Magic Fashion

By DX

Copyrighted, 4/2015, 2018, 12/2023 all rights reserved.

Eva’s eyes lit up as she held her breath.  Nervously, she watched the men raise the sign with her name boldly, delicately, emblazoned, above the wide and expensive window of her new storefront.  

Loans and debt allowed her to buy the old boutique and she wasted no time clearing it out.  Her cheeks dimpled as she set her lips and hauled crate after crate of dry-rotted fabric from the basement and tossed them out.  She found several sewing machines, embossers and embroidery, and pulled them apart.  She smelled of oil and age as she he gently chased out the spiders and dust, and refurbished the machines to go back into loyal service. 

She spackled, painted walls, waxed floors, and installed new light fixtures to be ready for her approaching opening day.

With the last of her funds she ordered some mannequins; nouveau, sleek and blank, they would be perfect for her high-tech fashions.  Faceless, shapeless, they were merely fancy hangers to show off her talent.

With one day to go, she stood at the door with a crumpled letter in her hand.

Her mannequins were on back-order.

Still defiant, she looked around slowly.  Finished outfits, haberdashery, and accessories surrounded her with nothing but boring shelves to display them on.  Her big, brown eyes blinked back a budding tear as she again descended into the basement. 

In the back corner, piled unceremoniously in an aged crate, were a collection of old mannequins.  She had dismissed them before for not being the cutting edge look she wanted, but as she pulled them out and tried to assemble a whole one, she figured she could paint them, a flat black perhaps, and they would do in a pinch.

They were busted, and cracked.  Their paint was peeling away, and mice nests filled their hollow spaces, but Eva bit back her frustration and dug into the pile.  Her hopes shrank as she only found more broken arms, legs and bodies.

Determined, she cleared the pile away.

Eyes peered back at her, green and wet, like a jungle leaf in the rain.  Shrouded in plastic, Eva lifted up the head and torso and found the arms and legs beneath.  The word, Lynnette, was embossed on the shoulder.  Her make up was from the 50’s.  Her lipstick was a coppery red, which highlighted her full lips.  Her eyes peered seductively beneath long, long black lashes, her eye-shadow was a deep burgundy.

She was bald.  Eva couldn’t find the wig, but she didn’t care as she carried the parts upstairs and assembled her.  With a sponge and soapy water, Eva bathed Lynnette and cleaned off the oily residue of dirty mouse prints to get the mannequin ready for paint.

As the sponge washed her face, Lynnette’s eyes flashed at her prettily, and Eva’s plan of spray-painting her into an anonymous model flittered out of her head.

Lynnette was beautiful.

Eva set her in the window and then spent the rest of the night putting together her paramilitary ensemble: slick midnight grey with epaulets and pocket flaps, and a nipped waist short coat that enhanced Lynnette’s perfect breasts, a revealing short skirt with cargo-pockets, and high heeled, knee length, military boots.  

As the night sky tinted with morning blue, Eva dressed Lynnette and gently slid the garments on.  Then, she laced the boots up on the mannequin’s incredibly small feet.  Last, she clasped a cargo-belt around Lynnette’s hips, slung at an angle like a gunslinger, and finished with a small leather pouch with brass enclosure, perfect for a phone and keys. 

Her eyes blinked swollen and tired as she beheld Lynnette.  Being bald, only added to her sharp, military presence.  

Eva put Lynnette’s cap on the doll’s head and the outfit was done.

She tried to stifle a yawn and failed.  As she made her way upstairs she glanced back.  Lynnette’s eyes twinkled in the early morning light.

Eva dismissed it as tiredness.

When she awoke she saw the shadows had slid across her room.  The clock told her she still had four hours to go before the opening, so she plopped back down.

And the knock came again.

She roused quickly and went down stairs.  There was a woman at the door peering through the glass, rapping incessantly.

“I’m sorry,”  Eva answered sleepily,  “we’re not open yet.”

The woman pointed at Lynnette.  “How much?  I’ll take it!”

Eva blinked.  She was still asleep, she must be.  She blearily opened the door and the woman marched in and peered at Lynnette from another angle.  She flicked her fingers and her credit card magically appeared.  “You do alterations?  I’d have the bosom let out.”

Eva hadn’t even considered a price, and as her mouth sagged open to speak, another woman blew into the shop.  “Twelve hundred!”  She brandished her credit card like a cross against vampires.

“She was first.”  Eva replied, astonished.

“Then when can I have one made?”  The second insisted.

Eva feebly pointed to a clear area.  “I’ll get your measurements.”  She then looked to the first.  “Give me a few moments and I’ll have you try it on.”

While the women discussed where they would be wearing their outfit to avoid being at the same event, Eva, still foggy from lack of sleep, stepped up into the window and undressed Lynnette.  As she did, she noted the tiny flecks of white paint in the mannequin’s eyes that gave the illusion of a bit of glint, a bit of life.  She wondered how she didn’t notice them before.

Once the women were gone, Eva quickly put together one of her designs and dressed Lynnette in time for the opening.  Local politicians, some freelance reporters, and a handful of movers and shakers showed up to get their picture taken at a ribbon cutting ceremony of a young girl and her new shop full of ambition.

And the dress Lynnette wore sold for two thousand dollars.

The sewing machine clattered like a machine gun as Eva put together another dress, a deep blue formal gown, so Lynnette wasn’t naked.  Sliding it up over Lynnette’s hips, Eva felt the hard plastic press against her as she braced the mannequin to keep it steady.

Zipping it up, Eva brushed her hand against Lynnette’s midriff to smooth out the dress and check the fit.  Satisfied, she patted Lynnette’s butt and dashed out of the store to buy a wig.  When she came back, a woman was outside the shop waiting to buy Lynnette’s dress.

Dress after dress, everything sold on Lynnette.  Even when Eva’s blank mannequins arrived, Lynnette, and her new copper red hair, sold and sold and sold.

One night, as Eva put the final touches on Lynnette’s outfit, a safari one piece with rolled up sleeves and trousers made from sweat-wicking micro-fiber, she leaned in to adjust Eva’s copper wire hair.

Lynnette’s head turned and kissed her.

Soft, warm, wet, Eva was stunned paralyzed, surely dreaming.  She must have fallen asleep at her sewing machine.  She didn’t fight as she felt Lynnette’s arms sweep up and embrace her, and pull her into a wonderful kiss.

Lynnette kissed her again.  As they parted, she flashed mirthful eyes at Eva and winked.  Eva watched her step away and look around in wonder.  She watched Lynnette touching herself, poking her soft, real flesh, cupping her boobs and jiggling them, amazed at the movement.

Shocked, Eva watched her in stunned silence.  She was so beautiful, and… alive!  Sparking to action, Eva decided to go to her and show her around the shop…

She couldn’t move!

Panic seeped into her consciousness as she tried to imagine what was going on.  She felt her skin had become plastic and her body as still as stone.

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Copyrighted 3/2024, all rights reserved. May not be reproduced without author permission.
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M.L. Gallery

by DX

Copyrighted 1995, 2023 all rights reserved.

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Stan smiled to himself, feeling as if he was on top of the world.  He always got that way when he headed out to critique a new art exhibit for his magazine.  He stood at the aged doors of the address, amazed at how it was tucked away between two warehouses, hidden, and oh, so chic.  He looked at the note again and checked the address. It was Gwen's delicate handwriting inviting him to the pre-opening of an undiscovered wonder, printed on her stationary and scented with her perfume.  Gwen had never been into art and Stan never pressed it.  She was his lover and her interest in art wasn't what he was after, so he was a little surprised when she sent him a note asking to meet him at an art gallery. 

He opened up his cell-phone and dialed his office.  "Hi Deb? Let Amanda know I'll be home late.  I found a new art gallery downtown."

 

"Oh, well she left a note saying she'll be home late.  She’s checking out something uptown."  Deb replied, casually.

Stan's smile spread across his face.  "Alright then, see you in the morning."  He turned off the phone thinking about how perfect things were turning out to be.  A beautiful wife, a beautiful girlfriend, and a secretary who slept with him on weekends.  Who could ask for anything more? 

He took the tiny, rumbling elevator up to the floor and stepped out into the dim hallway. He could barely make out the dust covered name on the door. "M.L. Gallery." 

He entered, noticing the rich hardwood floor with a deep glowing shine.  The not too dim, not too bright track lighting gave a very comfortable atmosphere.  There were chairs of red velvet before each exhibit which Stan thought would be a bit presumptuous that someone would contemplate each exhibit for so long that they would need to sit down. 

Stan looked up, thinking someone was there.  There was a woman, still and perfect.  Her wide eyes of brown sugar looked back at him with an air of curiosity.  Stan bowed a greeting and went to speak when he realized that it was a mannequin.  At her feet was a plaque which simply read, "Dominque". 

Stan wasn't impressed with what she was wearing, a plain sun dress, nor impressed with the background she was set in of a field of wild flowers and butterflies, but he was impressed with her face, her simple beauty, her gentle smile, her eyes of wonder. 

Minutes passed before he realized that the mannequin, a perfect recreation of a human frozen in time, was the art he had come to see.  Stan's heart applauded.  He made his way down the line slowly, looking at each one.  There was Kathy and Jane, two school girls in bobby socks sharing a secret.  There was Denunan, sleek and svelte, dripping from her dip in the pool.  Margaret half dressed in corset and knickers sat before a mirror, holding her hair up and imagining how she would look with it off her shoulders. 

The deeper in Stan got, the more alluring the poses became.  Around the corner, Crissy was being canned by the school's head mistress.  Angela fanned herself, sweating from the heat, her blouse low across her shoulders.  Susan and Winnona struggled in their cat fight.  The next corner showed Xia, gagged and bound to a chair and behind her was Antoinette finishing up the knots.  Cynthia was stretched out across a rack, her ribs almost twisted with strain.  

Stan blinked, shaking his head at how real she looked, how real all the mannequins looked.  He could almost swear they were breathing! 

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Copyrighted 1995, 2023 all rights reserved.

Blink

By DX

(Teaser:  Full story here:

https://subscribestar.adult/posts/892238 )

Sarah finds herself trapped in an insane asylum in the hands of a sinister doctor who is giving her a drug that will destroy her brain and leave her as a living sex doll! 

Copyrighted 1/2023, 4/2023.  All rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without the author’s written consent.

When she opened her eyes she found herself in the room.

It was familiar.  She’d seen it before.  It was four walls in a soft, peach pallor.  The walls were plasticy, rubberized, and padded, covered in a tear resistant, quick clean material.  She had slammed her head many times against them and it was no worse than a pillow fight.  She had cried on them until snot ran like tears and they didn’t stain.

Four walls.

Each time she opened her eyes, each time she blinked, she found herself in the room and the horror became real again.

She opened her eyes and found herself in her little prison.

Snorting, she struggled to sit up.  She was in her straight jacket.  It was a heavy, nylon fabric.  Pound for pound it was tougher than steel, but soft as a baby’s blanket, and because of its high tech fabric she could remain in it for days, weeks, or even months without worry of percolating bacteria or body odor.

They could leave her in it forever if they wished.

As she shifted left, then right, scooting on her bottom so she could sit up and lean against the padded wall, a nugget of memory flared in her head.  The feature of the straight jacket when used on the insane promoted feelings of comfort and protection.  Many patients found it soothing to have their arms tightly hugging themselves.

She wasn’t so sure she felt any comfort at all.

With a grunt she got herself sitting upright.  She could see her feet and legs were in the single sock.  It was the same material as her jacket and it made her legs, from knee to toes, one single useless appendage.  The reason for it was to keep her from kicking and injuring the staff.  She could, with great effort, get up to a standing position and hop around, but that never ended well.  She would inevitably fall, most likely on her face, and would spend the next twenty minutes or so trying to roll over.

With her feet and arms taken care of, she finished her survey by trying to call out and confirmed her mouth was indeed packed full with a silicone mouth guard and a mad complex of straps to hold it firmly in place.

She leaned her head back and celebrated they had not blindfolded her. 

The darkness was maddening. 

They were keeping her in restraints more often and for longer periods.  Although she had no way of telling time in her little cell, it felt like more.  Each time she blacked out, each time she blinked, time flittered away.  She could blink and it would be weeks later by her reckon.

At least, that’s what Nurse Ratchet would say.

She was certain the woman’s name wasn’t Nurse Ratchet.  It was doctor… something or other.  She was a large, curvy woman with alarmingly huge breasts, a stilled explosion of giant, blonde hair, and intense, sapphire eyes.

Nurse Ratchet was the villain in the story.

Sitting on the floor of her cell, her head against the wall, she risked closing her eyes for just second.

“How is Sarah today?”

She opened her eyes, startled as the name flashed in her memory.  Her name was indeed Sarah.  She couldn’t remember anything about Sarah, not even what she looked like, but she was certain her name was Sarah.

Nurse Ratchet peered into Sarah’s eyes, almost as if she could see into the girl’s brain.  “You are still with us, aren’t you?”  She nodded slowly to herself.  “I believe you are.”  Nurse Ratchet pulled a syringe from her lab coat pocket.  “I’m impressed.  Most people would be permanently catatonic by now.”  Ratchet held up the syringe and tapped it to move the air bubbles.  “This works better for us anyway.  There is a new State official coming.  He’s going to want to see one of your,” she paused as she thought of a diplomatic term.  “episodes, before he signs the remand paperwork.”  She held up the syringe.  “Now that we’ve installed the permanent shunt in your neck, this is much, much easier.”

Sarah didn’t know of any permanent shunt.

Nurse Ratchet fiddled with something on Sarah’s neck, then pushed the plunger home.

Sarah blinked.

Opening her eyes she found herself lying on her face on the opposite side of the room.  She was alone.  Ratchet was gone.  Sarah had an image, almost burned to the back of her eye of an older man, with hard, unhappy eyes and a sharply trimmed grey mustache.

The man had worn a dark suit.  On the lapel was a silver eagle with wings outstretched.  The eagle carried a banner in its claws.  The banner was red, white, and blue.  The memory tugged at the corner of Sarah’s mind like laundry on the line in a windstorm.  She hated the man, hated everything.  She hated so much!  Unable to move her arms and legs she could only will her anger at anything.  Her body bucked and tossed as if she was trying to break a wild stallion.  There were others in the room.  They were trying to keep the old man away to protect him from Sarah’s fury.

The old man was unafraid.  He knelt beside her, his strong hands on her shoulders, and peered deep into Sarah’s eyes.

She saw the eagle on his lapel.

Like a gentle wave rolling up a beach on a summer’s day, Sarah knew calm.

She blinked and he was gone, and she was lying face down on the floor.

Sarah tugged at her restraints.  The jacket was properly fit and embraced her like her own skin.  As she pulled against it, nothing gave.  She heaved with all of her might and it yielded nothing.  She then tried to wriggle her legs, but the single boot was just an extension of the jacket.  She was going nowhere.  

The door opened and the orderlies stormed in.  They grabbed her and picked her up slammed her against the wall and held her there.  When they realized she wasn’t fighting, they relented and eased her to the floor.

“That will be all, gentlemen.”  Nurse Ratchet’s voice poured like cough syrup.  She stood there, her blue eyes simmering.  In the small room the two orderlies somehow managed to squeeze past her with touching her.

They closed and locked the door behind them.

As Ratchet knelt, she tried to adjust her expression from annoyed irritation to friendly and comforting.  She failed.

“Your performance was good.”  Ratchet said.  “I thought he would sign the remand order right there and then, but at the last minute,”  She shrugged.  “he decided to follow State protocol.  That will put us back months!”  Ratchet regarded Sarah carefully.  “Why?”  She leaned closer, her sharp blue eyes watching.  “What did he see?”

Nurse Ratchet dismissed it with a tilt of her head.  “No matter.  It only means you get to stay here a little longer.  It’s a delicate balance, you see.  If you are completely catatonic then they will put you in a nursing home where you spend your days facing a wall, but if you can demonstrate that explosive anger then they will put you in my custody.  You can come to my private sanitarium and stay with my other patients.”  Ratchet smiled dreamily.  “You would like that.  It is sunny with lots of green gardens.  You can spend time with the other girls.  I like to sit them out in their wheelchairs keeping each other company.  I dress them in pretty clothes… like dolls.”

Sarah sat motionless as Ratchet took out her syringe.

“This is my own creation.”  Ratchet said, admiring the chemical sloshing around the tiny glass chamber.  “It slowly builds up in the system to rot your brain.  It’s like a chemical lobotomy.  The brain eventually deteriorates and leaves you a permanent, pretty doll for me to play with.  It’s the timing that’s tricky.  As your brain melts, it triggers violent episodes.  Care facilities won’t take violent patients.  My facility, which is of course much more expensive, takes troubling cases like yours.  See, I know in a few short weeks the anger will fade and you will be just a pretty doll to add to my collection.”

Sarah mumbled into her gag.

Ratchet looked at her curiously.  “Why am I doing this?  Are we to go over this again?”  She conceded.  “Ah, the drugs are devouring your memory.  Soon you’ll remember nothing.  Soon you will care for nothing.  Soon your view of the world will be like looking down a long, dark tunnel.  In the meanwhile, I will give you the short version.  Your biological father, a man you have never met, was incredibly wealthy.  When he died, instead of leaving all of his money to his other daughter, your half sister, he left it to you.  I imagine he did this because your half sister is a horrible person.  To get her hands on the money, your dear sister wants you institutionalized.  Once you’ve been remanded to State custody for life, your sister will inherit the money and I will be paid several million dollars.  If I do this right, I will have the extra bonus of adding you to my doll collection.  I dress my dolls up in such pretty clothes!  Men pay handsomely to call upon my dolls.  They play with my dolls.  You will have such a wonderful time as my doll, you’ll see.  The men will love playing with you.  Your brain will be toast by then, and you’ll have just the fleeting thought of the games you’ll play.  You’ll know just a little of what is happening, but helpless to do anything about it, just like a real doll.”

Sarah shifted away, trying to avoid the approaching syringe.

“Still fighting,”  Ratchet whispered.  “but this will cure that.  This will take away a little more of that defiant brain of yours.”

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