It's a humbling experience to be inside a suitcase.
Humid darkness fills all available space, of which there is very little, to the extent that it almost begins to feel tangible. The intricate, origami-like folding of my body required to accommodate my containment produced an intimate awareness of both space and boundaries. It felt all at once familiar and foreign, disturbing and comforting. Rarely in my adult life have I experienced such comprehensive bondage, moving about the world with full autonomy, lacking actual spatial limits. The sacrifice of those freedoms simplified my existence in a way that erased time and pressures. My choice was made for me; I could conform to my vessel and only move as much as it (and whoever chose to put me within it) allowed. I felt my mind relax, freed from the burden of deciding if, when, and how to move. My restrictions carried me to a meditative state where every sensation was amplified.
I knew I was in a car because I could feel the rumble below me and hear the other cars around. Sometimes the car would slow and stop, or turn, shifting me minutely within my luggage womb. The radio was playing. I could also hear the familiar sounds of the Dollmaker, sitting in the driver's seat; the pattern of His breathing was easy for my mind to latch on to and my own breathing effortlessly fell into step with His. Occasionally He would clear His throat, a gruff noise that momentarily disrupted the pattern. I craved His every breath.
I was His doll.
My only indicator of time's passing was the radio and the building ache in the back of my neck. After four songs, the car came to a final stop. The radio, then the engine, turned off. A seatbelt was released with a dull click. I felt the vehicle rock slightly as a door opened and the Dollmaker exited. The door was thrown closed with a finality. For thirty seconds of complete silence and solitude, my heartbeat built up into a frenzy. I had no autonomy to free myself from the suitcase, let alone the car. I tried to relax myself. I reminded myself of my mantras. A good doll doesn't worry. A good doll doesn't think. A good doll doesn't make choices. A good doll obeys. A good doll trusts. A good doll-
The door, the other door, opened. Fear melted away. The Dollmaker. Pressure on two sides of the suitcase indicated I was being held, then picked up. My head felt like it was swirling. I felt safe in His arms, in His bondage.
Based on the sounds I could vaguely sense from inside the suitcase, we entered the house and went into a room, probably the bedroom. I was set down on the floor.
I swallowed in anticipation. I was so excited to see the Dollmaker! But I had to be a good doll.
I heard and felt the zipper begin to move. I closed my eyes to ensure the light didn't disrupt my perfect stillness. The whoosh of fresh air entering the suitcase to replace the warm, humid air I had been breathing sent goosebumps up my arms and neck, but I remained still. I could see the light from behind my eyelids, but I could not see even a shadow of Him. I kept my face angelic and relaxed, careful not to betray any emotion despite my disappointment and eagerness. A good doll was always attractive to her Dollmaker.
He spent a few seconds looking at me, I assume, and then I felt His strong hand gently slide between the left side of my face and the spot on the suitcase it had been lying against; His other hand crept to the soft skin behind my knees until He had a sturdy hold in both locations and could lift me up. I surrendered my weight to His hands, resisting any urge to tense up or hold awkward posture. I hoped He noticed how I yielded entirely to Him.
He cradled me to His chest for an all-too-short moment while He walked to the bed and softly laid me down, as if He might break me otherwise. No, not yet - if the Dollmaker wished to break His doll, He wouldn't do it until after examination.
Being in the Dollmaker's presence was exhilarating and reduced me to exactly how He wanted me. Entirely submissive. Unquestioningly obedient. Powerless. Exposed. And dripping.
The Dollmaker's large, rough hands gently rolled me onto my back and my limp body complied, my head rolling slightly over my shoulder, my knees above my chest. He began to carefully adjust me. First, He tilted my head so that it would be straight above my shoulders again, then tilting my chin this way and that as if testing the joint to see what needed work. I felt His fingertips press against the sides of my neck and knew He could wrap His strong hand around my slight neck, and I longed for the feeling. The Dollmaker found nothing wrong, apparently, because He set about moving hair away from my serene face, smoothing the soft hairs of my eyebrows into place, and running His thumb over the soft skin of my lips. He opened my mouth and I allowed my jaw to fall open as He examined me. His fingers in my mouth made me acutely aware of the pulsing in my white panties and the pressure of my aching nipples against my bra, the only articles of clothing I was wearing.
Satisfied with His probing, He moved down my neck and unfolded my arms out on the bed. He rotated my delicate wrists, checked the range of motion of my elbows and shoulders. He carefully traced the tip of His fingers over the sensitive skin on my inner wrist and elbow to see the goosebumps He left behind. A pleased hum reached my ears that made me glow with pride and longing.
His powerful hands moved down the front of my chest and bra to undo the front clasp of my innocent lace, white bra. The feeling of cold air on my nipples caused them to harden and jut out into the air all the more. He rewarded this by cupping my tender breasts with His rough hands and giving them a warm massage, and I resisted the urge to thrust my chest into
His hands and moan in gratitude. Though He had barely touched me, I was entirely ready to be taken, deeply and roughly. I lived in perpetual state of arousal and silent yearning, which felt like I were hypnotizing myself into being a perfect Doll for Him just by constant anticipation and daydreaming about being used by Him. I recited my mantras: A doll's enjoyment of the Dollmaker's use is a gift; it is never more important than her obedience. A good doll does not think. A good doll does not react. A good doll is used. I am a good doll.
He roughly pinched my nipples between His thumb and forefinger and pulled them slightly, and the pleasurable pain challenged my resolve. But I had no choice - I must be a good doll. Good dolls get to feel good. Bad dolls get broken. I stayed emotionless, yielding.
"Lovely," He murmured dreamily, His voice like dark chocolate. His hands slid down my chest to cup my sides at the base of my floating ribs. His thumb stroked my stomach as He held me. "Just lovely."
I felt the flush creep up my cheeks and spread onto my chest. He chuckled under His breath, squeezed lightly, and slid His hands to my hips. There, He released and then put His hands on my knees to straighten my legs and pull them apart, exposing my very wet panties. I guessed the wet spot was very visible by the position of my body, but He gave me no indication that He saw it. I wished I could peek to see if He was smiling, but a good doll exists to be used; her body and how she uses it belongs to her Dollmaker.
Knowing that I was so exposed and vulnerable, and powerless, only made me wetter and more desperate for His touch.
Like He did with my arms, the Dollmaker stretched my legs, tested all the joints, and caressed the ticklish skin of my feet and thighs. It felt torturous to feel His strong hands in all my delicate spaces, like the backs of my knees and where my thigh met my hip, but not where I longed for them most. But the torture of waiting itself intensified my arousal and solidified my submission. I was even more His doll every time.
When He finished His thorough examination of nearly all my doll parts except the most important ones, He paused, His hands entirely withdrawn from me. I waited with bated breath.
A moment passed. No sound except breathing. Then footsteps away. A door hinge creaking open. A cabinet door opening and lightly tapping the wall. A hand closing around something. A cabinet door clicking shut. Foot steps approaching. Something placed at my side on the bed.
Quiet again. No movement. No sound, save breathing. The anticipation was divine and so evil. A good doll waits. I am a good doll.
Then in a violent burst of motion, His hands were on me, clutching my hips, yanking me toward the edge of the bed so that my bottom just barely hung over the edge, then hands behind my knees, forcing my legs to bend and rest above my chest. One hand held my knees in place while the other withdrew. My doll parts pulsed with need and excitement. I almost couldn't wait to be used and played with.
Then I felt the Dollmaker's hand lightly and slowly stroke me through my damp white panties, just over my clitoris. The pleasure was instantaneous, warm, travelling up my abdomen and down my thighs. He sighed contentedly, with an audible smile.
The Dollmaker pulled my panties up over my bottom and then pulled them off entirely, resting them somewhere unbeknownst to me. He spread my legs, pinning my wrists under them, posing His doll just how He wanted. The cool air felt wonderful on my wet doll parts.
He paused once more and then I felt His left hand roughly grope my breast and His right hand reach up to press a special spot behind my left ear. My secret button, which meant - wake up, fuckdoll, it is time to serve your Dollmaker. My body remained as be posed me, as it would remain until He commanded me or posed me otherwise. But I was allowed to emote and moan as wildly as I pleased, which was encouraged; a good doll shows her Dollmaker her gratitude by being His perfect slut. My eyes shot open and I allowed my mouth to open, panting with arousal and desire, wearing my wantonness plainly. I was so glad to see His own desire written across the Dollmaker's face, His charming smirk.
"Very good," He cooed, groping me roughly with both hands "very good. That feels nice, doesn't it, Dolly?'
I mewled and moaned in agreement, loving every moment that the Dollmaker touched me. A good doll doesn't speak without permission.
He gave my left breast a sudden slap, enjoying the flash of pain across my features, and then crouched down at the foot of the bed to begin the examination He had neglected earlier. His face was close enough to feel His tantalizingly warm breath on my doll parts. His hands rested where my bum met my thighs.
"Let's see," He mused, spreading my doll parts wide open, nothing obscured from His view. He lubed His fingers and they grazed my clit, slid down the slippery curves of my vagina, and stopped at my soft pink asshole. He applied a slight, consistent pressure, and rubbed in small circles. "Hmm, seems good so far... very wet, soft... responsive," He continued, over my dreamy sighs and moans.
His other hand began to stroke my clitoris, provoking me to gasp. The mind-numbing sensation in my clitoris melted the last bit of my resistance, which the Dollmaker sensed, and He slipped His finger inside my ass to the first knuckle, feeling around, then further, deeper, harder. I was panting and moaning with every movement.
"Mmmm, everything seems just right, Dolly. Just right. Don't your doll parts feel so good when I use them? Don't you love feeling," He slipped another finger inside my ass while I mewled in agreement and cooed in surprise, "your tight ass stuffed with your Dollmaker's fingers? Yes, yes, good doll, show me how much you love this."
He moved faster and His thrusts became deeper, and I felt like I was floating away in ecstasy. My moaning felt far away, almost not my own, and I knew I was close to cumming all over the Dollmaker's fingers while He fucked my ass. Then He started to finger fuck my pussy too, and when He hit my G-spot, I exploded in a shaking, screaming, wet mess. He kept fucking me through my orgasm and slowed His tempo gradually to a full stop before He withdrew.
The post-orgasm high made me even more pliable, even more doll like, even more His. I was in a trance, lost entirely to the sensations still radiating through my body. I accepted as truth without questioning, almost without recognition, whatever the Dollmaker told me.
"You're a good doll." I was.
"You belong to the Dollmaker." I did.
"Your life purpose is to be used by the Dollmaker and whoever He chooses." It was.
"You love it. You crave it." An unzipping sound.
"You're a good doll." His cock against my wet doll parts.
"You belong to the Dollmaker." Pressing into me, making me gasp.
"Your life purpose is to be used by the Dollmaker and whoever He chooses." Stretching my pussy lips around His thickness.
"You love it. You crave it." Filling me entirely.
"You're a good doll." Hitting me so deep it hurt.
"You belong to the Dollmaker." I learned to love that pain.
"Your life purpose is to be used by the Dollmaker and whoever He chooses." Shaking my entire body with the force of His primal thrusts.
"You love it. You crave it." His hand on my clit again. Roughly.
"Say it," the Dollmaker growled in my ear.
"I am a good doll," I obeyed instantly.
"I belong to the Dollmaker." He fucked me brutally and bit my neck.
"My life purpose is to be used by the Dollmaker and whoever He chooses." Harder, deeper. Groping me.
"I love it. I crave it," I moaned like an animal, His prey, ravaged by my Dollmaker.
"Again," He demanded, His pace quickening, the thrusts coming faster.
"I am a good doll." I felt like He would split me in half.
"I belong to the Dollmaker." I felt pressure building from deep inside my abdomen.
"My life purpose is to be used by the Dollmaker and whoever He chooses." I felt His cock go rigid inside of me and He buried it to the hilt.
Oh fuck, I thought, I'm going to cum again.
"I love it, I crave it," I whimpered as my orgasm overtook me just as I felt the pulsing of the Dollmaker's cock as His cum filled me up.
The Dollmaker held me close, rearranged my body so I was comfortable, and pet my damp hair. He kissed my forehead and said something to me but I didn't hear Him. Waves of pleasure wracked my body. I was as defenseless against them as I was before the Dollmaker. My head was spinning. All I could think as I drifted off to sleep was:
