Blind Date, Undeserved Fate

by ObjectifiedBeauty

Our blind date had been set up by a mutual acquaintance, and unlike many who are thrust into such situations, we hit it off instantly.  It was one of those warm summer evenings that seems like it will last forever, in a good way.  A divorced single mother who had just passed forty, Marianne was at first a little apprehensive about the arrangement as it was her first real date since the divorce, or as she put it, since the wedding.  She quickly warmed up, however, and before we knew it we had spent a good four hours talking over dinner and a walk at the lake.  She explained how her ex-husband became a completely different person after they had married, how they never talked and she had never felt more alone.  Eventually, he started cheating on her with his prior ex-wife.  Meanwhile, she was left essentially alone in raising their daughter, who had just turned five years old, and his now eighteen year old daughter from the earlier marriage, who alone was quite a handful.  Fortunately, she no longer had to deal with the older daughter after the divorce, but between working and raising her daughter, there just wasn’t the time or energy to pursue getting back out there.  She must have said one hundred times how much of a relief it was that she actually ended up on a date with someone normal and real; it had been so long.

We continued walking and talking, but soon seven o’clock rolled around.  With a noticeable reluctance, Marianne told me we were going to have to wrap the date up pretty soon.  She had a long day at work upcoming, and she had to pick up her daughter from her ex-husband at nine.  I didn’t want the evening to end either, but like all good things it had to end.  We both agreed we had a very good time and were both looking forward to the next time we would meet.  Afraid of being too forward, I asked her if she could pose for a picture so that I could better remember the date, and she happily obliged and said she’d actually give me two.  For the first, she sat down at the end of the dock, before standing up and facing me with the same smile that expressed the level of comfort - and relief - that she felt about the date.

*****

Marianne’s feelings about the date most certainly changed after that second photograph, but it’s not possible for me to know for sure.  The first reason being because I can’t read minds; the second being that she was no longer able to express herself, not because of any inhibition on her part, but because she was now nothing more than an ordinary store mannequin displaying her own clothes.  It happened to her so quickly that she wouldn’t have realized anything was amiss until perhaps a second or two later; however long it would take her to realize and process the fact that she could no longer move, or even breathe.  This would be followed by an almost imperceptible feeling, not unlike butterflies in her stomach, as the transformation raced through her body, turning it into a hollow plastic shell.  Now, since her pose left no portion of her body within her line of sight - and therefore allowed her no visual fix on the changes to her body - she would still have no idea what had happened to her.  Now an unnatural grayish brown hue, her once soft skin was now rigid and smooth.  With almost childlike obsession, I playfully lifted her necklace up a few inches and let it fall, not just once, but at least five times.  Each time, it resulted in that satisfying click sound as the jewelry made contact with her hard plastic chest.  Though by now she must have gained some understanding of her situation, she remained fixed in a distant stare;  her big beautiful brown eyes now being just painted circles of enamel paint, of course.  Likewise, the rest of her facial features, except for her eyelashes, were all reduced to paint:  her makeup, her eyebrows, her still-beaming smile.  All just painted on, as if somebody had just applied them with a brush or pen.  As if she were just any other dummy off an assembly line - which, for all practical purposes, is exactly what she now was.  Aside from bearing a unique appearance, there was nothing intrinsically unique or identifying about her anymore.  Nothing to say ‘this is Marianne Conway’.  No, she was now just an ordinary, run of the mill dummy, just like any other - except for one small detail that nobody would recognize if they didn’t already know it.  As I previously alluded, she’s still in there, mentally, trapped inside a body she can no longer exercise any control over; her own body, no less.

I know she’s still in there, still feeling something, because that’s a feature I specifically built into all of the transformations.  If you know what you’re looking for, the subject’s consciousness is easy to detect.  However, I have no way to dig any deeper than that, for instance, to know what they’re feeling or what they’re thinking at a given moment.  What I do know is that it depends on the individual and the circumstances, and it affects no two women the same way.  For some, the transformation results in feelings ranging from simple relaxation and release to pure erotic ecstasy.  However, for others, it can be quite the opposite; feelings of being trapped, out of control, of maddening frustration without even being able to go insane; a never-ending hell.  Some even experience all or part of both sets of feelings at once!  I like to think Marianne is enjoying the start of this new chapter in her life, but ultimately, based on what little I was able to learn from her during our short date, my gut feeling tells me she just experienced her worst betrayal yet.  Sensing this, I did what I could to apologize for and explain what I did and why I had to do it as I effortlessly picked her hollow form up and packed it into my vehicle.  Like it or not, it was simply her destiny to have this happen to her on that evening.  Regardless of what she was or wasn’t feeling, what she had no way of knowing was that her situation wasn’t about to get better anytime soon.

*****

As with all of my acquisitions, Marianne still required some post-transformation modifications before truly becoming just another mannequin.  Most importantly, she was still in one piece - the transformation process doesn’t create the separations that allow you to remove and pose limbs like you can with a typical mannequin, nor does it leave any flexibility anywhere - it just turns the subject into a monolithic rigid shell of plastic; not a RealDoll.  Not very good for any applications involving being dressed and undressed, which is generally a pretty important feature in a mannequin.

One major detail that I didn’t tell Marianne was that her transformation was actually fully reversible - why else would I know what these girls experience if they weren’t turned back and able to tell me?  From this, it makes sense that over eighty percent of the girls - well, the voluntary ones, anyway - who enjoy their experience decide to turn it into a full-time commitment.  What makes less sense is why some of the ones who have said they hated it also make that same decision.  Not many, but enough to make you think.  To each their own!  As for the difference between temporary and permanent transformations, there really isn’t one.  They’re each just as deep, so to speak.  An otherwise temporary transformation can be made permanent simply by neglect - always being able to be reverted but the action is just simply never taken.  Or, it can be made permanent more actively.

I truly did hit it off with Marianne.  I would have liked a second date, or to follow the road with her as far as it would go.  I had already told her this at least a few times since she had become a mannequin.  But, business is business, and this business leaves no room for becoming attached.  I would have loved to turn her back, to know what she thought, but the likelihood that the reaction would have been less than favorable was just too great.  I wouldn’t lose her - she wouldn’t make it five steps before I’d have her turned back into a mannequin - but the excellent pose I had achieved would surely be lost.  As for that pose, it was fortunately straight enough that I was able to remove her clothes with not much difficulty at all.   I then hoisted her naked form up onto a workbench, face up.  She never said as much, but I knew she wasn’t the type of girl that would give it all up on a first date, and probably not ever on a table.  But there she was, laying there just as beautiful as any living girl I had ever taken to bed.  I went to power up my saw before realizing I had forgotten to remove her hair, or wig, as it was now.  Having that jam up the saw was the last thing we needed.

It was about this time that a thought popped into my head - there was a way I could potentially spare her from her fate.  It would involve a little dishonesty, but I could in theory create a mold from her, cast a duplicate, and sell that off whilst keeping the original mannequin which possesses Marianne’s consciousness.  But then, almost as quickly, the list of reasons why this wasn’t a good idea began to line up in my head.  First, yes, I did have the capability of making a duplicate and I most definitely could have passed it off as the original - but it was late and I would be hard pressed to have it all good and finished in time for the scheduled delivery.  It also would have left very little time to process Marianne in case something went wrong with the duplicate.  Second were the ethical dilemmas - I didn’t do this to her; my client did.  If I then go ahead and keep the original mannequin, that responsibility now bears on me.  It also sets a precedent that I’ve been keen to avoid - it’s not up to me to intervene in the fates of these women.  Sure, I can think I’m giving them a better alternative, but who is to say I’m not doing precisely the opposite?  Finally, there were concerns specific to Marianne.  If I were to keep her, it would become a conspiracy of sorts.  For one thing, she wouldn’t be able to risk running into her buyer.  This would ultimately extend to also having to keep her from her daughter, which was something I just wasn’t prepared to do.  I would then essentially become her prison warden, keeping her inanimate and to myself, perhaps just periodically turning her back or, even worse, teasing her with the idea of a restoration that never comes.  As bad as I knew her situation was probably going to be, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.  After a bit more hesitation, I finally ripped off the band aid and cut a seam through her left shoulder.  Aside from the physical sensation of it, Marianne wouldn’t feel anything different as a result of that cut.  But the implications for her reached far beyond her senses - it ensured that it would be impossible for her to ever again be anything more than a plastic dummy.

As midnight approached, all six cuts in Marianne’s body had been made, capped, and fitted with sockets and pegs.  Both her shoulders and wrists, her hips, and her left leg.  I carefully reassembled her and inspected all of her joints to ensure they were all tight, had full range of motion, and that there was no chipping that needed repair. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, I disassembled her once again in order to dress her back up in her clothes.  Once this was done, I hoisted her back up on the workbench before drilling a hole in her shoe to line up with the socket that had been inserted into the heel of her left foot.  I placed Cinderella’s shoe on her foot before unboxing and unwrapping a circular glass mannequin base and fastening it to her foot.  I then lifted her up and placed her upright on the floor, her first true moment as an ordinary store mannequin.  Once I finished cleaning up the workshop, I picked her up, carried her upstairs, and placed her in front of a full length mirror.  Except for perhaps some glimpses into fleeting reflections earlier in the night, this would be Marianne’s first opportunity to see what she now was.  Regardless of what she felt about what had happened to her, the past nearly five hours of not being able to see with her own eyes must have been frustrating indeed.

It was finally time to retire for the night, as it had become quite late.  Needless to say, Marianne’s schedule had become significantly less busy, but I still had a full day tomorrow arranging her delivery, among other tasks.  Something was missing, though.  I’ve never done this to an acquisition before or since.  I went back downstairs to retrieve Marianne and bring her into the bedroom.  There was no reason that our date had to end; we had so far spent the whole evening and night together, so we still had the rest of the night to spend together.  I removed her from her base, undressed her and brought her into bed.  At first she was quite cold, but she soon began to warm up, if only physically.  I began exploring her motionless body in a much more sensual way than before; caressing all of her curves and paying special attention to her breasts and crotch.  The fact that her breasts were now just smooth plastic mounds without nipples, and her crotch was a likewise smooth expanse completely devoid of the womanhood which was there just hours ago was oddly arousing.  The whole thing sounds strange but it just felt right, even as I was fully aware that I was literally playing with a toy and may never have actually gotten this far with her otherwise.  After what must have been two hours of this foreplay, for lack of a better word, I finally rolled on top of her, but it proved to be a bit too awkward - plus, I didn’t want to break anything.  I pulled her apart until just her limbless torso and head were in bed with me, which I grabbed by the sides and slid up and down against my dick.  Almost as good as the arousal was the feeling of her hair hanging down and tickling my chest and face, as well as the moments my eyes would lock with hers, forever locked in their fixed gaze ahead.  It’s impossible to know for sure, but I don’t think I have ever been more aroused in my life, either with another woman or while masturbating.  Sensing a climax was near, I quickly lubed up her chest, set her down and straddled her as I began to dry hump her smooth, and by now, quite warm, cleavage.  Within a minute I blew my load all over her chest, neck, and chin.  Before I could think about wiping her down, though, I was ready to go again.  And so I did - four more times.  After coming all over her chest a fifth time, I was finally, and rightly, tired; I carefully placed her torso, now sticky and literally dripping with cum, on the floor next to the bed.  There would be time to clean it in the morning, err, afternoon, but for now I needed sleep.  We had been up together all night!

I’ll never be able to know what she felt about that whole event.  More than likely, she never felt more violated; the latest and greatest insult in a night full of them.  Or, maybe she felt so at the start but came around to appreciate it by the end.  Whatever the case, I like to think I gave her the attention and passion I know she so desperately wanted and had sought, to no avail, for far too long, and would never get again.  In a way, it’s unfortunate that it had to happen when she was unable to express and reciprocate; but again, unless I were to get her in bed on the first date, it wasn’t meant to be.

What I knew full well was meant to be, however, and regardless of what she felt about it, good or bad, was that she had yet to bottom out.

*****

Evening was quickly approaching, and Marianne needed to be delivered to her new owner.  The transfer location to be the same location at the lake where we had spent our date the evening before; Marianne’s last moments as a human woman.  All cleaned up from the previous night’s debauchery, I placed her back in the same location where she had made her last pose at the end of the dock.  The whole scene was eerily reminiscent of the previous evening; really, the only difference now was that Marianne arrived as a mannequin and was now standing on a glass plate.

“Well, well, look who it is,” exclaimed a man from the opposite end of the dock.  “If it isn’t Miss Priss.  Ha, looks like you’re even more stuck up than usual tonight; are you even going to talk to me?” he said with a wry smile.

“She’s all ready for you to take,” I replied.

“Maybe if you had put this much effort into your appearance when we were married, I wouldn’t have wanted to cheat on you with Sarah!  Ha!” the man, named George, said to the non-responsive mannequin.

If she wasn’t in hell before, surely Marianne was in her own personal hell now; her molded and painted smile belying the torment she was no doubt experiencing.  First robbed of every ability except to sense and think, modified to ensure she would never regain all those lost abilities, thoroughly defiled all night, and now realizing that she was about to return to, neigh, be the property of, the one man she hated most.  Could it get any worse?

“Holy shit, you’re not a fat cow anymore either.  You lost a ton of weight!” George howled as he handled the mannequin, rather clumsily as he almost tipped it over into the lake.  “And you finally learned to keep your mouth shut!”

“Ahh, so there she is!” shouted a decidedly bratty sounding female voice quickly approaching.  It was Ellie, George and Sarah’s daughter and Marianne’s erstwhile stepdaughter, with Kelsee, Marianne’s biological daughter in tow.  “Nice to see that bitch on glass.  Wow, Dad, you think Mom will like her birthday present this year?”  George smirked.  “Now I have to figure out how to wrap her up and hide her so Mom doesn’t find out early.”

“So, what do we owe you for this?” Ellie asked me.  To the extent I am aware, the plot to have Marianne turned into a mannequin was all Ellie’s idea, presumably as payback for something Marianne did to her.  Or, to put it another way, Ellie was the one who set up our blind date.

“Seven hundred plus expenses; comes to seven twenty-five, as we agreed,” I answered.

“A bargain indeed; you do good work,” she said as she pulled a check out of her purse and finished making it out.

“So we’re all set then?  Anything special we need to know?” asked George.

“No, nothing really,” I said.  “As you can see, she’s basically indistinguishable from any ordinary mannequin you’ll find in a clothing store.  Arms, wrists, hips, and left leg can all be popped off, and the stand unscrews pretty easily.”

“Cool,” George replied.  “I’m sure my wife will appreciate it.  Wasn’t my idea, but hey, I must say she is rather cute.  Something really sexy about her like  this.  Haha!  Say, she won’t turn back or anything spooky like that, right?  I have to admit I do find these things a little creepy, even the ones that aren’t my ex-wife!”

“Not a chance, she’s like that for good.  Just an ordinary object,” I said.

I had to bite my tongue before I accidentally went into greater detail.  Usually, I go into more specifics with my clients, specifically in this case the fact that Marianne is and always will be fully aware inside her plastic body.  The injustices she has suffered already are bad enough; she doesn’t need her ex-husband taunting her who knows how and for who knows how long.  Although, it’s quite possible Ellie knows about it, but if she does, she hasn’t displayed any indication that I’ve seen.  It’s quite possible I described that to her while we were setting this transaction up; before I actually knew Marianne as a person and her situation.

“So Mommy’s going to come live with us again?”  Kelsee asked her father.

“That’s right, pickle bean!  Mommy’s going to live with us and Miss Sarah now,” George answered.

“Yay!  I can’t wait until me and Miss Sarah get to play dress up with Mommy!  Maybe Miss Sarah will let me invite her to one of my tea parties?” Kelsee asked inquisitively, seemingly completely unfazed by, and perhaps even anticipating, the fact that her own mother was now just nothing more than a big Barbie doll.  To Marianne, that must have been a knife through her hollow heart.

“Maybe,” Ellie answered, “but you’ll have to ask nicely.  And your doll Mommy doesn’t bend like a normal doll so she’ll have to drink standing up.”

“Oh, that’s OK,” Kelsee answered with the unwavering assurance of a five year old.  “We’ll make it work.  Or we can just take her legs off and sit her on a chair!”

“Ha, that’s right!” Ellie chuckled.

“Well, time’s a-wastin’.  Good to meet you,” George said as he shook my hand.  “Nice to know now that I have someone to turn to if Sarah becomes a problem again, ha!  Heck of a lot cheaper than a divorce, that’s for sure!”

“That it is,” I nodded in agreement.

George then picked up Marianne and carried her over to the car, where after a few moments of inspection they took her apart at the hips, unscrewed her base and unceremoniously stuffed her into the trunk before piling into the cabin themselves.  Within moments they were gone, and Marianne was well on her way to the next chapter of her existence.

I would be remiss if I didn’t say I was sad to see her go, and sad to miss out on what could have been had we met under different circumstances.  Marianne certainly didn’t deserve the fate that befell her, but, having full control of her own mind, she does have the power, or ability, to accept and even enjoy it if she wants.  She certainly has plenty of time to come around, eventually.  And, as I’ve said before, business is business.  Those women aren’t going to turn into mannequins by themselves.

The End