutes. Next, he began to nuzzle my shoulder and cheek with his bearded face. I felt something almost like a kiss two or three times, followed by something that was definitely a kiss, because it turned my body to flesh.
Now that I could move, I turned my head to see what was happening. To my surprise, I saw Martin's eyes were still closed. He was trying to make out with me in his sleep! I looked the other way, and saw it was just past three o'clock in the morning.
But for the first time since Martin had taken me home, I was free without his knowledge! Carefully, so as not to wake him, I slid out from his grasp. I thought about waiting until he was more soundly asleep, but he might kiss me again, and I would lose my chance. I managed to slide out of bed without waking him – aided, perhaps, by my lightness, which didn't shake the bed much as I moved. I watched Martin for a moment to make sure he was still asleep.
Quickly, quietly, I picked up off the floor the clothes I had worn that evening, and left the bedroom before getting dressed. I looked around for the other clothes he had somehow acquired for me, and found some, but not all of them. They would have to do. I stuffed them in a large shopping bag, headed for the door, and let myself out.
I didn't know what I would do next. But I did know one thing. I would no longer be Martin's slave.
For weeks I hung out at the different shops, remembering my time at Lauren’s store modeling different clothes; that is up to Martin had discovered the truth about me, that I can change into a living woman with a kiss, but I can also be changed back into a mannequin with another kiss.
When Martin found out he decided to play with me, letting me think that he would think that he would consider my thoughts and feelings, only to have him treat me like some sex toy that he could turn on and off simply by kissing me.
Ever since that night that Martin took me out for the first time mostly to make his friend Mike jealous of him, which I thought was petty, and I saw a blond haired man who seemed to look at me with compassion in his eyes, and I longed to find a man who would care for me that way.
I also hope that when I meet him he takes care of me no matter what I am in, whether I’m flesh or plastic.
Then one night while I walking, I saw a blond haired man who looked like the same man I had seen weeks ago at the restaurant. He was standing outside of some food area; remembering the way another blond man had looked at me, I decided to walk over to him.
As I do, the only thing I start thinking as I walk up to him is, "I hope he treats me the same way as the blond haired man I saw in the dinner the night I escaped from Martin. With admiration, longing, and maybe even love."
As I walked closer I saw that he had the same deep brown eyes that drew me, and maybe even others into them. If he's the same man as before and my first impressions are true, I wouldn't mind getting lost in them.
Here goes, hoping, as I say: "Excuse me... I don't think we've ever met, but we've seen each other before, haven't we?"