The Doll in the Park

by SFT

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© Copyright 2010 - SFT - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; F/m; doll; maid; costume; public; boxed; delivered; mast; reluct; X

This story is covered by the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License ( )


I was taking a stroll through a small public park when I spotted her.

She was sitting quietly, relaxing underneath a tall tree, and thinking to herself. From a distance, she didn't seem to be all that unusual, except for the maid costume. A carefully detailed maid costume, probably a cosplay outfit purchased from one of those stores which sell them in bulk. There were a lot of people who bought them, but rarely wore them outdoors or outside a convention. Still, besides that one oddity, nothing else out of the ordinary. Just a girl who decided to have a nice private picnic by herself.

Upon getting closer, it appeared that it wasn't a girl at all, but an elaborate, life sized doll. Her face was clearly made of a hard plastic material, with facial details such as eyes and a mouth carefully molded and artfully painted. Her skin, at least that which was visible, was a single, shiny flesh tone, too blemish free and too reflective to be real flesh. To a passerby taking a casual glance, she appeared to be simply frozen in position. The only slight movements that were visible could be easily explained by a gentle summer breeze. She was a love doll, made to be taken places and enjoyed. Perhaps she had been brought here by some lonely otaku, but abandoned when he became too self conscious.

But getting closer still and carefully examining her revealed the truth. Her chest slowly rose and fell, indicating the breath of life. Something a doll typically doesn't have. Also, every once in a while, when she didn't think anyone was watching, she would shift her position. Her hands would subtly move to the basket, or she would place them on her lap. Her legs would shift slightly. Her face would point in a different direction. Then she became still again, and no one would notice.

Well, except me. Though being this close, I'm sure she noticed that I noticed.

"Um, hi there," I started.


She didn't respond. She remained still, staring down at the ground.

Hm. Perhaps she wished to continue this illusion that she was simply a doll.

So I squatted down slightly and stared at her at her eye level.

She didn't budge. She probably thought if she stuck to pretending to be a doll, I'd lose interest and leave. I wasn't the sort of person to ignore an anomaly like this, though, so I tried talking to her again.

"So, er, nice day for a picnic, isn't it?"

For a moment, she didn't react. Then, slowly, carefully, avoiding the vision of persons who were not us, she turned towards me. Stared me in the eyes. And then froze, once more.

Our eyes locked for a while. I didn't quite know what to say, or what to do. She had clearly noticed my presence, and wanted me to know she knew, but I didn't know if this was a positive response, or a negative one.

Then I noticed. Her head hadn't been the only part of her that moved into a new position. With her hands, she had also subtly pushed the picnic basket towards me. Thinking this must have meant something, I opened the basket.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, with three words written upon it.

"Carry me home."


"Home?" I asked.

She just continued to stare at me, not making a single sound.

"Your home?" I continued. "I... don't know where you live."

She didn't respond. She remained a doll, and remained motionless.

My eyes drifted back to the paper. I turned it over. The reverse side was blank. I examined the basket. It was empty as well. No indications of where this "home" was.

So I thought about it a bit more. This girl, whoever she was, had probably planned this. She probably meant for me to take her to my home, otherwise she would have indicated where her home was.

But what was she really planning? I didn't know anything about her. She could be psychotic, for all I knew.

I was intrigued by her, though. Every relationship starts with trust. By setting herself up to be so vulnerable here, she was showing a great deal of implicit trust in me, a total stranger. Perhaps it was only fair that I return the favor.

Her vision remained fixed upon me, almost as if she expected me to take action.


I took a quick look around.

No-one was looking this way.

They probably assumed from my proximity to this "doll" that I was the one who had brought her here for my own personal amusement, and were carefully avoiding eye contact with the two of us.

That begged the question, though. Had she come alone, waiting for someone to come by and notice her? Or had someone come with her?

I examined any potential candidates. None of them were interested at all in us. They all had their own tasks to do, walking dogs, or biking, or enjoying the scenery.

I decided to make my move.


I walked over to her left side, and squatted down.

She remained staring at my previous position, and did not react to my new one.

I placed my right hand around her back and gently held her right shoulder.

Her weight shifted slightly, as she no longer needed to hold herself up in a sitting position. She became slightly more limp, and pressed gently against my arm, as if she were silently accepting.

I offered my left hand to help her up.

She didn't take it. She was resolute in emulating a doll, and would not show any sign of being otherwise. I had to treat her as such.

In response, I lowered my left arm to the ground, and slowly, carefully, slid it under her dress and thighs.

She offered no objection. Or any reaction at all. She simply played the role of the doll, and allowed me to continue my action.

I turned my head in a slow semicircle, looking for the telltale signs of others looking in this direction.

They all focused intently on not focusing on me.

I slowly stood, pulling this girl doll up in my arms.


Then, something screamed in the back of my mind.

This is wrong, it screamed. You don't know who this is. She could be dangerous. And this, this thing you're doing. It could be construed as an abduction. You can't do this. Something is wrong here. You have to escape.

With all these thoughts running through my head, I couldn't help it. I lost my grip. She tumbled out of my arms and collapsed into a heap onto the soft grass.

She didn't move. She had simply tumbled as a doll would. No signs of life.

I took a step back. My mind was racing. And then, in a few seconds, so was I.

I had to get away. I ran. Had to get home. Had to get away from this.

So I did. I ran all the way back to my house. It took me an hour, but at least I had gotten away from whatever was happening at that park.

At least, I thought I had gotten away.

Until I noticed the five foot cardboard box that had suddenly appeared in my home.


There was a note on top of the otherwise unmarked box.

I picked it up, unfolded it, and read six words.

"Why didn't you carry me home?"

No, it couldn't be. I crumpled up the note, paused to reflect how this couldn't be happening, and opened the box.

It was.

She was inside. Still as motionless as I had left her in that park.

She had some sort of connection to me. She had to know me somehow. She had to know that I'd be walking there today. But most of all, she had to know that I would be interested in what appeared to be a love doll abandoned under a tree.

I had to know.

I put my hands to her plastic face, and tried to remove it.

It wouldn't come.

I ran my fingers around her head, looking for a lock, a crack, a seam, some way to remove it and reveal who this was.

There was none. In fact, it was a solid piece, with no obvious way to remove it.

I backed away from the box and turned around, thinking. Maybe this was just a doll, molded to look like that girl in the park. Maybe someone's just trying to scare me for some reason.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.


I spun around.

She was standing there, under her own power, looking straight at me. Her doll eyes reflecting light that wasn't really there.

I couldn't speak. Nothing I could say or do at this point would have been coherent. All I could do was back away.

She paused, then gently knelt down, uncrumpled the note on the floor, pulled out a pen, wrote something, then showed it to me.

"No-one's watching"

I froze. She stared at me, without flinching, indeed without moving at all. Though she seemed to be enjoying this.

She pulled out the note once more, wrote a bit, then showed it to me once again.

"Please, enjoy me"

I shook my head. I couldn't believe this was happening. In my own home, no less.

I managed to find enough will to move again, and ran for the door. It wouldn't give. It had been barricaded somehow. I ran for the other one. It too, was jammed somehow.

She had planned this.

There was no escape.


I couldn't fight back.

Despite everything that had happened, she was a girl. And I had had it drilled into me that you couldn't hurt a girl, no matter what happened. Gentlemen didn't do that.

She must have known that too.

Who was she? I had to know. But I wasn't in a position to find out.

She put both of her hands on my shoulders, and pushed. She was surprisingly strong for such a lithe, slender girl. I fell to the ground, and she straddled me.

I tried to sit up, but she pushed me down. I couldn't do anything. She was in control.

She ran the fingers of her gloved hand across my face. The delicate smoothness of her doll skin was a stark contrast to the situation I found myself in. With her other hand, she began to rub my chest.

I didn't know what she was doing. Under normal circumstances, I would be the one touching her and caressing her, but these were far from normal circumstances.

Then, suddenly, her right hand shot for my belt buckle. It came easily, and she ripped it away from me in a smooth, backward motion.


My pants came down easily. I had stopped resisting by this point.

The frills of her dress gently swept across my legs, tickling and teasing.

I couldn't enjoy it though. I wasn't in control. She was.

She moved up me slightly, and then sat on my crotch.

I tried to sit up once more, but she pushed me down.

She pulled out the note again, and showed me another set of words.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

"No!" I tried to scream. But it didn't come out as a scream, as she began to rub herself back and forth along me.

I still had my underpants on, but the sensation of her slowly moving her doll body against mine was almost indescribable. The gentle smoothness of her doll skin, accentuated by the frills in her dress, played up a melody of touch that could not be matched.

I didn't want to, but I was beginning to get aroused. I couldn't help it.

And that's what she wanted.


I could feel the rising within me. And so could she.

But then she did something odd. She lifted up her dress, and revealed to me her crotch.

She wasn't wearing panties, but more importantly, there was nothing there. No trap, no hole, just a smoothness.

I was confused. Surely she had planned this. Why would she leave out such an important detail to her plan?

Then she showed me why she didn't need it.

she sat on my knees, then pulled herself further up, so that I was caught between her legs and in contact with her smoothness.

I was in her lap.

And she squeezed her legs together, squirming them up and down.

The pressure was immense, but bearable, and the feeling was utterly unique. It felt like making love to a woman who had a seperable body. Her doll skin against me felt smooth and soft, yet gave enough resistance to be pleasurable.


Finally, I was spent. Whatever exploded from within me was caught by the fact that my underpants had not been removed.

She silently stood, and towered above me, watching me quietly for a few moments.

I was exhausted. I couldn't move, I could barely even pull myself up to see what she was doing.

She took the note, scribbled something into it, and dropped it beside me. I didn't have the energy to take it.

Then she began to walk away.

"Wait!" I cried out weakly. "Please, tell me who you are. I have to know."

She turned towards me, then put her finger to her plastic doll mouth, giving a silent shh motion.

Then she turned away, and continued to walk. I thought she was going to walk to the door, but instead she did something peculiar.

She walked to her cardboard box, laid herself inside it, and slowly sealed herself in.


I must have fainted or fallen asleep at this point, because when I came to, it was already evening.

The box was gone. The doors that were jammed were open again.

The only proof that anything had happened was my soiled underpants and my ripped belt.

I never found out who she was. I never wanted to tell anyone of that day.

Sometimes I try to convince myself it never happened. That it was just an elaborate dream.

But the note she left me said otherwise.

It had two words written on it. In a childish, girly script.

"Thank you."



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