© Copyright 2010 - Nate Walis - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-f; zentai; bodystocking; lovedoll; boxed; M/f; tease; sex; climax; cons; X
Jemima locked the door of the apartment and dropped her bags on the floor of the hall before kicking off her heels with an audible sigh of relief. She ignored the pile on mail on the doormat and trotted across the wooden floor towards the small spiral staircase that led up to the bedroom. As she climbed the stairs she consciously shed the concerns of the day and left them behind her, just like the clothes that she peeled off as she went. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Jemima was wearing only her underwear; everything else had been left draped on the stairs as a little hint as to where she was going and what was on her mind.
A petite blond with curving breasts and thighs that were in keeping with her stature, Jemima pulled off her tights as she looked over the paraphernalia and packages spread across her bed and smiled to herself as she prepared for the task ahead. She tossed the tights away into a corner, unhooked her bra and removed her knickers and sent them following after as she stepped up to the edge of the bed and picked up the largest of the packages and unwrapped the purple tissue paper.
Inside was a garment made of a silky material and coloured in a flesh tone that was an almost perfect match for the hands that were holding it. Jemima shook it out and smoothed out the wrinkles that had gathered in the fabric while it was folded. Opened out it was obvious that she was holding a body stocking made to her own measurements. As soon as she had checked the seams and state of the stocking she stepped into the legs and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Jemima pulled the legs of the glove up just as though she was putting on a new pair of tights, the match between the tone of her own skin and that of the lycra creating the illusion that she was somehow smoothing out the tiny blemishes and dimples of her skin. She stood to pull the glove up to her waist and then tugged her arms into the waiting holes before popping her head into the hood and zipping the whole thing closed in one quick motion that spoke of experience.
As she smoothed out the lycra along the length of her body and limbs, it was clear to see that this was no ordinary zentai costume. Indeed it was a unique piece that had been made at some expense to fit Jemima perfectly and contained some fine details that made it quite unusual. Apart from being an almost perfect match for her flesh tone, the stocking had mitten hands rather than gloves, a seam sewn into the sides of the fabric that looked like the seam created when plastic was fused with plastic and strangest of all a small plastic plug just like that found on any common inflatable made to nestle neatly into her naval.
The effect was supposed to smooth the lines, blur the seams and all in all make the wearer look as though she was made of living plastic.
The body stocking was intended to make Jemima look like a living, breathing love doll.
The hood which enclosed her head and left her face uncovered also had a seam around it making her features look very much like the rubber face of a doll attached to its plastic head.
Jemima sat down at her dresser and began to use her mitten hands to apply her makeup. Normally she was adept at making great use of her cosmetics to add those subtle and delicate hints that enhanced and highlighted her natural beauty. But tonight she was after something very different indeed.
Tonight she went all out to make her lips huge and red, her cheeks rouged to a crazy degree and her eyes buried beneath excessive layers of mascara, eyeshadow and fake lashes. She wanted to make her face look like the painted visage of a doll rather than that of a flesh and blood woman. And she managed it in spades.
That done she selected a wig from one of the half dozen dotted about the dresser on foam manikin heads. While it was blonde, the colour of her own hair beneath the hood of the stocking, her own was a pretty corn blonde that reached down to her shoulders. This wig on the other hand was a bob of bleached blonde that added to the artificial effect of her outfit. Atop the makeup, the stocking and the impish grin she pulled as soon as she saw herself in the mirror, the wig looked just like the mop of fake hair worn by a love doll.
With that last touch her outfit was ready and Jemima trotted over to a large box that was pushed up against the end of the bed. It was easily large enough to hold a human being and that was just the purpose it was meant to serve. The box had been cut so that the front and sides would fall open and the flaps of the lid would open easily. It had also been wrapped in red tissue paper and a purple bow to reflect the fact that it contained a gift.
Jemima lifted the flaps of the box and climbed inside smoothly, nestling herself down in the packing foam inside. She eased the flaps closed and waited, fully aware that a text message had been sent to a certain man’s mobile phone whilst he was on his way home from work. The message was simple and from a trusted source, which instructed him to return home, make his way to the bedroom and open the box that he found there.
When he reached the top of the stairs he was taken aback by the sight of the large box at the end of the bed. He walked a maybe two or three steps towards it before he hesitated and glanced around the room as though he expected her to come bursting out of one of the wardrobes like some demented jack-in-the-box, laughing at his surprise. But Jemima was quite able to breathe in the box and keep the sound of her breath quiet enough to escape notice.
After a moments pause a smile of equal parts intrigue and amusement played across his face and he made his way the last few steps across the floor to the box. He reached out a hand and lifted one of the flaps, committed to seeing what waited inside. The sides of the box fell away and a flood of packing foam swept over his feet, but he did not notice anything but the shape of Jemima sitting cross-legged in the centre of the box.
Her head was cocked to one side and her arms folded in her lap, her face wore a neutral expression as though she were totally inert and inanimate. Slowly she opened her eyes and brought her head up to look at him with a mixture of innocence and passive interest in her gaze as though she were looking at him for the first time.
Her red lips opened into a suggestive “O”.
His voice caught in his throat and Jemima felt a sudden surge of power that she kept buried inside her as she played the part she had set out for herself. As people do, they had often shared thoughts and fantasies with each other and he had been embarrassed to admit, after a large amount of wine, that dolls had always fascinated him. As a young boy Daryl Hannah had stirred something in him as the android in Blade Runner, hiding amongst toys and dolls and at the same time being something akin to one herself. He had told her that he had always been intrigued by the idea of a love doll, but the thought of making love to an inert piece of plastic was a turn off. Instead he dreamed of something more, of possessing and taking a doll that lived, moved and loved in return.
And she intended to make that fantasy come true.
She had no idea what his reaction would be, whether he would stand dumbfounded or instantly seize on the opportunity. But she knew that he was a sensitive soul and so when he failed to make a move to pounce she took the situation gently in hand.
Jemima stood up slowly and closed the short distance between them, all the time with her eyes locked on his. She extended a mitten hand and placed it in the palm of his own, drawing it towards her and urging it to explore the smooth texture of the lycra over her skin.
He responded slowly at first, but then she felt his hands move across her body together and weigh the mass of her buttocks, and then kneed them as though to check they were real. A moment later he stooped forwards to pick her up and form a cradle for her backside from his arms.
He squeezed her close to him as though again checking to see that she was real as his eyes surveyed the lines of her heavily made up face. He seemed to be satisfied that she was real a second later when he kissed her with a passion that took her aback and made her wrap her legs around his body, her mitten hands pulling his shirt out from his trousers and sliding up his back.
Still holding her up he stepped forwards, and then dropped her bodily onto the bed. The mattress robbed the fall of anything but pleasant surprise and she kept the innocent look of a simple plaything on her face as he stripped his clothes off hurriedly, all the time his eyes fixated on her prone form in front of him.
Jemima pulled her arms up and then her legs so she was in the posture she had seen so many plastic love dolls set in, opening up her most intimate parts to his eyes. In doing so she revealed that the stocking had been made to allow everything that was down there to breath and be open to the air.
He was ready now and did not spare another second in descending onto the bed above her and putting one hand behind her head as he entered her in one movement and simply remained there for a long time. All the while he stared into her eyes as though he wanted to stay there as long as possible, as though he had never been as full of passion for her.
Then he began to move slowly and she wrapped her legs over his back and held his eyes all the time. For a while his passion held him in that position, then he withdrew and she sensed he was waiting for her to make a move so she rolled over onto her hands and knees and looked back at him again with the innocent expression until he pulled her back onto him and made a final, almost desperate run up her until he burst and groaned with the end of his exertion.
As he lay back on the bed, she lay on her side and stroked his still erect penis with her mitten hands, then leaned over it and played around the tip with her tongue and pouting red lips.
What’s not to love, she thought, about being a love doll?
More of Jemima in Jemima in the Box