“Well, I guess there’s one positive thing about all of this,” she says beneath her breath.
“Your BMI was already low. What could be positive about it getting lower?” I ask.
Sighing exhaustedly, she pulls her knees up out of the water, then rests her cheek on them, looking defeated. “I…” She trails off, like she can’t remember what she was going to say.
Lifting her chin up with my finger, I wait until she’s looking at me. “I’ll help,” I promise her.
“You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”
“I told you. I’m here to take you home,” I remind her again.
“But why you? I know Etta and Betty were worried, but why did they send you?”
“They didn’t send me. I came because it was time.”
“Time for what? I’m so confused.” She exhales exhaustedly.
“I’ll help,” I tell her.
Laughing softly, she backs away from my touch and rests her cheek on her knee again. “I think I’m beyond help.”
“I’ll help with that too,” I assure her, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against her lips.
In general, I find kissing unnecessary. As an act, it’s not part of sex, nor in the past has it hastened or added anything to my release. But kissing Octavia is different. I’ve wanted to discover what she tastes like since I realized she was mine, and I’ve never felt that way before. I’ve kissed other women and a few men, mainly to see if a member of the opposite sex or one of the same evoked a greater reaction in me. But now I realize the reason I’ve never felt anything beyond physical release with any of them is because they weren’t her.
Her lips are a little dry and taste faintly of coffee. I don’t know why I expected her to taste sweet, but the coffee flavor surprises me.
“You kissed me,” she gasps when I pull away from her mouth and start scooping water up with a cup and pouring it over her.
“Yes,” I agree.
Her eyebrows draw together, and she purses her lips like she intends to speak, but instead she exhales and sags, like she can’t find the energy to question me. We both fall silent as I continue to bathe her.
An unexpected and arousing desire to explore and examine her vagina with my fingers pushes at me, but I recognize that right now isn’t the time to do it. So instead, I pick up a washcloth and use that to cleanse between her thighs. As soon as I get her home, I’ll learn all of her body, inside and out, but I don’t want to touch her here, in this sad apartment, with the memory of whatever has happened here still in her thoughts.
Once her skin is clean, I wash and condition her hair, waving away her weak protests. If she really didn’t want me to help, she’d tell me to stop. Once I rinse the last of the conditioner from her hair, I stand, then lift her out of the tub, setting her on her feet before I wrap her in a towel.
My perfect doll is broken, I can feel it and see it. But that’s okay. I’m going to put her back together until she’s whole and entirely mine, starting by getting her away from Rapid City.
Lifting her into my arms, I carry her out of the bathroom and into the living space. Sitting her on the small kitchen counter, I claim another soft kiss before I turn away and search the small apartment for her clothes. Instead of finding her beautiful, elaborate things hung in the closet, her array of dresses and skirts are haphazardly stuffed into a large suitcase that’s been pushed against the wall in the corner of the room.
Turning to look at her, I find her unmoved and watching me from the counter I sat her on. Her gaze follows my movements as I open her suitcase and start to look through her belongings. I don’t bother to ask her what she wants to wear. Instead, I search through the suitcase until I find a black satin bra and panties set that has an embossed bat pattern covering the fabric.
Before this moment, I never considered underwear as anything beyond a means of covering an intimate area, but as I imagine the bra and panties in my hands on my doll, my dick hardens, arousal pulsing through me.
Placing the underwear to one side, I locate a black dress with a skirt made up of layers of netting intended to make it look dramatically full. The dress has small, capped sleeves that are sheer and puffy, and there’s an array of buckles and ribbons that fasten around the waist.
Before identifying Octavia as my mate, women’s clothing held little to no interest for me. Clothes are simply a necessity, and my own closet only holds several pairs of the same types of jeans, workout shorts, and the same style of T-shirt in three different colors.
After meeting Octavia, I started to appreciate how her choice of clothes made her…her, and I did some reconnaissance into her particular style. My doll favors gothic Lolita-style clothes that make her look like the nickname I’ve given her…like a perfect real-life doll.
Closing her suitcase, I carry the clothes I’ve selected for her over to the counter where she’s still sitting and watching me. Peeling the towel from around her, I use it to blot the dampness from her skin and hair, then lift her down and position her standing naked in front of me.
Not bothering to hide my open assessment, I run my eyes over her, memorizing every inch of her porcelain skin. Neither of us speaks, and she doesn’t bother to try to hide herself from meagain. I don’t attempt to hide my own arousal either, feeling the hardened length of my penis jutting against my pants. When I’ve looked my fill, I reach for her panties, then crouch down, holding the small, silky fabric out for her. One foot at a time, she steps into the panties, and I pull them up her legs, covering her vagina and ensuring the waistband is lying flat over her hips.
Picking up her bra next, it takes me a moment to figure out how it fits, but once she slides her arms through the straps, I reach around her to fasten it at her back, covering her tiny breasts and perky nipples.
Stepping back, I run my gaze over her in the underwear I selected for her. My penis pulses, and I wonder if I’m about to ejaculate into my pants, the same way I did when I first felt sexual desire. Reaching down, I grip my length and squeeze, inhaling slowly as I force my body to settle.
