? Oh, you’ve outdone yourself! You can have Carlyle! You can have any pawn you want! ?
The other laughed. ? You deserved a prize today. That imaginary friend you identified from the boy’s drawings was just what I needed, trick worked like a charm. ?
? That child you asked advice about, you broke them successfully? ?
? Am breaking. No need to rush. I’ve three of his little friends hostage, and you wouldn’t believe what treasures are already flocking to the bait. ?
? Little friends? I hope you’re not breaking any Black Laws, harming minors? ?
? Nothing of the sort. Besides, I’ll hardly need such bait once I have little Carlyle to finish things for me. ?
? And God? The common God, I mean, are you making progress? You dropped such taunting hints. ?
Another hush for kisses.
? God’s almost mine. ?
? How long? ?
A chuckle. ? Patience is a virtue, Your Holiness. Think of it as a balance for today’s delicious vice. Your doll awaits. ?
“Mmm.” Practiced hands gripped me under the arms and eased my torso forward until I flopped into an embrace. Some long hair caught in my lips as my face fell against bare skin, and I felt breasts against my chest. “Oops! Careful!” They switched to English to address me, laughing as they adjusted my head so my cheek could rest on their shoulder. “What a fragile thing you are, Sniper, and so light! I always imagined the real thing would be heavier than the dolls.”
? Careful you don’t strain its neck. Actually, better put this neck brace on it. I didn’t want the brace to spoil the effect when you opened the box, but there’s real danger of straining something, like with babies. ?
“Well, we can’t have that, can we, Sniper? Can’t have you getting hurt. Come here.” My New Owner (what else can a doll call the one to whom it’s given?) held my head still for the Gift-giver to strap the brace in place. That helped, kept my head centered as my Owner tipped me forward into a cuddle. It was an intense embrace, no awkwardness, no holding back, the kind of hug two people can only achieve after long intimacy, but anyone can give in an instant to a stuffed bear. Amazing. “There, is that better? Now let’s get you out of your box and settled somewhere comfortable.”
? Let me help. ? I felt the second person’s hands now, midsized enough to belong to either sex, but fierce as clamps. ? On three, ready? One, two, three! ?
The two of them carried me a short way, then laid me on soft carpet with my head and shoulders propped against a cushion.
“There.” My Owner laid my hands neatly at my sides. “Much better. Now, let’s get this packaging off so we can see your pretty eyes.”
They picked at the packing strip which protects the doll eyes during shipping, splitting the seal with fingernails which (almost) succeeded in not scratching my skin. Even common lamplight seared after such darkness, and I closed my eyes at once, flinching as much as I had power to flinch.
“Oh!” my Owner cried. “Did the bright light hurt you? Here.” They leaned close enough to veil me with shadow, and restored complete darkness to my left eye with a soft kiss on the eyelid. “Let me make it better.” The kiss moved, one eye, then the other, then down my cheek. “There, that’s better. Now open your eyes. It’s okay.”
Squinting at first, I saw a clean white half mask covering the upper half of a light face, with a wash of black hair behind it, leaking over a bare body which was probably not as beautiful as I remember, but I’m about as objective here as Mycroft is about Thisbe. The room behind my Owner was a collage of me: posters, portraits, some quite rare, all different costumes, naughty, nice, formal, skimpy, all five sports, all seven Hives, and dominated by the 2442 limited-edition of me slumped shirtless in a chair with puppet joints drawn on my skin and the strings of a marionette holding me half-upright. I’ve always liked people who like that one.
“There. Welcome home, Sniper.”
As they kissed my lips which could not kiss back, I felt, at last, my long-sought, threat-free love. In my years as a professional living doll I can’t count how many times I’ve been brought home by a fan who’d dreamed of a night with the original, but the consummation often fails to meet their expectations. Those who want a doll as a lover tend to be timid, shy of being touched, more comfortable with plastic and make-believe. I’ve made myself as benign as possible: hairless, childlike, not strongly gendered either way, and I always let myself be dressed, be fed, be led, but I still touch back, kiss back by reflex, have the potential to be active. That potential spoils the illusion, like when you know a ba’sib is in earshot in the next room, and the fact distracts you even if they do nothing. As long as I could act, Owners weren’t as safe with me as with my dolls. Bondage doesn’t solve this, makes it worse, actually, since the bonds are just reminders of the power they’re restraining. Here, though, with my power not constrained but gone, my Owner was as comfortable as when you sit naked in an empty house, or sing in the bathroom, so I tasted at last that easy affection which only dolls and dildos had enjoyed before. I could feel how much it was changing me even as it happened, the granting of such a visceral wish rewiring things inside my mind, not just the conscious iceburg tip but down into those black depths that even Brillists barely understand. At the time, Thisbe and Eureka hadn’t told the rest of the bash’ about their “black hole” in Paris or what lurks in it, so I had no way to recognize that this was trickle-down of the same threat. My Owner didn’t study with Madame D’Arouet, but absorbed through the growling Gift-giver the same techniques, as through some dark umbilical: sniff out the forbidden appetites that people don’t admit they have, and make them so real that afterward the normal world feels dull as black and white. Mycroft showed you how Chair Kosala and the Anonymous can’t kindle the fire anymore without their ‘he’s and ‘she’s and lace and waistcoats. Mycroft was right to use the word ‘addiction.’
“And now for the real mystery.” My Owner’s hands traced a slow path down my sides toward the second packing strip which protected my most private parts. They glanced over their shoulder at the Gift-giver. ? You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? ?
? Actually, I already saw. ? The Gift-giver stood behind my Owner, also masked, and with a black cloak which hid everything but a spot of shadowed throat. ? Apologies for not waiting for Your Holiness, but I had to towel it off and get it boxed up. It was quite suspenseful, the rumors being so contradictory. ?
? I know. ? My Owner eased my thighs apart. “You’re a naughty thing, Sniper, spreading confusing rumors to keep us guessing.” I couldn’t look down, but saw a subtle smile as their fingers cracked the seal. (I thought hard about whether to reveal this here, but it’s time. I remain infinitely grateful to everyone who helped me keep the secret this long: the Celebrity Youth Act, my coaches, doctors, teammates, journalists, my many fans who knew, and many more who burned to know but respected my request so much you even rioted outside The Scoop that time they threatened an exposé. But it’s time to free you all from that silence, that mystery, to let you see completely what I was, now that my doll days are over.) “A boy,” my Owner announced. “Not surprising. No, wait.” They leaned closer, their long hair tickling my thighs, which could not twitch. “Both! Oh, excellent.” They lifted my penis gingerly and reached past to feel the vaginal folds behind. “You sweet thing, you didn’t want to disappoint fans who got used to either model. How thoughtful!” They spread me further, the room’s air cold against the wetness of my labia. “It’s a beautiful job, seamless!” They turned again to the Gift-giver. ? Which sex were they originally, do you know? ?