Virginia - Vol 09

[Content:] T4T, lesbian, romantic, cuddling under the stars, sentimental fuck

[CW:] none

[Spice Level:] Mild / Medium

[Notes:] This section isn't meant to be super sexy, it's more about a shared romantic moment between the two characters. If you're looking to yank your chain, I recommend searching elsewhere. As a reminder, this series is written for the femmes and thems, and it's more about queer connection through kink than anything else. At the end of the day, what could be sexier than talking to your partner about their feelings under the stars?

[Summary:] Virginia is tossed into the back of a semi-truck as Mme. Scarlet moves her shop across the country. She regains partial control of her body as the two women share a poignant moment.

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Dolls don't sleep. And yet, I must have. I can't remember the events leading up to where I am now - situated at a lopsided angle amid stacks of merchandise and familiar signs labeled, "Activewear," "Accessories," "Tops," and "Bottoms." The storage compartment of a semi-truck. We are moving, once again.

The journey is long. Despite being a doll, I feel nausea bubble up inside me with every bump as the truck navigates uneven road. We must be going across state lines. The journey takes a couple of days, judging by how frequently my mistress stops for breaks. She does not open the container, but I can hear her voice every now and then. One moment, she is singing along to Stevie Nicks in the front. Then, she is pissing on the side of the highway, humming to herself. She knocks on the bottom of the truck, cursing the exhaust pipes and the sputtering V8 engine.

Regretfully, the corset is once again tightly fitted to my torso. Did she put it back on me? Or did its black tentacles crawl back onto my body as I slept?

Twilight seeps in from the folding doors as they creak open. She hops into the back of the truck, haloed by evening sunlight. My mistress. My Scarlet. She is wearing dark combat boots and a tank top. Her arms are pale in the hot sun, but they are sinewed, toned. It is hot outside, and the red arches of rock in the distance tell me that we are passing through desert. Utah? Nevada? It doesn't matter. I shouldn't worry my pretty little head over such things.

"Virginia darling," she exclaims, uprooting me from the pile of clutter.

"Yes, mistress?" I reply, taken aback by her forwardness. It's not often she lathers me with affection right away. Her thin lips part into a wide smile, earnest and kind.

"I hope you haven't found the journey too stressful, my dear."

"If I could hurl out my insides, I would have," I reply dryly.

She laughs. "A little discomfort never hurt."

My acrylic skin is coated in a thin layer of dust from days on the road. She brushes me off, then pulls me into an embrace. Then, my body does something that neither of us could have foreseen. My arms fold around her back, returning her embrace with warmth and purpose.

"Virginia!" she exclaims, trying to pull away. I hold her fast. Not captive, but safe in my arms.

She exhales, surprised, then meets my gaze. Her eyes are brimming with tears, and I know they are not tears of sorrow.

"You're doing it, my dear," she whispers, "You're really doing it."

"What do you mean, mistress?"

"You're fighting the magic that binds you, you're -- being unmade."

I wince at her words. Being unmade sounds painful. "What do you mean?"

"You're," she turns away, smiling broadly to herself. "You're becoming human again."

"Oh," I say simply. The meaning of her words does not yet reach me.

"You are the first. The first ever. I've waited centuries. Discarded hundreds of thousands of dolls before you. You've done it, Virginia."

My arms relax, once again finding their place at my side. It is hard to move -- it makes my joints ache. This will take time.

Suddenly, I remember the old, empty storefront. Her sleeping body. My choice.

"Mistress," I begin, fear rising inside me, "I did something."

To my surprise, she plants a kiss on my forehead.

"I know, my little plaything," she says. "When I awoke, I could not hear your thoughts. You were passed out, miraculously. A doll can only pass out from true exertion. It didn't take long for me to put everything together."

My stomach sinks. I know what comes next.

"How will you punish me, Mme. Scarlet?"

"I will punish you in kind," she returns quickly. "In fact, I already did."

Shocked, I catch her meaning. She traces my thighs, and only now do I notice the stains near my crotch. Her cum -- dark as squid ink.

Her features stretch into a smile, devilish and knowing. "You used me, so I used you."

I am struck dumb for a moment, understanding her meaning. A horrifying punishment. But an egalitarian one.

"Why did you punish me in the same way I used you? You have never seemed to care about what is fair or equal."

She scoffs, then turns away. Her neck is dotted with sweat as it arches towards the sky. She sighs and looks toward the desert sun. As her irises catch the light, and I see crimson tree rings circling one another.

"Nothing is equal or fair in this world, my Virginia. Things are taken from people -- good people - without their knowledge or their permission. Mother Earth is a rapist -- the nature of my power reflects that sordid truth. I was not given the power to create life, but the power to take it away in one of the most horrible ways you could imagine."

I think of all the dolls she has created. The dolls she has discarded. A feeling of loss fills me at the thought of their nameless plastic bodies. They are just like me. And she stole them. Uprooted them from their lives and transformed them, fucked them, then ripped them limb from plastic limb. It is horrifying, and yet somehow, I cannot bring myself to hate my mistress for what she has done.

Mme. Scarlet sighs and continues, "Frankly, I grow tired. I can't go on as I have all these years. But your unmaking is a good sign. Perhaps I can return to my beloved now."

"Who is she? You mentioned her to me before."

"My child, my daughter. She is set in oak wood at the foot of an ancient tree. Perhaps I can free her in some way, seeing as you have begun to free yourself."

My heart sinks, as I realize something that my mistress does not know.

"Madame Scarlet," I begin, my words delicate. I do not want to provoke her fury. "I don't know that you can save your beloved."

Her eyes widen, and she steps away from me. "What do you mean?"

"I have a feeling, something I know to be true. A vessel like me can only become human again if it wants to. It must choose, every moment of every day, to endure."

Her eyes begin to fill with tears. They are thick like sap, and I know that the truth is washing over her in a wave of sorrow.

"Your beloved, your daughter, she may not still endure. It is hard to remain hollow as I am."

Mme. Scarlet turns from me, bending down to sit on the lip of the truck bed. She stares at the desert sky, now illuminated in pink and orange.

"Perhaps you are right," she sighs.

Looking at her sagging shoulders, I sense a fatigue that is old and unyielding.

"I endure. I endured for you, Mme. Scarlet." I say, trying to comfort her. "I've been through so much. Even before I met you. In school, everyone called me a faggot. They hated me and they couldn't even explain why. I stayed strong, found myself, met adversity at every turn to become the woman I am today."

"You are not a woman yet, my plaything," Mme. Scarlet replies dryly.

"I will be a woman again soon," I continue. "And your trials, the things you put me through, the things you did to me. It was horrible, beautiful. I'd never experienced the pleasure that you gave me. You blessed me with your grace, you ferried my thoughts away as you filled my plastic body. No one has ever dared to do with me what you have. It was painful, it was wrong, and it was exactly what I wanted. I endured. I chose not to leave you. I wanted to remain so that I could be with you." My voiceless words ripple with emotion.

"You do not endure for me," she replies flatly. "You endure because you are whole. Real. You have fought for your sense of self, and you deserve to keep it. You are not mine, not truly. For better or worse, you belong to no one other than yourself."

She stands up, breathing in the fresh air. A few timid stars begin to decorate the desert sky. The truck is parked a few hundred meters off the highway. The nearest town is at least sixty miles away. She turns to me in the fading light, reaching for my arm.

"Will you sleep with me, my Virginia? We are both tired - so very tired."

With an aching pain, I reach for her hand. Exhaustion pervades my stiff body.

"Yes, my Scarlet. I will."

Her fingers close around mine. She holds my hand delicately as I descend from the truck bed. My knees are stiff, and I stumble as my feet meet the sand. She hoists me up.

"It will get easier with time, Virginia."

Somehow, I know she is right. My skin still shines like polyurethane, but somehow, I know that it will soon be flesh again soon.

We lie on our backs beneath a canopy of stars. Staring at the celestial tapestry, I tease her.

"There are almost as many stars as dolls you've fucked."

She laughs. "Are you calling me a whore, Virginia?" Then, she sighs. "I still believe that there are worse people than me. True, I tempted many. But I always gave them the choice."

I slowly urge my mouth to her neck, placing furtive kisses under her ear. It is hard to move, but it is necessary. I know it is. She moans, air pushing up from her lungs. I think of the soft whistling of wind through oak leaves.

With a groaning pain, I pull myself off the sand and try to straddle her. When my arm wobbles and gives out, she catches me, laughing. Her black hair spills out across the sand, staining it like warm ink.

"This would be easier if you allowed me to --" she begins, but I cut her off.

"No. You are my plaything tonight." I look into her eyes of whorled wood as they widen. In them, I see suffering. The unfathomable pain of a grieving mother, a creature in a cage, a wild thing rooted in earth. "You are mine, my dear Scarlet."

Her cock is larger than mine, and it remains taut against her chest as I fuck her, face to face. She curls her arms over her tits, closing her hands in adorable little fists. She moans lightly, her voice like wind through leaves. Her eyebrows knot together as I massage her prostate with my cock.

"Ohhh, my little Virginia. Your owner has taught you so well," she manages through gasping breaths. My joints are stiff and aching, but I cannot stop. Something in her expression, her mouth open to the sky, her head thrust backward -- it fills me with undying passion. I don't stop with the first ejaculation. She eyes me with surprise.

"What are you doing my dear?" She asks. Then she smirks and tries to taunt me, "Surely you realize your flaccid little girldick won't do me any good--" My next insertion stops her words as they trickle from her mouth. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating. I am still hard. My plastic shaft is slow to recoil, so I convince it to remain taut.

"I'll fuck you, face to face, until you beg me to stop," I growl confidently, then use a finger to curl my long hair behind my ear. She laughs, her tits bouncing as I guide her body back and forth.

"You'll be going until your artificial body turns to microplastics at the bottom of the sea, Virginia. I am immortal you know. You cannot exhaust me. Though I can say that I'm impressed. You clearly know what you're doing in this position, my little plaything."

She is right. I know what I'm doing. As a young male, I often fucked women in missionary. It was the only way I knew how. I knew so little then. About sex. About myself. About the strong woman I'd grow up to be.

"This is the holiest position," I tease, and for a moment, I spot her fangs pulled into a grin.

"The holiest position," she repeats, "For a demon and her doll. Just as God intended."