Some Assembly Required

by SFT

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© Copyright 2010 - SFT - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; present; doll; boxes; kit; assembly; paint; dress; play; mast; cons; X

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


I don't usually put up a Christmas tree.

I guess one of the reasons is that our place was so small. The other reason was that there were only two of us, and it seemed almost presumptuous to put up a tree when we'd only be exchanging gifts with each other.

This year was different, though. She was insistent that I get one and put it up, and wouldn't hear otherwise.

"Just do this one thing for me," she said, "and you won't have to worry about presents this year."

So I gave in, and put one up. It seemed easier than arguing about it.

And the very next day, a wide array of presents, of all sizes and colors, appeared under the tree. Though strangely enough, only one, the biggest, was addressed to me. The others were unaddressed.

"Most of those are just empty boxes," she said, noticing my interest. "Just for show."

"This is too much, though," I said. "You must have spent a pretty penny on whatever's in that huge box. I feel indebted to you."

"Don't worry yourself about it," she said. "It'll keep you occupied while I'm gone."


So that was it.

"Gone?" I asked.

"Yeah," she responded. "I've got to fly out for work for a couple of weeks."

"On Christmas?"

"I'm sorry," she said, almost sheepishly. "I'll be back before New Year's, though."

I knew her work took her away from me from time to time, but at Christmastime?

"Couldn't you reschedule?"

"It's a bit of an emergency," she said. "I don't want to bore you with the details, but I have to leave in the next 24 hours."

"Alright, alright," I said. "I know they need you."

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'll miss you too, you know."

As she walked off to pack, she paused, and turned to me.

"Just one thing," she said. "You know that big package I got you?"

I nodded.

"Don't open it until Christmas Day, okay?"


That was a week ago.

And today, today is Christmas morning.

And I'm staring at a huge box that's addressed to me.

The box was roughly rectangular, about 20 inches wide, 40 inches high and 40 inches long. I suppose it could've been a "flat" CRT television, or one of those fancy all in one monitor computers, but I didn't really have a need for either of those things.

So I began to unwrap it. Slowly, carefully, making sure not to break whatever was inside.

Removing the wrappings uncovered a plain, cardboard box, with various japanese texts scrawled over it. I couldn't tell what they said, though the words "assemble" and "garage kit" were interspersed amidst the characters. Oddly though, there were no pictures of what was inside.

The box seemed rather large for a scale model kit, as well. Though that was quickly explained by the "1:1" written on one corner.

I'm not really much of a model kit person, really. I made a couple here and there, but nothing really tickled my fancy with them. Still, she did get it for me, and it wasn't like I had anything better to do without her.

So I opened it up.


Inside the box was a dark figure.

It was folded up carefully to fit inside, in a sitting position, pulling its knees towards its body to fit within the narrow confines of the box, its head resting in a forward position.

The box itself had its own nifty design. It was made to come apart away from the figure inside, unfolding in all directions, instead of forcing the unpacker to pull a tightly packed figure out of it.

I gently unfolded the figure, laying it down flat. It had a certain natural weight to it, but easily moved from pose to pose.

The figure itself was fairly nondescript. It was completely matte black, and had no detailing at all. It was, however, distinctly female, with a pleasing hip to waist to shoulder ratio and a somewhat inflated chest area.

Attached to the side of the container was a small plastic packet, containing some sort of fleshtone plastic material and what appeared to be a manual.

The manual itself was as filled with japanese text as the box was, but at least this one had pictures to detail what to do. And thankfully, the icons representing glue and tools were both crossed out.

From what I could determine from looking at the pictures, this figure was the base for some sort of customizeable garage kit of a full scale anime bishoujo figure. The black figure was actually only the internal frame, the actual skin of the figure was the fleshtone plastic material in the packet.

And the first step was to apply it.


So I took the pile of plastic material, and attempted to sort through it.

Upon further inspection, it wasn't a single piece at all, but instead was a set of interlocking pieces, like a papercraft model. The material itself was thin, but surprisingly tough. I had to exert quite a bit of effort to bend them into the rounded shapes the manual had me form them into. The surface was fleshtone, but had a certain plastic sheen that was rather pleasing to the eye. Not really an oily shininess, but more a soft glow.

The manual directed me to assemble each piece and then fit them onto the frame in order, starting with the chest and torso, then the legs and feet, and finally the arms and hands. The pieces were made to fit the frame like pieces of armor, and give the impression of plastic ball joints while hiding the frame inside.

This was odd, though. Wouldn't it make more sense to simply manufacture a doll with actual ball joints instead of going through the trouble of making an inner frame and then hiding it with fake ball joints?

Still, it's what I had, so I had to go through it.


I decided to ignore the instructions and assembled all of the pieces first, and laid them down next to the frame.

Each part was split into two parts, a back half and a front half, which were then supposed to interlock and enclose around the frame. One thing of note was the parts for the hands. They extended right up to the elbow, and had no articulation whatsoever. The figure would have her hands stuck in a half open grip position, unable to twist her wrist or adjust her grip.

I was disappointed, but I guessed she was simply cheaper to manufacture this way.

So I started the process of assembly slowly, taking the piece for the back and gently laying the framework into it. The internal frame was soft, and unusually warm to the touch, but was otherwise nondescript.

Next, I picked up the piece for the chest, and carefully aligned it with the back piece, matching the tabs with the gaps and softly pushing them together. The tabs made a soft click sound, indicating that the connection was formed.

On a whim, I decided to see if pulling them apart was as easy as putting them together, and tried doing so.

And they would not.

I felt around, trying to find where the tabs had been and applying pressure to try and squeeze them out, but they were either impossible to find, or not designed to come out that way.

I opened up the manual, and noticed some big red exclamation marks among the Japanese instructions for this step. Apparently the assembly done here was designed to be permanent.

I guess I'd just have to not make any mistakes.


The other pieces clicked together easily and securely around it, well, her.

She really did look like a ball jointed doll now. The matte black of the frame disguised any gaps between the plastic pieces as empty space.

The only problem was the face.

There wasn't one.

The black frame peeked out of the fleshtone plastic that formed the head and neck, looking completely out of place.

I flipped through the manual. At the end of the body assembly stage, you were supposed to place the face piece on the empty space.

The face piece apparently being pulled from a variety of face pieces, each with their own look and price. Sold separately.

Well this was a fine deal. I suppose if I could read all those Japanese characters they would've mentioned that you needed more than one package.

Then I looked over at the other gifts under the tree. The ones that were supposedly empty.


Among the packages under the tree was a single package of about the right size and shape.

I picked it up, finding it quite a bit heavier than an empty box, and unwrapped it quickly.

The face of a beautiful anime girl smiled at me from beneath the wrappings, through a thin layer of cellophane. Her smile was not overdone, just a slight raising of the corners of her mouth, but it was enough to suggest playfulness and even a bit of joy. Her nose was slight and perfect, being composed of only a slightly upturned angle upon her face.

Her eyes, however, were blank. They were two saucer-shaped depressions in her face, of proper proportion and location, but they had no detailing at all. No iris, no pupil, not even any indications of eyelashes or eyebrows.

This wasn't a finished product.

Removing it from its container, I brushed my hand against the surface. Although to the eye it looked perfectly smooth, the texture was rough and uneven. It had probably been made that way so a layer of paint would bind to it well.

Still, I wanted to see what it would look like attached to the rest of her. She would still be incomplete without painting, of course, but at least I would have an idea of what she was supposed to look like.

So I walked to the unfinished doll with her final piece, and pressed it into position with a soft click.


For a while, I just stared down at her.

She was beautiful, just like I had imagined, though a bit odd with her completely white face and normal, albeit plastic, rest of her body.

I began running a hand up the side of her arm, catching a finger or two in every groove, and continued back down the side of her ball-jointed figure. Though I did stop in several places, there was never an uncomfortable feeling through the whole of its travel. The tough yet thin material that made up her skin had a smooth, cool feeling to it, but the edges were rounded off so as to prevent any catching or injury.

On a whim, I placed my hand into the crook of her elbow, and bent her arm around it.

My hand wasn't pinched or hurt in any way. Her range of motion simply seemed limited to a slight grip, though i wasn't sure if this was a consequence of the shape of the skin pieces or if they simply compressed easier than they bent.

Upon removing my hands, I also noticed that her arm kept its pose, and did not fall limp.

So I tried standing her up.


She took the pose easily, and seemed to stare up at me with her blank, expressionless eyes.

"Hello there," I said. I'm not really sure why I said it, but there it was.

In response, she hopped up a bit, tilted her head to the side slightly, and then hugged me.

I couldn't say I was shocked, really. This was sort of expected, given this entire setup. But I played along anyway.

"So," I said, "We need to finish you."

She nodded, and then did something odd.

She turned around, walked confidently towards where she was lying before, tripped on her face box which I had left carelessly on the ground, and spilled onto the floor, all without making a single noise. Well, besides the crash.

I walked over to her side, but she quickly picked herself up, and brushed herself off as best she could with immoble hands. She then motioned with her arm where I used to be, and then motioned to herself.

"Er, I'm over here," I said.

In turn, she faced me and repeated her arm motion.

"Hm. You can't see, can you?"

She shook her head.

I thought for a bit, and then gently placed her hardened plastic hands into mine.

"And can you feel my hands?"

She shook her head again.


This might be a bit of a problem.

She could clearly feel large movements, such as anything involving moving parts of her body, but simple touches, such as a caress or even a gentle pat, would not be conveyed.

What's more, her face had no eyeholes, rendering her quite blind. I would have to direct her quite carefully, as the only sense she retained was her hearing.

Still, it would probably be best to solve one problem at a time. And probably best to find out what she was doing.

"What were you doing over there?" I asked.

She looked up at me, and made a shape with her hands, outlining the size and shape of a small box, roughly the size of a garage toolbox.

I walked up to the tree and lifted the one box that matched the description. It was much heavier than its size suggested, hinting at some sort of dense contents.

I walked back to her. She had not moved from her position, not even turned slightly. I knelt down and placed the box on the floor, then pulled down on her arm, directing her to it.

She knelt down herself, gently moving her hands around in front of her, eventually finding the box by feeling where her hands stopped. She proceeded to measure out its dimensions with her hands, and when she was satisfied, she looked up and nodded.

Except for she was nodding at an invisible person hovering over my head.


"Down here," I said.

She jumped slightly, then looked to me and nodded again, her shoulders shrugging apologetically.

"It's ok, it's not your fault," I said. "You're just not used to this."

She nodded, and then began unwrapping the box. Or at least, trying. Her immobile fingers couldn't find anything to catch on the box, and she was quickly reduced to fruitlessly rubbing her plastic hands upon it.

I sighed, and grabbed her hands, holding them still until she stopped trying to unwrap. She withdrew her hands, and looked down and to the side, letting her shoulders sag.

I felt bad for her, but there wasn't really anything I could do right now. I wondered why she chose to make herself so helpless, though. She had planned this all in advance, and knew she would be this way. And normally she was so strong, so independent. She rarely needed me for anything.

But this was the way she wanted to do this, so for now I pushed the thought aside and unwrapped and opened the box myself.

This revealed a few cans of paint, and a set of paintbrushes. The paints were some sort of earth-friendly, non-toxic paints, made from all organic and natural materials. They were quite appropriate for painting a living plastic person in an enclosed house. The brushes ranged from a simple flat brush for painting a surface to a thin, pointed one for detailed work. Underneath the cans of paint was a roll of masking tape and scissors, for obvious reasons, and a chisel and mallet, presumably for opening the paint cans and closing them again.

She must've heard me opening the box, because she reached in with one hand, and felt around until she made a tapping sound against one of the cans of paint. She then raised that same hand to her face, and tapped against it.

She wanted me to paint her.


I started by masking her eyes.

I ripped off pieces of the tape, and then used the scissors to shape them to fit the curve of the bright ovals where her eyes should have been. I'm sure she heard every rip and every cut, because she would lean in to listen whenever I made one. I made a point of placing a hand behind her head and pulling slightly whenever I was ready to apply a piece, so she would know what I was doing and make herself still while I pressed in each one, firmly anchoring them with my fingers.

Once that was done, I began applying strips of tape to the rim of her plastic skin, just outside the area of her currently white face. This was to prevent any painting outside the given area.

Then a thought occurred.

"Hey," I said, "I think we need a smock or something to prevent any paint from getting on your skin."

She motioned to the box again, and upon looking at the bottom, I found an unusually large, cape-like rag. It had been stained with paint here and there, but besides that it was certainly clean enough.

Looking back to her, I saw she had taken a similar position as she had in the box, only with her head looking up, towards the ceiling. I stood, and wrapped the rag around her body. It fit perfectly, draping her doll skin with a protective layer.

I then proceeded to pick up the can which had a chip of fleshtone paint on its rim. Comparing this tone to the color of her skin, I found they were identical, as if the individual pieces had already been painted in this exact color. Using the chisel, I opened it up, and noticed its peculiar lack of smell. I then held it up to her face with my left hand, and held the flat brush with my right. Dipping the brush into the paint, I slowly layered stroke after stroke upon her blank visage, transforming the dull white with the clean, plastic sheen of a doll.

She kept quite still during this process, though I doubted she could feel how much progress I was making.


With her face now a nice, even fleshtone color, I walked off to find some sort of container I could use to wash the flat brush. There was probably a jar or something in the kitchen, so I went there.

I looked back, and could still see her in the living area through the doorway to the kitchen. She was still looking up in the direction of the sky, completely and utterly still. The only motion I could see from here was a single drop of paint, starting down from just below her eye, running down her cheek, off her face and marking itself upon the rag she was wearing.

She did not acknowledge it, nor was likely even aware of it.

I retrieved a glass peanut butter jar from the recyclables, filled it with water, and dipped the flat brush into it. The fleshtone color quickly dispersed within the liquid, tinting it with a smoky, paler version of itself.

I repeated this action several times, stepping to the doorway to look at her in between washings. She was always in the same position, slowly letting the color upon her face become one with it.

Once the brush was clean, I returned to her.

"Are you ok?" I asked.

Her head remained utterly still. However, a small, plastic hand slowly made its way out from under the rag, made an up and down, nodding type motion, and then slowly returned.

Turning back to the can of paint, I resealed it with the mallet and looked over at the drying instructions.

Ten to fifteen minutes, it read.

So I had some time.


So I decided to watch paint dry.

It seemed like the only thing I could do, really. She couldn't communicate very well holding herself still like that, so all I could do was watch.

There weren't any more dramatic paintdrops like the one I observed from the kitchen, though. Just this life-sized, eyeless doll looking up at nothing in particular.

The color really did make a huge difference, though. It seemed to somehow give her a warmer expression, though I knew that it was the same fixed expression she always had. What's more, as the paint dried, it seemed to cool slightly, finding a nice balance between her original cold, white look and the warm, almost pinkish tone of the wet paint.

My eyes wandered to her masked off eyes, though. I imagined what sort of eyes I would have to create there. Large, inquisitive eyes? Or perhaps smaller, more sultry ones. I settled on violet for the irises, though. I've always liked that color for eyes, perhaps because of their rarity.

I looked upon her face and expression, and decided that I'd prefer larger, more animeish eyes. Those would best compliment her wry smile and slight nose. From her behaviour and expression, I imagined she had a cute, playful personality, which would naturally possess those sort of eyes.

Checking my watch, fifteen minutes had passed.


Removing the masking tape was a slow, careful process.

I placed my fingers around each bit, feeling around for the edge, and then pressed forward with one hand while pulling back slowly with the other, making sure not to damage any of the existing paint.

She remained still as usual, still staring up, even as the pressure from my hands threatened to shift her from her position. I was glad for this, as it meant she was still somewhat aware of what was happening.

Removing the tape revealed the large, white ovals I had previously masked, still completely clear of any coloration, and thanks to the gentle process and good quality tape, free of any adhesives as well.

I was tempted to take a pencil and sketch out the eyes before I began, but ultimately decided against it. I would simply paint out her eyes slowly and carefully, and make any accidents along the way happy ones.

I began with the violet paint and the medium sized brush, laying out a rounded, but almost squarish pair of irises. These took almost the entire area of each gap, as it was important that they were large and inquisitive. Only a slight bit of white remained on each side of each iris.

Afterward, I took the black paint, and painted over the center of each iris with a large, almost dialated pupil. Taking a bright brush, I then detailed each iris with a sprinkling of black, hiding the contrast between iris and pupil, and accentuating the contrast between pupil and white.

Next, I took a thin brush, and using some white paint and water, created simulated reflections upon each iris, as anime characters have. The black and the iris had already partially dried, though, so the reflection ended up somewhat greyer than the white. I decided this was fine though, as it gave her a bit of character.

Finally, after cleaning the thin brush, I outlined her eyes with black, marking the transition between skin and eye, and adding a hint of eyelash with the shape. The inner side of each eye towards the nose I left blank, as I thought it looked better that way. Above each eye, I used the same brush to paint a pair of thin, raised eyebrows, ensuring they were neutral so she would not look angry or perplexed.

And then I dropped the brushes into the jar, and stood back to look at my work.


She was perfect.

I don't know how I got her eyes looking so perfect. I'm not an expert artist or anything, I just dabble here and there. They reminded me of a thousand other characters I had seen in various other media, but were still sufficiently distinct that I could call them my own. They echoed perfectly that sense of playfulness and joy that I sought to replicate in them.

As well, her now fully dried face exactly matched the rest of her skin. A bright, fleshtone color, with a slight plastic sheen. Tempted by its appearance, I gently stroked her cheek with my hand.

The paint did not rub off or smear, and the surface itself was greatly changed by its application. No longer rough, but instead exquisitely smooth. I had thought the paint to be some sort of water-based type, but none like that would so fundamentally alter a surface this way. It could've been some sort of oil-based paint, but that would have taken a lot longer to dry. Still, I wasn't an expert on the subject, so it was likely some sort I had never previously encountered, or I was simply wrong on some of the properties.

She probably still needed a bit of time to dry her eyes, so I proceeded to clean up the paints and brushes, stacking them up neatly inside the box where I found them.

Upon completion, I looked back at her. She was still staring up high, as if nothing had happened from the time she asked me to paint her until now. Quietly, I walked up to her, and removed the smock from her kneeling figure. I folded it up, and replaced it in the box.

Turning back to her, I said one word.



Her head tilted down, looking in my exact direction. She hopped up again, and once again gave me a quick, gentle hug.

"I don't suppose painting your eyes gave you any vision," I joked.

Seeming taking me seriously, she raised one hand to her new eyes, waved it a bit, placed it back down, and shook her head.

"Didn't think so," I said.

She shrugged, and then gave me another hug.

"I'm glad you're happy," I said, "but what do we do now?"

She brought her right hand to her head, and tapped her baldness a couple of times, making a soft clack and an exaggerated daze with each motion.

"Yes, you need hair," I agreed, "Does one of these boxes have that?"

She once again sketched out a box with her hands, a few inches wider and much deeper than the box for her face. Looking under the tree, I pulled out a box matching the description and opened it up.

Inside was a styrofoam sphere with a base, upon which was a fine set of long hair, in a tasteful deep violet which matched her eyes.


I suppose it could've been a coincidence, but it was more realistic to figure she knew my tastes well enough to customize everything.

Upon hearing my unboxing, she creeped closer to me, and then bowed slightly, offering me her head.

The underside of the wig had its own adhesive, activated by removing a protective layer of thin plastic from it. It was likely designed to be more or less permanently affixed to a doll such as herself. I carefully judged its position, then placed it upon her hard plastic scalp, correcting its orientation and smoothing it down with my fingers.

Once that was done, I placed a finger under her chin, but since she could not feel it, she did not respond. So I gently pushed her head up with it, indicating to her that this phase was complete.

The delicate strands of violet cascaded messily down her perfectly featured face. I began to brush them aside, but paused. It wasn't like she needed her hair away from her face to see, and I somewhat liked a messy look to her. Still, her face was so perfect that I felt compelled to brush away enough of her hair to enjoy it.

And I stood back once more, to look at her.

She seemed to stare directly into me from behind the remaining strands, as if to say she still lacked something.

"You need clothes, don't you?"

She nodded.


There was only one box remaining under the tree.

It was a long, thin box, like you'd get from relatives when all they got for you that year was a sweater. But upon opening this box, I found more than just that.

Within this box was a red coat, with soft woolen ends at the cuffs, neck, and bottom, and woolen puffs used to disguise the first few buttons on the front. As well, there was a pair of black stockings and a pair of boots.

Hearing my actions once more, she walked up to me, and extended her arms wide to her sides in expectation.

I removed the coat, and placed it up against her, checking for size. Though this was probably unnecessary, it did reveal that the coat was very high cut, only barely long enough to cover her bottom if she remained standing perfectly still and straight.

Still, it's what she wanted, so I walked behind her, and began to pull it onto her, first one sleeve, then bending her other arm and pulling on the other. While I was doing this, she didn't anticipate, she merely bent when I bent her, straightened when I straightened her. I'm sure she could tell I was putting the coat on her, but I don't think she could feel it at all.

I then walked to her front, and began buttoning up the coat, slowly disguising her doll-jointed nature behind the soft redness of her clothing.

It seemed odd. She had obviously wanted to appear as if she were a ball-jointed doll, but her choice in clothes would disguise nearly all of that.


Pushing the thought aside, I went back to the box and retrieved the stockings and boots. I then stood behind her, and placed my hands on her shoulders, softly pushed down, indicating that she should sit. She did so, gradually stretching her legs along the hardwood floor.

Her cute little plastic feet wiggled invitingly, though her toes remained straight and fixed, immobile much like her fingers.

I took the left stocking, and rolled it up until it was a dark round mass, with just the toe pointing out. I then knelt beside her and placed this roll upon her smooth plastic foot, snugly aligning the toe with her own.

Her foot, feeling the resistance of the stocking and my hands, relaxed and pointed out loosely.

I began to carefully unravel the stocking, slowly coating her foot. I pulled ever so gently, making sure that it would not catch on any details. As I went, I gently caressed her plastic doll's skin with the heel of my palms, enjoying their smoothness and coolness.

She became quickly still, but flexible, allowing me to slightly lift her leg from the ground and envelop the doll-joint at her ankle, and then her shin and calf.

I paused at the ball that surrounded her knee, and then placed my index fingers and thumbs in a rough circle in the end of the stocking to slightly stretch the material. I then pulled again, disguising the ball joint as a simple human knee, pressing the whole of my left palm against her thigh and enjoying its smoothness as I approached her hip, where the stocking ended.

I looked at her, and though she certainly appeared to be staring at her now uneven-looking legs, she was more or less completely oblivious to this task's completion. I gently grasped her by the shoulder, shifting her just slightly, and used her as a crutch to stand.

She seemed to understand the motion, and began wiggling her right foot slightly, ready for the next part.


The other stocking went much as the first one, with the same experience, simply mirrored with me on the right and using the opposite hands.

Instead of standing immediately this time, I reached out and nabbed her right boot, unbuckling it with a slight snap.

She reacted to the sound by wiggling her feet once more, expectant of the new feeling of resistance these boots would give her. It was evidently the only sort of touch she could still feel.

I lifted her right foot, and snuggled the boot into position, quickly but softly wiggling it up and then snapping its buckle closed. I repeated my actions with the left boot, and then stood.

She seemed to instinctively know the boots were on now, and shifted her feet left and right, enjoying this new feeling of restriction upon her feet. She proceeded to stand, and then bent over, pretending to look at her new footwear.

This of course made her coat ride up a bit high, exposing the large, round doll-joints that formed her hard, smooth, shiny bottom.

I said nothing, and just smiled quietly.


She began to quietly walk about the room, trying to maintain the illusion she could see, all the while enjoying the restricted freedom of her new doll body.

The way she moved was quite smooth, not robotic at all like you might expect. Sure, her joints didn't flex as quickly or in the same ways as you'd expect from a normal human, and she could only bend her back very slightly, but otherwise it was clear that she was alive, and not a simulation of life like a machine.

I quietly followed her, watching her deftly navigate the furniture and our various possessions within the house. As long as it was there before she left, she remembered it.

She walked up to a bookcase and ran her hard plastic hand across the books, as if she could read each title or even grasp one with her fixed fingers.

She walked up to her fern, which I watered every day in her absence, and greeted it if it was a person, extending her hand to it and shaking, then happily half-hopping away.

She even walked to our bed, diving happily into it and rolling around in the covers, peeking in and out of them, hugging the pillows, and basically having the time of her life.

And me? I couldn't stop smiling.


"Having fun?" I asked.

Reacting to my voice, she tumbled out of the bed, hopped over to me, and gave me the biggest hug she could give. The others were just practice for this one, as she basically grabbed the whole of me with all of her arms and legs.

This lead to me staggering back and falling backwards.

She held on the whole way down, softly pressing her hard little doll body against mine, cushioned only by the thin layer of her coat. I could feel every detail of her body, from her firm, round breasts, to the thin impression of her middle and the slight gaps in between her joints and her other features. Her small, hard, plastic mouth pressed against mine, the dry painted surface upon her thin, smooth lips leaving a lasting impression.

There was also a slight impression on my ass from the ground, but the other sensations overrode that.

I took my right hand, and brushed the back of my finger against her cheek, pushing aside a little of her fine violet strands to clear my view of her beautiful face.

Her slight weight remained upon me as we lay there, amazingly light when you consider the added weight of her hard plastic doll body. After a moment, she started to slowly squeeze tighter and tighter.

I imagined this must have been hard for her, being so completely isolated, unable to see or feel me, besides the shadow pressure she received by holding me so tightly.

So I pulled my own arms around her, and held her just as tight. Not tight enough to be painful, but just enough so she could feel it through the surface of her new body.

She wiggled a bit in response, feeling the restriction my hold added to her, and feeling out its limits, pressing left and right, back and forth, and twisting to the slight extent her new body allowed her. With every motion she exposed to my sense of touch the hidden details of her body beneath the coat. I could feel an impression of every rounded surface, every slight gap.

But every feeling was still muffled by her coat.

I felt the need to unbutton it.


I silently sneaked my hands to the front of her coat, and unbuttoned the top, the only button that was accessible.

She didn't seem to feel it, and continued to rub herself into me, now slowly entwining her legs around mine. These were not a problem, as her stockings were tight enough that I could feel every detail of her smooth, thin doll legs. She rubbed the ball that formed her left knee into my thigh, running it up and down, showing me its roundness and lack of imperfection as it went. Her left foot also pressed the top of itself into my shin, but this sensation, like her body's, was muffled by her boot.

Eventually, she seemed to sense something was different. It happened as she pressed her body into me once more, and she could press somewhat closer in with her coat, or perhaps she could sense the drop in friction caused by her partially exposed doll body rubbing against me rather than the filter of her woolen coat. She paused for a moment, and then withdrew, keeping her legs held against my own, but releasing her grip from around me.

She instinctively pointed her eyes to mine, and then moved her hands to her coat, making an unhooking and opening motion. Her doll hands simply didn't have the range of movement required to undo buttons, so I would have to continue.

From this angle, I could see how much of her new body was exposed. It was the joint between her neck and her body, and a slight bit of her doll skin underneath. Her perfectly sized and shaped breasts were still completely covered, and I reached for the next button with the intention of uncovering them.

From the waist up she remained still, but her legs continued their action, first her right leg then her left, and letting me explore their smoothness and symmetry. The sensation made it quite hard to concentrate.

But I managed to undo the next button.


I placed my hands in her coat, and pulled it apart slightly, right up to the next button.

But it did not expose the whole of her breasts, only the top of them, the rest of the coat slyly disguising their bottom halves.

Her pressing motion stopped, she once again was oblivious to the actions I was undertaking right in front of her. Gently, I placed my right hand onto the top of her left breast, holding the whole of it in my hand, and cupping it slightly underneath her coat.

It was cool to the touch, and hard, but not unpleasantly so, like a piece of steel would be. It was only a little cooler than my own body temperature, and warmer than the room itself. It was, however, completely and utterly smooth. I remember building this one part a few hours ago, connecting tabs to make a rounded mound, and then connecting those tabs to the main chestpiece. But I hadn't really appreciated its shape, size, and texture then. It was formed like a normal human breast, with a big of hang on the bottom, only as hard as plastic, and immaculately smooth. I couldn't even find the seam where it had connected to the chest piece now, no matter how much I poked and prodded with the tips of my fingers.

Keeping my right hand there, I began unbuttoning the next button with my left hand, slowly pressing it in with my fingers and then separating the two sides of her coat with an expansion of thumb and fingers.

This exposed the whole of her breasts to me, revealing their amazing plastic sheen and perfect size and shape. The left was of course identical to the right, in shape and form.

Undoing the button also exposed the joint that formed her midriff, sort of an elongated ball that enabled her to bend her back ever so slightly, though not in the many flexible ways a normal human could. In this, the dark gaps were quite evident, and necessary to give sufficient range of motion.

I removed my right hand and began moving its fingers along one such gap, finding a place where I could easily poke the core inside.

Which I did.


She didn't respond to it right away, instead continuing her leg motions and keeping her upper body quite still.

So I tried pressing her again.

She seemed to wait a moment, as if thinking about it, then moved her hands to her center and gently pushed out to the side, clearing my hands away from her coat. She then leaned down against me once more, now pressing her exposed doll body against my shirt, preventing me from interfering with those gaps again.

The implication was clear. I wasn't supposed to press her there, in the gaps between the ridges of her doll skin. She wanted to tell me gently, without breaking contact, and without saying a word.

Still, her motion this time was slightly different from previous.

She began to brush her plastic doll body up and down against mine, massaging her perfect chest against my chest and abdomen, and detailing the contrast between her hard, perfectly smooth chest and midsection and the soft, cottony unopened portion of her coat, still muffling the feeling of her hips against mine.

This contrast began to sink slowly downwards as she slowly wriggled against me, in an almost swimming motion, minus the motion of her arms. Her arms lay horizontal and diagonally away from me as she brushed herself against me, slowly freeing herself from her coat.

In response, I did nothing, as I could feel and watch her coat slowly slink its way down her body. She could seem to feel it too, as it moved its constraint down from her hips to her knees, and finally to her feet, where she tugged at it and finally kicked it away.

And then, she slowly slid away, brushing herself down me again, slowly transitioning from prone, to kneeling, to a crouch.

Her left hand then extended toward me, as her right hand motioned to the bed.


I grasped her fixed hand with my own, and stood.

The cold, hardwood floor was probably not the best place for this.

She quietly turned, and began walking slowly to the bed, seemingly savoring every footstep she took in her body.

This was also the first time I got a really good look at her back. Before, I had mostly been focused on her front, as most people would be, and hadn't appreciated the amount of work that had gone into modelling her back.

But now, watching the tight plastic highlights dance around the curves of her doll skin as she slowly moved away, I was transfixed.

Most people would probably have used the back as a place to hide things, as it was a place people would rarely see. But her back was immaculate, with only the few dark seams necessary for her to bend and swivel her body. The rest was as perfectly smooth and featureless as her front, and masterfully curved. Her bottom did not simply consist of a hard, panty-shaped surface with large gaps, but instead was a single, continuous piece around her bottom, a gap free surface to caress or grip. It restricted her walk, stilting it a little, as she could not fully extend either leg backward without bending it slightly, but that only added to the appeal.

As she sat upon the bed, and lay down for me, I could see her front was much the same, a continuous piece around the front of her hips, only allowing movement by a slight bend of the material. I had not really examined her hip section before, but could now see that she completely lacked any details whatsoever, she was smooth from the front, down to her crotch and straight up her bottom.

I really should've noted this while constructing her. Frankly, I was confused as to what we were going to do in that bed now.

Still, as she beckoned me with a wave of her hand, I suppose there was no harm in finding out.


She patted the bedside next to her, and I obediently sat down.

In response to the slight creak and the change in the pressure on the bed, she sat up, entered a kneeling position, and began feeling around for me, eventually placing her hands on my shoulders, prodding me until she found my head and legs, and then swivelled me to face her.

She was still beautiful, kneeling down there, with only her stockings and boots masking her perfectly shaped doll body from my vision. I knew she could not see, but she still managed to stare her sightless eyes straight through me. I knew she could not feel, but the gentle brush of her hand against my cheek made me feel enough for the both of us.

I began to run my fingers through her deep violet hair, fixing it ever so slightly with each pass, but keeping it messy enough to be distinctive. I don't know if she even knew I was doing it, but she proceeded to caress the back of her immobile hands against my body, just barely touching me, like a cool rain in the middle of summer. She didn't need to see or feel me, she already knew every inch.

I felt the need to remove those boots, and so pressed a hand against her chest, stopping her from leaning forward and executing her next step. With both hands, I then simultaneously undid both buckles on both boots with a click, and quickly slid them off, tossing them to the side.

The stockings though, they could stay.

Sensing I had done what I needed to, she then pressed her solid doll hands into my abdomen ever so slightly, her elbows out, her fingers down. She seemed to look down with her sightless eyes, perhaps concentrating on her memories of my body, and slowly pressed down, somehow finding the crease of my pants, and pulling then down, out of the way. She then repeated the motion, this time finding my underpants, and doing the same.

She then revealed why her hands were fixed open to that exact size.


I wasn't quite ready.

I was excited, of course, but I wasn't at my peak.

Her left hand found me easily, and began to play with me. Her fingers never deviated from their molded positions, only twisting and tugging slightly using bends of her elbow and rotations of her shoulder.

But the visuals deceived. The feeling was quite different.

The experience was akin to how a flute must feel when played. Each finger, despite its fixed position, varied in placement in pressure. At times a simply rocking measure, from front to back, other times two pressed, or three, or all four.

She played a deep melody upon me, pulling ever so slightly to emphasize the lead notes.

I began to tighten against her fingers, resisting the motion placed by them. The tempo began to slow, fewer notes at longer duration, but the melody remained strong.

I was concerned. There was a chance the song could abruptly end, the pressure becoming uncomfortable, the flutist pausing because her flute had become unplayable. The music still played, still delightful in all senses, but the threat remained.

Then there was a pause. She removed her hand from the instrument, sliding it away slowly before the pressure became too much, and there was a sudden rest.

And then the song began again, only now played with her right hand. She was asymmetrical, the right hand formed for the lower, deeper notes of the instrument.

The pressure rose again, but there was no danger this time, only the delightful sensations that such pure music could bring. I reached my peak, and she was shaped perfectly for it, the tempo now rising instead of falling, the song reaching a climax.

And with a sudden flourish, it ended.


Afterward, we rested.

It wasn't late, but we were exceptionally tired.

She laid herself out on her side of the bed, facing me, and I took up a matching position facing her.

She stared blankly in that non-seeing way she always did, curled up a little, and gave a slight shrug without moving her shoulders.

I gently placed my arms around her, and pulled her closer. She slid slowly towards me, gently shifting her body left and right to move. Upon reaching me, she curled up even more, entwining her legs with mine, and pressed her smooth plastic face into my chest.

I held her tightly, squeezing just enough that she could feel it. She wiggled in response like before, and relaxed in my arms, seemingly falling asleep, or its nearest doll equivalent.

I noticed while holding her, that I couldn't hear nor feel her breathe, nor her heartbeat. She was perfectly still. Her smooth doll skin perfectly isolated her from me, so much that she seemed almost unreal.

I watched my own breath quietly pass before her violet hair, silently disturbing its stillness with occasional life.

And eventually, I slept.


The next six days were wonderful.

On the weekend, each day I would awaken with her in my arms, and we would spend the day together. She never seemed to leave my sight, seemingly never eating or using the washroom. I suppose it was possible she did them when I showered or used the washroom, but these were short times, and she was always right where I left her.

On the weekdays, I again woke up with her, but was only able to see her for a while before I had to leave for work. When I returned, she was always exactly where I had left her, as if she had done nothing in the interim. She greeted me with a bouncy hug and kiss, we would enjoy each others' company for the hours we had, and then sleep.

But New Year's Eve was different.

I returned early from work, having the afternoon off, and she was there where I left her, just like all the other times.

She heard me come in, I know she did.

But she didn't look in my direction, instead looking at the floor just in front of me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She said nothing, and continued to stare at the floor before me.

"Are you ok?" I asked. "Do you want to be human again?"

That made her look in my direction, but only for a second, as she tilted her head in confusion, and returned to staring at the floor.

I sat down next to her, and placed my arm around her, holding her tightly, but she pushed away, and walked toward the end table by the couch.

There, she knelt down, crossing her hands on the table, and seemed to stare at a framed picture of us. Me, as I am now, and she, as she was then.


The rest of the day went by as it did the days before. Enjoying each others' company, feeling each other out, and finally, waiting for midnight to come.

We sat on the couch in the living room, television off, lights dimmed. Me staring into her unstaring eyes. I figured we would be able to tell when the new year had come, simply by the noises we would hear outside.

It was probably only a minute or two to midnight.

Her hand brushed my cheek for the last time, and her other hand wiped across her eyes.

"What's wrong," I asked, like before.

She straightened up, gave a very exaggerated shake of the head, and then looked in the direction of my eyes once more.

I placed my hands to her doll face, thumbs meeting around her nose, just slightly adjusting her up. I pressed my face in closer, and then met my lips to hers, moving my hands around her back and pulling her in tighter.

Then for a moment, time seemed to stop. Nothing seemed to change. We were in our perfect moment, I and her. There were no dancing shadows, or any sort of independent light. Everything was still and quiet, not even any noise from the windows. The world had given us a fixed moment in time.

And only a cacophony of noises and voices outside broke it. The cheering of crowds, the explosion of fireworks, the melody of songs, these all began and ended this time of ours.

And when I withdrew my lips, I saw that her head nodded, and her body had become limp. She had fallen asleep at the stroke of midnight.

I pulled her closer, picking her up in my arms, and slowly carried her to bed.


I awakened to the noises of luggage opening, drawers opening, and the unfolding of clothing.

"I'm back!" she said.

I sat up in bed, and saw her, human again, vigorously unpacking clothing and various other trinkets out of a large suitcase sprawled onto the bed.

But she was also lying next to me, a perfect doll, silent and unmoving, asleep.

"I see you enjoyed #21," she said, a wry smirk appearing across her lips. "But she won't be moving again," she continued, "not anytime soon anyway."

"Wait, wha?" I said, half-groggy. The clock read 6 AM.

"Could you pack her away for me?" she asked. "I don't mind if she's out when it's just us, but she'd be kinda hard to explain to visitors. She should fit in the old box."

"Uh, o..kay," I said, without thinking.

"Great!" she responded. The human her walked up to me and quickly gave me a peck on the forehead.

"And if you're good this year," she continued, "maybe she'll move for you again."



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