Erotica: Barbie Girl

***This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are consenting adults. 

I hum the song again softly to myself. It’s stuck in my head. The words play again in my mind. Life is plastic. It’s fantastic. I giggle out loud. Not plastic….wax.  I begin to drift again. My head spins. I’m dehydrated. I reach for my bottle of diet coke and lift it to my lips. I freeze in place. The bottle in my hand is very real but all I can see is a version that resembles a tiny toy soda in a doll house, the liquid is really only a swipe of paint in acrylic. No liquid touches my lips. 

“Need a little help baby?” my Daddy asks, returning from the bathroom and taking in my frozen state. I can’t move, legs extended in a rigid pose with one hand still holding the Coke. I manage to move my lips. I find sound.

“Daddy? Am I a little girl or little doll?” I whisper, my voice magnified by the open bottle still close to my lips. He climbs up onto the bed and bumps the end of the bottle up a little bit higher, allowing the soda to flow into my mouth. I swallow and sigh in relief. I am so thirsty. I giggle again as the music in my mind plays anew. This time I hum the tune out loud. Dress me up, make it tight, I’m your dolly. 

“You’re a little girl sweetheart,” he soothes me, and I relax my body finding I can move after all. Yay fractionation. I am hypno fucked-up. “You need to drink more fluids baby,” Daddy encourages. Diet coke is not ideal but it’s what’s available in the hotel room on demand. “I wonder if the soda can make you come?” he teases, knowing my whole body is sensitized and wanting to encourage me to drink. 

I lift the bottle to my lips, this time with two hands, only to find myself stuck again. Fucking fake plastic soda. “You’re my little girl sweetheart,” Daddy gently reminds me and bumps the bottle again. This time, as the bubbles flow down my throat orgasm tears through my body. 

How did I get here? Oh yeah….Daddy turned my key. I’d eaten some chocolate, melted and then re-solidified into one large confectionary chunk. We’d checked in to this hotel and agreed to a little dolly time. The hypnosis had done the rest. I lie back against the mattress and as I float, I relive the evening all over again.

My entire body tingles, every vibration, every touch and sound, bringing me close to orgasm. Daddy locks my private collar around my neck. “What does this collar mean?” he asks me, beginning our ritual. 

“I belong to Daddy,” I respond instinctually. This is the correct and only answer, and I’m rewarded with a “good girl.” As he pins me to the mattress with his large hand around my throat, Daddy reminds that my collar is not the only lock that matters. He is in possession of a very different sort of key. It clicks into place and my body becomes rigid. 

Daddy spreads my legs and bends them on the bed. The don’t budge and inch as he laps between my thighs with a skill that makes me scream out my pleasure, but only in my mind. My lips remain silent. I am a motionless compliant doll, a fucktoy at his disposal. 

Daddy climbs on top of me, bending one leg and then the other like a pretzel, with my blue painted toes pressed against his chest just under his chin. He lifts each arm in turn around his neck and they lock in place, arms straight and bent at the wrists. They remain fixed behind his head as he crushes my body under his weight, folding me in half, and slamming his cock inside of me. 

My body can’t move of its own accord but it produces slick and I am wet and ready for Daddy. I don’t have to ask permission to come because I am unable to speak, and the tiny convulsions that make my muscles quiver and the spasms of my kitty around his shaft are the only indication of the ecstasy he brings me.  

Daddy withdraws from my core and extends my limbs before rolling me on my belly. He lifts and turns me effortlessly, and I feel him mount me with my thighs pressed nearly together and one of his legs outside of each of mine. The position is impossibly tight but he presses against me with expert precision and pounds into me with the ferocity of a wild bear. He growls as he slams my petite form into the mattress, bringing me to release again and again, before finally spilling his seed in my belly. 

I lay still on the mattress, trembling internally when I hear him whisper in my ear. “Are you ready for the wax?” Yes I’m not sure if I answer in my mind or out loud. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need my permission. As the first drops of wax strike my skin, feeling like burning rain, each new pour causing orgasm to detonate inside of my silent form, I feel that my humanity is melting away. I have no fears or concerns, only sensation. I am simply a doll, an object of pleasure, my Daddy’s most cherished possession. My thoughts drift completely away. 

“You’re my little girl,” Daddy soothes, gently bringing me back to the present reality. He tosses me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing and carries me into the bathroom where he gently washes away the wax and the traces of our love. I enjoy his ministrations as he runs his soapy hands over my body, gently towels me off, and tucks me into bed. A powerade is discovered packed in the overnight bag, and hydration is achieved. I won’t need any melatonin to sleep tonight snuggled against my Daddy’s chest. His scent envelopes me as he holds me close and helps me sink into a deep and natural sleep. “You’re such a good girl,” he whispers, to the last traces of my consciousness as I drift off in a sea of bliss and darkness takes me.  

Sunny Leigh Mayne is writer of romance and erotica specializing in dark romance and fetish/BDSM stories. An active member of the BDSM community, her interests include erotic hypnosis, dollification, sensual BDSM, and primal play. Identifying as pansexual, Sunny enjoys writing stories that are inclusive of diverse sexual orientations and gender identities. Her writings are intended for mature audiences aged 18 and older, and may contain some content triggers that some readers may find disturbing. She is also a visual artist and enjoys creating erotic art using mixed media. A lover of animals, and a proponent of animal rights advocacy, Sunny has several pets at home. Characters in all stories by Sunny Leigh Mayne are adults and any similarities to persons real or fictional are purely coincidental.