All Under Control!

Author's Note:  The following story contains certain adult themes, including sex, which may cause some people discomfort or offense.  If you think you may be one of these people, then I recommend you do not read any further.  I write for the pleasure of myself and those who enjoy what I can create, but I have no desire to push it on anyone else.

On the other hand, if you like it, please let me know! Write to me at ehy_1 at ya hoo dot com.

In Part I, I told the story of how I met and fell in love with a beautiful girl who turned out to be a mannequin with the power to come to life sometimes. In Part II, she told how she was brought to life by a man named Royven, who vanished in an accident that left her once again a mannequin. Here her tale continues.

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, afte! ! r 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 myself 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 was 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 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."

"Well, yes."

"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 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 —"

"Who's Royven?"

"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 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 lay 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?" I 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!"

"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 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 he! ! ad 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 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 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 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 able 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 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 were 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 were 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. It 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.

To be continued...?

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