“Sometimes,” Mrs. Emma Peel said softly to herself, “London is just too boring.”

Even though she was moving along with a throng of people walking along between shops displaying the latest trends in fashion (miniskirts were flirting with the mid-thigh region and daring to go higher still with boots chasing them up the legs) and clubs that were blaring everything from pop to jazz to some forms of music to which she hesitated to give that name, she was bored. Of course, being part of a duo who had saved England and, often, the world several times over, anything short of hordes of cybernauts on the rampage or the occasional Evil Genius threatening global destruction would seem rather dull.

And nothing even close to those things had happened in many, many weeks.

At first, the respite was welcome and refreshing. However, the weeks wore on and there was not a single peep from Mother, the head of the Ministry for which she worked. And Steed was little help, either, having decided to go tooling about the country in that relic of an automobile of his. Sometimes that staid, somewhat detached nature of his was just too much.

Thus she had come into the hipper parts of London. Hours of shopping had resulted in several parcels to be sent back to her flat though she was still wearing the same leather bodysuit in which she had began this junket. Though good breeding had gifted her with a beautiful face and figure, years of practicing karate and judo and her active, if occasionally hectic, lifestyle had honed it to near perfection; a fact that more than a few male passers-by could attest to after having bumped into light posts when they were paying more attention to her passing than to their own. While the attention was flattering, she did little more than smile in return. For all their years of working together, and the amount of flirting she and Steed shared, she remained faithful to her missing husband and these strangers could not hope to hold a candle to neither partner nor mate.

That did not mean she could not appraise the occasional passer-by herself. And it was a winning smile that distracted her long enough to bump into another person.

“Oh! I’m very sorry, Ma’am,” Emma said, blushing just slightly in embarrassment.

“Think nothing of it, Miss,” The older woman replied…just before the basket of flowers she was holding spat a stream of liquid at Emma. It struck her square in the face, surprisingly chill and highly aromatic, and she gasped in shock even though part of her mind already knew that was the worse thing to do with a face full of chloroform.

London, its sights and sounds, all swirled away in a blur as the soporific had the desired effect upon her. She did not see the third member of her team of attackers even as she fell backwards into the crate that he was pushing with a wheeled cart. Even the others on the street appeared to take little notice of the abduction, it happened so quickly and cleanly.

She awakened an unknown amount of time later. Though, if the sun that streamed through the windows of her new location was any indication, it could not have been more than an hour or two at the most. Long enough to spirit her away and, by the drafts that played over her skin, spirit away her clothing as well. The tightness around her wrists, hips and ankles also told her that her unknown assailants did not want her to leave any time soon, either.

While she had been captured before, whether according to plans that she and Steed had concocted or in spite of such plans, being stripped entirely naked by those captors was a new twist and, in spite of her training, she felt a twist of fear in her belly. Emma tried to call out, but whatever they had used to knock her out had left her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton and only a few weak murmurs issued from her throat.

Those soft sounds did seem to be enough to alert the others that she was conscious, however, and created a scurry of activity. She saw Handsome and Old Woman again as well as a third person, a burly man who was about twice as broad at the shoulders as Handsome. Burly placed a hand next to Emma’s head and pushed, causing the table on which she was bound tilt back further until she was facing the ceiling. Handsome then stepped forward, into, then out of her line of site. She then heard a buzzing sound that, as it touched her forehead and moved along her scalp, revealed itself to belong to a pair of electric clippers. Burly moved closer and she heard a second set of clippers start up and then start to move with sure strokes over the curls on her pubic mound. Neither man spoke, nor did their expressions change at all as they proceeded to denude her further. She felt as though she were on an operating table in a hospital, then even that fancy departed as she recalled that the doctors and nurses at least pretended to be friendly while these two acted as though she were nothing more than an inanimate object. Any attempt at resistance on her part simply caused one or the other to stop his work, push her firmly back down against the cool surface of the table and proceed once again.

After both had finished with the clippers, Old Woman came forward. She pushed a cart that held a large basin and a sponge. Dipping the sponge, she began to rub it over Emma from head to toe as methodically, and emotionlessly, as her male counterparts had been. Whatever what being used to bathe her, it chilled her skin even further and stung her nose with its astringent scent. She felt hands at both her wrists loosening her bindings. Before she could think of striking out, Burly had grabbed both her wrists and easily lifted her first into a sitting position then into a nearly standing pose after the waist binding was released and the table lowered down by some means. He held her there easily despite her struggles as Old Woman used the sponge on her backside. Within minutes, the sponge had coated every inch of her skin with the astringent solution. Handsome undid the bindings on her ankles and Burly carried her by her wrists over to what looked like a large bathtub. She kicked feebly; dizzy from both the smell of whatever was being used on her body and fear of what was being done to her. Once at the tub, Burly simply dropped her in and her voice finally returned as she yelped in shock at the nearly ice-cold feel of the water on her skin. She splashed and spluttered, trying to keep her head above the water level. Though a good swimmer, it seemed like her arms and legs would not obey her and she dipped below the surface several times before Burly grabbed a wrist once more and lifted her easily from the tub.

Once more, he carried her like she weighed no more than a child’s toy. And, once more, he dropped her unceremoniously; this time onto a large foam mat. Before she could recover and stand up, walls composed of mirrors and rows of bright lights closed around her and a fan lowered itself over the open top of her latest prison. The lights were hot and bright, making her squint even as they heated and dried her skin with the aid of the overhead fan. Eventually, nearly all the lights faded, leaving only enough to allow her to see her myriad reflections in the mirrors. She cried out in shock and horror at her reflection.

She was bald!

Worse than bald, she was absolutely, completely hairless; from her long, brunette locks to her eyebrows and lashes, to her pubic mound, to the fine fuzz on her arms there was not a hair to be seen upon her body. In addition to that, the chemicals they had used had left her skin feeling tight. She may as well have been wearing a bra for how her breasts stood upon her chest, as they did not sag at all. And a birthmark on her right shoulder was no longer there, either. In fact, after several minutes of horrified self-appraisal, she could see no indication of any blemish upon her skin.

The mirrors and lights swung apart just far enough for Burly to squeeze through. Numb with shock, Emma did not attempt to flee him as he lifted her body up into his arms and carried her back to the table upon which she had awakened. Before he laid her back upon it, she noticed that it had been covered with white paper. Burly set her back down though made no attempt to refasten her bindings. For her part, Emma made no attempt to struggle or escape. Not that she had given up such a desire; it simply seemed to require more mental effort than she was currently capable of producing.

She barely felt the needle enter her left arm as Old Woman started to inject her with some other chemical. Emma noted with a clinical detachment that it was a large syringe, easily one hundred cubic centimeters of liquid. She also noted that Old Woman appeared to have no difficulty injecting the entire amount into her. A cool numbness washed through her in waves, further divorcing her mind from her body. Dizzy, she giggled inwardly with the thought that they were treating her like an object because they were making her into an object. Handsome lifted up her right arm, held it a moment then let it go. Emma watched with detachment, as the limb almost seemed to float back down to the tabletop. She did not even know Old Woman had given her a second injection until she entered her range of vision holding a second, slightly smaller syringe than the first. Handsome lifted the right arm once more then released it. This time, it stayed where he had held it. The trio departed for a time and left her lying upon the table. Emma tried to shake off her wooziness, tried to make her body, any part of it, move to her will. Not only would no other part of her lift itself from that table, the arm that Handsome had left dangling in mid-air remained positioned exactly as he had left it. Not so much as a finger or an eyelid twitched. The only sensations that remained were a feeling of being both incredibly heavy and light at the same instance and a growing sense of being warm even though she could feel the chill air play over her naked skin.

Nighttime came and was chased away again by the sunlight that flowed in through the windows. Emma remained exactly as she had been positioned the previous day when the trio finally returned. With the same wordless efficiency that marked their entire operation (save her abduction) Handsome, Old Woman and Burly continued their work. Burly picked her up and set her upon her feet while Handsome made some experimental sprays with a small paint gun before he made some small adjustments then moved closer to her. Old Woman had wheeled a large mirror to stand before Emma and the woman wondered where the three had found the rather pretty, if blandly colored mannequin. It was only after Handsome had begun to spray her body with a flesh-toned paint that Emma realized that SHE was that mannequin!

Handsome worked quickly yet methodically; using the paint to restore color to her form. First was a base layer of color, and then other guns were used to give highlights and other features. The only things he did not color were her eyes. Once more, the mirrors and lights were moved around her. The heat sent wonderful feelings through her body even as it dried the pigments used upon her flesh. She had never wanted to touch herself as much as she did just then. Touch herself or be touched.

Images of her husband filled her mind, memories of their times together and how he could bring her to the heights of ecstasy with casual skill or passionate fire. That was what she wanted now.

To be touched.

To be pleased.

To be reassured that she was real; that she was a woman and not just some elaborate mannequin.

When the lights blinked off and Burly picked her up in his strong arms, Emma felt like she would explode in pleasure. She was nothing but putty in his hands and she felt herself being bent into a sitting position by his hands. He hoped that he would never stop touching her.

Then it was Old Woman’s turn. Using a palette and brushes, she added even more detail to Emma’s face and body. Gentle pinks to her areolas and nipples and at the cleft of her sex. Slightly deeper shades on her lips. Dark browns to match the shade of her long-vanished hair to paint in the eyebrows that had been washed away. Some shading at her cheekbones and eyes to enhance her beauty. As Old Woman worked, Emma felt even more aroused, more on fire within herself.

At last, the detailing was finished, right down to painting her finger and toenails. Once more, she was stood up and posed within the mirrors and lights. Now, when she looked at her body, it seemed almost familiar. The lights did not remain on for very long, half an hour, perhaps; long enough to set the pigments that Old Woman had used. She was removed from there, and Handsome used a different paint gun on her. This sprayed a clear solution that, once again under the lights, dried to leave her skin seem to be slightly glossy; as though made of plastic.

After she was removed from what she was coming to think of as the Drying Room, Burly made her sit once again. Old Woman returned, holding an odd device. Emma was facing the mirror once again. She could hear a soft buzzing and feel distinct pricks on her head. They stared at the back of her skull and proceeded upwards, eventually to a point that Emma could see that Old Woman was using the device to embed hair into her bald scalp. How long it took, Emma was not certain. She did know that the shadows crossed the room, gave way to night and became day at least once during that time. All the while, Old Woman continued to insert the hair, strand by strand, never speaking, never stopping to rest or eat or drink.

Eventually, the task was completed and Emma could feel the hair on her shoulders. It was the same color and style as the hair they had clipped away however long ago that had been. Burly lifted her into a standing position again then Old Woman and Handsome walked around her, appraising their handiwork. In the mirror, Emma could see the elaborate mannequin or doll that she had become looking coyly back at her. She knew that men and women would want to touch her, to hold her, now that she was nothing but an object; a plaything for their enjoyment.

She knew it and she wanted it.

Burly lifted her once again, then held her as the other two put clothing back on her. They were dressing her in either the same bodysuit she had worn when she had been taken or a very close likeness. She wondered briefly at the fact that they put no bra or panties on her then remembered that she had not eaten, nor had she drank, during the entire time she had been held. Somehow, she knew she never would, nor need to, again. So why would she, who was nothing but a mannequin, a doll, need to bother with lingerie unless someone specifically wished to dress her in such?

After dressing her in bodysuit (with the zipper down to reveal more of her firm, full bosom than she had ever dared to show), belt and boots, Burly picked her up, carried her for a ways then laid her flat against some type of board. Old Woman held up some sort stiff wire and passed it through the board on either side of her body. Emma felt it get tight around her narrow waist; Handsome or Burly must be tying her down with it. Smaller sections were used to attach her wrists and legs in the same fashion. After being restrained thusly, she felt the board, and herself along with it, being raised, moved slightly, and then lowered once again. She was being lowered into some type of box, though the front appeared to be made mainly of clear plastic. After she was lowered completely into the box, she could hear motion above her; a shadow telling her that the lid to the box was being closed. She was turned to face a mirror once more…

She truly was a doll!

Right down to the display box and extra accessories included!

Emma only had a few moments in which to marvel at her transformation before her box was being tilted backwards and darkness engulfed her. She wondered for a moment what had happened then realized that she was to be a present and they had wrapped her.

She lost herself in the thought of to whom she might be given and hoped that they would enjoy touching her as much as she wanted to be touched…

It was so dark…

When was someone going to unwrap her box?

Finally, light entered her world once more…

The room looked strangely familiar, though she could not place it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a stand that held a derby and a holder that housed an umbrella that she knew concealed a sword even as she heard the familiar words…

“Ah, good morning, Mrs. Peel.”