Chapter 5: The Babydoll & the Return
The sunlight was different this time. It slanted through the blinds in sharp, white-hot bars, cutting across the silk sheets like blades. Charlie lay still for a long moment, his eyes open but unseeing, his body humming with a strange, foreign energy. The babydoll was still on him—he could feel the delicate lace clinging to his skin, the sheer fabric brushing against his nipples with every shallow breath.
He didn't remember putting it on.
But he remembered the note. He remembered the way his hands had moved without his permission, lifting the garment from the chair, sliding it over his head, adjusting the straps so that it sat just right on his shoulders. He remembered the way his reflection had stared back at him in the mirror, a stranger wearing his face, a stranger wearing black lace.
He sat up slowly, the silk whispering against his skin. The bedroom was empty, but the air was thick with her scent—jasmine and something darker, something that made his stomach clench with a mix of fear and longing.
That's when he heard it. The click of the front door. The tap of heels on marble.
His heart lurched into his throat. He should move. He should find his clothes, find his keys, find a way out of this velvet nightmare. But his body was frozen, his legs tangled in the sheets, his breath hitching in his chest.
Her footsteps grew closer. The bedroom door swung open.
Selena stood in the threshold, a shopping bag dangling from one hand, a sly smile curving her lips. She was dressed in a tailored black jumpsuit that hugged her curves like a second skin, her raven hair swept over one shoulder, her emerald eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.
"Well, well," she said, setting the bag down on a nearby chair. "Look at you."
Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His throat was dry, his tongue heavy.
"Turn around," she said. "Let me see you."
He rose from the bed on unsteady legs. The babydoll swayed around his thighs, the sheer back exposing the curve of his ass, the lace tickling his skin with each movement. He turned slowly, his face burning, his cock stirring beneath the hem of the garment.
Selena let out a low, appreciative hum. She circled him, her fingers trailing along his shoulders, down his spine, across the swell of his ass. He shivered under her touch, his body betraying him with every involuntary twitch.
"You look beautiful," she murmured, stopping in front of him. Her eyes raked over his body, lingering on the way the lace clung to his chest, the way the hem brushed against his hardening cock. "Far too beautiful to be a man."
He flinched at the word—man—as if it didn't fit him anymore.
"Do you like it?" she asked, tilting her head. "The way the silk feels against your skin? The way it makes you feel?"
"I..." He swallowed hard. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do." She stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her body. She reached up and ran a finger along his jawline, tilting his chin so that his eyes met hers. "You like it. You like the way it makes you feel. Say it."
He opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat.
"Velvet."
The word hit him like a wave, warm and heavy, washing over his mind with a soft, syrupy hum. His eyes glazed over, his body going slack, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.
"I like it," he heard himself say, his voice distant, dreamy. "I like the way it feels."
"Good," she purred. "Now come with me."
She took his hand and led him to the bed. He followed without hesitation, his bare feet padding across the cold marble floor. She guided him onto his back, his body sinking into the silk duvet, the babydoll riding up around his hips, exposing his already hard cock to the cool air of the room.
"Spread your legs," she commanded.
He obeyed, his thighs falling apart, his body opening itself to her like a flower to the sun.
She crouched between his legs, her fingers tracing the curve of his inner thigh. He shivered, his breath catching in his throat as her hand crept higher, closer to the spot where he ached for her.
"Already loose," she murmured, sliding a finger inside him with no resistance. "Already wet and ready for me." She crooked her finger, pressing against his prostate, and he gasped, his hips bucking into her touch.
"Please," he whispered.
"Please what?" She added a second finger, scissoring them apart, stretching him with a slow, deliberate precision.
"Please, I need—"
"You need what?" She curled her fingers again, and his vision went white. "Tell me what you need, you filthy little thing."
"I need you to fuck me." The words tumbled out of him, desperate and raw. "Please, Mistress, I need you to fuck me."
An amused smile curved her lips. She withdrew her fingers, and he whimpered at the loss. But she didn't leave him empty for long. She stood and reached for something on the nightstand—a long, black leather harness with a thick, realistic dildo attached to the front.
He watched, transfixed, as she unbuckled the jumpsuit and let it fall to the floor. She was naked beneath, her body a study in contrasts—soft curves and sharp angles, pale skin and dark hair. She stepped into the harness, pulling it up over her hips, cinching the straps until the dildo jutted out from her pelvis like a second cock.
"Turn over," she said. "On your hands and knees."
He scrambled to obey, his body moving before his mind could catch up. He positioned himself on all fours, his ass raised, his cheek pressed against the silk duvet. The babydoll rode up around his waist, exposing him completely.
"Look at yourself," she said, nodding toward the mirror against the far wall.
He dragged his eyes to the glass. The image that stared back at him was a mockery of the man he used to be. His face was flushed, his lips parted, his eyes glassy and unfocused. The black lace hugged his chest, the sheer fabric of the babydoll a stark contrast against his tanned skin. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, leaking pre-cum onto the sheets.
"See that?" Selena said, pressing the head of the strap-on against his entrance. "That's you. That's what you've become."
"I'm..." He swallowed hard. "I'm your doll."
"My good little doll." She pushed inside him, slow and thick, and he cried out, his fingers curling into the sheets. She didn't stop until she was buried to the hilt, her hips flush against his ass.
"Fuck," he gasped, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Fuck, yes."
She began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that had him panting within seconds. She reached around and grabbed his cock, stroking him in time with her thrusts, her thumb smearing the pre-cum across the head.
"You like being fucked like this?" she asked, her voice low and rough. "You like being my little whore?"
"Yes," he sobbed. "Yes, I love it. I love being your whore."
She picked up the pace, slamming into him with a brutal rhythm that had the bed groaning beneath them. He was babbling now, incoherent pleas and whimpers spilling from his lips, his mind dissolved into a sea of pleasure and shame.
"Look at yourself," she demanded, her hand tightening around his cock. "Look at how pretty you look when you're being fucked."
He dragged his eyes to the mirror. His reflection was a wreck—face contorted, mouth open, tears streaming down his cheeks. The babydoll had slid down one shoulder, exposing a nipple, and the lace was soaked with sweat and pre-cum.
"I'm coming," he gasped. "I'm going to come."
"Not yet," she said, pulling out of him abruptly. He flopped onto his back, panting, his cock twitching with the denied orgasm. She grabbed his ankles and pushed his legs up, folding him in half, then slid back inside him with a single, brutal thrust.
"You don't come until I say so," she growled, slamming into him with a force that made his vision blur. "You're mine, Charlie. Every part of you is mine."
"Yes," he sobbed. "Yes, I'm yours. I'm all yours. Please, please, please—"
She fucked him like that, folded in half, the babydoll bunched around his neck, her hips slapping against his ass with a wet, obscene sound. It was too much, and not enough, and he was sobbing by the time she finally gave him permission.
"Come," she commanded. "Come for me now."
He screamed as he came, his cock erupting without her touch, spraying ropes of cum across his stomach and chest. He convulsed under her, his body wracked with pleasure so intense it felt like pain, his mind going blank and white and empty.
She pulled out of him, the strap-on sliding free with a wet, sucking sound. He collapsed onto the sheets, his body quivering, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
She didn't let him rest. She pulled off the harness and held the dildo in front of his face, slick with his own juices.
"Clean it," she said. "With your tongue."
He looked at the dildo, then at her. There was no mirth in her eyes, no room for negotiation. She expected him to obey.
He opened his mouth and took the tip of the dildo between his lips. The taste was salty and bitter, a mix of lube and his own body. He licked along the shaft, his tongue tracing every ridge and vein, his eyes fixed on hers.
"Good boy," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "Such a good little cocksucker."
He moaned around the dildo, his hips grinding against the sheets as he worked his way down to the base. He licked the balls, the harness, the spot where her own body had pressed against the leather. He tasted her there—a hint of musk, a hint of something sweet.
"Swallow it," she said, and he obeyed, taking the tip back into his mouth and sucking until his cheeks hollowed.
When he was done, she pulled the dildo away and tossed it aside. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear, her voice a whisper of silk and venom.
"Get in the shower," she said. "Wash yourself. Then put these on."
She pointed to the shopping bag she'd brought in with her. He crawled over to it and opened it, his hands trembling. Inside, carefully folded and wrapped in tissue paper, was a new set of lingerie—a crimson lace corset, a matching garter belt, and a pair of sheer black stockings.
"After that," she continued, "we're going to go out. I have a show tonight, and I want my little doll to watch from the front row."
He looked up at her, his eyes wide, his heart hammering in his chest. "I can't... I can't leave the apartment like this."
"You can," she said, her smile sharp and cruel. "And you will. But that's for later." She reached down and ran her finger along the lace of the babydoll, tracing the edge of the fabric where it brushed against his nipple. "Right now, I want to taste you."
She pushed him back onto the mattress, her body covering his, her lips pressing against his mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. He moaned into her mouth, his hands finding her hips, pulling her closer.
She pulled away, leaving him breathless. "Don't make me wait," she murmured. "I want to watch you wash every inch of that gorgeous body."
He stumbled into the bathroom, his legs shaking, his mind a blur. The shower was hot and the water stung his skin, washing away the sweat and the cum and the shame. He scrubbed himself until his skin was red and raw, but he couldn't wash away the feeling of her hands on him, the sound of her voice in his ears, the way she'd made him beg.
He turned off the water and stepped out, dripping, his body still trembling. He dried himself with a plush towel, then reached for the lingerie she'd left for him.
The corset was tight, cinching his waist and pushing up his chest, the crimson lace a stark contrast against his skin. The garter belt sat low on his hips, and he snapped the stockings into place, the sheer fabric sliding up his thighs like silk against his skin.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
The man who stared back at him was a ghost of who he used to be. The sharp jaw, the broad shoulders, the gym-toned physique—all still there, but draped in lace and silk, feminized, reimagined. He was a mockery of masculinity, a canvas for Selena's cruel artistry.
And he loved it.
His cock was hard again, straining against the lace of the garter belt. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around it, stroking slowly, his eyes locked on his reflection.
"Tsk, tsk."
Her voice cut through the silence like a blade. He spun around, his cheeks flushing, his hand still wrapped around his cock.
She was leaning against the doorframe, a glass of whiskey in her hand, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Didn't I tell you to wash yourself?" she said. "Not to play with yourself like a little slut."
"I'm sorry," he stammered, dropping his hand. "I don't know what came over me."
"I do." She set the whiskey down and crossed to him, her hips swaying with each step. She reached down and ran her fingers along the length of his cock, making him gasp. "You're learning, Charlie. You're learning to crave this. To crave me."
"I do crave you," he whispered. "I can't stop thinking about you. About your voice, your hands, your—"
She silenced him with a kiss, deep and demanding, her tongue sliding against his. He melted into her, his body molding against hers, his hands cupping her ass as she ground her hips against his.
When she pulled away, she was smiling. "Good boy," she said. "Now get dressed. We have a show to put on."
He looked down at his lingerie-clad body, then back at her. "This is what I'm wearing?"
"Yes." She picked up her whiskey and took a sip, her eyes never leaving his. "And you're going to look stunning, sweetheart. Just wait."