Scandarella is a super filthy erotica writer and sex toy reviewer. We're HUGE fans of her blog so we asked her to write a short piece for us and the brilliant - but a bit different - Mannequin was the result...
After closing the fire door behind us, Karen led me down a dark corridor. Limbs poked out of the metal crates lined up along the right-side wall. An arm with a broken hand, a leg without a foot. I spotted the curve of a high forehead, a blankly staring face.
My girlfriend’s chipper voice seemed brash in this silent carnage.
I didn’t join in with her conversation. My lips remained tightly shut, only opening to suck in a shaky breath when she tripped on a disembodied head. She giggled, grabbing at a torso that was wedged into one of the crates to steady herself.
“This damned corridor is hazardous,” she laughed. “That’s twice the manager has bought in the wrong size strip lights.”
Her hands slapped against a half-open door, and I breathed a sigh of relief when we passed through into the muted light of the store.
Though it was brighter, the scene wasn’t much better in here. Broken bodies littered the floor, the tables, the display stands. Dozens of boxes stood amongst them, some with fabric trailing out of the open flaps.
My heart pounded. Nerves tightened my stomach, my fists. My thighs.
I sensed Karen shucking off her jacket, but I didn’t look at her. My eyes were on nipple-less breasts, frozen pouts, slit-less crotches. Some of the bodies around us were intact. Long, flowing hair, sparkling eyes, sharp, lace lingerie and fuck me shoes. But these ones were smooth skinned. Flawless. Not what I’d wanted to see at all.
Karen was still talking. I watched her arms appear from behind a naked body. There was a sliver of black lace in her hand. Resting her chin on the shoulder in front of her, she positioned the bra over perky breasts. She was looking at me, watching me watch her slowly caress them, turning her face to blonde hair and moving her lips as if whispering something. The way she smiled suggested that, if she was whispering, her words would be filthy.
My cock throbbed behind my jeans.
She was crouching now, slipping black lace panties up silky-smooth legs. I loved the way she skimmed the knees with her fingertips. It was delicate and sensual, completely opposite to the way she dragged her nails over the thighs. The hollow scratching sound it made was jarring, but twice as sexy as any moan could have been.
Karen popped her head around a narrow waist, a knowing smile tilting the corner of her mouth. When she emerged from behind it, I sucked in a gasp. My hips curled forward, my ass cheeks flexed, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the clothes she was wearing.
They were skin tight, hugging every curve of her body, and both the long sleeved top and leggings were the same flesh tone as her skin. She looked naked, her body featureless. Well, almost featureless. Around her neckline, elbows, wrists, knees and ankles, dark lines decorated the fabric. They looked like the joints of a Barbie doll.
Karen looked like a mannequin.
“Oh, look at that bulging cock,” she whispered. Shifting the dummy she’d just dressed until it faced sideways, she eyed me carefully. “What will that cock do if I do this?”
Oh my God! She’d pulled the lace panties to the side and leant in, her tongue protruding from her mouth. It hovered an inch from the hairless, flat mound in front of her. She waggled it, licked her lips, closed the gap a little.
“For fucks sake, Karen,” I groaned.
As soon as I spoke she closed the gap entirely, her lips making smacking sounds as she mouthed the dummy. Watching her was torture. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to pull her leggings down so I could fuck her, or if I just wanted to stroke my cock, to jizz on the nearest piece of plastic perfection while I watched my girlfriend go down on a half-naked clotheshorse.
For a brief second I regretted revealing my fetish to her. I considered telling her that, too, but she was on her feet, heading for the shop window. Despite my reservations - and uncomfortably constricted cock, I followed.
The street outside was dark, the window display bright. I stood in the middle of it, stunned to stillness as Karen lay down among the undressed mannequins. She writhed, touched, kissed, licked and bit. I wanted to fuck her, them, myself.
Then, there was stillness. Karen was on her knees, her hands cupping the tits of the dummy beneath her, her mouth pressed against its mound. I couldn’t see this straight on because she had her back to me, but I could see it reflected in the window.
It was then I noticed something shocking. Karen’s leggings? They were split right down the middle seam. Her parted thighs had pulled the slit open, exposing her juicy wet cunt.
I didn’t even think about what I was doing. My cock was in my hand before my knees hit the floor. It sank into that wetness, shocks of pleasure running through me at how tight she was. I started to fuck her, not noticing that she hadn’t moved an inch until a few minutes had passed. I watched us in the window, the only hint of her being real was the smile she tried her best to fight.
Every fibre of my being wanted me to come.
I slammed into Karen, telling her how close I was.
She pulled away from me, grabbing the nearest mannequin. She held it be the hair, displaying its beautiful face alongside hers, specially for me. My hand moved over my cock in a blur. Karen stuck out her tongue. The mannequin stared blankly off to the side.
And then I came, covering them both in stringy white cum.
After years of masturbating over it in private, I’d finally fucked my fantasy. Well, I’d fucked one of them. I couldn’t wait to see how Karen handled the others.
© Scandarella 2017