Author's Note: A night in the life of Cuddles, a woman who was kidnapped and surgically transformed into a sexdoll. She struggles to reconcile her love for her owner with the knowledge of what was done to her.


My eyelids had closed automatically when he kissed me goodnight, but I fought sleep for as long as I could. The nightmares caught me eventually, though, as they always do.

They drag me back to the cold metal table. Back to the blazing lights overhead, silhouetted forms of men above me, black shadows against the bright white.
They hold me down under the light. I scream and kick, but they grab hold of my legs and take them away. Gone.

I try to claw them with my hands, to shield myself with my arms. They take those, too.
I desperately bite at their fingers as they cut away my voice, but they have already taken my teeth. I am silent.

Much later, they aren't holding me down anymore. Instead, two heavy weights on my chest pin me to the table just as effectively. I suck air through my mouth, now a tight wet tube capped by lips both plump and coy. I watch the huge mounds on chest rise and fall but not enough makes it to my constricted lungs. I can't breathe. My thighs flail, beating my useless stumps on the table. I can't-

I woke sobbing. Or, trying to. My brain sent the signals but my body did not respond. A subtle, soundless waver in my breathing was the only result. No tears from eyes that could not even open until he kissed me good morning. The nightmare quickly faded, as it always does, leaving only the terror and a vague memory.

He suddenly squeezed me tight and my quivering breath caught. He could be so kind when I was in one of my bleak moments. Positively doting, when he noticed. Had he understood, somehow, that I desperately needed to be comforted now?

But no...it was not empathy that provoked this embrace. He was nestled in the cleft of my rump, sleepily grinding himself against my silky skin. I felt a flash of frustration cut through the lingering terror. No, that was wrong. I concentrated and melted the frustration into affection, instead. He *was* responding to me, after all, but he'd simply misunderstood the message. My thrashing at the nightmare must have translated to the one motion my body could still produce on command: a gentle rocking of my hips. Pressed against him as I was, he had felt my panicked kicks instead as sensual rubbing to coax him from his own dreams. The motion had stopped when I awoke, much to his apparent displeasure. He squeezed harder, increasing the friction as he prodded forcefully down below. Just once, as a crude command. He wanted me to do the work.

It took considerable concentration to do awake what I had done by accident asleep, but I forced my muscles to obey. Slowly, I pulled him up the full cleavage of my ample bottom, then tugged him back down the same path. He sighed and I felt his whole body relax as I took over the stroking. Back and forth. His breathing slowed until I was sure he had returned to a pleasant near-sleep. I kept up my steady rocking. Back and forth. It was easier now that I'd gotten the rhythm. Back and forth. So simple, the extent of his demands on me. Slowly my mind drifted towards examining the jumble of emotions I felt towards this man; my owner.

Most of me loved him as deeply and truly as I thought it was possible to love. But the tiny part that remained from when I had been a woman, not a doll, knew the love I felt had been implanted by the men from my nightmares. Like the full, ever smiling lips that kissed or sucked whatever he wished, the breasts he loved to watch as they wobbled with every breath, or the over-plump bottom he was currently enjoying, my love was just another feature of a body that had been designed to give him pleasure. Knowing that brought such a strange mix of joy and anger. Anger, no, fury! That tiny voice in the back of my mind railed at what had been done to me. She was a barely recognizable ball of sorrow and rage, howling up from the depths of my soul. Turned from a person into a product, bought from a catalog and delivered in a cramped metal box! No, no, NO!

...And yet, her voice grew ever smaller as the weeks (...months?) went on. The rest of me surrendered to the inescapable bliss of being that product for him. To being the fulfillment of his every secret desire. I knew I would never have felt this way if I were still a woman, but as a doll I had no choice. I loved him, and so even though I hated what had been done to me I also loved that it had been for his sake.

He moaned and I realized my pace had accelerated. Lubricating fluid was leaking out from inside my bum (it was produced there naturally and in abundance) and he was now smoothly gliding up and down the slick crevice. Up and down. Faster. I was panting with the effort, heaving my massive breasts against the pressure of his arms. I huffed with exertion, and with that other emotion that the men had put into my head: lust. My body constantly took me to the precipice of its own accord, with pulses of pleasure and vibrations from deep inside that occurred at random throughout the day. I was always ready for him, always hungry for that final push over the edge. Now it was like I was hanging there by a thin thread, and the brush of a single finger could snap it and send me plummeting into rapture. Oh how I wished to reach down to the heat between my thighs! A simple touch would surely be enough, if I could only...

Suddenly the angle of his hips shifted and my downward motion caught the head of his cock on the puckered collagen ring lining the entrance to my ass. He felt the momentary hitch and seized the moment to thrust forward. I felt a stab of pain as the tight opening was forced open to welcome his entire shaft. My breath caught up short once more as the clenched muscles in my anal canal spasmed, what was for him a pleasant rolling wave of extra pressure along his length. That reflex was yet another gift I had received on that cold metal table. All of my holes had the same function, but where as the other two gave a soft slippery stroke, my rump clamped down on intruders with a purpose. His body shook and he let out another moan as he was engulfed and continuously pumped from base to tip. I knew no small part of his enjoyment came from the simple fact that I *was* designed, made for this very purpose, for his use.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my plastic face closer to his own, twisting my neck at an almost unnatural angle. That simple motion was beyond me under my own power but his hands easily moved me to where his lips met mine. It was enough. The thread snapped. Bliss exploded inside me, my eyes flew open, and everything was swallowed up by the rush.

The gushing river of ecstasy battered me deep into my own head. My vision shrank until I watched him kissing me through tiny pin pricks a thousand miles away. Even then he was so beautiful in the blue predawn light. Perfect. Just for me, as I was for him. The euphoric torrent ran through my whole body as a throbbing pulse. I could feel it all the way down my phantom limbs into my long gone toes. A bubbly, infantile gurgle emanated from deep in my throat. The only sound I can produce now, an involuntary reminder of what I have been reduced to.

That immodest noise and the orgasmic spasms still shooting through my body had an effect. He grunted against my lips and shuddered as his own climax erupted down below. My ass soaked it up hungrily, and another satisfied gurgle, almost a coo, escaped my lips as confused reflexes forced me to swallow a mouthful of my viscous drool.

He lay panting while I climbed down from my own high. Finally, he pulled out and settled back into a restful position. He patted my head and gave my a playful pinch to my plastic nipple.

"I love you, Cuddles."

The woman in me flinched even as the doll soared to new heights. My name. My humiliating, dehumanizing name but said with such sincere affection. He knew when he bought me that I had been a person once. That name was meant to remind me that he would never see me that way. I was an object, his dumb little doll, and that was exactly why he loved me.

"I love you," I thought to myself, and wished I could say it with all my heart. Wished that the last sliver of the woman I had been would finally surrender and dissolve completely into Cuddles the fuckdoll. I watched his eyes flutter and close. Soon he would wake again and leave me here, perhaps with a kiss, perhaps without a word, and venture into the world beyond this bed. That domain felt so foreign to me now. This was my place, my purpose. I would wait for him here, with nothing but my thoughts and the random pleasure pulses to occupy me, until he returned to use me again in the evening. It really was a good life, I told myself.

Aside from automated blinks my eyes could not shut again without permission. So I lay there, straining to stare at his sleeping face as the dawn light slowly filled the room. My owner. The sliver wailed, deep down, but I ignored her.

"I love you."