Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance, while on the stage, the girl writhes, her bare breasts heaving, her stomach concave as she arches against the pole. Her eyes, wide and frightened fill with tears that sparkle under the bright stage lights.
When the thunder rolls again, without thought, Bella leans instinctively into Bridgette, seeking shelter from the growing storm.
Bridgette responds instantaneously, her hand firm and reassuring on Bella’s naked thigh. Her already aching pussy clenches violently, a surge of molten desire rushing through her veins.
The drugs she was fed earlier from the fruit in the bedroom course through her system, causing her sexual desire to rage inside her.
It’s insane. She’s sitting beside the very woman who may have kidnapped and sold her sister into slavery, watching a naked, terrified girl being auctioned off to the highest bidder, and all she can think about is the scorching heat of Bridgette’s palm burning into her flesh.
On the stage, the bidding continues with an aggressive rhythm, numbers flying fast and furious. The auctioneer’s voice cuts through the room like a knife. “One point two million…Do I hear one three?”
Lightning splits the sky outside the porthole windows, followed by a boom of thunder that rattles the hull. Several people jump, but Bridgette’s hand, ever present, only tightens on Bella’s thigh. It’s an anchor, holding her steady amid the swirling chaos of her own spiraling desire.
“SOLD!” The auctioneer’s hammer strikes with finality, sending a jolt of electricity through the air. As handlers assist the newly purchased slave offstage, her bound hands clutched behind her back. Bella watches, heart pounding, as the woman disappears into the shadows beyond the curtain. Was that fear in her eyes… or something else? Something Bella now understands too well.
As soon as the winning bid is made, Bridgette’s fingers trace a slow, deliberate path along Bella’s inner thigh, brushing lightly against the cool metal of the chastity belt. A soft gasp escapes Bella’s lips… she cannot help it. A shiver runs down her spine. Her pulse thrums wildly in her ears, each beat echoing the growing pressure beneath the metal strap. This shouldn’t feel so right… shouldn’t make her ache so deeply… but it does. She stays motionless, muscles tense, heart hammering, caught somewhere between fear and surrender.
Outside, wind lashes rain against the windows, while waves crash harder. Inside, another slave is led out. Young, blonde, blue eyes wide and shocked. As the bids rise swiftly, Bridgette’s caressing intensifies…
Bridgette’s fingertips circle the edges of the metal chastity belt imprisoning Bella’s aching sex. Each graze sends sparks shooting through her veins, a blazing inferno coalescing in her pussy.
Panting raggedly, Bella clings to her remaining shred of self-control. Surrounded by strangers, locked in steel, probed by the devil herself… yet none of that matters. Only Bridgette’s teasing fingers exist. If the wicked witch asked her to fly, Bella would sprout wings.
Another SOLD! echoes distantly. Another girl claimed… another soul possessed. It scarcely penetrates the fog.
There is only Bridgette’s touch, her fingers like daggers, promising ecstasy and ruin.
Suddenly, just as Bella’s about to tip over the precipice, Bridgette withdraws her touch. The absence is a physical shock, leaving Bella gasping, her body trembling with unfulfilled need. A whimper of protest escapes her lips before she can stop it. Her eyes fly open, meeting Bridgette’s amused gaze.
“Not yet, doll,” Bridgette purrs, her voice low and sultry. “Patience.”
But patience is the last thing Bella feels capable of right now. She’s wound so tight she might snap, her body aching with a hunger she can barely comprehend.
Bella feels a mix of conflict emotions… humiliation at being publicly fondled while helpless; resentment and rebellion rising up again. Her mind a whirl.
As the last slave is led away, the buzz of excited conversations fills the room. She feels dizzy, disoriented, like she’s been spun around in circles too many times.
Bridgette stands, offering Bella her hand with a commanding arch of one eyebrow. Obediently, Bella rises, her legs wobbling slightly on the towering heels. The latex dress has ridden up scandalously high, barely covering her ass, but she’s too drained to care.
As they ascend the stairs back to the deck, Bella notices the storm has passed. The air is crisp and clean, washed by rain, and stars twinkle overhead like scattered diamonds. Bridgette leads her to the railing, where they stand silently for a moment, gazing out at the tranquil sea.
Then, without warning, Bridgette turns to face her. Before Bella can react, Bridgette’s hands cup her face, tilting it upwards. Their lips meet in a searing kiss, electric and intense.
Bridgette breaks the kiss abruptly, leaving Bella panting and dazed. Her eyes rove possessively over Bella’s face, drinking in every nuance of the chestnut blonde’s expression.
“Mmm, you respond so beautifully,” she purrs, tracing Bella’s kiss-bruised lower lip with her thumb. “So eager, so hungry for my touch.”
Bella can only whimper in agreement, her mind hazed with lust. Everything feels heightened, amplified… the cool sea breeze on her bare skin, the heat of Bridgette’s body pressed against her own, the throbbing ache between her legs.
“But not yet,” Bridgette whispers. “Anticipation is half the fun, don’t you agree?”
No, Bella wants to scream. She doesn’t want to wait. She wants release now, wants Bridgette’s skilled fingers unlocking the chastity belt and giving her blessed relief. But she can’t form the words, can’t do anything but tremble in Bridgette’s arms.
Bella watches, entranced, as several well-dressed individuals approach Bridgette, congratulating her on the successful auction and engaging in light banter. Through the haze of desire clouding her mind, Bella recognizes a few faces from earlier… Lucien, the enigmatic man with dark eyes, and Genevieve, the silver-haired woman with the piercing gaze.
Bridgette handles their attentions with effortless grace, laughing at their jokes and accepting compliments with a charming tilt of her head. Yet throughout the interactions, her hand never leaves Bella’s hip, a constant, possessive presence that sends shivers of anticipation coursing through the blonde’s body.
As the group disperses, Bridgette flags down a passing waiter carrying a tray of wine glasses. With a murmured request, she procures two glasses, handing one to Bella with a meaningful look.
“To new beginnings,” she says, her eyes glinting with mischief and promise.
Without hesitation, Bella lifts the glass to her lips, the rim cool against her flushed skin. The wine is rich and full-bodied, with hints of chocolate and cherry, and it slides down her throat like liquid silk. She can feel the tension ebb slightly from her shoulders, allowing her to breathe a bit easier.
Bridgette sips her own wine, then sets the glass aside.
“Finish your wine,” Bridgette instructs. “We’re leaving.”
Her authoritative voice leaves no room for argument. Dizzy from alcohol, exhaustion, and a potent cocktail of hormones, Bella simply nods, gulping down the remainder. The crimson liquid hits her empty stomach like a warm caress, suffusing her senses with contentment despite the turmoil still churning underneath.
Bridgette guides Bella by the arm off the deck towards the docking area and the waiting carriage. However, as they walk down the ramp to the dock, the effects of the drugged wine begins to affect her coordination. Her steps become increasingly unsteady on the steep incline, and she struggles to maintain her balance in the towering heels.
The latex dress, already indecently short, rides up with each wobbly step, until Bella feels the cool night air caress the bare skin of her ass, exposing the shiny steel of the chastity belt underneath.
She feels Bridgette’s grip on her arm tighten as the redhead supports her weight, guiding her safely to level ground.
By the time they reach the waiting pony cart, Bella is breathing heavily, flushed and feeling like she should be mortified at her condition, but all she feels is the heat between her thighs.
With a deft motion, the burly guard swoops Bella up into his strong arms, lifting her as effortlessly as if she were a doll. He deposits her onto the plush leather seat of the carriage, the feel of the butter-soft cushion against her mostly bare ass sends a shiver through her. While the guard’s eyes linger appreciatively on her exposed curves.
Throughout all of this, Bridgette observes with a detached, almost clinical interest, her cool blue eyes assessing every inch of Bella’s appearance. It’s as if she’s evaluating a prize thoroughbred, checking for any flaws or imperfections.
At a nod from Bridgette, the guard approaches the ponygirls, reaching up to remove their blindfolds. The nearly identical blond mares blink and shake their heads, adjusting to their restored vision. Their expressions remain serene and obedient, ready to fulfill their roles as living horsepower.
Bridgette then ascends onto the cart with a graceful motion, her lithe form settling beside Bella.
Bridgette takes the reins in her elegant hands, giving them a gentle flick that sets the ponygirls trotting forward in a smooth, synchronized motion.
The pony cart sways gently with each step, and Bella finds herself leaning into Bridgette’s side. The proximity, combined with the effects of the drugged wine, is causing a pleasant fuzziness to settle over her senses.
They travel in silence, save for the occasional soft nicker from one of the ponygirls or the rustle of leaves stirred by a midnight breeze. The journey is dreamlike, surreal… the stuff of fevered fairytales rather than rational reality. As they venture deeper into the woods, the sounds of the auction party fade entirely, swallowed by the dense foliage surrounding the road.
Every now and then, a beam of moonlight pierces through the leafy canopy above, illuminating brief glimpses of the ponygirls’ glistening latex suits and the taut muscles shifting beneath.
As the carriage rolls smoothly through the dark woods, the hypnotic rhythm of hoofbeats against packed earth merges with the soft creaking of leather and metal, creating a lullaby that gradually lulls Bella’s drugged mind. The wine Bridgette gave her, laced with a potent sedative, slowly seeps into her bloodstream. Her eyelids droop heavily, struggling to stay open against the wave of drowsiness washing over her.
But it’s a losing struggle. With a final sigh, Bella surrenders, her head sagging against Bridgette’s supportive shoulder. Vivid dreams immediately begin playing out behind her closed eyelids. Erotic scenarios featuring herself and Bridgette intertwine with hazy visions of being locked forever in restrictive latex, unable to escape the dizzying pleasures it evokes within her.
—————————
[Bridgette’s Point of View]
I watch Bella’s drugged form slump against me, her head nestle against my shoulder. A soft, almost childlike sigh passes her lips as she slips fully into unconsciousness. In sleep, stripped of awareness, her stunning beauty becomes even more pronounced. Plush, pouting lips slightly parted, long lashes brushing high cheekbones, chestnut waves cascading over my lap. An angel fallen to earth… and mine for the reshaping.
But not yet. Patience in all things… I remind myself. Rome wasn’t dominated in a day.
Still, it’s hard not to let visions of our shared future consume me.
Six inch stilettos will be her new norm. That sweetly rounded ass pushed forward, begging for my attention with each swaying step. Eventually her muscles and tendons will adapt, conform to the perpetual strain… until the very act of walking flat-footed becomes agony. My lovely little doll, balanced on knife-thin heels as if suspended on invisible strings.
The mere image sends heat flooding through my core. This exquisite girl affects me like no other. And she’s utterly mine.
But it won’t be easy. She’ll fight this. At first. Especially when she learns just how extensive my plans truly are. No worries though. Rebellion is simply another tool to mold her. By the time I’m finished, she’ll be beautiful, obedient, and utterly dependent.
The forest thins ahead. We’re nearing home. Smiling indulgently, I brush a few stray hairs from Bella’s serene face. Ready or not, doll… the adventure’s just beginning.
She’ll hate it at first. Fight the loss of choice and privacy with every fiber of her being. Delicious.
As we pull up to the estate, stable hands rush out to greet us. With efficient movements born of long practice, they relieve me of the reins and begin unbuckling the ponies from the shaft.
Despite the late hour, everyone performs their duties with quiet competence… a testament to the iron discipline ingrained into all my personnel.
I permit myself a moment to admire the ponies impressive physiques, a product of intensive training. “Take them back to the stables,” I order crisply. “Full grooming routine. Then make sure they’re secured for the night.”
“Yes Boss,” the senior handler acknowledges. With practiced motions, he produces two satin blindfolds and deftly secures them over the ponies’ eyes. Deprived of vision once more, the girls instinctively relax into passive obedience, allowing themselves to be led docilely away.
As the little procession vanishes towards the stables, I turn my attention to Bella’s limp form draped across the carriage seat. Sleeping Beauty indeed. Well, soon she’ll awaken…
With a decisive motion, I beckon a nearby guard… a towering brute of a man built like a bull on steroids. “Take her upstairs,” I command.
The hulking servant merely grunts before roughly scooping Bella up in his beefy arms. Watching her crumple like a boneless doll against his massive chest sends a thrill straight to my core. Helpless, vulnerable… there’s no more perfect sight.
Carrying his precious cargo, the guard stomps into the house and up the grand staircase.
Following behind the guard, I watch her glorious hair swish and gleam with each stride. Those glossy chestnut locks soon destined for transformation, same as all the rest of her. The doll’s helpless submission triggers something primal within me…
Entering the bedroom suite prepared specially for my new pet, I nod towards the immense four-poster bed. “Put her there,” I instruct. “Strip off the dress but leave the shoes and belt.”
With a curt nod, the behemoth complies. Reaching the mattress, he lays Bella out across the sumptuous duvet with surprising care given his bulk. Barely conscious, she lies limp as a rag doll while rough hands peel away the latex. Shiny black fabric yields grudgingly, revealing creamy expanses of soft skin inch by tantalizing inch.
Blood heats my cheeks, desire ignited by the erotic sight of Bella manipulated so thoroughly under my direction. A thrill runs up my spine. Stripped bare except for sky-high heels and unforgiving steel, she couldn’t be more helpless, or more beautiful.
My fingers trail over her cheek, her collarbone, her breast. Her skin feels like silk, smooth and tempting. I allow myself a moment of indulgence, cupping her full breast in my palm. Her nipple hardens instantly at my touch, even in sleep. Such responsiveness…it awakens dark hungers within me. But patience, I remind myself. The hunt is always more satisfying than the kill. I want her broken and begging, utterly dependent on me for every scrap of pleasure or approval. Only then will she be worthy of the collar I have planned for her neck. Leaning down, I brush my lips over hers, barely more than a whisper of contact. “Dream of me,” I order softly. Straightening, I survey my handiwork once more before turning away. Tomorrow the real work begins.
Sleep eventually finds me, though restless images of Bella dancing through my mind. Visions of her bound and presented on my bed, quivering with anticipation as I explore every inch of her willing flesh. Or kneeling at my feet, gazing up adoringly, thanking me for allowing her to serve. An ideal pet, crafted solely for my amusement. The sun streams brightly through the curtains when I awaken, signaling a promising day. After a quick shower and light breakfast, I make my way to Bella’s chamber. Entering quietly, I find her still asleep, chestnut blond hair fanned across the pillow. She stirs slightly as I approach, mumbling something incoherent before settling again. Seating myself on the edge of the mattress, I run a hand along her side, from hip to shoulder. Her eyes flutter open, bleary and confused. “Wake up, little one,” I coax, continuing my gentle caresses. “Time to start your training.”
Fantasy Doll 