Your Submissive Doll Novels & Stories

“Look at you. My perfect baby girl, naked and waiting for her Daddy exactly as she was told. So obedient. So ready to learn how Daddy really likes to fuck.” He opened the bag and pulled out several items: soft black rope, leather cuffs, a blindfold, and a thick leather belt. My heart raced faster at the sight. “From now on, sweetheart,” he said as he climbed onto the bed behind me, “when we are in this room, you are not just my daughter. You are my submissive little fucktoy. My personal cumslut. Daddy is going to show you exactly how he wants sex. Rough. Controlling. Deep. And you are going to take every single thing I give you. Understand?”

15 Momma’s told me once or twice—and sometimes I remember—about the doll I had when I was really little. Samelsa. A name I made up myself. Mom says I wouldn’t stand for it when anyone dared mishear me and try to call her ‘Sam’. “Sam is a girl-name for hookers and strippers. Maybe waitresses,” she says. “I think you knew that, too. Even then. If people dared call your doll ‘Sam’ you’d give them the blackest evil eye. That look on your face! It was like a witchy old woman who’d just caught her neighbor’s dog peeing on her front porch.”

Xavier leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair, "that'll be for him to show you, doll. Go on now, he's home early and I'm sure you want to be around him." I stood, walking straight and out of the room, closing the door behind me. My posture was impeccable, back always straight, legs long and endless, and the clothes that Oden bought for me were designer. I do everything with Oden and I can't not be around him for too long. I'm his perfect doll. He baths me, dresses me, feeds me and every kind of thing you can think of, and I love the attention that he gives me. I don't know what I'd be without him, because he's my world.

Duties include 24/7 availability, immediate obedience, and complete sexual use at their discretion. My pussy clenches on the word use. A slow, deep throb that makes me shift in my chair and press my knees tighter. I keep reading. The submissive will wear a collar at all times. The submissive will be available for office use during and after business hours. The submissive will be bred and claimed at the discretion of her owners. Bred. The word sits in my stomach like a hot coal. I can feel myself getting wet, not damp, not slightly aroused, wet. The kind of wet that soaks through underwear and makes the fabric cling.

- Each time we are in the red room, you will no longer have a name; you will be called number 1, because you are the first submissive to come to my floor. Here is a submission contract that is known only to us and my lawyers. In addition to the contract, there is a questionnaire that you must answer as honestly as possible, your preferences, what you hate the most; based on your answers, I will know how to conduct the sessions. - What are these sessions? - They are sessions where you will have a lot of pleasure. You are my submissive, my slave in the red room. But outside the room, you are my personal assistant in the eyes of everyone. I have two mistresses, four girlfriends in different cit

I tried to console him, “Hey, hey. Calm down, okay? It’s alright. We can always go back to the temple and get you another one.” “No! The doll and I are connected! I can feel what happens to it!” “Connected?” I cleared my throat, “Just because you’re handsome doesn’t mean I’ll believe everything that comes out of your mouth, dude.” “No! You don’t get it! I can actually feel everything that’s done to the doll!” I smiled and calmed myself before replying, “I told you the doll was weird, didn’t I? So, what happened to it?” “I gave it away. I gave it to one of the more handsome ones when we were at the park yesterday.”

She stares wide-eyed at the Queen who just emerged from the inner chamber. Yuelan’s notes the guilty look on her servant’s face and decides to mess with her. She heard what the servant said about the doll. Not necessarily true. The doll is just someone she is using to distract herself from her horrid marriage, but she can’t have her personal servant spewing nonsenses. The girl needs to learn to keep her mouth shut. “Who am I obsessed with?” She questions in a calm tone like she is having a conversation about the weather with servant. While she waits for the servant to answer her question, she strides to set table and takes a sit. Suddenly she feels very farmish.

The soft music was mesmerizing and the expression on the woman's face was blissful as her partner spoke softly in her ear. The next tab showed a photo of a beautiful woman dressed in a filmy pink baby doll nightgown leaning dreamily over a giant teddy bear. The headline of the blog post was 'Daddy Doms/baby girls.' Shasta breathed in deeply. The article stated that, contrary to popular opinion, Daddy Doms are not pedophiles. They are loving and caring Dominant individuals whose natural desire is to have a nurturing and affectionate intimate relationship with a submissive who has a child-like aspect to her personality.

His strong jaw, piercing eyes, and chiseled physique were all captured in the lifelike replica. I had taken great care in ensuring the doll's most intimate feature was as impressive as I imagined Kaid's to be. Long and thick, just the way I liked it. The thought of that perfect cock made my pussy throb with need. I stripped naked and climbed onto the bed and positioned the doll to face me. "Come on, Kaid," I purred, sliding my fingers between my slick folds. "You know you want this. My pussy is dripping for you."

Intricate harnesses, designed to bind and adorn. Sculpted toys in every shape and size, some elegant and slender, others thick and terrifyingly potent. A few shelves lined on the corner— sleek, black-red and gleaming. Stocked with an array of toys: vibrators, dildos, riding crops, nipple clamps, and there were whips coiled like serpents, soft leather floggers with braided ends, and paddles that promised both pain and pleasure. Some were elegant, some intimidating, all of them whispered one thing, a siren song to my newly awakened core: submission.