Vartan was blissful, feeling full and swollen and pulsing, aching, sore and wonderful, all the sensations were the whole of his thoughts, and he had dreams about being fucked again, about his throat-plug being used to fuck him, being stretched, a hand gently on his throat as it was pulled out and in, so he could feel how it was visible, but could only imagine what it looked like, because it forced his head up, so his throat would be proper and straight…
The next morning, he woke on his own, no alarm-clocks (as he had been used to) and nobody waking him (as he had been used to); he was weighed down so that he couldn’t get up, not without Mistress, and it was wonderfully relaxing. He indulged, in must be said, in a little rolling around, feeling his anus—was it an anus anymore, might he call it a cunny? Was it good enough yet?—press against the sheets, feeling his belly and bladder slosh, the weight of his purse soft and no longer sore and tight, though just as big, but much more squishy, and he rested first one leg on it, then the other, experimenting with how he could move, how he could play with it.
She’d encouraged him to play, while he was in bed; he wasn’t supposed to play while he was attached to the Machine, oh my no; but he was supposed to play if the fancy struck him, if he was alone and in bed and naked, as he was now—he simply couldn’t use his hands. He’d asked her to take them away, because they quite had minds of their own; so, as many Ladywives, he had no arms, at the moment, only his pretty shoulders. His arms were put away in a drawer somewhere, and so he couldn’t disobey, and he couldn’t need to constantly fiddle with things.
It was so relaxing, to not have to decide what to do with them anymore. He wiggled, feeling his purse wiggle and slosh most delighfully, his—well, in his own mind, he could call it a cunny right now, couldn’t he? He could even (oh! Scandalous thought!) call it something as rough as a pussy, if he wanted—his pussy rubbing against the sheets, squishing and rubbing and the plugs inside him offering soft resistance, inexorable in their stretch, but gentle. It felt so good, and his bladder was tingling like anything, tickling and tingling and his co—his clitty felt so soft and floppy, and felt just like a big soft cuddly ragdoll, and he suddenly wanted someone to cuddle with him, to use him for how soft he was, for warmth and comfort.
He got very painfully lonely, of a sudden, as happened to him often, and burst into tears. Immediately, it seemed, Mistress heard him, and was softly opening the door, and flying to the bedside, and softly sitting in her chair beside the bed.
‘Vartan, Vartan,’ she said softly. ‘Darling, what’s wrong, is something pinching?’
A shake of his head. She thought on whether quizzing him with yes-and-no would prolong his tears into Hysterics—a terrible thing to do to a charge—and made a decision. She got up, and pulled him upright by his positively lateritious nipples, and got him off the bed and down to the floor, where she pushed him gently down to sit on his own purse.
‘There now,’ she said softly. ‘Theeeere we are. Alright, be a good little thing while Mistress fetches something—I’ll only be a moment, my pet,’ she promised gently, kissing his forehead, using the action to discreetly check if he was getting feverish from the crying. She went quickly to fetch the tool she needed to pull the gag from his throat, and a glass of the thick healing medicine that would let him speak again, and returned.
‘Open up, pet, there’s a good little one,’ she carefully used the tool to attach to the end of the gag it was made to attach to, and pulled it very slowly out, setting tool and gag aside, and putting the rather wide reed in the medicine to his lips. He drank without being told, and she felt a thrum of pleasure at how absolutely and totally, helplessly trusting he was. He drank all of it while she pet his hair, and when he was done, she set the glass aside, and went to sit in her chair by the bed again.
‘Now,’ she said, gently, ‘what in the world is it, my dear one? What has made you so upset?’
‘I want to be cuddled!’ Vartan sobbed. ‘I want—I want to be—Mistress, oh, I was—I was laying here playing, and I thought how—how much like a big soft ragdoll you had made me, and how soft and warm I must be and—and I am sad nobody is cuddling me, and what—what use is a ragdoll in a bed alone?’ he hiccoughed, and started to sob again—but they were different now, the Governess could tell they were the sort that would calm down, the tears just needing to come out, now that his sorrow was shared.
‘What a soft, sweet doll you are,’ she said, getting to her feet again and rubbing his navel gently in praise. ‘Such a sweet, kind-hearted little thing. Would you like to be Rowena’s doll, my precious one? For her to cuddle every night while she sleeps?’
‘Oh!’ Now, Vartan’s tears were happy. ‘Yes! Yes please! I should—I should like that very much!’
‘Alright,’ The Governess said, ‘then we shall make you a perfect little poppet for Rowena to cuddle.
⁂
(sketch)
Ragdolls did not need legs, and so Vartan’s were put away in a drawer somewhere, and Rowena adored having a pillowy soft, warm ragdoll to lay on, and against, and cuddle while she slept. She liked to hug his purse and lay half on it when she was being made to kneel and lay her eggs, and sometimes squeezed so hard that Vartan thought he might burst; but she was always very sweet afterward, kissing his purse and patting it softly and saying he had been such a great comfort and help in her daily labours—which came twice a day now, not just the once, her ovaries so heavy and big that you could actually see them working beneath her fat apron, the bulges of eggs growing and moving down, her bladder shifting and pressing out ever firmer against her skin as her womb filled at a constant rate. She laid six huge eggs in the morning, and six again just before bed. Usually, she took the position most girls did, kneeling at the edge of her bed and bent to lay on her belly over the bed, hugging Vartan’s purse as she whimpered and grunted and flexed her womb and nothing else. Sometimes, the Governess would bring forth a handled bolt of brass from a warmed bucket of lubricant, with a screw-thread on its flared length, and screw it inside Rowena’s anal plug, and use it to hold her down as she struggled and cried.
‘Only your womb, girl,’ she would say, at those times, in a voice like soft but rolling thunder, and Rowena would flail and struggle and sob until, finally, she would go still again, and whimper in a soft, defeated way, and meekly lay her eggs correctly.
‘There, now,’ Governess would say gently, still holding her down, ‘That’s my good girl.’
Sometimes, though, Rowena would not be allowed to kneel—she would be made to stand with her legs apart, perfectly straight. Or again, she might be told to lay on her back, and Governess would put her in the highest stirrups, and make her struggle and sweat and cry.
But she always laid the eggs eventually, and Mistress always told her what a good girl she was, stroking her huge clitty (Vartan had never in his days seen a girl with a clitty that big!) and pulling out her urethral plug, until her bladder emptied in maddening, confusing, uncomfortable gushes as she came, screaming one final time, and swooning dead away. Mistress would clean her up, and use a clyster to fill her bladder up with just a little pint, and then plug her back up and tuck her in, arranging Vartan as her pillow—he made a splendid pillow.
Rowena liked to sit Vartan on his purse against the edge of her bed, and push him onto his back, and remove his urethral plug, and commence to pushing her clitty into his round, soft ruin of a coque, over and over, until she came. She liked to pretend her clitty was filling him up, Oh! Oh! Do you feel me filling you up, Dolly? Do you feel your bladder getting bigger and bigger?
Vartan’s throat was plugged once more (Dollies didn’t speak) so he couldn’t tell her that she had done, she had, and he had loved it, and he loved her, and he wished so much for her clitty to really be filling him up, everywhere, in every hole, forever and ever.
He couldn’t say these things, but he glowed with love for her, like a good toy did.
She liked pretend, and played all kinds of games with him. She had her own little toy attachments to the Machine, that she used to ‘fluff’ (as she called it) his ‘cunny’ (as—oh, bliss!—she called it), liking to make it very shiny and red, and having the Machine stretch it as wide as it could go after draining him all out, and having fun pouring all kinds of things inside, or pushing the biggest beads the Machine would give her inside, stuffing him and stuffing him, and then filling the rest of the space with liquid, and watching his belly slowly get bigger and bigger as the beads swelled up.
‘Thaaat’s it,’ she would say, imitating the Governess, patting his taut belly, playing with his navel. ‘That’s a good dolly, we must fatten you up.’
Mistress had made sure his orgasms were never visible, anymore (Dollies didn’t move on their own), and that meant they were ruined, every one, and Vartan couldn’t weep anymore (Dollies didn’t weep) but he was in blissful agony that he’d never known before, heights of pleasurable pain he hadn’t thought were possible, as his new Little Mistress found ever more ways to fill him up.
Every meal time, Mistress would take him away and empty him out again, and he would be filled with his lades, and then returned to Rowena, who was very pleased to lay against him, both their bellies full, and stare up at the canopy of stars above her bed.
‘Oh, Dolly,’ she would say, ‘I know you are Vartan, but it is fun to keep pretending you are just a dolly, isn’t it? Do you like it, Vartan?’ she would ask, sometimes worriedly, and Vartan would always turn toward her, nuzzling her and humming happily through the new gag in his throat.
One day, she said, ‘open wide, Dolly, I am going to put my clitty inside your nice warm mouth, because—because I am warm, and we are in the Winter Palace, and you—poor Dolly—have been captured by the wicked ice fairies, and they have filled all your nice holes up with ice, and—and I must put my clitty in your mouth, and fill you up with all my nice warmth, so you do not freeze to death. Oh, yes!’ she said, as Vartan began to suckle her clit. ‘Oh! Oh good, yes, suckle me like the milking machine does, good Dolly!’
She couldn’t look down at the pretty face, the big big red eyes, framed by such pretty, dark red lashes—so long and thick Mistress had made them!—and the rosy cheeks, the crimson lips stretched around her clitty, because her belly and her tiddies were in the way, but they were there, and she leaned back in the chair by her bed, the one Mistress usually sat in, and gazed up at the ceiling, feeling the pleasure. ‘Oh Dolly, don’t stop, you must fill you all up… good boy… good boy, Dolly…’
Vartan was tingling with every new ‘good boy’, and even if he’d wanted to move, his lack of limbs meant he was stuck here, his own weight pushing him all the way down on her clit, and the tip of it went deep enough to hit the top of his gag, and she started to thrust, which pushed it back and forth, and he swooned from the intensity of the pleasure this caused, being fucked so deep inside, so very deep, and when he roused again, she was still thrusting into his mouth, into his throat, and he felt her clit flexing, pulsing, and he realised she was coming, she was coming and he was the reason and he was able to feel it happening, and he nearly swooned again from happiness.
He didn’t know how long he was there, as she thrust into his mouth, using him—he was useful! He was useful and he was helping!—but eventually, he felt himself gently pulled off of her, and the Mistress was there, pulling him up until he was balancing, sitting on his own purse, which felt so, so good, his own weight crushing him deliciously; and if the Governess were to remove her hand from his shoulders, he’d fall over, since he no longer had any limbs to balance with… what helpless, delirious bliss!
‘Rowena, darling, if you want your Dolly to warm your clitty, that’s not the right hole.’
‘But it feels so good, Mistress, and he milks me like the milking machines milk my tiddies. We were playing that he was frozen and I had to fill him up like the Machine does, all with warms.’
A soft, indulgent chuckle, as the Governess caressed her pleasure-drunk face. ‘That’s very heroic, but clitty is too delicate to be in a mouth all afternoon. I told you to be careful with your clitty. Now I shall have to punish you. Poor Dolly, it was not your fault, you hadn’t any way to stop, and you are too good and loyal a Dolly to say no, aren’t you?’
‘Mhm!’ Vartan said, and relaxed completely when she pet his head.
‘Good boy. Now, Rowena, I think we shall have to have quite a strict punishment this time.’ She pulled Rowena up by the nipples, and then put a hand firmly around her clit, pulling her to the part of the room where the modified padded spanking bench was (she never used it for spanking, but the position was quite useful).
‘Now,’ she said, ‘Spiders, you shall make Rowena’s clitty stay soft and not at all aroused, but still sensitive, for a whole week. And we shall be swelling up your little anus, Rowena, so bend down, press your belly against the bench—goooood girl. Spread your legs just like that.’ She readied a gravity-syringe and a butterfly-tongue, attaching it to Rowena’s anus while she cried and Mistress rubbed her soft back.
‘After this, you shall have the suction pump on your anus, and then we shall do another dose of the gravity syringe, until supper, and you shall be given three of the largest beads of undigestibles, and then you and I shall take a nice stroll while you hold them in, and if even one starts to come out, I shall add another, is that clear?’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ Rowena said meekly.
‘And you shall not be laying your eggs this evening, you will be plugged with a hard plug and you will go to bed like that, and think upon the importance of your clitty, and how you have abused it. First the sun, and now this—really, Rowena.’
Rowena sobbed. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress.’
Rowena, of course, could not hold anything inside her fundament, as the Governess had ruined it, and gaped it, and even hours and hours of swelling her anus did not do much. In the end, Rowena failed to keep any of them in, and twenty-four of the glass punishment beads—each a perfect sphere with a diameter of six inches—were pushed inside her, and she was filled up with cold Punishment that made her scream and sob, and instead of plugged, her anus was glued shut. Mistress wouldn’t even let her drain her own bladder, sucking it out painfully and using a plug with a pattern of bumps that, while very mild, was very painful to the sensitive inner walls, especially as hard as the plug was. And it was the same to her vaginal passage, a hard plug with big round bumps all over.
‘Oh, Dolly,’ Rowena sniffled, when she’d been tucked in. ‘I think I was so naughty today that Mistress hates me.’ And she began to cry, burying her face between his teats, which were soft from having been milked at supper (he’d enjoyed his usual routine, which made knowing she was being punished hurt all the more).
‘Oh, but Dolly,’ she whispered. ‘I… I think there is something Wrong, because—because I am naughty on purpose, because I like it! I think,’ she said, ‘that it feels a little like when I was being Shaped the first time. I cannot be Shaped again, but I can be punished. That is the only new sort of Shaping, isn’t it? That’s the kind you can have all your life. Do you think I should try and tell Mistress this, Dolly? Do you think so?’
Vartan hummed and nuzzled her, nodding, as she stroked his soft tiddies. She settled down to suckle at them, and Vartan purred softly at the feeling, until they both fell asleep.
⁂
The next morning, Rowena was made to stand over the spanking bench again, her belly stuffed full of twelve new eggs, and felt the Governess sliding a butterfly-tongue into her labia, and whimpered at the bite of itching pain.
‘I am going to puff up all of your labia today, Rowena, so that your eggs cannot come out.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘And your clit shall be in Confinement, like a little girl’s, since you are too Impulsive to be trusted to play with it gently.’
Rowena sobbed a little in shame, before saying in a watery voice, ‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘I am going to rub it with camphor salve before I lock it up in the black bag,’ the Governess said, setting up the gravity-syringes so that each of Rowena’s labia were being filled with a bag of Expansia at the same time. The matter-of-fact statement was a comfort in disguise—by making sure her clitoris was tingling and burning from the harmless slave, the Governess was making certain Rowena knew that numbness would never again be part of any punishment, no matter how harsh, no matter if she was cut off from her clitoris by it being in the thick fabric bag, which was lined in rough, itchy wool and had the smooth, pretty satin on the outside.
The Governess stretched Rowena’s anus wide with the machine’s strength, and filled her with even larger glass spheres. Rowena started to cry, unable to hold herself silent any longer, and the Governess’ voice was very soothing as she pushed the punishment spheres in by hand.
‘I know, it’s supposed to be too much, it’s supposed to hurt, crying is good for you, dear one, I know you’re sorry, I know. I’m glad you’re crying, it means you want to be a good girl….’
When she’d filled Rowena with twenty-seven of the spheres, Rowena’s labia had taken every drop from the gravity-syringes, the petals swollen red and shiny and far, far too big for the space they now occupied, squishing together painfully. And yet they were still growing, the fluid forced to infuse the flesh forcing them ever larger. The Governess palpated them with her cold, soft hands, squeezing them gently, enjoying Rowena’s little whimpers of pain.
‘Gooood girl, Rowena, your body is obedient even when you are not.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Do you feel swollen?’
‘Y-yes, Mistress.’
‘Does your belly feel full?’
‘Y…’ Rowena hesitated, afraid. ‘I am still hungry, Mistress. Am I to go without breakfast?’
The Governess gentled; Rowena was, no matter what punishment she was suffering, always so much harder and crueller to herself than the Governess would ever think to be. She pushed a plug into Rowena’s anus again, and pulled her up to stand again, the glass spheres pulling her belly down heavily, Rowena forced to stand with her legs very wide apart, though her thighs were too fat for her to be able to give her poor, swollen labia any room.
‘No, sweet little marzipan, never,’ the Governess said, hugging her from behind and kissing the back of her neck—most improper!—and caressing her naked belly—scandalous! But who would ever know, now? Who would stop her?—‘Never, never, we must make sure you are fed even—especially—when you are Naughty. Naughty girls are suffering from some deficit that makes them misbehave, after all.’
‘A-are we?’ Rowena said, startled out of her tears by the touches, pink-cheeked.
‘Yes,’ the Governess said. ‘Now,’ she said, taking hold of Rowena’s clit and pulling her along, as one led a Lady. ‘Come along, girl, we must make sure you have a nice big breakfast.’
⁂
While Rowena was being pumped full of an especially hot, dense breakfast—the Governess had indulged in watching her scream and moan a bit—the Governess went to attend to Vartan, laying obediently on the bed. She pulled the gag from his throat.
‘Tell me anything she told you last night, Dolly.’
And so Vartan did. When he’d finished, the Governess had the footmen carry Vartan into the room adjacent—which was through a door hidden in the panels on the wall—and plug him into his part of the Machine, which had been specially-designed by him back before the Governess had commenced to Shaping him.
His anal plug was attached to the Machine’s nozzle, and his navel pulled through a ring attached to a chain, that went to a winch controlled by the Machine in the ceiling. His nipples were penetrated now, as they had milking-SPDERs in them, and his purse and plugged cock hung freely below him, heavy and vulnerable—and useless. His weight was entirely supported by his navel and his anal plug, and that was just how he wanted it.
As it was morning, his belly was rather small, and the most of it was his bladder, though even that wasn’t as big as it could be. When Mistress smoothed her hand over it, and squeezed it, long and slow and hard, it gave easily, even as Vartan whimpered and trembled.
‘We shall have to fix that,’ she said, and then pulled out the plug, his bladder draining all in a gush. She left him empty, as she pulled the lever to start filling him with his breakfast. Since he didn’t move, now, he was getting quite fat from having three large meals a day. With his lack of limbs, he was quite lovely and pillowy all over, almost unrecognisable.
‘Rowena fucks my cocque, Mistress. It pleases her so much, and she pretends she is filling me up, and I do so want to tell her that she has, I do! Do you think you might… might somehow make her urethra go through her clitoris, so she could fill my bladder up?’ Vartan knew he chattered more than was Obedient, but he also couldn’t stop himself.
‘What an intriguing idea.’
And the Mistress did so seem to like his ideas.
‘Such a good little girl you are, my pet,’ she purred, rubbing his navel as his belly kept swelling. ‘But I think Rowena using you as her little clit-sleeve is much better for both of you. You must not learn to empty yourselves without my permission.’
‘Oh,’ Vartan said, flushing in shame at not having known that, ‘I’m sorry, Mistress, I didn’t mean…’
‘I know, precious, you didn’t know. You’re not in trouble for ignorance—what does a girl know of anything? And Dollies are just stuffed with fluff, aren’t they?’ she cooed, and Vartan cheered up again. ‘Since Little Miss is making your coque useful again, we shall have to make sure she can squeeze Dolly’s bladder and get enough lubrication to not hurt herself. Lucky for me, she shall have her clit locked away and soft for the next fortnight, while we go over our lessons on clitties and how to behave with them….’
As the Machine filled him up, Vartan got to be witness to the Governess pacing the room and thinking aloud on her plans. He adored this, and mostly listened. She was so, so, so clever, so creative. He wished he was her Ladywife too, installed in her study while she made her plans and enacted them. He and Rowena were so very lucky…
‘We shall have to shrink your bladder opening back down a bit, but only the opening; and then I shall put a gallon of lubricant in your bladder every morning, so she has plenty to use… perhaps… hm, that would be a risk, but perhaps… we might make your coque able to tense on the inside….’