Turned in to a Doll! [Closed]

[Stanmore]

She said she was a pop star, but he had never heard of any of her hits. Then again, Gregory Foxley had never been one to listen to modern music. His tastes belonged back in the days of the 1960s and 70s, back when he was just a small child. It had been at a young age that he had an interest in dolls. Not just action figures and toy soldiers, but female dolls as well. The way their figure seemed to be moulded perfectly, in to a shape teen girls back in those days used to dream about. A narrow waist that seemed to limit her every breath, large breasts that could poke your eyes out and a large pair of hips and an ass that you could spank all day. Yes. He loved that bit the most. Every woman should look like that, and every woman should receive a daily spanking to keep her right. Gregory Foxley had told all of his victims that.

Victims. He didn't like to call them that, it seemed to imply he was harming them. That wasn't it at all! The women wanted to look pretty! They wanted to have the perfect size. And he was the man to come to. And when they came to him -- they never went to anyone else. You see, Gregory Foxley had a secret. He had a talent. And that talent involved turning women in to living dolls. His methods were a mystery to everybody except himself, and he would keep his techniques to himself for the rest of his life. No one could know how he did it. "There you go Miss Beckley, don't you feel... perfect? Your new owner will absolutely love what I've done with you." The blonde haired man, with a large humped nose and half a dozen wrinkles above his forehead and his cheeks, smiled and ran his hand down the green dress his previous victim wore. Her blonde hair was up in a bun, a few free strands tickling the front of her plastic-looking face. She was unable to move her eyes -- her smile large; uncomfortable; frozen in place. She stood like a shop mannequin with one hand on her hips and another by her side, a prisoner of her plastic form.

It wasn't real plastic. She still had skin. Her bones were untouched. But the coating he had placed on her flesh from head to toe gave a hard, glistened look to her female figure. One not-too-dissimilar to a common child's doll. The mind-control sequence hadn't kicked in yet, so the faint muffles of her cries were still trying to break through her grin. When her dollification was complete, he would unseal her lips (a harmless glue-like substance was keeping them closed) and allow her to speak like a doll. "Shh. Shh. Don't try to speak. I've got to go see my next patient. I hope you don't mind if I just leave you standing here in the stock room for a few hours?" Her disapproving moans were ignored. The door was closed, and locked. Nothing could be heard.

"Well. Sorry about that, had to finish a few things. So... are you ready to begin the procedure? I understand you've came to the decision that we're going to go ahead with the operation?" She was young, which meant there wasn't much work required to keep her facial features doll-like. "If you could get changed behind that curtain, then we can begin. And please -- put this on as well." He handed her what appeared to be a white swim-cap. Along with that, he had requested she bring some swim-wear to change in to, the purpose of which would be explained much later on.

 

[meomeo]

For every ticking second sitting at the cold, alienating reception area of the clinic, Priscilla Connolly felt a growing urge to just stand up and leave. She'd never trusted doctors and clinics... and this particular clinic is the worst kind. The chilly and sterilized air, the avant garde and spotless decor not emanating any kind of warmth, the letters "DR. GREGORY FOXLEY" in large silver chrome... Priscilla struggled to recall what made her come in the first place.

It was the morning after of a late night partying session at a downtown LA club. Priscilla was sticking her hand inside her jean pocket, trying to locate her phone, when her fingertips found what appeared to be a namecard... only it wasn't. It contained just a name, a short title, and a number. She had no idea how it'd ended up in her pocket, but her interest was piqued. And she had a few weeks off until her next album starts sound-testing. She asked her assistant to give that number a call.

Priscilla thumbed through the glossy fashion magazine on her lap, still contemplating whether to leave or not. Until, on page 59, she came face to face with... herself. It was an interview she'd done a few months back. The popstar was a meticulously made-up and airbrushed image of perfection. Her long straight hair a sheet of shiny black that cascaded over her bare shoulders, her eyes a tantalizing brown that gave off a blend of innocence and mischief, her pale olive skin taut, smooth, and poreless. Her pouty lips painted a shade of dark crimson. Priscilla ran a finger over her own self printed on paper, her mind swimming.

She looked nothing like that today. Her hair is tied into a simple ponytail, thick-rimmed black glasses framed her large eyes, and she wore little make-up. She had on a long designer t-shirt, black tights underneath, and ballet flats. Simplicity. There was no point dressing up to a medical appointment. Today's Priscilla Connolly, in glasses and sans make-up, is barely recognizable as the teen starlet who'd released 3 albums by the time she turned 21. But make no mistake, she'd still command a double-take from 95% of the boys.

And then, staring blanking at herself on the two-page spread, she'd remembered why she was here. The doctor has promised eternal youth. Told her of a revolutionary way to preserve her beauty. The cost of the procedure, unfortunately, made his clientele very limited. Girls like Priscilla: young, rich, and beautiful... are the ideal candidates.It took Pris very little time to say yes. Well, what's to lose? If the 'procedure' fails she'd have wasted an afternoon and suffered a small dent in her ever-increasing bank account. If it works, though, she could look exactly like that years down the line.

A door clicked and the doctor walked into the reception area. Priscilla would've preferred a woman, but Dr. Foxley looked professional and seemed to be good at what he does, which was good enough for her. "Yes," she replied to his question resolutely.... he spent no time fawning over her fame, which she appreciated. Priscilla took the swim cap from him and went behind the curtains, quickly stripping off her clothes and putting on the one-piece swimsuit she'd brought along. With the white swimcap scrunched up in her right palm, Priscilla pulled the curtain back.

 

[Stanmore]

“Excellent. And very quick, too. Usually you have some patients taking forever to get ready.” It was true – certain women seemed to spend a long time behind the curtain, when all he asked was the strip down and put on a bathing suit. Yet it seemed to be a hard task for some of them, which frustrated him. Although the process of dollification was a long one, he wasn’t a very patient man. He liked to see results instantly, and that was why he was perfecting his methods and techniques. Soon – it would all happen in less than two hours. Or so he hoped. Just think of the custom he could have! Women rolling off the conveyor belt one after the other, contrasting the long process he had in place just now. “And if you could put the swim-cap on now, please. We don’t want any of your hair getting in the way of your face when I’m performing the procedure now, do we?”

He also asked her to remove her glasses, and walked over to put all of her belongings in to a bag which was marked Priscilla Con., never to be seen again. Usually, their items of clothing were burned and any trace removed from the face of the earth. “OK. Now I’m going to explain a little bit of the session. You understand this is a lengthy operation so I hope you haven’t made any plans for tonight. I promise you that by the weekend – you’ll be skipping out of that front door with a beautiful smile on your face!” Skipping was a lie. Carried would have been a better word.

“Now if you’ll just come through here, we’ll begin. The room’s a little cold, but you’ll get warmed up pretty quickly.” It was a slightly larger room, considerably darker than the rest of the building. A tall ceiling was the first distinguishing feature, with a couple of dull lights hanging from above. There was a device in the middle that at first glance would be mistaken for a normal bed. But the secrets of the bed would be told to her very soon. “If you’ll just lie over there, Miss Connolley, we’ll get things started.”

 

[meomeo]

Priscilla nodded and uttered sounds of approval at the doctor's questions and requests. No, she has not made any plans for this evening, and yes, she expect to be fully recovered by the weekend, when she had plans made. But apart from that Priscilla kept fairly quiet and didn't attempt to make any small talk. It isn't exactly good publicity for anyone to find out about her undergoing some sort of plastic surgery (even though it really isn't plastic surgery), and Priscilla made sure she kept a low profile. This despite a number of questions swimming around her head. Why are there no nurses or receptionists in the clinic? Will she have to come to follow-up visits? Is the procedure painful? Eternal youth... Priscilla reminds herself, and kept her mouth shut. And besides, what can go wrong?

She removed her glasses and placed them on her pile of clothes. Then, bunching up her long black hair, she pulled on the white swimcap, her bundle of hair appearing as a lump at the back of her head. Priscilla thought amusingly about the eerie sight of a young celebrity dressing up as a swimmer in a spacey clinic. She followed the doctor into the next room and was immediately greeted by the chilly air on her bare arms and legs. She instinctively reached up and rubbed her upper arms for warmth. Meanwhile the ice cold tiles on the floor stung her bare feet, causing her to walk in short, quick steps. She is glad that she no longer needed to touch the floor as she hoisted her petitie 5'5'' self onto the bed. Following the doctor's instructions, she lied down on her back upon the bed and found herself staring into the circular lights overhead.

"Like this?" she sought confirmation with man, now out of her sight.

 

[Stanmore]

“Just like that. That’s good. Now close your eyes, and before you know it – you’ll be permanently young. How does that sound, Priscilla?” He asked with a smirk, walking away from the bed and towards the distant corner of the room where his equipment was beginning to hum away. On top of the control panel were a pair of heavy rubber gloves that were of a thickness that was usually associated with someone working with dangerous, acidic materials. A faint slap could be heard as his fingers pushed in to their respective pockets.

After that, a quick punch of some buttons started the process. From above her, a robotic arm descended from the ceiling and pointed towards her face. On the end was a nozzle, ready to spray something on to her. “Make sure your eyes are closed,” he repeated, as the nozzle began to squirt out a strange substance over her face, continuing down her body (and on to her swimsuit as well), her arms and hands, legs, down to her feet, the spray no doubt giving her a tickling sensation like someone spraying on a fake tan. Already, her skin was glistening, a strange, unnatural shine that emulated the plastic look he was going for. Her limbs began to stiffen ever so slightly, indicating that what ever had been coated on to her was working.

The good Doctor Gregory Foxley stood beside the bed as the substance dryed quick, the undescribable magic turning her youthful body in to something man-made, never to age. “How are you feeling, Priscilla?” He asked, leaning down and carefully opening her eyelids – something she was now incapable of doing. Her eyes were frozen, her gaze staring forward with wide open eyes. To look in any other direction would require her to turn her neck, rather than be able to simply roll her eyes. “That’s only part one. We still have much to do.”

And indeed they did. Because for the next few hours, her body began to change through a combination of the miracle spray and Doctor Gregory Foxley’s surgery skills. A strong corset was tightened around her waist to the point of an extreme thin-ness. A strange piece of curved metal was attached to her back, forcing it to bend in a way that would force her breasts to perk forward, and her ass to stick out in the rear in an exaggerrated fashion. Her hips as well seemed to increase in size along with her breasts. Priscilla’s body proportions were becoming alarmingly unrealistic, yet she was feeling no pain. Just discomfort.

The Doctor had “fixed” his feet, as he explained to her as he did it. No longer were they flat, instead the heels had been permanently lifted by 5 or 6 inches, meaning shoes of a lesser heel size would no longer fit her and give any proper support. The young woman’s lips were sealed by the strange mixture on her skin, but would be opened up once the procedure was complete. For now, he had ‘stapled’ her mouth in to a doll-like smile that she couldn’t get rid of. He teased her about it.

“Well Miss Priscilla, we’re almost done. I bet you’re exhausted! What to do... is have a walk around, OK? See how you feel.” He placed a pair of high heels on her feet, five inch high to match her new posture. Her legs and arms were unbendable for now, still frozen with the plastic shine. “I’ll help you up.” He said, rubbing the swimcap that she still had on, taking one of her hands. “There’s a mirror over there. Go tell me what you think.”

 

[meomeo]

"Sounds awesome!" Priscilla said, her chirpy and enthusiastic voice totally out of place in the cold room and among the sleek, metallic apparatuses. Despite her nerves she can't help but feel a tiny bit of excitement. She was about to be one of the first few recipients of a groundbreaking procedure that will leave no visible aftereffects like traditional plastic surgery did. This will preserve her pretty little face for years to come... She shut her eyes in anticipation.

Priscilla laid perfectly still as she got sprayed. Aside from the chill she felt as the sprayed substance dried, it was quite pleasant. She can feel the odorless substance evenly over every inch of her uncovered body. Making sure whatever was spraying her has stopped, Priscilla moved slightly on the bed...

She can't.

Something's wrong. She opened her eyes and shouted.... nothing either. Darkness and silence. She no longer has control of her body. What the hell is going on?!

Priscilla felt a finger tip on her eyelids, they open, she can see the doctor. He asked her something. She tried to open her mouth to raise hell, but of course she can't. She is frozen.

"Oh my god what have I signed up for?!?!"

Priscilla remembered very little of the next few hours. The surgical lights glaring into her opened eyes were disorienting, and the Doctor's voice droned on and on. He was explaining what he was doing but it seemed like he was speaking from another dimension. Then he was telling her to get up. 'Strange' isn't nearly a word strong enough to describe what Priscilla felt. She moved like a robot and her skin was so tight it almost hurt. And something was very, very wrong.

She ambled over to the mirror and her jaw dropped (only it didn't). She was completely unrecognizable. She was no longer a brunette but a shocking platinum blonde. Her eyes are now a bright blue framed by long lashes. Her pink lips were smiling like it was the happiest day of her life. Her skin is so smooth, glistening and completely pore-less.... it's unhuman. Her body also... she definitely had not asked for anything to be done to her body. Priscilla's is now the very definition of 'hourglass'. There is no conceivable way her tiny waist and slender legs can support a bust size like that. But there she was, standing with her chest shamelessly pushed out and those legs that seemed to stretch a mile...

She has become Barbie.

Please tell me this is a twisted dream.

 

[Stanmore]

Gregory continued to smile along with her, although only one of them was genuinely happy. Her eyes told a different story, there was no emotion in them, no way to really tell how she was feeling. He could obviously tell she would be shocked, the new hair, the new face, a permanent grin and having to get used to the inability to close her eyes, or even turn them to look to the side. Her bodyshape, the way her heels no longer touched the ground and required shoes to keep her balance. To him, it is a job well done.

“The corset won’t stay on forever, the same with the piece of metal on your back. In a few hours, your back and waist will remain in that position. Well Priscilla – you certainly look happy about it.” She’d get used to her new skin – they all did in the end. It was a strange sensation to begin with, and he had developed a process where there was no real pain involved. She had become the perfect image of a woman and it had all been done in a few hours.

“Now all we have to do is get you thinking like a doll, and you’ll be ready to be delivered to your new owner.” His use of wording was deliberate. Owner. She would no longer be a free human being. She was an object, a person’s plaything. A piece of property that came in a box and a set of instructions. “Just make sure you don’t fall over... because there’s no way you’re going to be able to protect yourself quick enough!” Another grin, another comment that was disguised as a joke at her expense.

The Doctor plays with her hair, the extensions giving it some life and length. It begins to fall down her back, ticking against the back of her extremely narrow waist. A hair band keeps it away from her plastic face. And then came a slap on one of her ass cheeks. A slight ting, but the point of contact didn’t sting. To her... it would be... nice. A nice feeling indeed.

 

[meomeo]

Priscilla stared into the mirror in shock, yet her reflection only grinned back at her blankly. The popstar's thoughts are in disarray as she struggles to come up with at least a credible guess as to what's happened to her. With the mechanical movements of a robot, she raised her right arm and very slowly brushed her fingertips against her new face, from one cheek to another, across her nose and sealed lips.

They are real. Priscilla marvelled in awe as she touched the ridge of her nose and the supple softness of her lips. Each and every one of her features are crafted to perfection. Everything just the right size and perfectly proportioned. And they are real.... this is cutting edge technology indeed.

But none of her swarming emotions showed on her face. Still the same blank look and drop dead gorgeous smile.

The doctor was speaking. In her shocked state she hardly took any of it in. Something about "delivered" and "owner". Those words sounded important but were pushed to the back of her mind as she was busy thinking of ways to wake up as her original self. She had came to this clinic to preserve her youthful looks, not to become a totally different person and to get a (admittedly well-done) boob job. Priscilla needed to speak. Her fingers now awkwardly clawed at her sealed pink lips.... no luck.

The doctor's hand came down on her ass cheek through her swimsuit with a lewd slap, as if the man was appraising a masterpiece he'd completed. It was a strangely pleasant sensation over her childlike taut skin: a soft ting.... she could feel her ass jiggle, hardly contained by the swimsuit, which is now a few sizes too small.

Something needs to be done. And since she can't speak.... Priscilla turned shakily on her heels 90 degrees to her left to face the doctor. She raised her perfectly toned arms and ambled towards the man. A bizarre sight ensued. The perfect 10 curvaceous blonde in an undersized swimsuit and sporting a all-world smile... half-stumbling across the operation room in her ridiculously high heels and outstretched arms, like a zombie. It's almost comedic.