For That Matter, What Does ‘Fuckdoll’ Even Mean?

Feb 24 2019
fiction // 851 words // 4 min read // comments

Author’s Note: I’m into mind-control. People being controlled. I don’t think they belong that way, it’s just a fantasy. So “<gender> is inferior” kink, for any value of <gender>, doesn’t typically get me off. Nonetheless, the idea of people being turned into sex objects does push my buttons, and the following is what comes from me scrolling through a bunch of “let’s turn women into fuckdolls” tumblr posts…

This is also a lot more “AND THEN I COULD CONTROL MINDS” than I usually roll, but I like it, for erotic-horror reasons.

I think a lot of MC kink is arousing precisely because it is horrifying, to be honest. That’s what makes it so kinky. Transgression is seductive. It’s the lure of the cliff’s edge. That isn’t to say I don’t like safe, sane, and consensual fantasies, too, and that’s the only sort of play I can condone in reality.

But this isn’t reality. This is just fiction. So… step closer.

“But you can’t actually turn women into fuckdolls. For that matter, what does ‘fuckdoll’ even mean??”

She filled out the dress beautifully. Hands on her hips. Leaning forward slightly. He smirked, mentally replacing her scowl with a come-hither look. It wasn’t hard; he wasn’t even looking at her face.

“I just have this effect on people. On women. I change the way they think. About themselves, you know. About everything.”

“Yeah, right, I bet. And how do you do that?”

He was thinking about turning her around and having her arch her back, sticking out her ass so he could admire it. The certainty that she would soon be naked and he would be taking his pleasure with her meant he tended to drift off as she spoke into a reverie where she was naked, and he was taking his pleasure. Sometimes it was hard to tell his fantasies from reality, when making them into reality was so easy.

He’d have liked it better if she were wearing heels. Then her ass would look even better, every part of her would. She’d be on display, where she belonged. Oh well, he’d change her wardrobe soon. She wouldn’t even notice.

“What were you asking, sweetheart?”

She huffed and looked away, shaking her head.

“I don’t know why I’m even still talking to you. You’re a pig. And an obvious one.”

He smiled, and finally looked up at her face. Behind his thick eyeglasses his eyes sparkled.

“But you can’t leave, can you?”

She tried not to show it, but her eyes widened slightly. Her arms settled down by her sides. Imperceptibly, her shoulders straightened.


“I said, you can’t leave.

“Can you?”

Her lips parted but no sound came out. She tried again. Her voice sounded different. Flatter.

“I can’t leave.”

“That’s because you’re looking into my eyes.”

“Your… eyes?”

He nodded. She nodded along with him, not seeming to notice. Her lips remained parted. She had the deer-in-the-headlights look they always got, as he started to work on them.

“You’re looking deep into my eyes.”

“I’m looking… deep into… into… your eyes.”

“You can’t look away.”

“I can’t… look away.”

She was still nodding slightly. Her pupils were dilating, and he was pretty sure from experience that meant she couldn’t focus her eyes. But she could still see his. They were all she could see. He’d asked other girls. They’d confirmed it. He didn’t need to ask her.

He didn’t need to ask her anything.

“I’m going to turn you into a fuckdoll now.”

“You’re gon… wha… into a… me… no… how… fuck… doll?”

He smiled, and stepped closer. Just one, long, firm step. Her body stiffened as though to flee, but she didn’t move. She didn’t blink. Couldn’t.

“Let me rephrase that.

“You’re going to become my fuckdoll now.”

“I… I’m… I’m going…”

He just stood there, smiled, and watched her struggle. She wouldn’t struggle for long.

“I’m going to become your fuckdoll now.”

It took a lot of practice to notice, but there was a certain surrender, a certain fatalism, in how she said it. How she still didn’t understand how it could be true, but she knew it was true. Somehow.

He would show her. He slipped the eyeglasses off, tucked one arm into the collar of his shirt. The move was long-practiced, he didn’t need to look away.

His eyes weren’t really blue, like she’d thought. They were indigo, unnatural, and the irises were really hurricane storms slowly rotating around a bottomless, bottomless pit that was swallowing her whole.

“Eck,” she said. “Guh.”

He rotated his head just slightly to the right. Hers mirrored him. Her eyes were big empty snow globes now. He could see the dust of her mind settling in them. Settling forever.

“Oh,” she said. He took another step closer, and stroked the side of her face.

“There, there, sweetheart.” He took her hand. “You just come with me, now.”

“Ohhhh… kaaaaaaay,” she said. She didn’t ask where they were going. But he reassured her, anyway. The way he always did.

“Don’t worry, doll. You’ll fit right in.”

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