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“Hm…it’s a bit awkward, but we’ll make do.”
A bit was an understatement. I might be the right height to fit into the molded plastic packaging, but it’s still made for inhuman doll proportions. Nevertheless, they persist, pressing two fingers against my waist until it squeezes through the stiff, transparent prison, plastic walls creaking and contorting to accommodate a real waist. Then, one by one, they force my arms and my legs into the cramped slots designated for too-thin doll limbs.
Whatever doll had been packaged here originally must have worn something with pants. The rigid plastic forces up the skirt of the admittedly adorable dress they’d urged me into before I saw the box, revealing too much of the stripey thigh-highs for comfort and threatening to show off even more with one well-placed exhale. Pinned down as I am, all I can do is blush and writhe ever so slightly. The plastic creaks indifferently.
The plastic wedges being driven into my armpits are a little too wide, pushing the sockets just into the realm of discomfort. The one between my legs is digging in a little too inquisitively in the back. Still, they seem satisfied, spinning their desk chair away to attend to something else.
Taking my chance, I yank with as much might as I can muster and manage to free one arm from its prison.
“No.”
Before I can even settle my palm on the smooth surface to try to pry anything else free, a finger reaches over and presses it back into place with a plastic squeak. They didn’t even look back.
Just like that, the window closes, and they turn around with a handful of something. “You know, a good doll wouldn’t need these. But I’m glad I kept them around for you.”
Fingers dig into into their cupped palm and present a twist tie with a grin. My eyes shoot wide as they dump the rest on the desk next to me and scoop up my plastic prison. It contorts under the weight of its awkward not-quite-doll occupant, but not enough to slacken its hold on me. I twist my head as far as I could and watch them thread the first twist tie through a hole by my right wrist.
They hold my forearm down with a thumb, guiding the twist tie over my wrist, tucking it through the other hole, and tugging it tight until it digs into my skin. I yelp and writhe against it, but they pay my reaction no mind, watching me squirm for a minute or more. They only loosen it ever so slightly when they notice they’ve cut off the blood flow to my hand. Sensation pours back in, pins and needles – a numb, tingling that I want so desperately to shake away. I settle for flexing my fingers in the little space they have.
Then the squeak of the twist tie behind me marks the end of my bid for freedom. I might as well be bound in steel.
“Few more now~” They smile, either indifferent to or reveling in my fruitless struggling as they repeat the process, first for my other arm, then for each leg. Bound as I am, I refuse to learn my lesson, managing to pry one leg free and swing a tiny plastic heel haphazardly toward their face while they fasten the other down, missing by a country mile.
All the response it earns me is a chuckle, and an ankle pinched too tight as they put the awkward little plastic shoe back on and pop my leg back into place.
Then they fasten that rebellious foot down just as easily as the rest, humming a little tune as they do. With my arms and legs tied down like this, there isn’t much I can do to show my contempt. I scowl, at least. But judging by the glee in their eyes, it has the opposite effect of what I want. I try to maintain it, but a small sigh slips through and shatters the image. At least we’re finally done...
They look at me curiously and cluck their tongue. “Think that’s the end of it, huh? Haven’t noticed there’s one more?”
I freeze. Another twist tie. But...that was all my limbs. Barring the pathetic shifting of my shoulders, I can’t move a muscle. What more could they possibly tie down?
Slowly, dramatically, they bring the final tie behind me. Another squeak assaults my left ear, then the sharp tip prods the side of my neck as it invades the plastic and for the first time I shout, “N-no!”
“No?” Their giggles drown out the sound of my panic. “But your outfit’s not complete without your little choker. And besides…” The twist tie rises into view for just a moment before they tuck it back down, snaking snugly through the matching hole and forcing my head taut against the mold. “Good dolls don’t speak.”
I open my mouth and…nothing. I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe!
I gasp.
I beg voicelessly.
Their smile doesn’t waver.
I’m fading.
I see spots.
Then I don’t see anything at all.
Until finally.
One loud, greedy gulp of air as is all I get before they cut me off again.
“Ah-ah! Quiet.”
For what feels like an eternity, they hold me there. I panic.I gag. I worry they’ve decided a permanently still, silent doll was the right choice after all. And then, at last, they relent again.
It takes everything in me not to choke and cough as the stale breath escapes and fresh air pours into me, but I manage to slowly, steadily take a breath so quiet even I can’t hear it.
They look pleased. Then they tug the twist tie again, knocking my head against the plastic. When I dizzily lift my head, they do it again, then grind the twist tie against me until I get the hint and lie as flat against the plastic as possible.
There’s no fight left in me. With a surgeon’s precision, they pull the twist tie exactly as firmly against my neck as they can without cutting off my airflow. Then the horrible squeaking behind my head tells me we’re truly, finally, done.
They hold my prison up in both hands, and I sigh, either quiet enough that it’s allowed, or simply just too helpless now to bother punishing as they admire their work. “Perfect. Like you were fresh out of the box. Oh, speaking of…”
They damn near drop me back on the table. The way you’d treat a toy, not a person, and not a toy you particularly care about. I hear them scuttling to the other side of the room and back. When they come into view, looming directly above me, it’s with a pretty, pink box in hand. The plastic window on its front is freshly dusted, and the cutesy, pink-on-pink bubbly name on the top of the box mocks me.
And yet I blush.
“Awwwwww~” They must have noticed, fingers rapping on the cardboard in excited staccato. “Is the little dolly excited to go in its pretty little box? Or is it just embarrassed about its new name?”
My face is on fire. I can’t even turn my head without the twisted collar around my neck digging in. I try not to give them any extra satisfaction. They aren’t about to have that.
They lean in close, hot breath washing over me and steaming up the plastic. “What’s...your... name?”
I want to say so many things. Want to scream pointless obscenities, want to shout my real name, want to bite them for what little good it would do. In the end, I don’t say anything. I’d love to say it was to deny them the satisfaction, but honestly it might purely be out of fear. I just star, lip quivering and ruining any effect my last little act of defiance might have.
There was no winning either way. Their grin only grows wider at my silence. “What a good doll, remembering the rules~”
They pull away, and I exhale. But it’s a short lived relief as they scoop me up and line the plastic up with the opening of the doll box.
It slides in with little fuss, but the lip of the top fold catches on my skirt and drags it up, exposing everything underneath it as if they aren’t already well aware.
I yelp, then wince at my loud response, but it must have been covered up by the squeaking of plastic on cardboard. They only notice when I’m all the way in and they turn the box to face them again. I watch from behind the plastic window as they seem to debate leaving me this way, stealing away the one shred of dignity I have left. Then I guess they think better of it, pulling me back out. They tug the skirt back into place with a shocking amount of care – more than they’ve given me, anyway, then make sure to hold the flap wider this time. I don’t think I’ll be leaving this box again…
The lip slides shut above me, and then the only high-pitched squeaky sounds left are whimpers leaking out of me. But if I was loud enough to hear now, what more could they honestly do? If they were bothered by it, they didn’t say anything. Too busy admiring their handiwork, carrying me…somewhere else. All I can see is their chin and their shoulders bobbing with freedom taken for granted.
They set me somewhere just below eye level, then back up. A shelf, must be. In their bedroom by the looks of it. Then they reach below me. I hear a roll of tape squeak, then watch the strip rise past me, sealing the lid of the box shut. Good as new.
They don’t even stop to tease me with the tape. It was like I, the individual, had stopped existing even as a toy to them.There was only the single collectible that was the box and its contents.
Unperturbed by my realizations, they beam at their work and pull out their phone, pointing the camera at me. “Smile.”
I do no such thing, and for the first time, their smile falls into a frown.
“Let’s try again. Imagine the sort of person who’s going to buy you if you look so deliciously scared.”
W-wait, buy?
“Clear? Okay, now. Smile.”
My face is the last thing on my mind, but however I look, they snap the picture and look at it with a shrug. “I guess worried surprise works. Let ‘em know what they’ll see first thing, right?” They tap away at the phone for another minute or two, then, “Done!”
They stroll closer, turning the phone around to show me a listing for a “Used Like New, One-of-a-Kind Doll,” and my own panicked face staring back at me. Behind the plastic sheen, you could almost mistake me for an actual, if very detailed, toy. My eyes drift to the price and my heart sinks.
“A steal, I know. But somebody didn’t come with a Certificate of Authenticity or anything, so we have to improvise. Besides, we wouldn’t want to price out someone really feral about all this, would we? Someone with an eye for...real quality.”
I shiver, and their smirk tells me they noticed.
“What can I say? I’m a giver. Til then, though, you get to decorate my shelf!” Their face is almost pressed against the plastic, breath fogging the bottom of my vision. “Say thank you.”
And I almost do. Maybe if I’m pathetic enough, they’ll reconsider this. They’ll admit it was all an elaborate prank or a kink thing and pull me out and grow me back. Or at least keep me here, somewhere the means to fix this will at least be in agonizing reach and not just gone forever.
But I say nothing, and that tickles them to no end. They plant a long kiss on the plastic, and through the lip print it leaves, I watch them walk away with a little wave of their fingers.
“Good doll~”