..is that you can never tell where it will land you. Or maybe that's just the trouble with magicians. Anyway: take me! But not too literally, please, 'cause after what's just happened.. well, I don't want to get into even more trouble than I am in already.
This is a story. My story, perhaps, as it was told to me. Some of its true. Maybe all of its true. But don't expect me to know exactly which is which.
So where should I start? With Dave, I guess. Dave the beautiful. Dave the magnificent. Dave the boyfriend who was rapidly turning frostier than a sharp day in early February.
I didn't know what to do. Like, losing him just wasn't an option. I wanted him. I loved him. I lusted for him so bad it felt like a fever. Only things weren't working out and I didn't have the first idea what to do.
I mean, we'd been going out for nearly 6 months. In the beginning, the lust had been pretty mutual. And why wouldn't it be? I wasn't exactly Miss World. But I had pretty well all the right curves in almost all the right places. When that didn't work, I knew more than a few little tricks to keep a guy satisfied. Bedroom tricks.
I cooked a pretty mean chilli, too.
But after the first few months, Dave started to talk to me less. He didn't always answer when I wanted his opinion. He just wasn't there when I needed him.
So I'm not Brain of Britain. But all the BAD signs were there. We weren't really connecting any more. The drift was setting in, like I remembered it setting in so many times before. I just knew that, give it another month or three, we wouldn't be an item any more.
I suppose the difference, this time round, was that I didn't want us to drift and part - the way I'd done with a dozen guys before Dave. Only I hadn't the faintest idea what to do about it.
It was a slow week at work. So one Tuesday morning, I'm out - nursing a cappuccino at the local 'caffe bar'. (That's really spelt with the double 'f', 'cause they're pretentious). I must be looking pretty unhappy - or thoughtful, which in my case is about the same thing - because I look up all of a sudden to see a slightly older woman standing over me.
Oh. Yeah. I forgot. I'd just turned 24. Diana - this woman - must be in her early '30's. Well: its hard to tell, because she looks so young, but oozes that sort of mature mystery that most women would kill for.
And I guess I forgot the rest, too. I'm Tracy. 5'8". Brunette, shading into blonde at the back. 38-24-36. You see: I told you I had pretty well all the right curves. And I work as PA to the guy who runs the department next door to the Finance Department, which is where Dave works.
My boss is in Sales, which is one reason why its so easy for me to disappear at odd times during the day. Because he's only there about half the time, too. He doesn't really know what to do with a PA: spends half his life doing his own diary and typing up his own notes. So I'm hardly busy most of the time.
Perhaps - after all that's happened - that wasn't such a good way to be.
'Hello, Tracy', she started in this low sultry kind of voice. Damn it! How come some women get all the breaks? 'Mind if I join you?'
'Sure', I nodded.
So she sat. We chatted. To cut to the chase: I poured my heart out to her. I don't know why I did. It just felt right to do that. Meanwhile, Diana just sits and listens, nodding attentively. From time to time she sipped carefully from the cup in front of her. It smelt funny. One of those odd herbal teas you can buy in the sort of place that spells 'caffe' with two 'f 's. Personally, I can't stand them.
But there we sat: two young women, chattering away about the things that concerned us. Alright: I did most of the talking. Diana mainly listened. But that counts as chat in my book.
On the wall behind her, I saw the clock creeping round to 11.30. Time to get back, in case my boss got in early.
'Its been real nice talking to you', I started.
'Yes, it has'. She smiled at me. It was a lovely, comforting open smile and made me wish I could talk to her for longer. Except I had to go, and suddenly I felt nervous and a little embarrassed about having told her so much of my troubles. She couldn't REALLY be interested in my problems - and here I'd been, boring her with them for the last half hour.
But instead, she bent her head slightly forward and made me an offer. 'Look, Tracy: I hope you won't mind my suggesting this. Maybe I can help you.'
Yeah, sure, I thought to myself. What you going to do? Have a word with Dave and tell him what a great gal I am? Or even - something stirred in my memory just about now - mix up some sort of magic potion to make him fall in love with me all over again.
I remembered where I had met Diana before. She ran one of those funny little curiosity shops down the bottom end of town. The sort of place that sells weird jewellery and pendants and crystals and feathers and all the stuff you just have to have if you'd like to make believe to yourself that you know something about magic.
Not that I'd been there. Much. I don't hold with all that stuff. Nothing in it. Besides, if there was... I shivered. That would be just too scary. Like tarot readings coming true.
OK. I'd visited occasionally. Because you never know, do you? But I don't take it seriously. I don't. OK?
Only here I was talking to this intelligent, sophisticated woman who ran the local funny shop, and who everyone said was. well, just maybe, you know, had some special powers. And here she was offering to help me.
I swear: if it hadn't been for Dave, I wouldn't have given her a moment's notice more. I wouldn't.
But she was offering to help me. 'Just drop round for a moment after work tonight. Maybe I can help you,' she said. So what would you have done?
I knew I was on the edge of losing the guy and that knowledge made me just a bit desperate. Alright: a lot desperate. If Diana had horns and cloven hooves, I'd probably still have gone.
Which is why, at about half past six that evening, I was outside her shop, knocking timidly at her door.
For a moment, I thought she wasn't in. The shop felt empty. Closed. I almost turned to go. Then the door sprang open with a tinkling of wind chimes and there stood Diana, wearing a long black dress, and smiling that same re-assuring smile she'd given me earlier in the day.
'Come in, come in'.
She turned and swept through the main shop... through a store room behind
it and then deeper still. We ended up in a small, dark room that was just
a little creepy. Dark red drapes on the wall half obscured a lot of symbols
that didn't look as though they belonged in respectable Christian company.
A low, stone table, or bench, stood about twelve inches from the wall and
occupied most of one side of the room.
Illumination was by candlelight. Little clusters of candles bunched up in the corners - and a couple of larger, chunkier ones at each end of the bench. The air smelt funny - a bit like one of those herbal teas - as an incense burner, also at one end of the bench gave off a thick and cloying perfume.
Apart from that I could see, as I turned, two heavy silvered mirrors. There was one on each side of the door through which we entered. They looked truly antique. Rough metal frames surrounded an expanse of glass reflecting our slightly distorted images back at us. For some reason, Diana looked taller in the mirror.
I guessed it was some sort of optical effect, like you get at a fairground. I suppose I should have wondered why I didn't look taller, too.
Still, it was far too small a clue for me to notice. I had bigger fish to fry. Dave, for one.
And even if I didn't for a moment believe that she could whistle up a spell or potion to do the trick...maybe she knew something about guys..about Dave..that I hadn't found out yet. I was all ears.
'You want me to help you?'
'You want me to make it so that Dave will stay with you and never let you go?'
I nodded again. Creepy. She was really taking this seriously. I half wanted to interrupt: tell her not to be so daft. Still I didn't. Until I knew what she had in mind.
'A good place to start is with how you feel about yourself'.
I nodded again. At least this was language that made sense. If she was talking beauty treatment dressed up in New Age jargon, I could handle that.
'Oh.' I had a sudden thought. 'Is this going to cost?'
Diana smiled again and shook her head slowly. 'No charge'.
'Just think of this as a favour from one woman to another'.
I felt a bit less wary.
'Now, Tracy: I am going to help you to relax. I am going to make you feel less tense. Soothe away some of the stress and worry that's been getting in the way over the last few weeks'.
Hmmmm. It wasn't quite what I expected, but I do enjoy a good massage.
She motioned me toward the stone bench, and I knelt down gingerly in the middle. It didn't feel as bad as it looked. Quite smooth and warm, actually. I'd had visions of grazing my knees as I lowered myself on to it.
Meanwhile, Diana was doing something in the shadows. She adjusted the candles, tipped something even sweeter and sicklier smelling into the incense burner and then turned briefly to each corner of the room, muttering and gesturing to herself as she did so.
Definitely weird. But not obviously dangerous. So I let her get on with it.
She stood behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. I swear: it felt like electricity was suddenly running up and down my body. It sparked. It tingled. It felt GOOD. Like a massage always ought to - and rarely does.
'Do you mind..?'
For a moment, I wondered what she was asking. Then I realised she was looking at my blouse.
I shook my head, and slipped it off. For good measure, I kicked off my shoes and took my skirt down as well.
This was definitely something else. I still had few illusions about it helping resolve the boyfriend crisis. But 'if it feels good'...I'm a firm believer in just getting down and doing it.
The next bit is real hazy. I remember Diana taking out some lotion that smelt like a mixture of spring flowers and all the nicest perfumes I'd ever used. She put some on her hands to warm it first, and then began stroking it gently into my back.
I sort of remember lying down on the stone slab, because it felt so good and so unbelievably comfortable the way she was doing it to me.
Then I sort of lost it for a while. It all went lovely and dreamy. I felt myself floating away under her hands. If I was a cat, I'd have been purring. I was just loving all that attention. The firm, gentle, sexy feeling of her rubbing oil into my skin. Down my back. Legs. Ass. The oil tickled as it seeped inside my crack.
I must have turned over, because next thing, she was massaging my breasts with that same gentle firmness.
If she was massaging my breasts, I must have taken my bra off.
Which I didn't remember doing.
That hand pressing down at the top of my crotch..working oil into the folds of skin between my legs...stroking my clit..
I half sat up in shock. I was completely naked. How the Hell did that happen? I was naked and...comfortable. That was odd, too.
Diana paused in mid-motion. One hand rested on my breast. The other weighed down on my pussy.
'What is it, Tracy?'
I couldn't think, really. A part of me - the grown-up, day-worn, adult woman bit - wanted to spew out a lot of nonsense about how I don't do this sort of thing and I'm not Lesbian and I don't strip in front of strange women and so on and on and on..
Like, about half an hour earlier, or whenever it was we started, that's just what I'd have told her.
I couldn't think. It felt so lovely being the centre of attention like this. It felt warm and relaxed and sexy and I was turned on. There was a dampness between my legs that came from the oil that Diana was using. Then, there was a dampness that came from somewhere else.
It felt so good, it couldn't be wrong. Could it? I felt myself relaxing back on to the slab, letting Diana take over once more. I loved the way she was touching me now - even if it seemed to be going a long way beyond the usual massage I was used to.
She was deliberately playing with me. Touching me. Teasing me. My nipples were hard nubs pointing into the air..alternately squeezed and stroked by Diana. My Mistress, I found myself thinking. I felt one finger teasing at my lips. I opened my mouth slightly to let it in and suck upon it. It tasted of oil and perfume and of my own juices.
Another finger was invading me from below. No. Two fingers pushed deep inside me, while a third finger circled my clit. I was aware of myself moving beneath My Mistress' hands, in direct response to her teasing... my thighs twisted and pushed toward her hand, greedily seeking to be filled with the hardness of her fingers..to feel the pressure of her hand upon my clit.
I sucked upon her other hand, and licked and twisted and turned beneath her. I was..hers..to play with and use as she saw fit..and all my other senses were rapidly deserting me.
Through a haze of pleasure, I could hear her muttering again. Words that seemed to be in another tongue..yet words that seemed to state a simple truth as well. 'You are mine', Diana was telling me: 'you are my plaything'
And I, whether I imagined her words or not, responded eagerly: 'Yes, Mistress. I am your plaything.'
Did I imagine it? Or was my reward a simple smile from my Mistress.
More haze. Now I was standing before the door. Standing in the middle of the room, and looking at an image reflected back at me from the mirrors.
Diana stood just behind me. One hand rested lightly on my shoulder. 'The mirror of truth', she whispered in my ear. Ordinary mirrors show you what you are: this mirror tells you.
It didn't make sense. Until she drew closer and circled my body with her arms.
(Did I mention she, too, was naked by now?).
I felt her flesh press against my back: her nipples brush against my skin; and a shiver passed once more up and down my spine.
Her hands held and kneaded my breasts.
'Such beautiful breasts.'
I nodded in mute agreement.
'But perhaps a man like Dave would like something a little bigger?'
I nodded again. Dave? Who was he? Something from my past nudged at the fringes of my consciousness. It didn't matter, though: my Mistress wanted me to have bigger breasts.
The mirror..showed me with bigger breasts. I didn't feel them change. They just were. I had bigger breasts than the girl I used to be had had. It felt natural. Like I always had been a girl with big breasts.
I didn't need my Mistress to tell me that my breasts were 44D. Always had been 44D.
'Blonde hair', my Mistress whispered.
And I could see in the mirror that it was true. That I had blonde hair. Always had had blonde hair.
And a nice tight ass. Thin waist. Thick lips. Blue eyes.
Pubes neatly trimmed in the shape of a heart.
'A real DOLL!', she whispered. 'A really sexy doll'.
I nodded in mute agreement. My heart leapt as she pulled me back on to the bench. She was going to play with me again! It felt so wonderful to be played with by Mistress Diana. I couldn't wait to feel her soft hands on my tender skin again.
I felt odd. Owned. Mistress Diana. Those two words kept echoing around my brain. They pierced me all the way through. Every time I thought them I felt excited. Like: they were me, and I was them.
Diana was my Mistress and Mistress meant Owner and being owned was..what I was for. Just like in the mirror. Two words that told me precisely what I was and where I stood in the scheme of things.
If Diana was my Mistress, I was her property. Her plaything. She owned me, and I was owned by her.
So..the logic ran onward..I can only do what she tells me to..be what she wants me to be.
That mirror feeling again. I was her toy: her plaything. I must be available for her. I lay back on the bench and let my arms hang by my side. Away from my breasts and body..leaving myself open and uncovered for my Mistress.
I opened my legs a little..little more..now wide. A moment of brief horror from my previous life washed over me. What was I doing, lying here with my legs apart like a cheap slut I must...close..them...
It was like swimming in treacle. My legs would not, could not respond. As suddenly as it hit me, the fear was gone. I opened my mouth in a little 'O' of surprise..and left it like that.
Sex doll. She had shown me in the mirror. I was a sex doll. Always had been. Sexy, fuckable little thing, with my beautiful tits and ass and blonde hair and everything just ready to be played with or fucked at my Mistress' pleasure.
It felt so good to know exactly what I was and what I was for. My body tingled in excitement and anticipation. My mouth, pussy, ass quivered open and available. I waited, to serve as my Mistress required.
* * * * * *
A little later in the day, my Mistress returned with a couple of assistants. They packed me in a box and sealed me in. On the front of the box, it said: 'Traci - Love Doll.'
As soon as they put me in it, I remembered that as well. I was Traci. Always was. Always had been a sex toy.
Later, I remember being unpacked in the apartment of a cute guy. Dave. That was his name. He took me out of the box and placed me on his bed.
Then I saw my Mistress. Diana. She was talking to Dave. He wrote out a cheque and handed it to Mistress.
Mistress? What was I thinking? My Master is Dave. Always is. Always has been.
I live in his apartment, now. Some days he puts me away in a cupboard. Others, he keeps me in his bed. Those days I love most of all - especially when he comes home excited and uses me the way a Master should use his love doll.
Sometimes, Dave talks to me. He tells me stories whilst I just sit and listen. His favourite is one about a girl called Tracy. Apparently, before I came, he used to go out with her.
He liked her a lot. But after a while, she started to irritate him. Never stopped talking. Never listened to him when she eventually did stop. Always worried about what she looked like and the impression she made on others. This upset him, because although he loved her, he was also being driven round the bend by her.
At this point, he pauses. I wonder if he is waiting for me to ask what happened to her. Of course, I never do. So he tells me, anyway.
He tells me about how he made a bargain with a local witch. For a fee, she would ensure that he got to keep his beautiful Tracy - without having to put up with all the hassle.
The witch lured Tracy back to her shop - and turned her into a sex doll.
It is a lovely story.
Sometimes, my Master even tells me that it is true. That Traci the sex doll is that same Tracy who used to make his life a misery.
I think, if I wasn't a sex doll, I would laugh at this bit. It sounds so ridiculous, after all. But then, I do know that there is magic. And the trouble with magic is ..that you can never tell where it will land you.