Doll Parts (The Game 4)

I took a deep breath.

Daddy’s little boy doll. I wanted it so much. I’d heard Cameron say so many things about Daddy’s skills in mental sadism, and it wasn’t easy to fuck with my head. It wasn’t easy to calm down my thoughts. But I imagined the peacefulness that came with a powered-down brain—it had to be fucking glorious. Like a break.

“Whenever I tell you to go into doll mode, you stop moving,” he murmured. “Your limbs will stay in whatever position I bend them. If I lift your arm like this, you’ll keep it there.”

The water hit my fingertips with sharper force right near the showerhead.

“It’s tougher than it might sound,” he warned. “It takes a great deal of strength and discipline to remain still.” He lowered my hand again. “Humans are constantly in motion. We cough, we scratch ourselves, our noses twitch, we shift our weight when we stand, we tilt our heads, and we react with hundreds of different facial expressions. Most of the time, we don’t even know we’re moving.”

I exhaled and let his words sink in.

It was going to be a challenge for me since I wasn’t a fan of restrictions. But this type of kink was a huge turn-on for me too, and I wanted to do my best.

“I would never punish you for something you can’t control,” he said. “But you’ll pay attention. You’ll concentrate on your limbs, and you’ll try to eliminate one movement after another.”

His voice was weirdly lulling. Low and warm, yet brooked no argument. These were his commands.

“I promise, Daddy.”

“Good boy.”

I heard him open a bottle of something.

“I want you to pin your focus on where I wash you, and you’ll do your best to relax and be still. Obey my order wordlessly from the moment we begin, and note that I used singular. I’ll only order you to open and close your eyes. You’re an object. I’m the only human in this bathroom.”

I swallowed. The only human in this bathroom—those words struck me. Not in a bad way at all. But they flipped a switch somewhere. I was a thing. A doll. An object.

“Do you remember your safewords?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Don’t hesitate to use them—but they’re the only words I want to hear. No sounds. No moaning, no gasping, no pleading.”

“I understand.”

“Then we’ll start.” He lowered my face till my chin nearly touched my sternum. “Eyes open. I want you to focus on how I act, on what I say.”

Don’t fucking nod.

Shit. I almost failed right away.

Okay. No movements. I released another long breath, as quietly as I could, and just stared down.

The water finally reached the perfect temperature, which helped me relax physically. My shoulders slumped. Tension faded from my muscles.

Thank fucking God I wasn’t ticklish. Except for under my feet. If he touched me there, he’d have himself to blame.

Daddy started washing me with a sponge, in long, languid strokes up and down my arm. At the slightest push, I made sure not to push back. It was no longer my job to stay where it was convenient for him. He would have to move me.

Gah—I almost licked my lips. He was right. This was gonna be tough.

He stepped closer to me and began humming to himself… To himself. Because he was alone in the bathroom. I was an object.

I stared at his cock as the water rained down on us. Cocks had turned me on for as long as I could remember, but there was something about Daddy’s that was extra. It had the perfect shape. When he was soft, it dropped below his balls. Not all of them did that. He kept himself trimmed around his cock; his balls were shaved.

Crap. Could I close my mouth without him noticing? I freaking had to. I was gonna drool otherwise.

Yeah, I closed it. He didn’t notice. He was busy washing me behind my ears.

The suds followed the definition of my muscles, the water forcing it downward.

Daddy took another step closer so he could wash my back, and it was mildly distracting. His cock bumped against my abdomen.

“Beautiful, beautiful toy,” he whispered.

He stayed like that for a while. Taking his time washing my back, stroking my skin, rubbing my flesh lovingly.

I blinked.

What the…

I swallowed my shock, unable to help it. Literally swallowed. And blinked again. Tried to control my breathing. He was—he was peeing. Humming his fucking tune and peeing on me, on my stomach, on my cock.

Because he’s alone.

You’re not alive.

Dolls can’t feel.

He inched back slightly and brushed the sponge around my throat. At the same time, he shook his cock a little like it was nothing. And it did something to me. I couldn’t explain it. Something happened in my head. I felt weak and tiny and mind-blown and bewildered and, God, turned on. With such a private act, but still a normal function—we all went to the fucking bathroom—he was breaking me down into…I didn’t even know. Well…an object. He’d reduced me to a thing.