An introvert at heart, Gina took a dare to go to a costume party, all dolled up as a plush toy. She was proud of herself for making it one whole hour mixing, mingling, and drinking, before she needed a nap. She found a quiet room away from the music and the lights, always intending to go back to the party after a few minutes of rest.

But she woke up with the sun streaming through the windows, and a woman looking down at her. Just before panic set in and Gina died of mortification, the woman sat beside her, curiously looking at her. Gina began to feel something other than fear in her heart.

“I don’t remember buying you. Are you really a doll?”

Gina’s answer surprised them both. “I am.” She couldn’t really say why she said it, only that it was something her heart was yearning to say.

“If you’re in my house, in my room, on my bed, then you must be my doll. If you really are a doll.”

Memories of dreams and fantasies flooded Gina’s mind as she nodded. “I really am a doll. Your doll.” She had an insatiable curiosity to know how far the woman would take this game.

“Then, you must call me Owner. If you really are a doll.”

“Ok, Owner.”

“And you know that your Owner can touch you,” Owner said, gliding her fingers along Gina’s white tights, “and hold you,” taking Gina’s plush mitten, “and even kiss you. If you really are a doll.”

Owner waited for a moment, giving Gina time to process, to consider. She had only begun to nod when Owner leaned in and pressed her lips to Gina’s, softly taking her, claiming her.

“You really are just a doll,” Owner said when it was over. She couldn’t keep the amazement from her voice.

Gina could barely muster a nod, still lost in the euphoria of being taken. It was crazy what she was doing. But she was too stubborn, too curious, and too much a doll to back out now. She had given herself over to her Owner, and she would just have to live with the consequences, of which there were many.

Months went by, and Puppet remained a doll. She had gained new plush friends. She had lost her name, and still waited for a new one. Owner had gently sewed Puppet’s shoes into her tights, her tights into her dress, and mittens into her arms. She talked of remaking Puppet’s wig to be more like yarn, and adding plush to certain places. Late at night, Owner cuddled her and whispered that she wanted to sell Puppet to a cheap secondhand store. Not because she wanted to be rid of her, but so Puppet could experience being bought and sold.

In the mornings, Puppet would look out her Owner’s window and think about what her life had become. She could end this at any time. But why would she? Puppet really was a doll, after all.