Work Text:
Sora is used to being on display. As an idol, it's literally part of her job description to be a mannequin upon which various clothing brands, music companies, and other vested interests advertise their wares.
This is different, and yet, pretty much exactly what she asked for.
She'd broached the subject to Texas a week ago, steepling her fingers in such a way that she hoped disguised how nervous she was. "So, listen. It's going to be my birthday in a week."
"I know."
Deep breath. "If I told you I wanted to do some mannequin play, what would you say to that?"
Texas looked at her straight on, a little too intense, in the way she always was. "Mannequin play," she repeated. "You mean in a sexy way?"
Sora nodded, knowing her face showed how she felt about it.
Then, Texas nodded too, curt, dependable, and businesslike. "I'll take care of it."
"Umm, could you tell Exusiai and Lappland too?"
A frown. "They'd be into it, though?"
Sora's ears drooped. "They'd tease me about it first."
"I'll take care of it," Texas repeated.
The week passed, and Sora heard neither whispers nor conversation about her request. Lappland and Exusiai too, didn't bring it up. When she came home from work on her birthday, a large box—refrigerator size—lay horizontal on the floor.
"What did you get?" she asked a sofa-lounging Texas. Exusiai and Lappland were absent, the former likely on a delivery, the latter doing. . . whatever it was she did when she was left alone.
"I'll tell you after you shower." Sora scrutinized Texas's expression, an act akin in hopelessness to reading a closed book.
Her anticipation built while she scrubbed the day off of her skin, taking extra time to make sure she wasn't rushing out of excitement. Whatever was in the box, it was for her, and if Texas got it, it was gonna be awesome. She dried off, dressed in more comfortable clothes, then returned to the living room.
"So? Do I get to see what's in the box now?"
Texas stood and approached her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. The intensity of her stare reminded Sora of the few times she'd ever been in danger—Texas had protected her back then, and had the same look in her eyes now. "Sora, you know that I'd never put you in danger, or let you be in situations that you find uncomfortable?"
Sora hesitated, not because she didn't believe her, but because she was confused. "Yeah?"
A rare grin appeared on the lupo's face, revealing teeth. "Then get in the box."
And thus, the past catches up to the present. When she requested mannequin play, she figured she'd be dressed up and then stripped and fucked by her three girlfriends while she pretended to be their cute little object. As always, Texas is going above and beyond.
Sora looks at her, then back to the box. "What?"
"This is your birthday present from me. Until I snap my fingers, you're my mannequin."
Sora's face flushes. She opens the box to find it filled with packing peanuts. "You want to unbox me?"
"Trust the process. I've taken care of everything."
She grabs Texas's hands. "This is so exciting! I can't wait to see what you've come up with!" Her heart is already racing—she only hopes she can be still enough to nail her upcoming performance.
"Oh? A talking mannequin?" Sora snaps her mouth shut. "Good girl."
Texas helps her to lie down in the box, snuggling into the packing peanuts until they form a layer over her, only her face and toes sticking out. I hope I don't need shoes for this.
Texas leans over. "Comfortable? Good. Sora, you're my mannequin, but if you don't like anything that happens, you have permission to break character, okay?"
Sora nods—Texas's concern is so gallant—and then Texas closes the cardboard over her, shitting out her light. Duct tape seals her in inky blackness.
She hears the door open, along with two pairs of footsteps. "Special delivery, help me carry this box out," Texas says, and two other people grunt. Sora's box is lifted, and then they're moving. The familiar sounds of the Penguin Logistics freight elevator filter in through the cardboard, and Sora's excitement begins to grow, alongside her curiosity. Where are they taking her? And who? Is Texas still with them, or is she elsewhere, preparing?
Her box is placed down, slid across a floor of some sort, the sound followed by truck doors slamming shut. What follows is five minutes of driving (Sora counts the seconds and turns, trying to map where they're going), and then the truck stops, the box gently removed and brought to another elevator. It dings, an old-timey sound, and then her box is carried further, before being placed on the ground.
"Thanks for the delivery," she hears Texas say, but the timbre of her voice sounds different. Instead of her regular short words, her voice is accented with a twang and a cadence. Rim Billiton , Sora realizes. She's acting as a character from Rim Billiton!
The duct tape seal near her head and her feet is cut through, knife angled gingerly to be as far away as possible, and then she squints at the light as the flaps begin to open. In the last second, she remembers to slacken her expression, erasing the excited smile and letting her eyes go glassy.
The flaps open all the way. Though she can't make out any defining details from just her peripheral vision, Sora doesn't recognize the interior—she definitely hasn't been here before. Texas is there, leaning into view, dressed in an outfit that straddles the line between formal and not. Her blazer and bolo tie are looser than she generally likes, but the outfit matches a simple, shabby aesthetic that Sora recognizes from antique shows on television. She looks like a fashionable antiquarian—one that ostensibly needs a mannequin?
"They didn't shrink wrap it? Damn, guess I'll have to do an inspection."
Sora's thighs clench at the word inspection ; she forces them to slacken.
Texas's hand is ice cold, grabbing at her biceps, Sora forces the squeak to die in her throat. Texas moves further down, gripping her forearms as if testing them for damage, articulating each of her fingers, then moving to her feet and ankles to do the same. Dread curls in Sora's stomach as Texas squeezes up her calves and then to her thighs—she's ticklish, Texas knows that, and when those icy fingers grip her thighs and move upwards, it takes every ounce of willpower she has to keep from laughing.
Texas takes her role seriously to a fault—Sora finds herself disappointed when her breasts aren't groped, not even a little bit.
"Huh. Still warm from the moving truck," Texas drawls, and then puts a cigarette in her mouth and lights it. Sora's not sure who this character is supposed to be, but the thought of Texas acting is cute. Texas leans down to wrap her arms around Sora's back and legs, then lifts her out of the box with an, "Up you go." In the split-second before she's lifted, Sora stiffens her entire body so she remains in a straight line as she's lifted effortlessly. She knows it was the right choice after Texas places her on a table. "Good, looks like the joints still hold their pose."
Sora came out of the box dressed in a t-shirt and simple leggings, the kind of outfit that gets celebrities made fun of when they're caught on the street. Texas gets to work stripping her, pulling her shirt off—she has to reposition Sora's arms to be straight above her head—and then removes her bra as well. Then Texas steps around to her feet and begins pulling off her leggings; Sora's instincts tell her to lift her hips so her panties come off easier, but she stays still and unmoving. Texas has seen her naked countless times, but something about having her identity reduced to an object in front of her girlfriend, then being stripped like a doll is intensely gratifying. She'll have to examine that at a later date.
Texas's movements are clinical and measured, her hands cold. Sora's panties come away wet. Naked on the table, she lies there while Texas walks around, raking her body with the eyes of an expert. Sora focuses on the cracks in the ceiling—gold paint lined with brown-hued waves which point to water damage in the distant past.
When Texas leaves the room she begins to wonder: is Texas going to start fucking her soon, or is there more to this game? She gets her answer a minute later when Texas returns with a clothing rack, containing a dress, and some kind of undergarment that looks like a set of straps; she can't move her eyes to see.
Black panties are slid up her legs, Texas lifting her butt so they nestle snugly against her, band set low on her hips. The fabric feels like lace, but are they crotchless? A garterbelt comes next, thin across her waist—definitely lace—and then Texas begins sliding stockings up each leg, expertly maneuvering each one over her knee and up her thigh, and Sora realizes that Texas has never put stockings on her, only the opposite. The effect of Texas's butler-like care combined with Sora's mannequin state registers as a flush of heat that washes over her chest and down her stomach, goosebumps rising on her thighs and arms.
Sora begins to think she might be a lingerie model, but then a pair of socks are pulled over her feet, covered by well-fitting boots. Texas lifts her by the midsection again, this time tipping her so she lands gently on her feet, arms still straight up, top still naked. She wants distraction, any evidence that Texas is turned on by her inanimate frame, but the truth is even hotter. Texas slides a dress over her arms, head, and smoothes it out over her front, reaching up to cup her breasts into the built-in bra. She does all of this without an ounce of reverence, handling Sora like packaged goods—gently, it wouldn't do to damage the mannequin after all—but without a hint of arousal. Sora's pussy throbs when Texas turns away.
A metal plate is slid under her heels, a hand reaching around to tip her backwards into the waiting support of a dolly, and she's wheeled out of the room. Finally she can see where she is, begin to piece together the location.
What she sees astounds her. They're in a clothing store, high-end, with beautiful outfits arranged on the wall organized by make, color, material, and more. Laminated floors reflect calming orange overhead lights, and an angled mirror allows Sora to examine her own outfit.
She's wearing a blue bouffant with black lace embellishments across the chest and sleeves that shine with black gemstones at the wrists. The hem extends to her mid-thigh, revealing the smallest amount of skin before the stockings begin, extending down into stylized platform combat boots. No wonder she was feeling a little taller than usual.
For all intents and purposes, it's surprisingly. . . modest? Has there been a misunderstanding? Texas did hear the part where she said this was a sex thing, right?
Texas wheels her towards the front of the store where mannequins are arranged in a window, and that's when the reality of the situation hits her. They aren't on the ground floor; this isn't the entrance. The window Texas places her in is on the third floor, a busy section of street extending to either side below. The night sky of Lungmen blankets the heavens, pinpricks of stars lighting heavy clouds. A light rain hits the window, droplets magnifying street signs and headlights as they slide down the glass. She stifles a gasp. How did Texas manage to arrange this? Did she rent a third-floor business for the night just for this occasion?
Texas steps around, into her view, and lowers her arms, posing her a few different ways before settling on a pose that's thankfully easy—one leg in front of the other, hand on her hip. It's a pose she's struck a thousand times for photoshoots, but the nuance hits a little differently now. And then Texas leaves, footsteps receding. Sora strains her ears, hears the flick of a lighter as Texas lights another cigarette, the smoke wafting across the ceiling over to her window spot.
The mannequins on either side of her pose with her, coworkers, and Sora begins to feel a sense of camaraderie with them. She's an object too, dressed in clothing she didn't choose, placed in a window without consultation, posed in a way that's appealing and not made with her comfort in mind.
Of course, her coworkers aren't getting hot and bothered about it, but Sora's always been a freak like that.
A page turns, Texas likely reading a book. The rain begins to abate, dewdrops sticking to the window while the bottom of the glass fogs ever so slightly. She's not sure how long it's been—falling into the mindset of a display was distressingly easy—when a bell jingles.
Two people enter the store, judging from the bell and sets of footsteps—one pair in boots, the other in heels. Sora can just make out the two customers by looking at the reflection in the glass. One of them is dressed in a sleeveless all-red dress, gloves up to her elbows. Her hat obscures her features. Her companion looks more rugged, dressed in what seems to be a maestro suit and combat boots.
"Welcome in," Texas says, blowing out a puff of smoke. "Feel free to look around. Let me know if you have any questions."
She didn't think it possible, but Sora goes more rigid. There are people in here. People that could see me. The fact that she can't decide if that horrifies her or turns her on even more crosses her mind. Her breathing picks up and she forces it to still—if she's found out, there will be hell to pay, both for her kinky little game, as well as for her career. Actually scratch that, any business that had Sora acting as a mannequin would get flooded with business.
"The lady here would like to try on some of your dresses," comes a singsongy voice. "She loves anything that has blue on it."
Sora thinks she recognizes the first voice—it sounds like Lappland, but where did her telltale accent go? Is she playing a character too?
"Hohoho, though I donned this crimson raiment not but fourteen hours prior, verily I do believe it is time to change my color paradigm!" comes the second voice— definitely Exusiai. Her accent is a poor imitation of a posh Londinium socialite, and Sora has to tense her stomach to keep from laughing at it. "Proprietor! Show me thine finest garments, posthaste!"
Texas's sigh is masked by a plume of smoke. "Yes'm, right this way." Footsteps cross the floor, Sora tracking their group as Exusiai begins carding through dresses on the wall. Texas and Lappland become embroiled in a conversation about fabric types and dress styles so in-depth that Sora knows they must have rehearsed this many times over, or at the very least done plenty of research. It's touching, though she wishes they'd get to the part where they start touching her.
Exusiai tries on a green chiffon dress and shakes her head. "Mine sensibilities are quite nearly insulted! Provide me a tulle dress at once!" She claps her hands, and Lappland picks out a dress—yellow this time—and hands it to her. It's decidedly not a tulle dress, but none of the three women seem to be aware.
"Situations wherein I have to protect you would be made more complicated if you can't move your legs," Lappland says, and Sora realizes her accent is Columbian. She's imitating Texas! "Let's find you something different, milady."
Sora loses sight of them in the window's reflection, and the footsteps are gone. A voice comes startlingly close to Sora's ear.
"Perhaps, my lady, the dress on this mannequin would suit your tastes?" Texas says. All three of them are standing right behind her, and though Sora can't see their faces, she imagines them leering. A single, immodest bead of slick runs partway down her thigh, immodesty made tangible.
"Verily! The garment anointing this. . . effigy! I find it most pleasing to mine eye!" Exusiai exclaims. "Do you mind if I try it on?"
"Be my guest," Texas replies. "We're on the third floor, nobody's gonna see."
The callousness in Texas's voice is enough to make Sora shiver. She disguises it by biting down on her tongue, and then Lappland is in her face, unlacing her dress. Her smile is partway feral as she lifts Sora's arms and takes the dress off of her, then steps aside. Whatever is happening behind her, Sora no longer has the mind to pay attention to.
Suddenly she's topless in front of a busy Lungmen street. Texas is right, of course, they're on the third floor and anybody looking up won't be able to distinguish Sora from a real mannequin, but a surge of adrenaline still rushes through her body, making her limbs feel hot.
Oh jeez, am I sweating?
The air of the clothing shop isn't cold, yet her nipples are peaked, a flush across her chest. Cars drive by not twenty feet away, hundreds of people per second, and all they'd have to do is look up.
"Now that I'm looking at them," Lappland says, "these panties are pretty cute too."
"Verily!" Exusiai claps her hands twice. "Remove them from the mannequin at once!"
Hands find her stockings, unclipping the garters, and then in a smooth motion her panties are pulled down to her ankles. She's shifted to the left and then to the right as her last barrier of modesty is removed from under her feet. And now, Sora is completely naked in public. Pussy out, everything on full display. Being based in Lungmen, it's not impossible to think that many of the cars and passers-by below are fans of hers, or at least know of her. All they'd need to do is look up to get a premium view, see the slick adorning her thighs, how it reflects the golden lighting of the shop.
She tunes in to the reflection—Texas is holding her dress folded over one arm, and Exusiai has her panties spread between her fingers, admiring the. . . Admiring the wet spot, Sora realizes.
And then the group leaves her there, like an exhibitionist. They leave her to go look at more dresses, and for five agonizing minutes, Sora is naked, ready, waiting.
"Should I think on it," Exusiai says, voice conspicuously loud, "nay, should I reflect on it, I find my royal highness in need of such a mannequin such as that."
Swift footsteps. Strong hands meet Sora's hips, swiveling her so her ass is facing the window. Lappland nods, an appraising look in her eye. "You could use it to display different outfits around the mansion."
"How much monetary grist dost thy require for this mannequin?" Exusiai calls, fanning herself.
"Ma'am, this here establishment sells dresses, not the furniture."
"Indulge me."
A pause, and then, "Well, if I had to part with it, I'd sell it for this amount."
Texas holds up a piece of paper, a receipt, and Sora is almost disappointed that she doesn't know what she's being sold for. Is she cheap or expensive? And which is hotter? The day she begins to unpack that, her therapist is going to be rich.
"Don't be so hasty!" Lappland says in what can only be a choreographed part of this scene. The wording is too tailored. Sora can't control her ears perking up—where is this going? "If you don't mind, we'd like to take it to the back room so we can more closely examine the merchandise."
Texas nods readily. "Not a problem, so long as I'm in the room with you."
Sora's muscles scream in protest as she keeps her body rigid while Lappland manhandles her out of the window, one arm around her chest, the other tightly gripping her crotch. A finger slides partway inside her, and though Sora has to stifle a moan, Lappland is doing a very good job at pretending she hasn't noticed.
She's carried to the same room that she started in. "Put her right here, on the table," Texas says, and Lappland places Sora down, face-up. She's still in her pose from the window; Texas bends her limbs so that her legs can rest on the surface, arms flat.
Exusiai and Lappland fawn over her, hands brushing over her arms, armpits, neck, face, and then down her stomach, thighs. Finally, Exusiai slides a finger up through her folds, hand coming away soaked. She spreads her fingers so that Sora can see the line of wetness that bridges them, glistening.
" Interesting, " Lappland says, face close to Sora's pussy. "I see now why you wanted such a high price for it. You've done some customization, haven't you?"
"Of course Texas has! What kind of idiot buys a mannequin they can't fuck?" Exusiai says, then she remembers she's meant to have an accent. "I mean, what manner of ignoramus designs a non-shaggable dolly?"
"And so wet already."
If I weren't so turned on right now, I'd be really fucking embarrassed. Actually, scratch that. I'm both.
"Forsooth and behold, to test the readiness of this fuckdoll, I shall test its mettle with mine trusty strap." Exusiai begins lifting her skirt, only to have her movement barred by Lappland.
"Allow me to warm it up for you my lady. You'll catch a cold if you're not careful. These mannequin bodies are always at room temperature, and your delicate skin would not take kindly to a sudden drop in temperature."
"By all means, mine most faithful of bodyguards! Fuck this doll to warmth!"
Lappland crawls onto the table so she's on all fours, posed over Sora like a ravenous beast. She glances at Texas. "You sure you don't mind?"
Texas shrugs. "You paid for it. Fuck it if you want."
Lappland starts by shifting Sora upwards on the table so that her head lolls off the back, leaving her staring straight at Texas. Lappland pinches her nipple, grips her throat, spreads her legs.
Oh god I'm gonna cum so hard from this.
Lappland slides into her so easily it's almost unfair. Sora clenches her jaw, fighting the urge to gasp with everything she has as Lappland bottoms out, hips making contact. The angle is sublime, Lappland begins thrusting, slowly at first and then building speed, the base of her cock hitting Sora's clit with each thrust.
Lappland lifts Sora's ass and gets on her knees, fucking Sora harder, each thrust making her head jerk, and Texas watches all the while, staring impartially into her eyes. "You're my product, and I'm selling you," she seems to be saying, though her expression betrays nothing.
"This mannequin was made with a remarkable attention to anatomy," Lappland says. "The clit is so lifelike, I know it's an unfeeling object, but I can't help but want to touch it."
Sora's clit explodes with feeling as Lappland rolls it between her fingers. She tenses her throat, another moan buried, Lappland circling her clit in time with her thrusts, deep and rushed. When Sora comes, she manages to quash all movement—if her feet twitch it's surely because Lappland is fucking her that hard. She wants to scream out as loudly as she can as she rides through it, Lappland's cock slamming into her, and then Lappland pulls out and comes with her, spurts of hot liquid splattering across her chest and stomach, filling her navel.
Lappland eases back into her with a shaking sigh, cock twitching as she empties out the rest of her seed into Sora's pussy, then pulls out.
Texas watches, and perhaps the corner of her mouth suggests the faintest bit of a smile.
"Milady," Lappland says, breath short, "you'll be pleased to find the mannequin warm for your convenience, and very satisfactory."
Sora barely hears the telltale sound of buckles and straps being tightened, her ears still ringing, and then something large is pressing against her. Exusiai, self-proclaimed "queen of the strap" has bought a new one for the occasion, that much Sora can tell by feel alone, intimately familiar as she is with Exusiai's entire collection. Its wide head presses into her, stretching her out, but Exusiai is mercifully slow, and even applies some lube to help the process along.
Sora takes her inch by inch until Exusiai fills her completely, the girth so wide that Sora loses control of her breath, coming in gasps. She's being a bad mannequin—she knows —but it takes a good fifteen seconds to regain her composure.
And then Exusiai draws out and thrusts back in, and Sora's toes curl. The strap was made specifically to defeat her, it must have been. Her eyes lose focus as Exusiai enters her to the hilt, grinding textured silicone against her clit, and her next breath contains the faintest trace of a whine.
"Interesting," Exusiai says, her thrusting unabated as she talks. "Madam shopkeeper, it seems this mannequin has a little squeak to it. Perhaps it needs a little lubrication? Say, around the mouth and throat area?"
Sora's pussy clenches hard around Exusiai's length when Texas's smile meets her eyes. "I'm not sure it would be proper for me to indulge in my valued customer's product."
"I'll hear nothing of it!" Exusiai exclaims, thrusting hard to punctuate the sentence. She's gradually losing her accent, bangs sweaty. "Surely you want to fuck this pretty little mannequin one last time before we bring her home?"
Texas looks at Sora, and then her eyes travel upwards to caress her throat with their gaze. "I suppose a little fun wouldn't hurt."
Texas removing her clothes is like a striptease. Her belt comes off first, then she lets her pants pool around her ankles and she wobbles forward, pressing her panties into Sora's face. She's rock-hard, precum evident on the fabric, and Sora begins to open her mouth in anticipation of that delicious—no. She keeps her mouth closed, like a good little mannequin. If her owner wishes it, her owner will open her mouth and fuck it.
Open her mouth Texas does, lowering her panties agonizingly slowly. She accepts a dollop of lube from Exusiai and strokes her cock with it until it's straining and wet, then presses it against Sora's lips. Rather than manually open her up, Texas pushes her cock in until it hits the back of her throat, then pulls out and spears her lips again and again. All the while, Exusiai keeps up her devastatingly relentless pace, the pressure on Sora's clit building to the inevitable.
She knows she's going to make a noise. She knows, and yet, she's powerless to stop it. Her body arches, muscles jumping out of her control, and at the last second, Texas presses her cock all the way into her throat, deep enough that her hips meet Sora's chin and the curve of her balls presses into her nose. Thank you, Sora thinks, thank you! She can't breathe, she's dangerously close to choking on her girlfriend's shaft, and yet, it stifles the building cry in her chest, allowing her to come quietly, as she should. The orgasm rips through her, rattling her against the table, anchored in place by twin cocks.
Watching and feeling her shaking orgasm is apparently enough to set both Exusiai and Texas off in response. Exusiai arches into her with one final thrust, her voice turning guttural and hungry as she mines Sora for every bit of pleasure she can. Texas pulls out and finishes with a strangled gasp, coming across Sora's cheek and neck. Then she's in Sora's mouth again, the last of her seed spreading across her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She's bitter, and Sora makes sure not to swallow.
"I dare say, this one will do," Exusiai pants, slowly pulling out. Sora's pussy clenches at the absence, sending her into another convulsion before she stills. Texas pulls out as well, wiping her cock on Sora's unsullied cheek.
"Sold."
Face covered in cum, thighs slick, dripping from her pussy, Sora is lifted and put back into a box, shipped out. She relives the truck ride, naked save her garterbelt and stockings, staring into the blackness. If she sleeps she can't tell, falling into a blissful trance as she's sent to her next destination. Her cunt still pulses in the aftershocks, packing peanuts rubbing sensitively against it, sending tingles up her spine.
She's brought up the familiar Penguin Logistics freight elevator, then carried back to what she knows is her room—their room.
The box opens, and Sora is greeted by Texas, Lappland, and Exusiai, all with large smiles on their faces.
They shout in unison, "Happy Birthday Sora!"
Sora doesn't move.
"Ah right." Texas snaps her fingers. "End scene."
Sora takes a deep breath, then blows it out, and it becomes a giggle which then transforms into a laugh. "That was incredible," she eventually gasps out, lifting her arms so Texas and Lappland can pull her from the box. "I have so much to say, I can't even. Just, wow!" She's feeling rather starstruck, like it's the first performance she's ever done and the crowd just called her back for an encore. The tears come and she blubbers through them. "I just love you guys so much!"
"Do you need some love and attention?" Texas asks, supporting her weight, and the other two crowd around, eager to please.
Her face flushed, Sora shakes her head. "I already came a whole lot, I don't know if I could take any more."
"You were such a good little mannequin," Lappland says, kissing her on the mouth so she can lap up Texas's cum. Eager like a puppy, leaving Sora breathless. "I think we should do this every single year, don't you?"
Exusiai sits her down at the dining room table and bounces onto her lap. "So? How'd you like my accent? Pretty good, huh? I practiced a whole bunch!" Then she leans forward so she can whisper in Sora's ear. "And how about that strap game?"
Sora's ears are on fire; it's easy for her to forget that Exusiai has seductive abilities on par with Lappland when she wishes. "The accent was honestly pretty funny. As for the strap. . ." She shivers at the memory, and that seems to satisfy Exusiai.
Sora turns to Texas. "Thank you so much, Texas. This really meant a lot to me."
Texas kisses her, holding her tight. "Happy birthday, Sora."
Surrounded by Texas, Lappland, and Exusiai, Sora knows that this birthday and all the rest will all be her favorites.
"But seriously, can we do this next year too?"