Witch's Prey

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The doll twisted beneath her, struggling to find some kind of purchase. His chrome form twitched and spasmed uncontrollably as the witch atop him reached her mystic claws deeper and deeper into his essence. Any moment now, she'd find it, the core of his being.

"Madame, please!" the doll cried, his voice dripping with desperation.

"Shhh. I'm not done yet, toy. Hold Still or this is going to take all the longer."

The doll's face froze in confusion. Logical contradiction tore at his cognition.

Purpose stated that he struggle and moan. It was what his Mistress enjoyed, after all. Orders stated that he stay Still and Silent. It was what his Mistress wanted, after all. His poor little gears struggled and sputtered so hard, the witch could practically feel them overheating

That momentary pause was all she needed though, as her arcane touch finally reached her target. With just the lightest application of her mana against his core, the poor doll she sat atop of instinctively made his choice between Purpose and Stillness. He chose survival.

The witch's eyes gleamed as her thaumaturgic fingers raked against the doll's core. From here, breaking him would be child's play. The smallest jolt, the simplest spell and his entire being would cease to be. The power was in her hands and he was helpless to stop it.

Arms flailed. Fingers grasped. Legs kicked. Neck twisted. Eyes searched. But the doll's chest, his core, stayed stock Still. Desperate as he was to escape the vulnerable position he found himself in, he knew better than to move his core even a hair's breadth.

The witch drank in his fear, savoring every delectable drop of his predicament. The power. The look in his eyes. The trust that shined through it all. It was exquisite. For all the vulnerability, he knew she wouldn't hurt him... and she couldn't help her desires. She needed more.

"Toy, what did I tell you about struggling...?" the witch inquired, laying her trap, knowing he'd walk right into it.

"That... that this doll should be Still, Madame..."

"That's right. Now if you can't be Still, like I asked, then I'm just going to have to..."

✂️ SNIP ✂️

All at once, the doll's struggles ceased as the strings that gave him movement were severed. Try as he might, nothing could elicit even the slightest twitch from his body any longer. He lay there completely helpless. Completely Still.

The realization hit him hard, utterly destroying his ability to maintain any semblance of personality. His body had gone Still therefor his mind too should be Still. It's what Mistress wanted, after all. "Yeah. That makes sense," the last of his cognitive processes computed.

As the light died in her doll's eyes, the witch's predatory grin widened. He was helpless. He was vulnerable. He was hers. To do with as she pleased. To toy with as she desired. To drive as far up the wall as his psyche could tolerate.

"Time to put him through his paces..."

As mana flared from her supernatural touch, her doll cried out in equal parts pain and ecstasy. A fire hotter than any consumed him, yet he was helpless to either escape it or embrace it. That was but the first of many cries she would rip from him that night.

Standing from the bed, the doll adjusted what shreds remained of his uniform since his Witch had torn it to pieces. He'd have to repair it ere the day was through. Again.

"Tea, Madame?" he asked, earnest obedience replacing the quavering fear that had long since subsided.

"Yes, toy. The Earl grey," she responded, half-heartedly gathering her materials together. One by one she had restored each and every thread she had cut, taking her time to enjoy the process. It was after all important to put back together that which you break.

Laying on the bed, watching the metallic finish of her doll's butt as it wiggled out of the room, the witch finally allowed her mask to slip. Blushing and kicking her feet, she couldn't help but squee internally.

"He's just too cute! The way he struggled! The admiration in his eyes! The look as it all faded away and he went Still! Ahhhh, it's just too much! How did I ever luck out with a doll like him?!" she cried to herself silently.

In the kitchen, working to prep his Mistress's tea, the doll could hear her giddy squirming and muffled mewling, letting all her pent up euphoria loose upon the bed. Smiling to himself, he knew he'd done a good job fulfilling his Purpose.

End 🧵