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Living Dolls part 1


Living Dolls by MarshAlien© of Literotica

* I read this story on another site and liked it so much I had
to share


This story is at once a first time story, a fantasy, a celebrity
story, and a mature story. But at its heart, I like to think
of it as a romance. It's just that you will have to wait
a couple of chapters -- well, six -- for the guy to actually
speak to the girl. But of all the audiences in all the internet
erotica sites in the world, I thought the one that would
most appreciate it would be Literotica's Romance



I can still remember finding the box in the attic of my parent's
house. My grandfather had died ten years earlier, and my
dad's share of his crap had been stored in the attic.
There were a total of four boxes. Other than that, the old
man's life had simply been erased from the earth. Which
was probably fine with my mom. Whenever he came north for
a visit, she always seemed to schedule out-of-town conferences
or a "girls night out." Still, he was the only
grandparent I ever knew. His wife had died before I was born,
although, from what I managed to gather, she hadn't
been welcome in the house at all. Mom's parents, who
were both still alive and living in Florida? Forget about
it. We couldn't even talk about them.

I remember that it was a Friday afternoon in late September
of my last year of high school. I remember because it was
raining, just like it had been raining for the previous
two days. Our football team, the Trojans, was supposed
to have a game that night, but our football field didn't
hold up well in that much water. I didn't actually play
football. Instead, I was the team's statistician,
due partly to my success in math and partly to the fact that
last year's basketball team had won every game that
I'd attended. In a school as small as ours, things like
that get noticed.

So it was Friday afternoon, and I was home and I was bored
and I started poking around in the attic. And at the bottom
of the pile of Grandpa's boxes was one marked "Living
Dolls." At least it had an interesting title. I hadn't
looked in the box marked "Important Tax Documents."
Dad wouldn't get home until about seven, and Mom was
busy in her office, so I figured I had plenty of time to have
a look at this box. I quietly lugged it down the stairs into
my room.

At the very top of the box were two dolls, the sort of Barbie
dolls that young girls play with. One had blonde hair, the
other brunette. Huh? Grandpa had played with dolls? And
he was the one we talked to? I tossed the dolls aside and continued
to look. Next up were two incredible pictures of my grandfather.
Not that he looked that good in either one of them – he was
probably pushing sixty and hadn't aged well. But in
each of them he was posing with an incredibly hot looking
babe. I dumped out the rest of the box and pawed through it,
but it was just a bunch of old magazines. There was a set of
Sports Illustrated swimsuit editions from 1964 through
1990, but nothing else like these photos of grandpa. I looked
through the magazines anyway, of course, and soon I lost
track of time. A sharp knock at the door made me jump.

"Come in, " I said quickly.

"No game?" my mom asked as she pushed the door

I explained about the rainout. While I was doing so, Mom
looked down at the box and got a big grin on her face.

"So what do you have there?"

"Just a box of Grandpa's stuff I found in the attic, "
I said guiltily.

"Find anything good?"

"Just these pictures."

"Oh, yeah, " she laughed.

"Grandpa sure had some nice friends."

"Well, I don't think so, " she smiled as
she looked them over. "This one is Marilyn Monroe,
and this one is Raquel Welch. I think it's a pretty safe
bet that he never met either one of them, particularly since
he's about sixty in these pictures, which would have
been in about 1980. Marilyn Monroe died in the early sixties
when your dad's father was in his forties. He could
apparently doctor pictures like this even before computers
came along. In fact, when we got this box, there were even
a couple of X-rated pictures that looked pretty damn real.
Those are all gone, by the way, so you don't need to bother

"What's with the dolls?" I asked.

"I have no idea, " she sighed. "Why the
old bastard would have held onto a couple of Barbie dolls
from the 1960s is beyond me."

"You didn't like Grandpa much, huh?"

She just sighed.

"Don't forget to put this back when you're
done. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

She left and I was starting to put everything back in when
I saw the corner of one last photo jammed under one of the
bottom flaps of the box. It was a picture of Grandpa lying
in bed with two naked women. Not X-rated, darn the luck.
Of course, maybe Mom and Dad considered this X-rated. I
considered it a step above PG. Everyone was covered with
a blanket below the waist. Still. . . .

"Honey, " my mom yelled, "dinner!"

I raced through dinner, eager to return to my room and figure
out what the hell Grandpa had been up to. Turning over the
picture, I saw his writing on the back: "My living
dolls: Cheryl (July 15, 1977) and Raquel (June 1, 1967),
December 21, 1985."

Living dolls – the writing on the outside of box. I looked
down at the two dolls, and back at the picture. It was all
just a little too weird. The 1985 date on the photo seemed
accurate; grandpa looked about 65, which would have been
right. I compared the photo to the one my mother had identified
earlier as Raquel Welch, and sure enough, it was the same
woman. She looked younger in the naked picture, though.
Going simply by Grandpa's age, she should have been
about five years older.

Intrigued, I sat down at my desk to research this Raquel
Welch woman on the Internet. I wasn't surprised, given
what Mom had said before, to learn that she had been born
in 1940. In the 1985 picture with Grandpa, though, she certainly
didn't look 45 years old, more like a girl in her late
twenties. In fact, the date in parentheses, when she would
have been 27, looked to be about right.

I had a little harder time identifying the second woman
– "Cheryl" – until I noticed her face on the cover
of one of the Sports Illustrateds: Cheryl Tiegs. Back on
the Internet, I found out that she was born in 1947. So that
would make her either 38, the date of the photo, or 30, the
date in parentheses. Well, that was a little harder. From
what I could tell on the Internet, she was a babe when she
was 30 and was still a babe when she was 38.

Someone who wasn't an eighteen year old high school
senior – an eighteen year old virgin no less – probably would
have come up with a more likely explanation for all of Grandpa's
stuff than the one I invented. Maybe an explanation like
the photo doctoring that Mom had settled on. That was fine
for her, but wouldn't it be great, I thought, if my grandfather
had been able to turn these two dolls into real live people?
If they really were, like Grandpa had written, living dolls?

I spent the next two weeks at school daydreaming about it.
Oh, I went to class every day, and, of course, I dutifully
did my homework each night. But the one time that Ms. Dodge
called on me in class, I was in outer space, thinking about
which girls I'd like to have my own photos of.

Kerry Marshall was at the top of my list. She'd moved
to Hardwood over the summer, and I'd fallen in lust
with her on the first day of classes. She was in most of my
classes, which meant she was smart. And she was beautiful
as well. From the very first day I saw her, with her long red
hair, her brilliant, if shy, smile, and her nearly adult
body, I was smitten.

But I'd joined a big club. As far as I could tell, she'd
been asked out by every unattached guy on the football team
and most of the attached ones as well. When they struck out,
etiquette permitted the soccer team to take its turn. No
go there, either. Maybe she just didn't like jocks.
Well, if she was waiting for one of us on the math team to ask
her out, she'd be waiting a long time. My buddy Gordon
claimed that he wouldn't ask a girl out unless he had
it in writing – signed, witnessed, and notarized – that
the girl would accept. Gunner and I weren't much better,
and that explained why we didn't date much. Or at all,
really. But if any girl tempted me to take the plunge, it
was Kerry.

Unlike Sue Waggoner, the head cheerleader. I could dream
about her, of course; Susie was well worth dreaming about,
with long, silky blond hair and a nice figure. A very nice
figure. As a cheerleader, though, she would have been completely
off limits to a nerd like me even if she wasn't the personal
property of our star quarterback. And before him, of our
star wide receiver. And before him – well, Susie had an unfortunate
history. By the time we entered high school, she was already
was widely known as the school slut. And with her unfortunate
middle initial, "F, " she was also widely known,
in the boys' locker room anyway, as Susie Fuck Wagon.

The fact that she was unavailable in real life to me didn't
stop me from fantasizing about her. As the stats guy, I got
to spend every football game looking over Hardwood High's
fine collection of cheerleaders, with Susie front and
center. I couldn't be real obvious about ogling her,
because Gunner had had a crush on her since he was, like,
three. He was an athlete and could, therefore, look at Susie
without being punished by the gods of high school. In fact,
he and Susie were neighbors, and they'd always been
friends. But she dated the football-player types, and
Gunner, although an amazing three-point shooter in basketball,
didn't have a football player body. Or, fortunately
for the math team, a football player brain. Gunner often
helped me out in the booth when I did the stats, and to keep
our friendship intact I had learned to keep my eyes on the
other girls when they were doing those high kicks.

Girls like Julie Pinsky, another hot cheerleader in my
class, and another featured performer in my daydreams.
Julie had shoulder-length brunette hair, a nice body (maybe
not in Susie's league, but hell, who was?), and the
best legs in the school. True, Julie had been going out with
our classmate Andy Richardson – Richie Rich to those of
us whose fathers weren't lawyers and didn't have
their own convertibles -- since the ninth grade. But that
was real life! This was living doll world. Julie might not
be the brightest girl in the class, but she was gorgeous,
and nice to boot.

"Mister Thompson?"

I had apparently been making eye contact with Ms. Dodge.

"Yes, ma'am?" I asked warily.

"Do you agree with Mr. Ackerman?"

"No, ma'am, " I said slowly, racking my
brain to try to pick up some thread of what she and Mr. Ackerman
had been discussing while my head had been full of Kerry,
Susie, and Julie.

"Why not?" she asked quizzically.

Ah, so apparently Mr. Ackerman had said something intelligent.

"Principle, ma'am, " I answered. "I
already agreed with Mr. Ackerman once this month, and I
don't want to see him get a swelled head."

The class burst out in laughter. Even Mr. Ackerman – my good
friend Gordon – laughed. Hell, even Ms. Dodge had a little
smile on her face when she turned back to the blackboard.
That alone was a rare event. She was a student at the local
college, and was our student teacher in English this year.
Our regular teacher, Mrs. Josephs, had been ill for a good
bit of the year, so Ms. Dodge spent a lot more time at school
than any of the other student teachers we'd ever had.

And we spent a lot more time in class. Gail Dodge was quite
possibly the most beautiful woman that any of us had ever
seen in person. In fact, none of the guys ever missed a single
class with her. She was about five foot nine inches tall
with long black hair and an amazing dark complexion. But
she never seemed to smile. And she dressed like a nun. And
she was a tad on the skinny side. But now I'm just being
picky. Because her thinness had its advantages, namely
in showing off an incredible set of tits, even underneath
her dowdy clothing. The scuttlebutt in the locker room,
based as far as I knew on absolutely no evidence, was that
she was a 38 D-cup.

Fortunately, I didn't have to rebut Mr. Ackerman's
opinion in any more depth. So, as Ms. Dodge began writing
something about Herman Melville on the board, I simply
added Ms. Dodge to my list of dream girls.

Of course, I also had my list of celebrities: Sarah Michelle
Gellar, Catherine Bell, Jennifer Garner. I could make
a very long list. Heck, if I could just get Grandpa's
friends, Cheryl or Raquel, I'd be happy.

What I got was nobody. I searched all the rest of grandpa's
boxes looking for the secret I just knew had to be there,
and found nothing. Finally, just as I was about to put everything
back in the attic, the world changed. It was another Friday
afternoon, about six o'clock. Fortunately, there
was no football game that day either – apparently, our hard-working
football players couldn't manage to play five weeks
in a row, so there was a bye day built into the schedule. With
one of the dolls in my left hand, I picked up the last of the
magazines with my other hand to throw it in the box.

"Cheryl Tiegs, " I sighed, reading the cover,
"January 27, 1975 Sports Illustrated."

And then it happened. I felt the doll in my hand begin to warm
and soften. I looked down and stared in astonishment as
the doll's plastic features gradually changed, becoming
real hair and skin. She was still only 12 inches tall, but
the doll looked exactly like the woman on the cover of the
magazine. The same dark blonde, shoulder length hair,
the same blue eyes, the same incredible body. The only difference
was that the doll was wearing a gold strapless bikini that
covered up a little too much, while the model in the magazine
had on a green and gold bikini that showed off an absolutely
incredible pair of tits. My Cheryl looked up at me with those
deep blue eyes, stretched slowly in my palm, and, well,
purred is probably the best word to describe the sound.

"Hello, master."

"Um, hello."

In case you hadn't guessed, I'm not Mr. Smooth,
even now. I certainly wasn't in high school. Presented
with this vision, I was lucky to be able to speak at all.

"Be nice if you were life-size, huh?" I finally
croaked. The women in Grandpa's pictures were life-sized.
Wasn't I entitled to that, too?

No sooner had I finished asking the question than I had a
beautiful woman straddling me. Since I'd been holding
her when she, er, grew, my hand was now trapped between my
crotch and hers. I yanked it out as if it were on fire – what
an idiot, eh? – and she just as quickly pressed her advantage.

"Mmmm, master, " she smiled, grinding herself
against me.

That did it. I felt my cock explode, coating the inside of
my briefs.

"Um, excuse me, " I said, "I have to use
the bathroom."

"Yes, master, " she said obediently, rolling
off me and kneeling in front of me. I ran into the bathroom
and cleaned up as best I could. When I returned I found her
in the exact same position I'd left her in.

"So you are. . .?" I began, as I knelt down to face

"Cheryl Tiegs, master. I'm a model."

"Yeah, I know, " I muttered. I showed her the
magazine that I'd dropped when I ran to the bathroom.

"Oooh, my cover came out today. I had one two years
ago, too. I'm the only girl to ever get two covers. This
one's pretty hot, though, huh?"

"Uh, yeah."

"What, don't you like it?" she teased.
She reached over and put her hand on my crotch. "I think
you do."

I was speechless as she began to stroke my cock through my

"Don't be shy, " she said, pushing me back.
She ran her hand up and down the bulge in my pants a few more
times and then slowly undid the belt buckle. I'd dumped
my soaked underwear in the bathroom hamper when I'd
cleaned up, so when she unzipped the fly she saw me in all
my glory. With a recovery that astonished even me, it was
once again grown to full size.

"Ooohhhh!" she squealed, fishing it out of
my pants. "Yummm."

She engulfed my cock with her mouth, and it was only the fact
that I'd come five minutes earlier that prevented
me from spraying the back of her throat as soon as she did.
Instead, I managed to last for almost a whole five additional

"I'm going to. . ." I started.

She continued to work me over with her magic mouth.

"I'm gonna shoot, " I gulped.

She looked up and smiled, as well as a woman with a mouthful
of cock can smile. I figured she knew what she was doing,
and shot my load into her mouth.

"Mmmm, " she said after slowly pulling herself
away and licking her lips. "Somebody liked that,

"Um, yeah, " I said.

"Thought so, " she breathed. "I can't
wait 'til he comes back up for air. So you're like,
what, twenty-one?"


"Eighteen!" she said, looking down. "Wow.
Pretty nice for a kid."

She gave me another 100-watt smile.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven, " she grinned.

At that point, I heard my mom yell as she was coming up the


"Shit, " I said. "Quick, um, behind the
door. And no noise."

She obediently took her place, giving me time to zip up my
pants just before Mom knocked on the door.

"Yeah?" I said.

Mom opened the door and looked down at the box I had in front
of me.

"Still? What's so fascinating about that box?
Didn't we get all the good pictures out?"

Which lie to tell? I decided to go for the truth, or at least
part of it.

"No. I found one in the bottom."

She held out her hand and I fished out the picture for her.

"Oh sure, Jack, " she chuckled to herself.
"You and Cheryl Tiegs and Raquel Welch."

"Another fake, huh?"

"'Fraid so, " she laughed, turning it
over and reading the back. "If this was taken in 1985,
Jack would have been sixty-five. It would have been a little
bit more believable if he hadn't picked both the sex
queen of the 1960s and the supermodel of the 1970s. But that
was Jack."

"I'm gonna put all this back in the attic right
now, " I assured her solemnly as I put the last magazine
in the box.

"Good, " she answered, waving the picture.
"I'll just keep this as a souvenir. Dinner'll
be ready in five, sport."

I did put the box upstairs, although I left the other doll,
along with Cheryl, still life-size and alive, in my room.
When I got back, I instantly felt Cheryl's arms around
me, her breath hot on the back of my neck.

"Supermodel, huh?" she whispered. "I
like that. Can we do it now?"

"Do what?" I asked innocently, turning around
to look her in the eyes. Actually, I had to look up at her eyes.
How tall was this woman?

"Master, " she whined, rubbing my crotch again.

"Do that? With my parents downstairs waiting for
me? I don't think so. For now, though, we need to get
you back to doll-size."

Apparently, I'd once again hit on the key phrase by
accident. She shrank back to Barbie-size, and I put her
in my drawer and told her to wait while I went down to dinner.

At dinner, Mom took some delight in informing Dad that I'd
been looking through Grandpa's boxes and found a nude

"Oh?" Dad smiled. "Who was in it?"

"Cheryl and Raquel, " Mom grinned back. "With
your dad right in the middle, of course."

"Of course, " Dad laughed. "Well, son,
if you figure out how your granddad did that, let me know.
I'm sure there's some money to be made there. Although
with computers, I guess anybody can do it now."

"Yeah, maybe, " I smiled back at him.

Or maybe not.

Some minutes later, as Mom was clearing the dishes, we all
got some good news. Dad answered the phone, and eagerly
called Mom over.

"I asked them to call us if they had a cancellation
at the Spa this month, and they do, this weekend, "
he said. "We'll have to leave right now, though.
What do you say? Shall we go for it?"

Yeah, I thought, go. Go!

There were times when I remembered that my mom and dad were
older than all my friends' parents. I'd been born
when Mom was 35 and Dad 36, so they were now in their early
fifties. But there were also times, like now, when they
looked just like kids again.

"Oh, gosh, can we afford it?" Mom asked, her
eyes lighting up. "Should we?"

"Oh, come on, " I couldn't hold it in anymore.
"You guys can afford a weekend away from home once
in a blue moon."

Of course, if they both didn't do a large chunk of work
for free, this wouldn't even have been an issue. Dad
was an architect, but what interested him most was designing
attractive, affordable housing. Mom was a psychologist,
but she particularly liked her referrals from the Department
of Social Services. So although we were comfortable, we
were hardly as well off as you'd expect for a family
with two professionals and only one kid. But Mom and Dad
had both grown up in the late sixties and early seventies,
and they never seemed to have made the transition to the
capitalist eighties and nineties.

"It's thirty percent off, " Dad whispered
with his hand still over the phone. He was grinning; apparently
the Spa was treating Mom's indecision as a negotiating

Mom looked over at me with a worried expression.

"Hey, don't worry about me, " I said. "I
know how to microwave a pizza. You kids go and have fun."

That's what I was going to be doing. The resort went
down another ten percent and Mom and Dad finally broke down
and seized the day. After I'd gotten them packed and
on the road, I ran back to my room two steps at a time. I couldn't
believe it. Not only was there a gorgeous babe waiting there
for me, but I had the house to myself. Last weekend, that
alone would have been reason to celebrate. Mom had a home
office, and seemed to run all of her errands during the hours
when I was at school. As a result, whenever I was home, she
was home. This was the first time in a month that I would have
the house to myself, and the first time ever that it would
last for an entire weekend.

Well, "having the house to myself" might not
be entirely accurate, I thought to myself with a smile.
Cheryl was back on my lap before the car got to the end of the
driveway, no easy feat with a driveway as short as ours.

"Life-size, " I said.

"I missed you, master, " she said, throwing
her arms around my neck.

"God, you really are a living doll, " I said.
Instantly, Cheryl vanished, leaving a plastic doll in
my lap.

"Shit, " I said. Apparently, I'd managed
to hit on another key phrase. I wanted my girl back and I wanted
her now.

"Cheryl Tiegs, January 20, 1975."

And there she was in my hand again. Once again, she looked
up at me, smiled, and said, "Hello, master."

This time, though, she was wearing a red dress.

"Where's the bikini?" I asked, somewhat
miffed that I'd lost her.

"Master?" she was clearly puzzled.

"The bikini you just had on, " I told her.

"I changed about ten minutes ago, master, "
she answered. "For cocktails."

This was all going a little too fast.

"So wait a minute, are you really Cheryl Tiegs?"

She blinked twice, as if she needed to think about the question.

"If you want me to be, " she finally said shyly.

"Maybe I do, but I want to know who you really are first."

"I'm your living doll, master. I can be whoever
you want."

"So who else have you been?"

"I don't know, master, " she said. "Right
now, all I remember is what Cheryl Tiegs remembered on the
date you selected. If I don't please you as this girl,
you can select another one."

"So I can just ask for a girl, and you become that girl?"

"Yes, master!" she brightened.

"And I can pick whatever date and time I want?"

"Only the date, master, " she said. "Not
the time. If it is eight o'clock when you ask for a girl,
I will appear just as she did at eight o'clock on the
date you select."

"So you were, um, Cheryl was having cocktails at eight-thirty
on, um, January 20, 1975?" I asked, looking at the
clock and the magazine.

"No, master, it was five-thirty in California, "
she reminded me.

That made sense. I was at home in Pennsylvania, three hours
to the east. So I could select the girl and the date, but there
was no changing the time. Well, it was an odd little restriction,
but I could learn to live with it.

"Uh-huh, " I nodded absently. I was a little
disappointed that I'd let my bikini girl slip through
my hands, but now I thought I knew how to fix it.

"When was the last time you wore a bikini at 5:30 in
the afternoon?" I asked her.

"Last week, master, " she answered. "Maybe
Monday or Tuesday."

After a little Internet research to locate the appropriate
date, I tried again.

"Cheryl Tiegs, January 13, 1975. Life-size."

This time, the woman on my bed was wearing a turquoise halter-top

"Hello, master, " she said

"Hi, Cheryl, " I answered.

I continued to experiment, discovering that I didn't
have to turn her back into a doll each time. Instead, simply
by touching her and invoking the magic words, I could turn
her from the Cheryl Tiegs of 1975 into the Cheryl Tiegs of
1995, an older but equally gorgeous version. I found that
I could even get her on today's date, so that the Cheryl
in my bedroom was identical to the present-day Cheryl.
Who was still a babe. In fact, I didn't have to use the
date. Simply her name was sufficient; if I didn't say
a date soon enough, I got the current version.

After experimenting with Cheryl, I picked up the other
doll and tried to get Sarah Michelle Gellar. After watching
me fail for a few minutes, Cheryl piped up.

"I think you have to be a little more specific, master."


"Specific to this Sarah girl, " she murmured
as she tried to crawl into my lap. "Though I don't
really know why you want another girl. . ."

She'd begun kissing her way down my neck. I turned her
back into a doll, and finally achieved success with Sarah.
Particularly sweet success given the hot little outfit
that Sarah had on. Apparently, I needed the girl's
name, a description sufficient to identify her – actress
was usually good enough – and a date. I found out later that
each doll had its own short-term memory. So if a doll had
been, say, Keira Knightley in the last month, I merely had
to say her name again, without any description, to turn
that doll into Keira again. Also, if I didn't specify,
I'd always get the size that the doll was at the time.
So I could go from a life-size Courtney Cox to a life-size
Jennifer Aniston simply by saying the latter's name.

By eleven o'clock that evening, I was having a great
time. I was hard once again, and Laura Prepon had eagerly
yanked my pants down to take a look. I never pulled them back
up, because after that, all of the women I'd called
on had eagerly offered me a blowjob. Finally, when I called
on Catherine Bell, I gave into temptation. She was dressed
in a floor-length gown that showed plenty of cleavage,
particularly when I was looking down at her between my knees.

"Sarah Michelle Gellar."

I had been thinking about who I wanted next and accidentally
said her name out loud. And I wasn't even touching the
doll. Well, I wasn't touching it with my hand, anyway.

And there she was, still wearing the short white minidress
and thigh-high brown boots I'd seen her in earlier.
More importantly, her lips were wrapped around my cock.
Holy shit!

"Faith Hill."

Nothing. Oh that's right. I hadn't summoned her
before now.

"Faith Hill, singer."

Long green gown, still sucking.

"Halle Berry, actress."

Black lace bra and black slacks. I let her suck me for a nice
long time.

"Shania Twain, singer."

Obviously in the middle of a performance, wearing an incredibly
tight black dress, drenched in sweat. She was holding a
microphone in her right hand, but her left was wrapped around
my cock just like Halle's had been.

"Jennifer Aniston."

Red blouse, black slacks. Bo-ring.

"Courtney Cox."

Jeans, plaid shirt. Even more boring.

"Debra Messing, actress."

Completely naked; unfortunately, also dripping wet.

"Anna Kournikova, athlete."


"Anna Kournikova, tennis player."

Still nothing. Debra was still dripping on my carpet. I
started to smile.

"Anna Kournikova, overrated celebrity."

And there she was, dressed in a white oversized T-shirt
and nothing else; apparently the dolls had a sense of humor.
Unfortunately, Anna had a terrible attitude, either because
of my laughter or because she simply didn't like sucking
cock. Pity.

"Liz Hurley, actress."

Finally, perfection. Tan lace bra, tan thong, and that
wonderful brown hair spilling down her back. And the talent
to back it up. After five minutes, she dutifully gulped
my spunk down, and I turned her back into a doll.

I had decided not to go for any of my local fantasies yet,
because I needed to find out a few things first. In particular,
I had to make certain that the real women didn't somehow
know what I was doing with them. It was one thing if Liz Hurley
remembered getting a facial; let her try and track me down
in the middle of Pennsylvania. It would be something else
if Susie Waggoner knew, and told her quarterback boyfriend.

For this experiment, though, I had to wait until the next
morning, at precisely 8:30. Since it was already past one
in the morning, I set the alarm and dropped off to sleep.


At 8:30, I put my plan into action.

"Shelly Johnson, 4422 Apple Street, Hardwood, Pennsylvania.

I'd picked one of my mom's friends from church,
a woman who lived about a mile-and-a-half away. And I'd
used a time when I knew that Mrs. Johnson was normally out
for her morning run, cruising near our house. My plan was
that after I'd summoned her – summoning being the word
I'd adopted for transforming a doll into a real woman
– I'd simply ask her some questions and tell her some
things. Then later, I'd call the real Shelly Johnson
to see if she retained any memory of talking to me. If she
did, I hoped to be able to explain it away as her having had
some sort of fainting spell outside of our house while she
was running. If not, I was golden.

As soon as the doll began to change and grow, I yanked my hand
away and sat in the chair across from Mrs. Johnson. Sure
enough, she was dressed in running shorts and a T-shirt,
with a thin sheen of perspiration. Now I confess I could
have picked a less attractive woman. Shelly Johnson was,
in all honesty, a fox. Particularly dressed like this.
She was a good bit younger than my mom, in her early or mid-thirties,
with shoulder-length blonde hair.

"Hello, master." Her manner was demure, but
the corners of her mouth had started to turn up as soon as
she saw me.

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson."

"Call me Shelly, master, " she said, looking
around the house. "Are your folks here?"

"No, they took off for vacation last night. Mom asked
me to find out what to do with her cookies for the bake sale."

"That can wait, " she said. She'd gotten
up when I'd started answering her question, and by
the time I finished, she was straddling me on the chair.
I couldn't believe it! She was even more aggressive
than yesterday's women.

"Does Master want a blow job first?" she said,
after a long kiss had left me breathless. Sliding to the
floor before I could answer, she yanked my sweats down.

"Oh, yeah!" she said as she aired my cock out,
and then proceeded to give him a workout that put those actresses
and singers to shame. It seemed to me that she was all over
it, licking the top, the sides, and my balls, and then taking
it all the way inside. Only my experience yesterday allowed
me to last more than five minutes. When I finally exploded
inside her mouth, she just swallowed it down. I swear she
licked her lips afterward.

"And now we fuck?" she asked eagerly.

"Later, living doll, " I smiled, watching
her turn into a doll and drop to the floor. Well, so much for
plausible deniability. Still, I had to know. Wandering
over to the phone, I dialed the Johnsons' number.

"Hello?" answered a breathless voice.

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson?" I asked.


"This is Jason Thompson, um, Dana's kid?"

"Of course, Jason. I'm sorry I'm a little
out of breath. I just finished my run. What can I do for you?"

"I don't know if my mom told you she was going out
of town, " I began slowly. Or if someone else had...

"No. Another conference?"

"No, a vacation, " I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Anyway, she asked me to call you to find out what to
do with her cookies for the bake sale."

"Oh, could you possibly bring them by later? I'll
be home all day baking as soon as I pop in the shower."

I took a long shower myself while thinking about Shelly
in hers. Maybe tomorrow, if this all worked properly, we'd
shower together. A few hours later, I walked down to Shelly's
house with my mom's cookies. I knocked on the door,
and heard her yell for me to come into the kitchen.

"Oh. Hi, Jason, " she said, giving me a big smile
and brushing the flour off her hands as I entered the room.
She was dressed in a T-shirt and a very tight pair of jeans.

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson. Expecting a good crowd?"

"I think so. I'm sorry your mom won't be there."

"Yeah, I know how much she enjoys talking to the church
ladies. What should I do with these?"

Following her instructions, I put the tin on the counter.
We chatted for a while, and she gave me no indication that
she remembered anything about our little session. Finally,
I excused myself and hurried home. It was time to take the
next step. I stood in my living room and spoke the familiar

"Shelly Johnson, life-size."

"Hello, master, " Shelly was dressed in the
same T-shirt and jeans I'd seen her in before.

"Hi, Shelly. Do you remember the blowjob you gave
me earlier?"

"Jason!" she said, genuine surprise in her

"You don't want to give me a blowjob?" I
teased her.

"I'd love to, master." She dropped to her
knees and reached for my pants.

I reached down and pulled her back up to her feet.

"Seriously, do you remember giving me a blowjob?"

"No, master, " she smiled. "I think I'd
remember that!"

"How 'bout a game, Mrs. Johnson?" I said,
writhing away as she once again grabbed for the waistband
of my jeans.

She groaned.

"How 'bout a game where you call me Shelly and
just fuck my brains out?" she countered.

"No, let's pretend I'm a virgin, and you're
my older married neighbor, " I said. "You've
decided to take me under your wing, and teach me everything
I need to know about sex."

Shelly got a big grin on her face and she immediately fell
into her role.

"Have a seat, Jason, " she said, pointing to
my parents' love seat. "You're sure I can't
get you anything to drink?"

"No thank you, Mrs. Johnson, " I said meekly.

"Don't be so nervous, Jason, " she said,
sitting down right next to me. "Your mom tells me you're
a little shy around girls."

"Well, yeah, a little, " I answered, wondering
now whether my mom really had said something like that.
It certainly sounded like her.

"So have you done any necking? You know, kissing?"

"Oh, yeah, " I said confidently.

"Let's see, " she smiled, and moved in
for a kiss.

I kissed her for a good ten seconds, holding her in place
with a light hand a

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I kissed her for a good ten seconds, holding her in place
with a light hand around the back of her neck, before finally
letting her go.

"Well, " she said with a slight shake of her
head, "I think we can move right on to some advanced

"Gosh, thanks, Mrs. Johnson, " I gushed.

"Shelly, Jason, " she said. "Call me
Shelly. Now, why don't you slip your arm over my shoulder?
Like we were sitting here watching television together.
That's right. Mmmm, now move your hand down slowly
and just cup my boob. Ow, not so hard. There, that's
right. Now just very gently start to squeeze it, and brush
your fingers all around it. Just don't touch the...
mmmm, Jason."

We had a lot of false starts like that, with me poking a little
too hard or pinching a little too hard or even biting a little
too hard. Under her expert guidance, though, I finally
had her shirt and bra lying next to her on the couch, and I
was doing my best not to stare at her beautiful tits.

"Don't you like my boobs?" she pouted,
thrusting her chest out at me.

"I do, " I agreed, maybe a little too eagerly.
"But I thought it was rude to stare at them."

"When they're on display like this, Jason, you
damn well better stare, " she said proudly. "You
don't want me to feel unappreciated, do you?

"No, " I said softly, bending my head down to
take one of the dark red nipples between my lips.

"That's right, baby, that's perfect, "
she murmured as my fingertips found her other nipple. "Harder,
just a little harder, oh, fuck, yesssss."

I soon reverted to my novice ways, and it took quite a bit
longer before I finally had her worked up the way she thought
I should.

"Oh, God, Jason."

Maybe I'd finally gotten the hang of it. She'd
started to rub herself through her jeans, so I decided to
take over that job, too. Guided by Shelly's moans,
I soon had her pants and panties off as well, and moved to
my knees on the floor so I could part her legs. I'd seen
plenty of Playboys in my day – well, one or two – but none had
prepared me for the real live sight of the pretty triangle
of dark brown pubic hair and the pink glistening slit between
Shelly's legs. I moved my head between her thighs,
watching her tremble as I did.

Suddenly, I remembered to breathe, and my exhalation sent
a puff of warm air between her thighs.

"Jason, " she murmured.

"Don't you want me to eat you?" I whispered
softly. Of course she did. Didn't all women? They did
in the stories I read.

"I've never. . . ." she began.

"Never what?" I said, blowing out another puff
of air.

"Never had anyone do that before, " she breathed.

"Well, you'll just have to tell me what feels
right then, and what feels wrong, " I grinned. "I'm
a quick learner."

And by this time, the light bulb had finally gone on. What
women wanted, or at least what this woman wanted, was to
be turned on very slowly, to the point where it almost became
torture. I moved in and slowly placed my tongue against
her inner thigh, feeling her body shudder again as I did.
Slowly licking up one thigh and then the other, I inched
my tongue ever closer to her swollen slit. Soon I was tasting
her, alternately licking and sucking at her two lips.

"Oh, God, Jason, my clit, " she moaned. "Do
my clit."

"Your what?" I mumbled from between her thighs.

Her legs shot apart and her hands reached down and spread
her pussy lips wide.

"My clit, " she said desperately, pointing
out a small fold of pink skin with her middle finger.

I had no sooner wrapped my lips around it than she exploded,
clenching her thighs around my ears and bucking herself
up and down on the couch. After a few minutes, she sort of
collapsed, and I pulled back.

"So was that an orgasm?" I asked.

"God, yes, " she murmured. "The best
I've ever. . .ever had. I think it's time to learn
about fucking!"

I smiled at her and was about to dismiss her when I got an even
better idea. By now it was about four o'clock, and since
I hadn't had anything to eat, other than Shelly's
pussy, I was getting a little hungry.

"Why don't you find us some dinner first?"
I said.

"Yes, master, " she nodded.

She began pulling on her clothes. I stopped her at the panties
and bra.

"You don't need the rest."

"Yes, master, " she grinned back.

A few minutes later, with Shelly banging pots and pans down
in the kitchen, I took a long shower and thought about my
next move. It was time to lose my virginity, and the lucky
girl was going to be Gail Dodge. I was already hard as I toweled
off. Throwing caution to the wind, I didn't dress,
but simply picked up the other doll.

"Gail Dodge, student teacher, Hardwood High School,

My gorgeous student teacher, wearing jeans and a plaid
shirt, grew to full size before my eyes.

"Hello, master, " she said dully, her eyes
scanning my naked body.

Okay. This was different. My working hypothesis up until
now had been that the dolls had their own set of hormones,
so that when they took on the person of the woman I summoned,
who added their own hormones on top of that, they were. .
.well, let's just say that it didn't take much
to get them in the mood. This was the first woman that hadn't
arrived determined to make me happy.

.... to be continued