Page 49 of The Secret Job: Into the Depths of Depravity
“Oh great, well it looks delicious, would you mind if I start?”
“Not at all, eat as much as you like,” he says as he picks up a ham and cheese triangle. I do the same and we dig in, eating and smiling awkwardly in silence until the sandwiches, grapes, chocolate biscuits and juice are gone. It should feel wrong sitting naked eating in an attic with a young stranger who just licked his brother’s come from my pussy, but this is just another normal day in my life now apparently.
Feeling full and renewed, I look over at Angus expectantly. He looks back at me nervously, his eyes dropping to my chest and back, his hard on clear as day in his track pants. They’re the same that James wears, but nope, I can’t think of my poor husband right now. It hurts to think of him and how he must be wondering what is happening to me. Instead, I ask a question.
“What are our plans for the afternoon Angus?” I ask brightly, hoping my cheerfulness doesn’t come across as false.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes not meeting mine. I wait and watch as he becomes more agitated, but I don’t prompt or push. Eventually he gives up on the war ranging in his head and replies, “Did Jacob mention the types of things I like to do?”
“Jacob—your brother? Well, no, he didn’t. He just alluded to him looking forward to my reaction.”
Flushing in what looks like anger, he balls his fists, “Jacob is an arsehole.” And then sighs defeated. “I have some unusual tastes,” he goes on. “Father assured me that you’ll do anything I want and you won’t judge me?”
“That is what I am here for. Unless I have to use my safe word, yes,” I reply curiously.What are his unusual tastes?I wonder to myself.
Angus looks down at his fingers, picking at a nail and then connects both eyes with mine, one seeing me and the other seeing into my soul. Knowing he has no choice but to tell me if he wants to go through with the kink, he blurts out, “I’d like you to be my doll for the afternoon. I want to dress you, put makeup on you and fuck you like my real-life doll.”
My eyes widen for a split second before I tame down my expression and clear it into a questioning look.
“That sounds fun,” I eventually settle on replying. “Just so I know exactly what to do to make it perfect for you, tell me exactly the rules of being made into a doll and I will do it.”
“Do you mean it, you’ll become my doll willingly?”
“Yes, if that’s what you would like. Of course I’ll do it,” I say honestly. I don’t add—because you’re paying me.Plus, I’ve never heard of doing anything like this before.
Excited, Angus begins to list on his fingers how he wants the afternoon to go. “I have a bunch of clothing I’d like to dress you in, but you cannot move, you need to be doll-like so I can dress you—floppy or rigid. You can’t speak or say anything. You are not allowed to move, look or touch me. When we arefinished, most likely after I’ve made love to you, you can break out of character. Does that sound ok?”
I smile warmly at him, “It sounds more than fine Angus, I would love to be your doll for the afternoon. I’m excited to see what clothes you have for me.” It’s not a lie. I’ve been a Little Girl and a Pet Dog, how much different can a doll be?
Jumping to his feet, he practically skips out of the room, precariously balancing the tray of empty glasses and plates and returns with a suitcase. Laying the suitcase on the bed, he turns to me, his face a glow of childish delight and whilst I can see he’s in his mid 20s, his playfulness makes him look much younger, especially the side of his face with his good eye. “Are you ready?” he asks brightly.
“Absolutely, ready when you are. Just tell me how you want me to start, and I’ll go from there.”
“I want you to sit right there and be rigid sitting and standing when I move your body into position but floppy limbs. Does that make sense?”
“Got it. I won’t speak from now.”
I sit and hone in my inner doll. The first hurdle is tricky because all I want to do is turn my head and watch Angus open the suitcase but nope, that’s not what dolls do. I sit deadly still facing the wall opposite and listen to Angus rustle clothing and other items besides me.
The first thing he does is lift one arm and feed my arm through a pretty pink balcony bra. I let my arms be heavy and floppy, trying my damndest to not move a muscle or follow his movements with my eyes. I just sit, staring vacantly as he does the bra up behind my back and moves back around my body to line the cups up properly over my breasts. The bra lifts and holds them high, higher than a bra I’d ever wear. Next, he lowers a pink and white checked babydoll dress over my head, carefully threading my arms through the arm holes. Lowering the dress over my body, he next pulls out a pink corset andworks it around my waist, pulling the ribbons at the back to hold it tightly in place. The corset sits under the bra and coupled together lifts my breasts up high on my chest. Crouching in front of me, he adjusts the corset to sit how he wants it and lowers my dress sleeves over my shoulders.
Angus moves away from me for a beat and is back in front of me, slightly bending his knees, he lifts my chin so he can see my face more clearly, I have no choice but to look up into his mismatched seeing and unseeing eyes. They both move across my face as my spine tingles at being so close to him. I watch as he dabs a makeup brush into a palette I can’t see unless I move my head. He then gently strokes the small brush over one eyelid and I automatically close both eyes. I hope that was ok, I’m not sure how he would have been able to paint them otherwise. Once he’s finished with my eye shadow, he moves on to a mascara stick. I see the brush coming up towards my eye but I also see the dedicated focus across his face. Moving the brush upwards, I can feel it move through my lashes and breathe a shallow sigh of relief, he has not poked my eye out with it. Delicately, he moves onto my other eye before recapping the mascara. Next he holds a larger brush and runs it across my cheeks. He does seem to know what he’s doing. I have no idea what I look like or how skilled he’s been at applying the makeup but he straightens and looks back down at my face with a dewy-eyed approval.
I lose sight of him as he begins moving around me and then feel the bed dip behind me. I feel a brush being gently tugged through my long brown strands. He carefully brushes and untangles my hair and then brushes in an upward motion and sprays something onto my hair. Is it hairspray I can smell?
Angus brushes my hair upwards a few more times and then sprays the can and it does feel like my hair is sitting higher on my head. Goodness only knows what it looks like but as long as Angus is happy, it doesn’t really matter.
The bed dips again and he’s standing in front of me, he frowns for a moment before seemingly realising what is missing. He comes back into my view with lipstick and runs it carefully across my lips. Satisfied my lips are suitably covered, he stands back and admires the view. I hope I’ve turned out in the way he wants.
The answer to that question is apparent very quickly when he tugs off his grey t-shirt to reveal a pale and slim but chiselled chest, then pulls down his black track pants and boxers in one yank to reveal thick muscled legs and a long erection. His entire body is muscular but he stands tall and lean. I try my hardest not to frown or look at him quizzically. His body is so toned, he must be some kind of athlete. Arms flexing as they stretch up, I hear him say quietly, “Up,” and tugs me to my feet. I stand, looking passive directly ahead of me, my arms by my sides when he steps into my space.
Tenderly he kisses around my neck, across my chest and down the high bulges of my breasts. His hands roam freely from my neck, down my shoulders and around my waist. He just kisses and touches and fondles his creation. Loving his handy work, loving the way I don’t move, talk or look back at him. It’s a curious situation to be wholly not moving or contacting him back in any shape or form. This is what he likes, the control, the soft dominance, the beauty of a doll that he has created. A figment of his imagination come to life.
He puts his hands in mine, I don’t move them, I just feel his. He tugs me a step forward and then drops my unmoving hands so he can walk behind me. He moves my hair away from my shoulders and kisses down the back of my neck, running his free hand down my shoulders. He kisses me so tenderly, he touches me so reverently, I want to curl into him and touch him back. Every ember in my body wants to move and give everything I want and need back to him, to touch and caress him, to kiss down his chiseled torso and run my tongue along hiswashboard abs—not stand here like a statue. This is a special kind of torture I am not used to. It is also a special kind of torture he is revelling in.
I can no longer feel his kiss or touch until, swoosh, he’s picked me up under my legs and back and is carrying me back to the bed. Despite the surprise, somehow I don’t make a sound or a face, I just let my legs and arms hang heavy as he walks me over to the bed, climbs on his knees and lays me out flat. He lifts my head and places the pillow beneath it, then positions my arms out to my sides at a 45 degree angle. He then moves my legs so they are wide open. I can feel the skirt of the dress cover me but that doesn’t last long. Lifting my skirt, he kneels down in front of me. My face is positioned at a slight angle on the pillow so I can see his face and torso as he allows his eyes to roam my body.
And then I feel it, I feel him at my entrance. I’m slick with arousal because apparently, I don’t mind being made up into a doll, told not to move and let this man do the things only his imagination has allowed him to. I can’t help but get off on the people who like to do weird and wild things to my body. The stranger the fantasy, the more interested I am to do it. I think I’m beginning to get addicted to these men and their unusual and wild kinks.
