Return to the Doll House

Copyright © 2015, 2016 AmyAmy and all that stuff. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced for profit or without this attribution. The following story contains fantastical elements, and may not make a lot of sense unless you’ve read my earlier story The Doll Hotel.

Number Twenty sighed, breath hissing through the nostrils of her mask. There was no opening for her mouth and the air that came through the nose-holes was restricted. A little extra leaked through the eyes, as long as she wasn’t blindfolded. There was no jaw-stretching gag or head-crushing pressure, so by maid standards, it wasn’t a difficult mask, just day-to-day wear.

Her essay on the geo-political factors influencing futures in the global sugar market wouldn’t come right. She was probably going to get into trouble. She’d been struggling with it for the entire work-period. Soon it would be meal-time, together with the other maids. Everyone was equal, though her drink was different.

It had been nagging at her, distracting from her work, were they really equal? Some of the other maids studied tactics, martial-arts, handling automatic weapons. These, she was sure, had not always been part of a maid’s duties, at-least, not for her first year or two at the Hotel. Now though, there was no training in obedience, or how to move in the most seductive way while wearing a full-length hobble-dress. They no longer changed rubber sheets and made rubber beds in the guest rooms. Come to think of it, Maids rarely entered the upper levels of the Hotel for any reason, of late. The guest rooms were closed up, and when outsiders came, they stayed in the annexe, and ordinary people saw to the housekeeping, or so it was rumoured.

Things had changed for everyone, but she seemed to have been singled out. Why did she have to endlessly study dry business topics, logistics-planning, stock-market trends, or speech-writing while the others practiced surveillance, stealth, martial-arts and military technology? Mistress One and the others had a knack of making it hard to ask these questions. It wasn’t like she wanted to have anything to do with guns or gadgets, but it would be nice not to have to write papers on economics or review trends in bio-tech research.

As well as the endless essays and reports, they were always asking her one question or another. Under these conditions, what would be the best strategy for that? Or what are the likely changes in such and such a market. Her answers were graded, but the results took weeks to be marked. Who did the marking? It didn’t seem to be any of the other maids. It probably wasn’t even Mistress Two. Perhaps they sent them to a university outside the Hotel?

Number Twenty had been a long time at the Hotel. Definitely it had been years, but how many? She had no television, no newspapers, and no timekeeping other than the relentless routine of study, rubber and discipline. If it wasn’t for the information on business matters, she would have no contact with the outside world at all. And perhaps even the business information they gave her was fictitious. She had no way to know how much of it was based on the real world. Dates were often missing, and at other times seemed manipulated.

In the depths of the Hotel, it was easy to lose track of days, and she wasn’t permitted to keep a count. At times she had been denied the chance to speak, for what seemed like months at a time, but her lessons and practices were rarely interrupted. They were the only calendar she had.

Perhaps she’d always been different, ever since she began her maid-apprenticeship as Number Twenty-Two, she’d been treated differently. At first she’d been used as a pawn in the failed rebellion. Things had been in upheaval, and it had been easy to make excuses for discrepancies. But after so long, she couldn’t continue to delude herself that the narrative matched the reality.

The old numbers Two and Three had made trouble for Mistress One, but they were long gone… She felt a tingle of arousal. No, not gone exactly, but altered – creatures of rubber – certainly not people any longer. They would never cause disruption again, changed as they were. The Housekeeper and the Nurse had taken their places and their numbers. Those events were no more than hazy memories, perhaps not even real. Nobody spoke of it now, and that probably meant it was not supposed to have happened, and perhaps it hadn’t.

A lesson she’d grasped early was that when those above you wanted things to be a certain way, the past would be altered, and mentioning anything about how-it-used-to-be would lead to loss of speaking rights, or worse. The example made of the rebels filled her with fear and envy. Nobody wanted to suffer that kind of punishment, but it was arousing to fantasize about it.

Nonsense wasn’t allowed amongst maids, and talking about fantasies or speculations wasn’t tolerated. This made it difficult for her to ask about the way she was singled out. Nobody spoke of it, so evidently, it wasn’t happening. Trying to draw attention to it would probably lead to some uncomfortable and humiliating corrective discipline. She would be taught how narcissistic it was to imagine she was treated any differently from the others. And yet, even her own determination to believe the continuing fiction wasn’t enough. Here she was, daydreaming, questioning her reality…

It was narcissistic and she shouldn’t think of it. She turned back to her essay. The word-limit made it impossible. How could she ever explain something so complicated in so few words? And she still hadn’t done her references properly. It was hopeless. The least punishment she could hope when this mess was marked, was a few days in chastity, with an inflatable plug locked in her bottom.

Sometime later, Mistress Two came in. Twenty was ready at attention.

“You can stop now Twenty,” she said.

Of course, Twenty was not expected to respond. Maids were not for conversation. A maid was required to speak only when required, to maintain her appearance with obsessive attention to detail, and present herself with a suitably submissive attitude.

It must be dinner time. A regular maid should have come to collect her, not Mistress Two. Twenty tensed up, correcting her posture, surreptitiously checking her uniform. Everything was as it should be, wasn’t it? Everything perfectly polished, not a seam or buckle out of place? She’d produced a weak essay, but they hadn’t read it yet. She couldn’t be in trouble for that, could she? What else might she have done wrong?

As usual, Mistress Two wore the same uniform as every other maid, but she was taller than the others, impossible to mistake. Two had a knack of making her uniform seem neater and tidier than the others, though it was really no different. She had a quality to her movements that nobody else could equal. A hundred years ago people might have called it nobility. There was something a little out of time about her that always fascinated Twenty. She never tired of studying Mistress Two, and Mistress Two never tired of correcting her.

“At ease Number Twenty, you’re not in trouble. I wanted to advise you in person that there is a change ahead for you. Prepare yourself for challenges. Be strong. Discipline and trust will see you through. I can’t say for sure if you will succeed. It’s up to you to make that happen, and there are dangers, so I wish you well. Remember my lessons. Stay true to what you’ve learned and you won’t need to rely on luck.”

“Thank you Mistress. I won’t forget.”

“Good girl. Now, take yourself along to the clinic, you’re due for a check-up. You can go directly to your other duties from there.”

Twenty scurried to the clinic at her best speed. The Nurse would almost certainly be there, and Twenty hadn’t seen her in some time. Walking in towering heels and the tight rubber skirts might be second-nature but it was never easy. Carelessness at any time could result in an unpleasant tumble, and the stairs were a particularly dangerous place, even for someone as accustomed to restrictive uniforms as she was.

Twenty ought not to think of Mistress Three as the Nurse. It was a habit she needed to break. Perhaps she should report it to Mistress Two and seek correction? Nobody referred to Mistress Three that way any longer, though medical care was still her job. It was said that she was the longest serving member of the household, apart from Mistress One herself. So, why had she only been Number Five when Twenty first joined? She should have had a lower number, shouldn’t she? Why wasn’t she Number Two? Perhaps asking would be permitted? There was nothing to say that it was forbidden.

But the most likely reason for Mistress Three having lost the Number Two position in the distant past was some misdemeanour that had resulted in punishment and loss of status. Mentioning such things was discourteous. Of course, it didn’t stop speculation amongst the maids, but Twenty would probably be punished for asking about it directly. Even if it wasn’t strictly off-limits, asking any kind of question wasn’t encouraged.

Twenty found Mistress Three standing outside the glass-walled clinic, working at a computer. When she saw Twenty she smiled and removed her display-glasses. She folded them and put them aside.

Three was wearing a smooth white cat-suit, devoid of any obvious closures, but without a mask. It displayed the curves of her hips and thighs very nicely but its simplicity was unusual for the Hotel. Mistress Three must need to move freely for her work, or it wouldn’t be allowed.

“Ah, Number Twenty. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to play since your last check-up. I haven’t forgotten you. Really, I haven’t. I would have loved the opportunity, but I’m afraid Mistress One gave terribly specific orders that your schedule shouldn’t be disrupted without an approved reason.” She pulled Twenty close and kissed her softly on the lips.

She stepped back and gave a long sigh. “You look sweeter than ever. I’ve missed you, but that’s all we have time for.”

Number Twenty nodded, deferential. “Of course Mistress.”

Three opened the glass door to the clinic and looked back over her shoulder at Twenty, lust smouldering in her eyes. “Come on, follow me. I know you’ve got places to be.”

Twenty followed.

“Remove your uniform and climb onto the table.” Three put her display glasses back on and make some gestures, muttering under her breath.

Twenty saw the tiny lights of display data moving on Three’s glasses. The display was reversed, too small and far-away to make out.

“It looks as if you’ve put on a little weight. That’s good. I was afraid your nectar-only diet might lead to digestive restriction, but you seem to be doing well on it. As if it were made for you.”

Twenty carefully placed her hood, corset and dress on the hangers provided then crouched down to unfasten her shoes. She didn’t need to ask Number Three for help, they weren’t locked on. They hadn’t been locked since the change from boots to shoes, now she thought about it. That had been years ago. She’d never considered removing them unless instructed to. What an odd thought? How many of her limitations were self-imposed?

She really was having odd ideas today. It was definitely wrong for a maid to have ideas of her own, but these new thoughts were openly rebellious. She should report them to Mistress Two as soon as possible, and seek correction. What punishments should she beg for afterwards? At the very least, the loss of her hands, until these errant thoughts abated.

“You realise that something unusual is planned? I can’t say more. I’ve always been fond of you… I’m not supposed to be of course. It can’t be helped. Perhaps people are just attracted to you.” Mistress Three sounded as if she were about to say more, but she stopped and made a zip gesture across her mouth. Twenty had grown sensitive to such behaviour. It was a Hotel habit to circle endlessly around any topic, always hinting, never quite arriving at a point. Sometimes it made things interesting, but today it was simply frustrating. What were they planning for her now?

Twenty removed her stockings, her gloves and finally her mask. She clambered onto the table and settled her feet into the stirrups.

Of course, Twenty wasn’t entirely a woman, but she considered herself female. Her voice was feminine, when she had the chance to use it. On the rare occasions like now, when her delicate skin-toned, translucent under-suit was revealed, the flesh beneath was soft, hairless and pale, her body richly curvaceous with its swelling hips and prominent, heavy breasts. Only her velvety penis, larger than ever, remained of her maleness. She’d been told that she still had her testes, but there was no visible sign of them, or their effects on her body. If she were honest with herself, it was doubtful that they were really still there.

Mistress Three scanned her with some kind of medical instrument, a thing like a hairbrush with a screen in the back of it. It was new, she’d never seen it before. Perhaps she had seen something similar, in a movie, when she was a child.

“I won’t need to remove your skin-suit today. These new suits don’t cause irritation, and yours doesn’t need any maintenance. I haven’t had one that does, yet.” Three gave a smile, blushing. “Finally, the permanent rubber enclosure we always wished for. Wonderful, isn’t it?” She hefted each of Twenty’s breasts, then began a detailed inspection with her finger-tips, checking the fibrous tissue for any untoward lumps.

It made sense that Twenty had to be female, for there were no men allowed in the Hotel. The slave cells and the training of slaves had all been quietly shut down after the trouble with Lindsay. Though some of the other maids had allegedly once been men, no trace of their maleness remained. On consideration, the idea that they had ever been men was fairly absurd. It was probably just a rumour they’d started to try and make themselves seem special, or one of those things where the past got altered to amuse somebody with a lower number.

“Your breasts have stabilised nicely. A little fat deposition since last time, which is as expected since you’ve gained weight. You probably haven’t noticed but your thighs are softer too. It’s obvious to me even without looking at the measurements because I haven’t seen you for so long. That delicious bottom of yours would be the envy of any network celebrity.”

Mistress Three moved her examination down to Twenty’s penis. It was already hard from the attention to her breasts, even though it had been a clinical exam, it still made her tingle inside.

“Quite a protrusion you have there,” Mistress Three said, drawing her fingers over the smooth area where Twenty’s scrotum used to be before her balls had vanished. “I always wondered why Mistress One wanted you to keep this. I suppose it’s fun, but not very pretty. A strap-on would serve just as well when you want to play, especially one of the newer ones.”

All the maids, except for Twenty, had enlarged pussies with prominent outer lips, and disproportionately large and sensitive clits. Everyone in the Hotel was horny all the time, that was a given, and everyone was well equipped to follow through on that ever-insistent urge. Mistress Two had a penis, but she also had a pussy, and she didn’t claim to have ever been male, which tended to confirm the theory that there were no men in the hotel.

The logical conclusion was that the forthcoming change would be the final removal of her own penis. She was filled with anxious ambivalence. Now it was about to happen, she was very much looking forward to having a pussy that could, like her bottom, be forcibly filled, whether she was aroused or not. However, she would miss the games she played with the other maids, in which her shaft was much appreciated. Mistress Three’s suggestion of a strap-on didn’t seem satisfactory at all. All the maids preferred the heat of her velvet smooth shaft to anything fake.

She wanted to play with it right now, to give it a fond farewell. She hadn’t been permitted to touch it for so long. Opportunities for relief were always limited. Masturbation was almost never permitted, but it seemed as if she had been purposely denied the chance to play with the other maids recently. She had long since learned her lesson about disobeying orders. She could hardly grab hold of it in front of Mistress Three. If she hadn’t been brave enough to break the rules to touch herself before today, she probably wouldn’t dare to be disobedient later either. The discipline itself was her biggest turn-on. No wonder she was so aroused all the time.

Now that she thought about it, there had been a cycle of changes over the years, but nothing dramatic. The rubber maid uniform and the skin-suit beneath it had been repeatedly replaced with upgraded versions. Skin-suits were now perfectly smooth and seamless garments. Hers had openings only for her nose and mouth, and the tip of her penis. Even the clear lenses for the eyes were all one piece with the hoods. How it sealed onto her body she had no idea. As Mistress Three had just pointed out, there had been no cause to remove this new suit yet, so she had never seen how it was done.

Twenty had stopped sweating or passing any kind of solid waste long ago, which was another change, but she’d grown so accustomed to how she lived that she’d stopping worrying about it. Regular enemas were routine for all the maids, and nothing had changed in that regard. She’d been warned there were dangers if she continued to consume so much of the nectar, but lately she was being given more than ever. It suited her perfectly because the floaty feeling it induced made it easier to go along with things.

Solid food was obviously out of the question, and she didn’t want to cut back on the nectar. The idea of being denied it was, on reflection, unthinkable, the sort of thing best not to imagine unless you wanted to upset yourself, have a little crisis, and end up in strict, calming, discipline. Some maids would have such upsets from time to time, but Twenty had never had one. The unspoken threat alone was enough to keep her perfectly obedient.

It was probably the nectar that ensured that nobody ever got sick, and allowed the maids to endure physical confinement and restriction that might be expected lead to health problems. This was something to be thankful for, because she had at times been punished with appropriate strictness, and for uncertain periods of time. Probably long periods, but it wasn’t as if she’d been able to measure them. She couldn’t argue with it, the punishments were effective. She was a much better maid now than she had been at the beginning. Eager obedience to authority had taken effort at first, now it was a pleasure.

There had been an occasion when she’d been glued into place kneeling on a chair and had to be pushed about by others. She’d started to doubt the reliability of her count of the days when it reached a hundred and fifty-something, and perhaps it had really been many more than that. On numerous occasions, the use of her hands had been taken away, forced into padded mitts, or inflatable balls, or bound up with tape. They were all ways to remind you how much you depended on your companion maids, how nobody could manage without the others. Even then, despite her punishments, she still had to study.

The shoes of the maid uniform were another thing that had evolved over the years. Like the other maids she wore clear plastic platform shoes with long sharp heels. Made from a single piece, the upper was soft and stretchy, fitting perfectly over her feet. The sole and platform were hard, but softened a little where they touched the floor, saving everyone from the loud noise of echoing heels on tiles. They were perfectly comfortable, not like the tight, toe-crushing ballet-boots of the old days. She only noticed them when she wasn’t wearing them, because it was difficult to stand on tip-toe unassisted, and her calves screamed at any attempt to put her heels down.

She would probably need a new skin-suit after the removal of her penis. She might have guessed wrong about that alteration though. Perhaps some other change lay ahead, yet she couldn’t think of a single likely alternative. Really, it was the only thing that made sense. What else could be done? Things didn’t change much in the Hotel. The routine varied only gradually. There had been no new maids for some time now, and if there were guests she never saw them. The only novelties were the occasional comings and goings of Mistress Four, the only person who ever seemed to leave.

Of late, Mistress One seemed reluctant to let even Mistress Four leave the Hotel. There had been an argument about it. Such things were not spoken of, but she had chanced to witness it. Mistress Four had been restrained and prevented from leaving. Naturally, she had been punished – was still being punished in fact. Perhaps Mistress Four, would not be allowed out again in future. Number Twenty hoped it would be so. It was best for maids to stay in the Hotel, especially naughty ones who had to be punished. Anyone could see the need for that.

Twenty tried to ignore the sting as Mistress Three took some blood samples.

“Good girl. Now, I’m going to give you an injection. There might be a brief spell of dizziness, so if you feel odd you can rest here a while before you get dressed. There’s a drink waiting for you outside. Make sure you finish it all.”

It was a needless reminder… as if Twenty would waste nectar. She was already aching for it. Clearly, if her penis were to be removed, it would not be a surgical operation. She’d never expected it would be. Medical treatments had not been so crude, even when she was beginning as a maid.

Perhaps the injection would make her thing vanish overnight like her testicles? Or was there something special in the drink?

After visiting Mistress Three, Number Twenty had her usual post-dinner task to perform. It was her routine duty to attend to Mistress Four in the containment chamber. It had been her job for some months to take care of the suffering maid and ensure that she was properly fed. It was bordering on a punishment to have to do it. It was an unpleasant job, not least because there was something odd about being around Four that gave her an uneasy feeling. She couldn’t identify precisely what it was. Or perhaps it wasn’t Four at all, but the room where they kept her.

The imprisonment of Mistress Four was a secret known only to Mistresses One and Two, and Number Twenty. It was bad luck that she’d overhead that argument. As she was aware of the situation, it had been convenient to make her responsible for looking after Mistress Four in her isolation. None of the other maids knew anything about it, and Twenty was forbidden to speak of the matter. If Four’s punishment was being kept hidden, what other secrets might there be? She’d probably never know.

Even under normal circumstances, the Hotel was not a place where dust tended to accumulate. The maids produced no flakes from their skin – sealed within its skin-suits – and there were no conventional fabrics permitted in the pristine rubber world. The lower halls were tiled throughout, or rubber coated. There were simply no sources of dust. Even so, a little still seemed to get in from somewhere, despite the HEPA filters in the ventilation system.

Four’s prison was different. The room was kept at overpressure and the incoming air was filtered through troublesome equipment that Twenty had to look after. The maintenance manuals said it was used in the most sensitive electronics manufacturing.

Twenty had to pass through a special shower and dryer, then an airlock, just to enter.

Inside, the walls and floor inside were all made of black glass, the only lighting buried within its depths. Etched into the mirror-smooth surface were complex circular patterns, swirling and geometric, detailed with strange arcs and symbols. In the centre of the pattern hung Number Four.

Four was dressed in a heavyweight version of the maid uniform, discipline strength. The same shoes as everyone else, thick black rubber stockings, an even thicker black rubber dress with a mass of frothy white rubber petticoats beneath and a heavy white apron over the front. Her head was enclosed in a tightly inflated balloon helmet. It was nothing but a large featureless ball with air and feeding tubes disappearing into it. Her hands were secured with inflatable ball mittens. There would probably be a skin-suit underneath, but it wasn’t exposed, so that was only surmise.

Four dangled from a single silvery chain with four bulky cuffs in a group at the end, machined from polished engineering steel. Her wrists and ankles were locked close together in this cluster, and she hung from them like a captured animal, trussed for carrying on a pole. It was undoubtedly painful, even with the thick rubber padding in the cuffs. Heavy, double-dildo panties covered with white rubber knickerbockers were clearly exposed by her position, which seemed designed to put her sex on display but then, ironically, covered it up.

Twenty was under strict orders to check that there were no traces of a leak from the panties. Today, as usual, there was no sign of any seepage. She also had instructions not to tread on any of the lines. This was the most bizarre instruction of all, but apparently it was very important. It was harder than she’d expected to avoid them, especially when she had to hook up a fresh sack of fluid to the feeding tube.

The sacks of nectar were difficult to manoeuvre due to the weight. The quantities that Four was being fed were so excessive that her waist, rather than being confined by a corset, was allowed to bulge outwards. Each day she was a little bigger. Perhaps the intention was to keep on with it until her belly was too huge to move under her own power. It was the sort of punishment that Twenty would have chosen for Four herself if she had a say in it.

A trouble-maker like Four, a loner, prone to wandering off, needed something to tie her down and teach her where she belonged. Sixty kilos of ill-balanced weight in her belly would be just the thing to humble her a little.

Perhaps it was simply the atmospheric overpressure that made Twenty edgy. Or perhaps it was that Four was getting off lightly. After all, Four had spoken rudely to Mistress One. An affront to Mistress One was affront to the institution of the Hotel. Mistress One was a unique individual – so kind, calm and understanding – it simply wasn’t right for anyone to upset her. She had been sobbing. Mistress One sobbing! It was an outrage.

Four’s situation wasn’t such a severe punishment given the crime. It wasn’t impossible to imagine her being altered so that she couldn’t speak, her eyes permanently taken away to stop her running off. Punishments along those lines had clearly happened in the past. Four was getting off lightly.

Twenty had spent a spell – it had seemed to go on forever – with opaque black lenses in her skin-suit and her eyes bonded shut. It had renewed her respect for her fellow maids. She had been victimised somewhat, but she’d had it coming. She’d never know who’d done those things to her while she was so dependent and helpless, and that was only for the best. Holding a grudge was against the rules.

She should probably try and think more charitably about Four, but she couldn’t manage it. Perhaps in time, when Four was properly contrite, she’d feel sorry for her. Until then, she’d simply have to do her best not to think bad thoughts.

Twenty wobbled slightly under the weight of the nectar sack. Stumbled. Crouching down hastily she managed to save herself from stepping on part of the pattern. What was so important about that anyway? It was like a child’s game, not to tread on the cracks in the pavement. She just had to get the sack onto the hook, plug in the tubes and raise it up with the winch. Getting it onto the hook was the worst part.

Her hands were slippery, and it was hard to grip the sack with her uniform gloves… Wait. The sack shouldn’t have liquid on it. That had never been there before. She stopped, searching for the cause. Had some sloppy maid spilled nectar while filling the sack?

No. It was seeping from a flaw in the seal along the edge. The sack was faulty. She’d have to take it back and get another. It definitely wouldn’t be safe in here, where not even a single drip was allowed.

She stopped herself and began to turn towards the door, the sack wobbled, stretching, then there was a quiet ripping sound followed by an ominous gushing.

Twenty was covered in nectar. It was everywhere, running all over the floor.

The sack had split.

Paralysed with horror she watched the pool spreading ever wider across the web-work of strange diagrams. It seemed as if the lines glowed faintly, for an instant, then faded back to normal. Probably an optical effect as the liquid filled the cracks, either that or she had imagined it.

She would have let out a cry of alarm but it caught in her throat. Yelling was forbidden. Besides, making a noise wouldn’t help. There was nobody here to respond to a cry. What was done was done. She’d simply have to report her failure and face the consequences. If she accepted her fault, like a good maid, she’d probably be allowed to choose her own punishment. She should have noticed the flaw in the bag before entering the room. A few weeks of mittens and gag, along with some pointless back-breaking work would be a good start given the nature of the slip-up.

There was a brief crackling sound, like damp wood in a fire. She looked around for a source, just in time to see Number Four slip out of her cuffs, and with the smoothness of a flower unfolding, drop to the floor. The way her body uncurled had an unsettling liquidity, as if it weren’t quite solid, and as if she were immune to the troublesome effects of gravity. Twenty had seen numerous disturbing and inhuman things over the years, but that single supple movement took her back to her childhood, when she woke one morning to find a large spider on her pillow, inches from her face.

The way that Mistress Four had slipped her hands and feet out of the cuffs was impossible. Impossible for a normal human being, at any rate.

This is bad. No time to dwell. I mustn’t freeze, mustn’t hesitate.

She had to restrain Four. Yes, the woman was her senior, but she was still in punishment garments. She still had her balloon helmet and mittens on. Twenty ought to be able to overpower her easily. But no... She didn’t have any way to restrain the escapee and no back-up to help her put fresh restraints in place, even if she had them, which she didn’t. The best thing was to hit the alarm and trust that help would arrive in time.

She dived towards the entry door and the alarm button. It was said that Number Four had violent tendencies and a ferocious temper. She might be indiscriminate with her revenge after escaping from her punishment.

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23.02.17