The Doll House, Part 7 by Croft

The Doll House, Part 7 - by croft

Part 7 Cut Out and Tucked In

The first step is always the easiest, both figuratively and literally. In any story the first step is the easiest, and then comes the hard part. Escaping the bed was just a matter of making a hole. Once the vacuum seal of the devious vacuum packing bed broke, her slick rubbery skin slid right out like butter. The fear of failure hung over her. Being captured mid-attempt and being punished should her escape attempt fail, then some worse fate would meet her for daring to defy her cold mechanical sadistic masters. That fear drove and commanded her, it turned ever figurative gear and piston that made her body move. Adrenaline was her guide as she slipped noiselessly onto the cold rubbery floor of the sleeping chamber, and on her knees she crawled underneath the cylinders of mechanical eye-stalks that continued their relentless sexual tormenting of her fellow rubbery dolls.

Every movement of her body was accompanied by a squeak or creak, sounds that felt like jackhammers on pavement to her, assuring an already paranoid mind that any one noise would give her away to the machines. What she didn’t count on was all the rubbery other sounds that filled the room and drowned out her own squeaks. What she couldn’t count on was the machine's inability to detect her movements, as they weren’t programmed to notice her. They were only programmed to tease and stimulate. She could have sauntered out with a trombone playing freeform jazz and the machines wouldn’t have noticed. But she couldn’t count on what she didn't know, and so she crawled in nearly paralytic fear until she reached the door.

Luck was possibly on her side. The only way she knew of how to get out from the room wasn’t locked. She didn’t give it a thought, having played through a hundred scenarios already where she’d been caught and put back to bed. She just counted her blessings, and hoped they wouldn’t stop coming. Perhaps this was too easy, and she was being played for a fool, but she couldn't just stop trying now.

Down a sparse empty cool grey hallway, down another one, down a third. She wanted so badly to duck out somewhere and finally cut the infuriating mask off, that was tantamount to her mind. Her wish was granted when down the fourth hallway she found two doors flush with the grey wall, and an approaching floor scrubbing drone machine with an ominous red scanning light turning the corner ahead of her. Quick reflexes chose the door to her immediate right. Closing the door with as much care as possible, she worried about the noise of her body’s own rubbery squeak making more noise than the door hinges. Inside gave her the first sight of her body in a mirror since she’d found herself in this insideous twisted rubber mansion.

It was a simple cell-sized washroom with nothing of interest but a bidet, a toilet, a sink and a simple square mirror. It was heaven, because it gave her the ability to see where to make the first incision. She gripped the sink edges and calmed herself. She willed her brain to calm, pushing out all the paranoia and worry. Would the rubber even cut? What if it was some sort of space age technology, and sealed itself closed, or was booby-trapped to set off alarms if she cut it? The knives and forks from the kitchen earlier in the day, she couldn’t remember if they’d tried to use them, it was all a blur now to her. These and dozens of other scenarios were occupying her mind when her body seemed to act alone, and gently began to scratch at the thick rubber sealed around her neck.

It cut.

It actually cut the ebony surface, and it didn’t heal, it didn’t set off any alarms. It just cut. She couldn’t believe it. The gash in the glossy surface grew as her body acted alone to free itself. A smooth slippery slice grew into a long strip of her flesh becoming visible. The glass snagged in places, but inevitably the rubber cut and once she had nearly a full diameter of her neck free the female doll began with tear-filled joy to pull the rubbery mask away, her fingers digging under the rubber hood and pulling it away from her skin. It stretched with the warmth of her body, and came away with each effort-filled tug. The harness with the humiliating gag was the most difficult thing to work with, but with some more sawing of her tiny glass savior it too came loose. Long blonde hair began to cascade down from under the hood, perfectly dry and silken. Sweat-free skin, a bit pale and ivory smooth contrasted more and more of the rubber hood.

Eventually she gasped, spit, and rubbed her glossy fingers along her lips, her real lips, as the hood lay staring up at her from the sink. She was free, relatively speaking. She was still trapped inside a rubber doll suit, inside a perverse mansion of lust and desire and hypnotic latex slave training, but she was free. She was no longer a doll devoid of personality and humanity, she was a person stuck inside a latex suit. There would be time to cut the rest of it off later though. Time was short, and she needed to get free, really free.

She peaked out the door to the washroom. No drones, no machines, no lights but faint luminescence filling the hall with dull grey light, enough to see. Time to make a choice, check the other door, or keep going down the hall. She made her choice.

____

He despised her with every short exhausted breath he had. He wanted to curse her out for winning the absurd contest to drink as much variety of muck liquid as possible, but she was nowhere to be found, and he was here.

Here of course felt relative at this point. Technically he’d been bound into a tight ball, straps forcing his arms overtop bundled legs which were now locked against his chest. He felt like a pretzel that wasn’t allowed to take full breaths. A thin breathing tube as attached to his mask, and what looked like overly large sunglasses were strapped over his mask, plunging him into darkness. The straps were then overlaid with a bag of sorts, a big transparent rubber bag that was vacuumed down across his body until he felt crushed, and then it was vacuumed again until he wished he only felt crushed. That was where he technically was.

Here is where he felt he was. The overly large sunglasses lit up in front of his vision, and a scenario began to play out that made him question his reality. He saw himself bowing on the floor obediently, body pressed down in a pose of prostration. An extremely busty figure sat before him on a large throne-like chair, her towering spiked heels just inches from his nose. “Lick”, he heard a voice inside his head, and he did. He licked the heels, and the figure leant forward and uncrossed it’s legs. His eyes fell upon a rubbery phallic shape. “Suck”, he heard another voice inside his head, and he did. At least it looked like it did, stuck in this scenario as he was. In factual reality he was bundled up like a crushed pretzel inside a vacuum packed rubber sack. The scenario changed then just as one would flick through boring television, and he was put in one humiliating simulation of subservience after another. Since this started he’d been forced to live through uncountable digital scenarios, and he was beginning to crack. His own frame for reality already having been stretched to the limit from a full day of erotic punishments and training, this doll was losing himself in the world that was being made for him one channel flick at a time.

The only thing that was keeping him on the brink of rubbery submission and not drowning within it was his newfound hatred for her, that...girl...doll...what as her name? She had won the contest, the punishment contest that put him here. He wanted her here, he wanted her to be suffering and him in the bliss of whatever normal sleeping quarters were in this twisted place. He hated her, that...girl...doll. He had thought he knew at one point who she was. He was sure he knew. Sure in himself that he’d arrived with someone who he once knew, once loved, once shared a life with. It was all becoming a blur though, the entirety of his old life was a blur compared to the countless digital realities he was slave to. Slave...rubber slave. He was...a doll...a rubber doll…

No. He had to focus. She put him here. That girl doll. She did this. Focus on that. It was her fault. That’s what he was trying to focus on as he went into a new scenario, his eyes and ears assuring him that he was in fact being the sexual plaything of several Doms and Diva’s who were betting on how long he could go on a track as a human show-pony.

Suddenly everything cut off. The virtual reality he was now slipping into was replaced with black void and static in his ears. Now all he could focus on was the numbing tightness of his rubber cage, but even that soon began to slip away. The vacuum seal of his bondage slipped loose and he groaned and moaned, sure in the thought that he was soon to be dragged away to something new and more insufferable. He heard the rubber bag he was stuck in rip open, and the dry rubber air of his breathing tube was replaced by the stale rubber air of the chamber he was in. With the seal broken he could at least flex his sore neck and flex his fingers. That’s what he was doing when the rubber straps holding his prisoner were released. No. Not released. Cut away. He felt them tug at his body, then tug again, then snap back, and then tug until they fell loose.

What the hell was happening? He wanted to unfurl his body, every limb stiff and stressed from the prolonged balled up position he was put in, but he was too scared to move. The machines were testing him, the rubber house was going to punish him again so he remained still. He twitched and flexed but held still as he felt something around his neck. A new collar? A leash? Some new devious attachment to his rubber-bound body? He felt something happening, but couldn’t place what. He felt a tug at his body, then tug again, then snap back, and then tug again. He felt some presence around his neck, fingers digging under his rubber skin. They pulled, and tugged, and more snapping, more tugging.

Sudden Light. Blinding light flooded his sore eyes, brighter than any of the digital simulacrum he’d endured. Real light. He coughed, and spit, and rubbed at his glossy black fingers across his lips, his real lips, and looked up into the light.

“Get up. We don’t have much time.”

It was her. That girl doll. The one until seconds ago he hated more than anyone in the world. The one he loved now more than anyone in the world. “Right. *cough* Lead the way.”

They both knew this would be their only chance to escape. Though if they could would be another question entirely. It had all felt too easy, and only time and the houses defenses would really tell if it was just that.

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