My empty childhood home was exactly what I didn’t need. The perfect imagery for loneliness and rut. With my boyfriend breaking up with me just before the holidays, I had to ask my mom for my old room back until I was ready to start a new cycle of disappointment. She had Christmas plans, of course. What normal person didn’t? So it was just little old me in my little old bed surrounded by posters of bands I never listen to anymore.
“Ewww. Do Barbies go... bad?”
I found my unclothed abandoned doll in the nightstand drawer while fishing for a phone charger from this decade but dropped her the instant some gooey filing touched my finger. She landed in a puddle of whatever thick white stuff was leaking out of her blown-out backside. I used a whole roll of paper towels for the makeshift oven mitts that helped me carry her to the kitchen garbage. I’m not one for sentimental value, but it still felt terrible to close the lid over her dead-stare smile.
No more rummaging for me, I decided. I stripped down to just my socks (don’t judge) and buried my face in the pillows for a good cry before falling asleep with the lights on.
A rubber ball compressing itself past your front teeth, turning a snore into a gag, is more effective than the loudest alarm clock and the strongest coffee. The strap didn’t even go behind my head; it was like the thing was magnetically attracted to my tongue. And when you find out that your wrists have been bound to the bedposts by fuzzy handcuffs, your thundering heart almost overdoses on adrenalin.
Looking around for an intruder dressed in black and not finding a soul in the well-lit bedroom was no comfort. All I could do was kick my legs, but the more I did, the more of my nude body was revealed under the sheets which now only precariously covered the V of my lower abdomen. Every waggle of my bare breasts was no doubt a gift to my captor, wherever he was, but even my panicked breaths made some waves.
“You’re even prettier than I imagined. I was born in a sex doll factory and I’ve never seen a more perfect pair of tits.”
The creepy intruder had left a plump teddy bear on the nightstand and was talking through some embedded speaker with a whimsical modulator. That was my first thought until the bear jumped from the nightstand to the bed with a fluidity far beyond cutting-edge robotics. I don’t know how I missed it at first glance but, now that it was inches from my face, I couldn’t look away from the big, bobbing pink cock coming out of its brown fuzzy crotch.
“Why are you acting so shocked?” The bear said, with moving lips and body language and everything. “I thought everyone knew since 1995 that toys came alive when you left the room. The Toy Story rule only applies to children’s toys, of course, unless you’re a bad joke like me. Let’s make a Teddy Bear with a big cock and a cum pump. So funny! I’m a freak only your mother could love. And even she loved me for just one night. One night that cursed me with the knowledge of how amazing it is to penetrate a warm cunt. I’ve turned your Barbie doll into a cum dump but the hole I made through her painted-on panties doesn’t come close to my memories of the real thing. Barbie! Get your ass over here. Monologing makes me horny. Everything makes me horny.”
“Yes, Mr. Bear.” My Barbie crawled up the bedsheets using only her arms and dragging her lower body behind.
“Her legs don’t work too well anymore, but since I made her anatomically correct, that little slut spends more time riding my cock than she ever did walking. She loves being treated like trash but throwing her in the trash, that was cold even by bear standards.”
I moaned an apology to my Barbie through the gag, but she was too busy impaling her hourglass waist and stretching her vinyl skin over the hard rubber cock like a disturbing condom to listen. Her printed face was distorted in ecstasy.
Learning that my captor was not an imposing man, but a cute bear desperately lonely like me and a little too horny for his own good (also like me) had been like a slowly dissolving pill of relief in my stomach. I was beginning to envy the orgasmic doll getting bear-handled against my armpit. Not that I wanted to mount a cock so proportionally large it made my eyes bulge out, but I wanted to feel whatever had her toes spreading and curling despite having feet cast from a mold.
Being dominated had been a repressed kink of mine for a while, held in check by feelings of guilt and the fear that objectification in the bedroom would affect the fragile power dynamics of an otherwise healthy relationship. But being the sex toy of a sex toy? That evens the playing field.
Mr. Bear continued to fuck my Barbie like bragging about what he could do to me despite only being as tall as his dick. I now know that monologing is how he deals with his insecurities. “Your mother doesn’t live here anymore, you know. She’s been living with her boyfriend since you left the nest. She’s only keeping this house because you’re father’s paying the mortgage. But I haven’t been waiting for her all these years. I’ve been waiting for you. You have no idea how much jizz I’ve dumped listening to Barbie’s stories about how you masturbated with your 10-in-1 multicolored click pen.”
Couldn’t hold back a blush of confirmation there. That Barbie had watched me do some pretty cringe stuff.
“I’m so sorry,” Barbie cried out to me between moans.
“And now that you’re here,” Mr. Bear continued, “I have a lifetime of wet dreams to act out on...”
“Mmm mmmm!” resonated through my gag. I didn’t try to say real words; I just wanted to interject.
“Erm, yes? Gaggie, give her some space, please.”
The ball stopped rubbing on my tongue and squeezed itself between the top and bottom teeth of my stretched jaw.
My words were still partly muffled and dripping with drool, but most syllables were clear enough. “I thought you said sex toys didn’t count as toys.” That wasn’t what I wanted to say originally, but the way Gaggie squeaked in obedience made me wonder what made it special.
Mr. Bear rolled his eyes and put his frustration into deep Barbie thrusts while pulling hard on her legs. “If you’d let me finish, I was about to tell you about the day I found a bag of googly eyes and discovered they can turn any object into a child’s toy. That’s how Mr. Drill helped with my virgin Barbie problem.”
I looked at the handcuffs; each had two goofy eye stickers on their strand.
“Heho” they gurgled with a ‘mouth’ full of my wrist.
I explored the ballgag with my tongue. Googly eyes there too. It squeaked gleefully from the tickles.
“I made a lot of friends this way, they’re all eager to meet you...”
“Look,” I interrupted again. “You can stop talking like a Bond villain. As long as you let me use the bathroom and you keep that drill away from me, I’m game for whatever.”
Sad drilling noises buzzed from an eavesdropper behind the bedroom door.
“You... you are?” Mr. Bear said, leaving Barbie unfucked for the first time since he started.
I nodded a ‘duh’. I know it sounds like lightspeed Stockholm syndrome, but Mr. Bear was at the right place at the right time. I had a real shitty week and would have borrowed my mom’s toys anyway had I known she had a stash. Plus, a ‘massage’ is a million times better when performed by someone else.
“Well... I haven’t worked out the bathroom and feeding situation yet, but I can’t risk you running away before we get to play for at least... an hour.” My maniacal captor was really a big softy without his rehearsed ***********.
“That’s fine. You can keep the handcuffs. I like them.”
“Hank hoo.”
“He hike hoo too.”
I kicked away the rest of the blanket to show I was serious, proudly exposing the pussy I had waxed for my ex-boyfriend’s benefit. I then raised and spread my knees like an inviting funnel.
I could tell Mr. Bear was still nervous. My confidence made his height insecurities flare up again. He knew even a small girl like me could crush him between her thighs or kick him across the room in an explosion of fluff if she didn’t buy into this illusion of power.
“Warm her up for me, guys.” Mr. Bear told the room. A test I wasn’t afraid to fail until I realized I was in for one heck of a foreplay session.
Was my mom a sex toy hoarder? More and more vibrators kept jumping on the bed to climb Mount Me like a googly-eyed Lilliputian army. Massagers with round heads, wands that looked like toothbrushes, vibrators in the shape of fat bullets, one sleek-looking thing that looked like an alien wishbone, and I recognized a buttplug with some degree of apprehension.
First contact was a bullet vibrator snuggling against my nipple. My first reflex was to yell stop and I’m glad Gaggie was back against my tongue to stop me. Less than a minute later, I would have begged them not to stop because once the feeling of being tortured with tickles subsides, you start clenching and squirming for a different reason. Every erogenous zone from toes to nips was being stimulated by eager specialists. Two toothbrush wands pulled my slit apart for the alien wishbone to jump in ‘feet’ first. My initial moan of surprise stretched until I had no air left in my lungs as I discovered it was designed to pleasure my G-spot and clit simultaneously.
Even little things like knowing your upper body spasms sexually aroused your handcuffs added to the experience. Once the buttplug plopped itself in my virgin cavity, I thought there was no possible way this could get more intense. That’s when candles appeared to literally kill themselves delivering hot wax to my breasts and clenched abdominals. I came like a Barbie so often and for so long that I forgot my ex-boyfriend’s name. The only name I remembered was “Mr. Bear...”
I could feel his soft fur against my bare vulva now. Only the ergonomic G-spot massager had moved out to make room for Mr. Bear. Barbie was happy to offer him a new home. It was with three different vibrators on my clit and a rounded cone in my rectum that I welcomed his big pink cock. I was expecting the relative cold of an inanimate object but was pleasantly surprised by his warmth. My mom must have thought he was too big, and he would have been had I not been drenched between the legs like an opened tube of lube.
“It’s just like I remembered,” he said, bottoming out in my birth canal. “No... better.”
Every pump made me scream against the gag. This was my runner’s high in this orgasm marathon where all my muscles tensed despite the exhaustion. Mr. Bear joined me in one final climax, and his ejaculation seemed to last as long as he wanted it to last. I passed out from orgasm fatigue as he squirted his last few drops on my breasts.
When I woke up the next morning, there were no handcuffs around my wrists, no rubber ball in my mouth.
Turning on the screen of my phone killed the remaining 1%, but not before flashing a dozen message notifications from my ex. Things must not have worked out with whomever he left me for. Whatever, he would never be enough for me, not after tonight.
I heard moaning from my nightstand. Inside was my Barbie getting her G-spot massaged if her G-spot was in her chest. I closed the drawer to give them privacy, then tested the stability of my legs before letting the walls escort me to the shower.
When I came back, hair wet but inner thighs dry, there was a Teddy Bear on my bed.
“I think I’m going to take a nap, face down this time,” I said much louder than if I was truly talking to myself. “I sure hope I don’t get handcuffed and gagged again. And that this really hung bear doesn’t come to life to take me from behind while his vibrator friends turn me into a drooling cum slut...”
There was a smile on Mr. Bear’s face that I don’t think was factory-stitched.
