For a long time I have been planning a doll present for Rossetti, and finally managed to organise it at her New Year's Eve party. Spirit and I decided to double up and both present as femme dollies for her delectation. We both wore little "cutesy" dresses, knee high socks and high heels, curled hair for her and pastel hair grips for me with perfect pink circles on our cheeks. We had a brief chat with Ringmaster and waited, limbs folded over limbs, back to back and on the floor.
Sitting in silence, broken only by a couple of whispered exchanges on how to behave and act: there are many types of dolls and therefore many types of doll behaviour, our dollies were silent and mobile but stiff - limbs can be posed and will hold in place. I shared the trick of slow breathing and blinking in time to keep the cool, robotic sense of pace and pause. I like the point of waiting. The anticipation of what will happen next. I can feel my body calming down as my breathing slows, my mouth salivating slightly as my lips part and remain slack. I can feel Spirit's back against mine, warm, strong and reassuring.
The perfect response, a delighted exclamation. Inside I smile, outside, I remind myself to be porcelain and perfect. Remote, abstracted and empty. Breathe in and out. They walk in slowly, Rossetti comes over to the pair of us and Ringmaster settles down in the background to watch.
She plays with her nails and hands. Pinching, pulling, nipping and punching. "Girls know how to hurt girls", she says later and she's right. Like myself, she takes pleasure in the intimacy of cruel touches. My legs are soon covered in a mess of red lines but I try not to be drawn in to watching her play - which is something I enjoy doing - but instead keeping my gaze glassy, focusing on the door, a point on the carpet, a screw in the wall. The pain is sharp, fresh and makes me want to gasp, but I try not to. I internalise the quick, hot rushes of slices and scratches that spark along my skin.
She alternates between the pair of us, moving us this way and that, my limbs are light and without power when she moves them, I keep them airy in her grasp, freezing them in situ when she lets go, at one point I fall over and land awkwardly, holding my arm up, fingers clawlike, grabbing at the air without motion, noise or control. I can feel her play with Spirit through the points at which our bodies connect. The twitches and resonated impacts. Without sound, it is eerie, the only vocalisation are the gasps and murmurs of delight uttered by Rossetti.
Eventually, I cave. There is only so long I can take pain without making noise, especially intermittent, sharp pain. I groan as her knuckles press hard and grate down my ribs, a sensation curious, unusual and very sore - even now a couple of days later my torso feels bruised, although it is not, sadly.
"Broken" A sad little noise, but underneath it is a note of achievement. Yes, I gave in to the feelings and went with them, hatching from my doll skin and into the vulnerable flesh beneath, but that in and of itself is part of the point of doll play, the moment where the pain becomes too much and you need to react. Spirit confided later, as we were sipping our sugary drinks and enjoying post-play hugs, that the pain actually helped her feel more submissive and enjoy the experience. She noted that the expectation of reaction, to show the top that you appreciate what is being done, can actually make the play less good - rather than relaxing and absorbing the scene, you have to leave part of your brain switched on in order to moan and groan every now and then. With dolls, the need to stay mute and in certain circumstances still, actually requires you to inhabit your body more, and the pain helps by focusing the mind and pushing you further down into yourself.
Until you break. Which you will. But that has it's pleasure too.
Abandoned to his fate in inescapable rope
3 months ago