Obession Part 2
Not for those under 18 (or whatever the legal age for this sort of stuff is in your area). If you’re not that old, Boo! Go away now. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of sexual activities, especially non-consensual ones, then don’t read this. All characters and situations are fictional.
Melissa started slipping away at work, taking more toilet breaks than she actually needed, fingering herself to silent orgasms as she pictured the figures she so admired, congratulating herself on how still and quiet she was when she came. The life-like features and shiny pearlescent skin of the mannequins the only fantasies the raven-haired beauty now needed. They were her ideal, their elegance and poise what she aspired to. The times she could spend in the shops the highlights of her life.
“Melissa,” the young woman started at the sound of her own name. Hastily she dropped her hands as she realised that she’d been mimicking the pose of the mannequin that she’d been standing in front of, hands around the back of her waist, left foot in front of the right, her head tilted to the right as she gazed up at the figure. Melissa wondered if she should have worn something like the figure’s dark skirt and blue satin blouse, not the tatty jeans and checked shirt that poked out under her sweatshirt. It was a Saturday, so she wasn’t in her office wear.
Taking a step back Melissa turned, finding Deborah looking at her, a faint smile on the older woman’s lips. “Sorry?” the young woman asked, frightened that she’d done something wrong, thinking how silly she must have looked aping the figure. Melissa couldn’t help herself, the mannequins were so perfect.
“It’s all right dear, I just want to show you something,” Deborah raised a finger, beckoning Melissa on.
The saleswoman led Melissa through a staff-only door, reassuring the younger woman when she tried to protest. Melissa found herself in a storeroom, shipping boxes stacked high, racks of clothes crowding one wall, a collection of ordinary mannequins, naked and crowded together, filling one corner.
None of that held Melissa’s attention. In front of her stood a mannequin, back to the young woman. Unlike the others in the storeroom it was dressed and had hair, long blond tresses piling over her shoulders. Melissa didn’t need to see its face to know that it was one of the special ones, she could tell.
But Melissa could see its face, the figure’s reflection clear as it stood in front of a large mirror. A smile was on the mannequin’s face as she stared into the distance. The figure’s clothes were conservative, not really executive wear, but something a PA might wear. A high-waisted dark grey skirt stretched to below her knees, the woollen fabric tight around her hips and legs. Her top was a deep burgundy red, the sleeves elbow length and the top skimming the edge of her neck, the material shimmering in the naked lights of the storeroom. Two inch heeled pumps completed the outfit, the figure so tall they were enough to push her to six feet in height. Her left hand was on her hip, elbow cocked, left knee bent with heel raised off the ground and her chin lifted as if daring anyone to challenge her. Melissa wasn’t sure what this was about. The mannequin wasn’t new, she recognised the figure as the one that had been displaying a pants suit on her second visit to the shops and she’d seen it on display often since. While the outfit was nice she wasn’t that interested, beyond it being something that allowed the mannequin to be displayed in a proper manner. She didn’t know what Deborah wanted her to see.
As if in answer to her unasked question the saleswoman pointed to the space next to the mannequin “Why don’t you just stand there?”
Hesitantly Melissa shuffled over to the spot indicated, next to the mannequin. She could see her own image in the mirror. Her clothes weren’t as nice and she didn’t look anywhere near as assured. That wasn’t any surprise, she didn’t feel very confident.
“Umm, now what?” Melissa asked.
“Nothing dear, just stand there.”
It took Melissa a moment to realise what Deborah meant. She was supposed to stand there, just stand there. Like the mannequin. She was supposed to stand there, like the mannequin, motionless. Her heart started to race as she realised she could pretend to be like the mannequin, just as in her dream she could stand with one of the figures she so admired. “How, how long?” she asked, the words catching in her throat.
“As long as you like,” Melissa could see the smile on Deborah’s reflection, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You see how you go.”
Melissa couldn’t believe her luck. It was, literally, a dream come true. Nervously she swallowed, then forced her breathing to slow, concentrating on small, shallow breaths. She knew she couldn’t be perfect, that she wasn’t as perfect as the figure next to her, but she was determined to do her best. Mimicking the figure’s pose, Melissa set herself to her task.
It was harder than she thought it would be. She couldn’t stop herself occasionally blinking, she had to lick her lips to stop them drying out. The young woman wished she’d remembered to refresh her lip gloss before she’d started. As the time passed the urge to move, to change her pose, scratch an itch, grew and grew, aches building in her arms and legs. But she held herself motionless, Deborah had given her a chance to do something she hadn’t even realised she wanted to do, not in real life, and she wasn’t going to waste it. She was in a shop, posing just like a mannequin. Melissa almost gasped from excitement, then forced herself to be calm, fighting her emotions. Even when one of the other saleswomen came in to the storeroom, looking for something for a customer or just taking a break, Melissa wouldn’t let herself react. None of them spoke to her. They were treating her, Melissa realised, excitement and just a hint of arousal running through her, like one of the mannequins. The young woman couldn’t believe how good it was, how right it made her feel.
The graphic designer let her thoughts drift, revelling in feeling of stillness, ripples of arousal coursing through her body and over her mind. She lost track of the passage of time, no clock to help her, only her shallow, even, breaths to mark its passing.
Melissa gave a start as she felt a tap on her shoulder, sobbed as she realised she’d broken her pose. “How are you getting on, dear?” Deborah’s bright, saleswoman, tone brought Melissa back to reality. She stared at the older woman for a few moments before she was able to reply “Good, um, fine. How long has it been?”
“Two hours,” Deborah replied, briskly, “you did very well, we were all impressed at how you kept your pose.”
“Th-thanks,” Melissa stuttered, humbled by the praise. With one hand she rubbed her other arm, sore and aching from the prolonged stillness.
“Now,” Deborah smiled, “would you like to try it out there?” A painted fingernail pointed to the door that led back to shop floor.
Melissa’s eyes flew wide, her hands rising as she stepped back, “I, I couldn’t, I mean, what if someone realised?”
Deborah raised a hand to her mouth as she suppressed a soft laugh, “I don’t think they will dear. And even if they do, we’ll just tell them you’re a model on special assignment.”
Melissa gnawed her lower lip nervously. Could I? I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to. But, out there? In public. Still, if Deborah says it’s all right. No, I couldn’t. What if someone realised I wasn’t a mannequin? It would be just… Melissa’s thoughts trailed off in rising embarrassment.
“Thanks, but no. I mean, I’d like to but I just…” Melissa fluttered, her words as disordered as her thoughts.
“Really dear?” Deborah asked, one hand fiddling with a blue-gemmed earring, “are you quite sure?” Melissa was sure, or at least she thought she was. Her eyes drifted to the gem in the saleswoman’s jewellery, light reflecting off it as Deborah’s fidgeting shifted it back and forth. Melissa wanted to accept the older woman’s offer, knew that if she refused the chance might not come again. But the risk was too great, someone might realise that she wasn’t a real mannequin. She might not be able to hold her pose. She couldn’t imagine how embarrassed she’d be if she was discovered. It was all too much.
Images from her dreams filled Melissa’s mind as she watched the gem move back and forth in Deborah’s delicate fingers. This might be my only chance, Melissa told herself. Pretending to be a mannequin in the storeroom was one thing, but out in public was something else. Something special. People might look at her and think she was a mannequin, one of the special ones that she so admired. Anticipation rose in the young woman, dispelling her doubts. “How long?” Melissa asked, still wondering if this was the right thing to do.
“Well,” Deborah shrugged,” there’s only about an hour or so to closing, so…” She could manage an hour. Her doubts were gone, maybe they’d never existed. All that was left now was an eagerness, an almost desperate need.
“Umm, but I can’t wear these,” Melissa said, indicating her typical weekend outfit of jeans and coat. “Of course not silly, take these and get ready.” Deborah handing her an outfit that Melissa hadn’t even noticed the older woman was carrying.
“Umm, where?” Melissa asked.
“Well, here, of course, did you think I meant out there?” Deborah’s reply was accompanied by a conspiratorial wink.
“Don’t worry,” Deborah replied, anticipating Melissa’s question, “I’ll make sure no-one comes back here until you’re ready.”
“How will I?”
“We’ll let you know when the store’s empty.”
I’m going to pretend to be a mannequin. Melissa thought as Deborah closed the door behind her. I really am. Her head spun, a giddy mix of confusion and delight. She’d already spent two hours in front of the mirror and wasn’t sure how much she had left in her. Her hands shook so much from anticipation that she had trouble undoing the buttons on the checked shirt she wore beneath her sweatshirt. Somehow she managed it and soon stood naked in front of the mirror.
Melissa couldn’t supress a frown as she caught a glimpse of her reflection. She knew that she didn’t really look anything like a mannequin. Spots and imperfections marred her skin, no more than any other young woman, but to her eyes they were all flaws. Her nipples and areola were far more obvious than those on the mannequins and her pussy, well, the less said about that the better. Nervously she reassured herself that the clothes would cover most of the problems, and hoped that would be enough.
The outfit Deborah had given her was black, as dark as her raven hair. Black, lacy, bra and panties, a matching set, dark pantyhose to go with them. A black satin blouse, the material deliciously wicked next to her skin. A black skirt, the lines straight and clean and professional, the hem ending a few inches above her knees, noticeably higher than the skirt on the mannequin next to her. The matching jacket collarless, black like all the rest, the only decoration dark purple edging down the edges and around the waist. Black two-inch pumps completed the outfit. The only item of her own she kept on was her blue-gemmed pendant.
Dressed again, Melissa admired herself in the mirror, the blue gem sparkling on its silver chain amidst the black of the blouse. She thought the outfit suited her, her pale skin contrastingly nicely with the outfit, perhaps she’d even buy it at the end of the day. Maybe this whole exercise was simply designed to get her to buy something after all the time she had spent loitering in the shops. She didn’t think that was true, Deborah had seemed genuine in giving her this chance.
Melissa ran her brush through her hair, thankful she’d brought one with her, trying to match the studied elegance of the mannequin’s wigs. She hadn’t done a perfect job, but she thought it would be enough. She couldn’t do anything about her makeup, not having any with her. I’ll have to remember that next time, she thought. Then stopped herself. She didn’t know if there would be a next time. Maybe this would be all she’d ever have. With an effort she calmed herself. Whether there’d be a next time or not she needed to do the best she could today.
Not long after Melissa had finished getting ready Deborah’s head appeared in the doorway. “Ready dear?”
“Come on then,” the saleswoman beckoned.
“Now?” Melissa asked, eyes wide. Much as she wanted this she didn’t know if she was ready. “Yes,” Deborah replied, her hand giving Melissa beckoning gesture, “now, while there’s no one about.”
On tiptoes, Melissa hurried nervously after the older woman.
Deborah led her to a display stand along one wall, just one of many in the store, no more or less important than the others. But to Melissa it shone, calling out to her.
Two of the other saleswomen, Julia and Kathy, were lifting a mannequin down from it. Just an ordinary mannequin, not one of the special ones. Melissa was glad she wasn’t taking the place of one of them. She didn’t want to relegate something so wonderful to the storeroom.
Deborah held out an arm for Melissa to steady herself on as the younger woman climbed onto the base. Then she helped Melissa with her pose.
“Foot out in front, just a little bit further, now other up on your toes, yes, just like you’re walking, but bring the foot in, one foot in front of the other. Now hand there, on your hip, yes. With the other one hold this purse. Tilt your head to the left, look out through the window. That’s right, see the shop on the other side of the road? Focus on that. And there, you are, perfect.”
Melissa didn’t think she was perfect, but she hoped she was good enough. She was grateful that Deborah had positioned her so that she was looking out onto the street. Giving her something to watch should help her concentration. With an effort the young woman slowed her breathing, hoping the rise and fall of her chest would be hardly noticeable with the shallow breaths she was taking. Unlike her breathing her thoughts raced. I’m really here, doing it, I’m pretending to be a mannequin, I hope I can do this. I’m sure I can. I can’t let Deborah down. I need to calm down or I won’t be able to hold this pose.
Forcing her thoughts to settle Deborah gazed onto the street, revelling in the moment. Her heart gave a flutter as a customer entered the store, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or not as the woman gave no sign of approaching the stand on which she stood.
Melissa didn’t have long to wait before two more women, about her own age, came in and began browsing. After a while one of them wandered over in her direction.
“What about this one?” the woman called to her friend.
Melissa heard the other woman’s footsteps heading in her direction, could feel the eyes of both women upon her. There was an urge to turn her head and look at them, but she easily suppressed it.
“I don’t know,” the second woman said, doubt clear in her voice, “It’s nice, but I’ve already got some black outfits. I was looking for something a little different.”
Melissa had to fight to keep her pose. She was sure that any moment the two women would realise that she wasn’t a mannequin. Something had to give it away. Her skin lacked the sheen of the real mannequins, her eyes didn’t have the same glassy stare. Well, maybe they do, after staring out the window for so long, but even so. Maybe they’d notice her breathing, or see her blink. There was no way that she could stop those basic physical actions, no matter how much she might want to.
If either woman noticed anything they kept it to themselves. Inwardly Melissa relaxed as she heard them walk away, but the young woman didn’t let her pose slip.
After two women no one looked that closely at Melissa. A few more customers came in before closing, but while they walked past her the raven-haired beauty wasn’t sure whether they gave her even a glance. It didn’t bother her. A mannequin’s job was to keep her pose. Everything else would take care of itself.
The graphic designer couldn’t stop a sigh of disappointment when she heard Deborah’s voice “We’ve closed up dear, time to get down.” The hour had flown by and much as Melissa’s body was thankful for the movement as she stepped down from the display stand, she’d have much rather stayed there.
“Everything all right?” Deborah asked, concern showing in her eyes.
“Yes, fine,” Melissa swallowed, her throat dry.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
Melissa paused for a moment before answering. Sometimes it had been nerve racking, fearing that she’d be found out. But there was no doubt she’d enjoyed it. Given the chance she’d get back on the stand then and there. But the shop was closed and there wouldn’t be any point. Now that it was over and she could stop worrying about embarrassing herself Melissa realised just how good it had felt. To be still, posed, just like the figures in her dreams, the mannequins she spent so much admiring and fantasising about. She didn’t want to gush too much though, unsure of what Deborah’s reaction would be.
“Sure,” she replied, trying to sound casual.
Deborah smiled, knowingly. “Would you like to do it again?”
Melissa had to stop herself jumping for joy. If she was trying to convince Deborah that she could be a good fake mannequin, then some sort of happy dance wouldn’t help. Is it even possible to be a fake mannequin? Melissa wasn’t sure what to call what she’d been doing, but she definitely wanted to do it again. “Could I?” she asked, her voice trembling in eagerness.
“Of course dear, if you want,” Deborah smiled warmly, “how about you start after lunch next Saturday.”
“Thank you,” Melissa gushed.
(To be continued)