[Gargoyle & Anthousai] John & Kamilla

"CrazyPickleJar404?"

The second you hear your username, you regret not changing it when you had the chance, but in your defense, you tried five other names before the website accepted this one.

When you turn toward the voice, with three other people doing the same, you find a gargoyle standing at one of the tables next to the window. He dwarfs the small coffee shop with his sheer size, even though his wings are folded tightly against his back so he doesn't knock anything over.

"Yes." You approach him with a handshake and your real name. "But why did you say the numbers too?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Wasn't sure how many CrazyPickleJars might be in here."

"Well, only me." You glance around. "I hope."

"Please," he says, standing out of your way to pull out the chair for you. "Sit. I already ordered your favorite. I hope it's okay."

In the middle of the table, two cups are waiting, one with John written on it, and the other with... CrazyPickleJar404.

You met John, still hard to believe a gargoyle would have such an ordinary name, on a forum, and even harder to believe John, just John, wasn't already taken, dedicated to... specific interests. BDSM. Power dynamics. Kinks. How to figure out what you actually like. How to stay safe while exploring it. And somehow, while wandering through the topics, you found dollification. It started innocently. You read conversations between other people, then you left a comment, John answered, you answered, he replied, and before you knew it, he was in your DMs.

And now, he is in front of you.

The chair creaks when he sits down, and for a second, you worry it won't hold his stone weight.

"Thank you for coming," he says. "I was worried you would change your mind."

You can't blame him. Even when you reached the coffee shop, a part of you still thought about walking straight past without so much as a glance inside. You are still a little stunned that you are actually here to meet a stranger because of a shared interest. You're almost certain the How to Stay Safe section of the forum had an entire thread about this exact situation.

"Well, I'm here," you reply with an awkward laugh.

John smiles at you, knowing and understanding. "I know it must be... not your safest decision."

"No," you agree. "That's why I sent your profile and my location to two of my friends."

At your confession, the gargoyle's dark eyes glint with clear approval. "Smart girl. I like that. I'd hate for my Kamilla to have to trust a stranger, which is why I'm giving you this." He slides a small piece of paper across the table. When you open it, there is a name and a phone number on it. "That's the owner of the BDSM club in the city," John explains before you can ask. "We're still relatively new there, but they ran a full background check on both of us. If you have any questions and you don't want to ask me, you can call them."

You can't hide your surprise. "Thank you. It's really thoughtful."

The gargoyle nods and gives you a moment of quiet while you tuck the note into your bag and gather your thoughts.

"So... you and Kamilla go to this club a lot?"

John shrugs. "Depends on our mood. We live in a small apartment, so we definitely don't have room for all the... equipment a proper club has. And sometimes we like the company. Or the audience."

You feel frozen in place as you listen to him. Yes, you played with the idea of trying something new as you browsed the website, but now you are really here, and John too. And all of a sudden, everything feels very far outside your comfort zone.

"Are you okay?"

You clear your throat. Then again. "I'm fine," you manage.

John just smiles, understanding, and nudges your cup a little closer. "Have you done anything like this before?" Though the answer is obvious, you still shake your head. "You can change your mind, you know that, right? If you want to leave-"

"No," you cut in, maybe a little too quickly. "I mean... I'm interested. It's just really new."

He nods. "I get it. And I'm sure you have questions."

You definitely do. You just don't know where to start.

"Did you do this before? This... dollification," you almost whisper the last word, clearly amusing the gargoyle in front of you.

"No," he says. "It's new for us too."

"Then why now? And why me?"

"We moved here a few months ago. My Kamilla works from home, and she gets lonely without her friends."

"So... you thought a doll would help." You both smile a little, like it's an inside joke between you, even though it is the truth. "Why me?" you ask again.

"You seemed interested," he reasons. "And I was hoping you weren't one of those people who just come to the site for a quick wank and disappear."

"And what... how do you want to do this?"

"At our place if you are comfortable with it," he says, then pauses as he thinks it through. "And I guess we just go with whatever feels right. Like I said, we've never done this either, and you're new to all of it. We could just... see where it goes."

"But would we..." Your cheeks heat up as you struggle to finish your question, though the amused look in John's eyes tells you he already knows what you're asking. "Would we have sex?"

"If you are comfortable with it."

"And Kamilla... does she know about this? About me?"

The gargoyle shakes his head. "It would be a surprise for her."

You can't help but snort. "Are you sure bringing another woman home is a good surprise?"

Well, two weeks later, you get your answer.

But those two weeks are agonizing and long. You change your mind every few hours while you keep talking with John. He sends you money and tells you to buy some clothes you'll be comfortable in if you decide to become their doll, you send it back, insisting you don't need it, and he sends it again because he is stubborn. In the end, you keep it, treat yourself, and change your mind at least five more times while wandering through the mall. When you get home, you call the club. The owner is surprisingly kind. He answers every question you have about John and Kamilla, and about dollification. He reminds you several times that even if you're the toy, you still have every right to set boundaries, to stop and walk away.

So when the day arrives, you tell your friends you are going to visit someone for... reasons, and you will check in later, and somehow, you make your way to their apartment.

You knock, the door opens, and you and John look equally surprised that you are there.

"Who is it?" another voice calls from inside.

John gives you another second to turn around and leave if you want to, but when you stay silent, waiting for him to take the lead, he steps aside with a grin and booms; "Your new doll."

With the gargoyle out of the way, you finally see her. And for a long second, you forget how to breathe. She is more nature than human, olive skin and blooming flowers. Her hair is a mix of dark brown strands and ivy woven through the locks. Dahlias grow from the side of her neck, and autumn pushes beneath her white outfit in several shades of green, orange, and red.

She looks at you, and the whole apartment seems to hold its breath with you. Her brows pull into a confused frown, then she glances at her husband in a silent conversation, and the next second, she is all smiles and quick steps as she grabs your wrist to pull you inside.

"I knew John was planning something," she laughs. "I just didn't think it would be this. You." She circles you, inspecting with open curiosity.

"Are you happy?" John asks, easing your bag off your shoulder and leaning in to kiss Kamilla.

"Very," the woman grins.

And you can't tear your eyes away from them. John is all gray stone and hardness, while his wife is the complete opposite, full of life and a sweet, flowery scent.

"How should I call you?" Your lips part to introduce yourself, but no sound comes out. You're not sure whether the game has already started or if she actually wants your real name. When she notices your hesitation, she smiles gently. "Your name, silly."

So you tell her while she takes your hand and leads you further into their home.

"How did you two meet?"

"On the internet."

"Not your safest decision, huh?"

You laugh, shoulders relaxing. "John said the same thing."

Their home is small, especially with John standing in the middle of the living room that still has unopened boxes in one of the corners. It has light colors and plants and books with a TV on the wall, and a couch and a coffee table in front of it.

"I'm sorry," Kamilla says, looking around like she wants to see what you may see. "We are still unpacking."

You shake your head. "It's fine," you tell her. "It already looks good."

You are surprised by how easily you relax after weeks of worrying and overthinking. John's calm presence helps, though, and Kamilla is pure sunlight. She is energetic and warm, making everything feel lighter. The conversation flows naturally as she shows you around, giving the two of you time to get comfortable with each other before the real reason you're here finally comes up.

"I brought clothes," you tell her. "And my makeup. John told me you like doing makeup, so I thought..."

Kamilla's face brightens. "Great!" You start to move toward your bag, but she stops you with a gentle hand before you can take a step. "Sit down." She points to the living room, where John has already dropped a couple of pillows onto the floor by the coffee table. He looks at you with a smile that sends a tight, nervous flutter through your stomach; half anxiety and half excitement.

Okay. You are really doing this.

You sit cross-legged on the pillows among your clothes Kamilla sorted before she settled on the one she likes. She held up pieces, compared fabrics and colors, and now she is kneeling in front of you with a lamp beside her that lights your face.

"Look up for me." But her finger is already under your chin, tipping your head back for a better angle.

She is so close that her floral scent fills your every breath, and you can notice that her lashes are thin petals in a deep pink color that almost looks black at first glance. Beneath her skin, faint green lines appear and fade; veins or vines shift just under the surface.

"Close your eyes," she says as she starts to work on your eyelids. "I really like this color."

"I bought it in the mall."

It's surprisingly easy to fall into this; sitting still and letting her doll you up. Like a sleepover with a friend.

A few steps away, John is on the couch. The TV is on, but his attention drifts over to the two of you every few minutes. And each time, something warm settles across his hard features, like an approval at the sight of his wife relaxed and happy, and being in the first stage of... wherever this may lead the three of you.

You try not to think about it much, about what may happen next. It seems you all agreed on baby steps without really talking about it, and you are fine with it. Enjoy it, even.

Soon, Kamilla finishes with a few careful strokes, and when she is satisfied with her work, she reaches for your hand and pulls you up to your feet. You notice how she guides you instead of simply telling you what to do, but you don't comment on it.

You stand beside the coffee table, makeup scattered across its surface, while she gathers the chosen clothes. Then she pauses and turns back to you with a bright grin. "Would you like to play dress-up?"

You nod. "Sure."

At your answer, her smile widens. She scoops up more pieces into her arms before glancing at her husband. "We will be back," she tells him, already tugging you toward their bedroom with John's chuckle following behind.

Inside, Kamilla sets the clothes on the bed, then turns to you, and before you can overthink it, her hands are already at the hem of your shirt.

"Arms up."

You hesitate for half a second, suddenly very aware of being undressed by a near-stranger, but Kamilla doesn't give you much time to think it through. She peels your clothes away until you are left in just your underwear, then steps back to look at the options spread across the bed.

"Okay," she murmurs, more to herself than to you. "Let's see..."

Her hands are warm, her hold gentle but firm as she guides your arms into sleeves, smooths fabric over your hips, adjusts collars and hems. At first, you stand stiffly, cheeks warm, but the woman's attention stays fixed on the clothes, and her focus quickly eases your awkwardness. Her eyes never linger on your body longer than necessary. She doesn't comment on it either. In fact, she barely talks to you at all while she works. You are here to be her mannequin, and she definitely has an eye for it. Pieces you would never have put together somehow work under her hands. And each time she finishes an outfit, she steps back, looks you over, then takes your wrist and leads you out to the living room.

"What do you think?" she asks John, turning you slowly. "The colors bring out her eyes, right?"

You quickly lose track of how many outfits you try. Some are soft with light colors, others a little bolder. Each time, Kamilla leads you back out to the living room so her husband can see. The two of them discuss the outfits and how you look in them as if you aren't there, not quiet, just a pretty thing on display for their approval.

Eventually, the anthousai settles on a final look; high-waisted shorts with a white tank top.

"I like this one," she says. "The shorts make her legs look longer."

John doesn't answer right away. Instead, he reaches out, takes your hand, and pulls you closer until you're standing in front of him. His dark eyes move over you without hurry. He lingers on your cleavage, then drops lower to the bare strip of skin above the waistband of your shorts. One cool hand settles at the back of your knee, and his touch smooths upward as he lets out a low hum of approval.

For a second, the air feels heavier, and John, with a cheeky grin, notices the way your breath catches.

But quickly, maybe too quickly, he lets his hand fall away and grabs your wrist. "I think that's enough for today. I ordered pizza. It should be here soon."

He pulls you down onto the couch beside him, and immediately, his hand finds your thigh again. His thumb traces small circles on your bare skin as he turns back to the TV while Kamilla moves around the house, putting away the makeup from the coffee table and gathering the clothes.

When the food arrives, you find yourself uncertain again. You watch them set everything out on the coffee table, the warm scent of pizza filling the air, and you're not sure what you're supposed to do. Should you reach for a slice? Stay still? Before your hesitation can grow, Kamilla turns to you with a plate and lifts a piece to your lips. She waits until you take a bite, then smiles and takes one herself from the same slice. John follows a moment later, offering you the next bite from his own. They fall into an easy rhythm; feeding you and lifting a cup to your lips every now and again. Every so often one of them says something about the scene playing on the television, but you don't join in. You simply sit between them, warm and content.

"I think you should make your doll ready for bed, wife," John says, one hand cupping your chin, the other wiping your mouth.

It's a question without sounding like one. Are you staying for the night?

You know what it means if you do. And you also know you don't want this to end. You are warm, fed, and taken care of. They treat you like something precious, and the thought of going back to your empty apartment doesn't sit right. You want to stay.

You quickly find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid while Kamilla prepares a bath for you. She starts the water, drops a bath bomb into the rising steam, and almost at once, the room is filled with a sweet aroma that clings to the humid air. By the time the woman turns her attention back to you, the bath is ready. She peels off your clothes one by one. You expect to feel exposed, but she doesn't give you enough time or attention to really worry. She drops your panties onto the pile on the ground without a second glance, then helps you into the water.

The heat sinks into your muscles the moment you settle down. Water rises around your waist, then higher. Purple bubbles drift on the surface, hiding most of your body yet somehow still leaving you feeling completely on display. Especially when Kamilla kneels down beside the tub and rolls her sleeves higher, revealing more of those deep orange vines trailing across her arms. She soaks a soft cloth, works up a light lather, then cups your cheek to turn your face toward her.

The warm fabric glides over your forehead, eyelids, and across your cheeks, washing away the makeup she spent so long applying.

"There we go," she hums. She tips your chin higher so she can clean along your neck, watching the water slip down your skin and disappear into the bath. "So pretty. John really does know my type."

She washes across your collarbones, then over the curve of each shoulder. She rinses the cloth and brings it to your chest. The warm fabric glides over the tops of your breasts first, then lower, and when her thumb brushes over one nipple, the sudden spark makes you jolt. The water splashes around you, and Kamilla's eyes flick up to your face with a cheeky curve on her lips.

"Sensitive little doll, aren't you?" She is amused. "I'll have to remember that."

The cloth continues its way down over your stomach, then Kamilla lifts one of your legs from the water. She washes from ankle to knee. And higher. The fabric slides along the skin of your inner thigh. When she is done with your legs, she presses your knees apart as far as the narrow tub allows, opening you to the warm water and her steady hand.

Her fingers glide slowly over your folds up to your clit. The spark of contact, exploring and teasing, is enough to make you jump. Your hands fly out of the water and grip the cold porcelain edge so tightly your knuckles ache. Your heart stutters and your thighs close around Kamilla's hand, to keep her there or to stop her, you aren't sure.

And clearly, the other woman doesn't like your reaction, because she shakes her head and draws her hand back from the soft trap of your thighs. "A doll shouldn't move around so much," she says. "Stay still for me."

Heat rushes to your face. Until now, the day had felt like a sleepover with a friend, but in this moment you become sharply aware of the changing dynamic. Embarrassment, arousal, and defiance tangle on your tongue, and you open your mouth to argue, but something in her expression makes you stop at the last second. You close your lips. With some effort, you force your fingers to let go of the edge of the tub, and lower your hands back into the water.

Kamilla's whole face brightens with open approval. "My good doll," she murmurs, and the praise lands warm and heavy in your chest. It's almost ridiculous how easily it makes you ease back into your role. "If it's too much, you really don't like something, say it," she adds seriously, and when you nod, she smiles again. "But I think you deserve a reward now."

Her kiss is warm and tastes like... autumn. It reminds you of cinnamon with earthy tones and roasted spices. Your muscles tighten all over again on their own to keep you still, because you don't want her to stop.

But the bathroom door opens and-

"That's enough playing with your doll, wife," John says, amused and teasing. "I thought we agreed that you would get her ready for bed."

The loss of her mouth leaves you annoyed all over again. Your lips still tingle when she stands up from her kneeling position and helps you to do the same. Water streams down your body in warm rivulets, and the cooler air of the bathroom tightens your nipples and raises goosebumps along your arms. Your legs feel unsteady.

John moves to the sink and begins his own night routine, but his gaze never truly leaves you. You catch him watching through the mirror the entire time Kamilla dries you off. She pats and smooths the towel over your shoulders, down your back, across your stomach and hips, between your thighs. And the whole time you are hyper-aware of being completely naked between them while Kamilla lingers here and there and John's dark eyes track every movement.

"Could you dress her while I shower? I already laid her clothes out on the bed." But Kamilla doesn't wrap you in the towel when she is done, instead, she hangs the fabric up to dry.

John nods once. "Of course."

The contrast between his cold stone touch and your bath-warmed skin makes you shiver as he leads you, still completely naked, out of the bathroom. Behind you, you hear the shower start, and ahead of you, John keeps walking, guiding his doll wherever he wants her to go.

The black babydoll lingerie you bought in a rare, reckless moment during your shopping trip is laid out on the bed. The fabric is soft and completely sheer, with lace, and a matching pair of panties.

John picks it up and chuckles under his breath. "I don't even know why we're even bothering with these," he says, letting the sheer material slip through his fingers.

But he dresses you quickly anyway; arms up, fabric over your head, the thin straps settling on your shoulders. The soft material hides nothing; your hard nipples are clearly visible, and the front parts below the bust.

John steps back and just looks at you for a long moment. His dark eyes linger on your breasts, then travel slowly to the small triangle of your panties.

He hums. "Okay... maybe I see why she wants you in this."

There is a cheeky glint in his eyes as he keeps studying you. Then, without a word, he reaches out. His fingers hook into the waistband of the panties as if he is only adjusting, but instead he pulls them upward, forcing the fabric to wedge tightly against your pussy.

A muffled sound escapes you before you can stop it, and your hands curl into fists at your sides as you force yourself to stay still. It's uncomfortable and arousing, and you want to rise on your toes to stop him and move your hips for more friction.

John's grin widens at your struggle as he reaches between your legs. His fingers glide over the damp crotch like he is inspecting the fit and not just rubbing the fabric into your slick even more.

"You know what?" he says after a moment, so casual while you have to fight to breathe and keep still. "I don't think you need these."

And with that, he drags the panties down your legs. If you were feeling more self-conscious, you might be embarrassed by how quickly and thoroughly you soaked them, but right now the only thing you can do is let the gargoyle sit you down on the edge of the bed and watch as he pockets the black fabric.

"I still have a few things to take care of," he says at last, taking a few steps to the doorway. "But I'm sure Kamilla won't take long. She's eager to play with her doll."

You stay alone in their bedroom, skin still warm from the bath, the taste of Kamilla's kiss still faint on your lips, and John's hands still lingering on your body.

Time stretches.

You sit on the edge of the bed exactly where the gargoyle left you. At first, your body refuses to settle. Heat pulses between your legs, your thighs press together for some friction, your eyes wander around the room as you listen to them outside the room. Kamilla's bright laugh drifts in the air, John's deeper voice answers, the water starts in the kitchen, someone turns off the TV.

Slowly, you stop shifting. Your breathing slows. They left you here like a doll; posed, waiting, not expected to move until someone comes back for you, and something inside you adjusts to the idea.

You relax and wait. Like a good doll.

You aren't sure how much time passes by the time Kamilla finds her way into the bedroom. She wears an old shirt that probably belongs, or belonged, to John. And the moment you see her, a bright, almost puppy-like excitement flares in your chest. Your eyes wander along her legs, noticing the part of her thigh where her olive skin gives way to bark and orange leaves where wood meets flesh.

Without hesitation, she steps between your knees, using her own legs to spread yours wider. She plays idly with the thin strap of your lingerie while her gaze drops to your bare pussy, which she just put on full display.

"I see John didn't agree with my outfit," she jokes, then smiles at you genuinely. "But you did well." She cups your cheek and gives you a quick kiss. "Come on, up on the bed." Her fingers close around your arm, guiding you into the middle of the mattress and laying you down against the pillows. "I know John is eager to play with you," she murmurs, "but it's my turn now. You are my present, after all."

Kamilla climbs over you, knees on either side of your right thigh. Her weight settles on you as she leans down. Her hair, dark strands mixed with ivy, falls around you both like a curtain. Your eyes flutter closed when she kisses you. She just brushes her lips against yours at first, then presses down harder until your lips part, but you barely have time to taste her when she draws back and trails lower. Her mouth finds your jaw, the sensitive skin beneath your ear, the hollow of your throat. When she reaches your lingerie, instead of pushing it aside, she continues her way to your nipple, taking the hard bud into her mouth through the thin material. Your hand rises without thought, smoothing over the bare skin and rough bark of her thigh, but before you can explore further, Kamilla's fingers close around both of your wrists. Your fingertips tingle from the loss as she puts your arms above your head.

"I don't mind a little wiggling, but John wants his doll as still as possible, and practice is good for you." Her smile is bright and just a little wicked. "Hands stay there. Understand?"

You nod once, and the moment she is sure you won't move, she shifts her hips. You can feel the slick heat of her pussy dragging along your thigh.

"Such a good doll for me," she praises, one hand cupping your breast. "So pretty like this." She leans down again and takes the other nipple into her mouth, fabric and all, sucking gently until the wet material clings to your skin.

The second your back arches on its own, Kamilla above you stills immediately. The wet drag of her against your leg stops.

"A doll shouldn't enjoy this so much," she tuts. "Dolls stay still and pretty while they're used."

A complaint strains the back of your throat, but your lips stay closed. The slick heat of her is maddeningly close, the evidence of how much she is enjoying this is shining on your skin, yet you keep still as much as you can. You can't help the tremors running through you, and every time your hips try to lift or your fingers curl, she pauses and waits until you regain your control.

"That's better," she murmurs, rewarding your attempts by grinding down on you a little harder. Her fingers keep playing, pinching and soothing. "Look at you, trying so hard to be good for us." Another soft kiss is pressed to the center of your chest, and you are sure she can feel the wild flutter of your heart. "John is going to be so pleased."

Kamilla leans backward, settling her weight onto one hand behind her while the other slips between her thighs. The sudden absence of her heat leaves your cooling where her pussy had been grinding only a second before. She parts herself with two fingers and begins to rub. Her soft folds glisten under the low light, swollen and shiny with arousal. Her middle finger presses in and disappears, then draws back before sinking deeper. She works herself against her own hand, and when her pleasure tightens, her head tips back, lips part, and all you can do is watch the flutter of her pussy around her fingers and the pulse of her orgasm as it rolls through her.

It is beautiful. And it leaves you hollow.

It's not you who made her cum.

As if she can read your thoughts, Kamilla laughs a little breathlessly and leans forward again, hovering above you once more. Her slick fingers rise to your mouth, and she presses them past your lips, coating your tongue with her own taste. Your jaw aches as you fight the urge to chase more and suck.

Her grin is knowing and proud. "My good doll," she murmurs. She withdraws her fingers slowly, watching your saliva connect her fingertips to your lips. "Don't worry, I plan to cum on your face. But first, we have to make you ready for my husband."

Kamilla leaves your thigh to reach the nightstand. You keep your eyes fixed on the ceiling, not daring to turn your head, until something lands on the mattress beside you. Only then do you glance down at the ridged plastic dildo.

"Did you ever have something this big in your pussy?"

You look at the toy again. It is big, but you are fairly certain you have something pretty similar in your drawer at home. You nod.

The woman's grin widens with excitement. "Good."

She settles between your legs, palms warm on the backs of your knees as she pushes them up and open until you are fully spread for her, exposed and helpless. She lowers herself until her face is level with your pussy, so close that her breath ghosts over your slick folds. A fresh rush of wetness slips out of you at the feeling.

"So pretty," she coos. The barest graze of her fingertips traces through your arousal. It's almost nothing, yet your hips jerk before you can stop them. She shakes her head, amused. "We have to work on this." But she leans in anyway and-

spits.

A broken mewl escapes the back of your throat at the feeling of her warm saliva landing on your folds and sliding down in a slow, wet trail.

She is messy and greedy. She licks and sucks, coating you in more of her spit until you are drenched. Your thighs tremble, and your instincts scream to roll your hips up into the heat of her mouth, but you force yourself flat against the mattress. The strain burns through your muscles. Then two fingers press inside while the woman continues to mouth at your clit. She stretches you open with slow pumps, curls and scissorsing motions. Your orgasm coils tight in your belly, burning hotter with every wet thrust of her fingers and suck of her lips. Tears prick the corners of your eyes. You are certain you are not allowed to come without permission, but the knowledge only pushes you closer to the edge.

Kamilla leaves your clit with a shlick sound as she glances over her shoulder toward the closed door before turning back to you with a conspiratorial glint in her dark orange eyes. "I think I can allow a little orgasm if you keep quiet," she murmurs, amused and secretive. "What do you think? Can you stay still and quiet while I make your pussy cum?"

You nod vehemently. At this point you would promise her anything.

"Good doll."

She seals her mouth over your clit again and sucks in earnest while her fingers drive deeper, curling and stroking without mercy.

Your climax hits immediately; your eyes roll back, and your teeth grind together so hard your jaw aches. Your muscles go rigid as the pleasure tears through you, but you do not move, and you do not make a sound. You simply lie there and take it, trembling and swallowing your moans and whimpers while your pussy pulses and soaks her hand and face.

When the last tremor fades, Kamilla presses a small, almost tender kiss to your swollen clit. "So proud of you," she coos. "I couldn't ask for a better toy." And your poor little heart flutters at the praise.

But it is not over. Her soaked fingers leave your still-clenching pussy only to close around the dildo. She lifts the toy into the space between you, holding it so you can see the way her spit slides down the shaft before she rubs it over the ridges. Then her lips part and stretch wide around the blunt tip. She takes it deeper, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. The wet sound of her mouth around the plastic fills the quiet room. Saliva gathers at the corners of her lips and spills over, coating the plastic until the entire length glistens under the warm light. All the while her eyes stay locked on yours. She does not look away even when the toy presses against the back of her throat and her petal-lashes flutter. She works it like a real cock, making a show of how thoroughly she is preparing it for you. And when she finally pulls off, a thick string of drool connects her bottom lip to the shiny head.

"And now relax for me, love."

The slick head taps on your clit, once, twice, then nudges your entrance. Inch by inch Kamilla feeds it into you; the first ridge forces you open, the second makes your walls flutter and clench around the girth. You want to writhe, to roll your hips, but you don't, and you are almost proud of yourself. You are nothing more than a warm, wet sheath for her toy. The fullness is overwhelming when the base finally settles flush against you. Every small shift of the toy inside you presses against the soft, sensitive spots that threaten to drag another orgasm out of you whether you want it or not.

Kamilla strokes the stretched rim of your entrance with one fingertip, admiring her work. "All in." She is proud and pleased. "John is going to love seeing your pussy this full." Then twists the dildo one more time before standing up from the bed. "Be a good doll and don't move. We will be back in a second."

Warm light spills in from the living room while you stay exactly where she left you; hands above your head, legs parted, the thick toy stuffed in your cunt.

At first, it's just a soft pad of bare feet and a low murmur of voices. Then Kamilla's bright laugh floats through the open doorway, followed by John's deeper reply. And something shifts. Fabric rustles. Kamilla moans.

Your walls clench hard around the dildo.

The unmistakable rhythm of bodies begins on the couch. You hear another moan from Kamilla and John's grunt.

You can hear everything.

"Did you have fun with your doll?"

His wife's answer comes out breathless, and you can almost see it; Kamilla bouncing on his cock or kneeling on the couch while John fucks her from behind. "She is so good," she mewls. "So obedient. Just lies there and takes whatever I do to her."

Your pussy flutters around the toy at the words. A fresh trickle of slick slips down onto the sheet beneath you.

"Yeah? You turned your new doll into a proper little fuck toy already?"

"Gods, yesyesyes." Kamilla's answer is broken by the force of her husband's thrusts. "But I have a surprise for you."

"What, baby?" John grunts. "You gonna let me fuck her? Gonna let me fuck her tight little pussy?"

"Yes-"

"Tell me, wife, you gonna let me use your doll? Stretch her hole around my cock?"

Kamilla cums with a cry, and for a long, terrifying second, you think you do too. Your walls clamp down around the dildo, the pressure vicious enough to force tears into your eyes.

And you are still trembling with the effort to be good for them when silence settles over the apartment.

Then footsteps approach.

John and Kamilla come back into the bedroom, and your already labored breathing hitches hard at the sight of them. John is all rough edges and stone power; a face that is always in a slight frown even when he is relaxed, pointy ears, and folded wings on his back, while Kamilla is the opposite; soft and alive. Olive skin and rough bark that goes from her thigh up to her hip and ends in a cluster of orange leaves and matching flowers. On her right side, more plants bloom from the curve and gap of her ribs, shifting and moving with her every breath. She is nature and art at once, and their composition steals what little air you have left.

Kamilla comes to you with light steps and climbs to your left side. Her palm spreads over your belly, then smooths lower until her fingers find the base of the dildo. She gives it a slow, testing twist. The ridges drag inside you, and your eyes fall shut.

John watches from the foot of the bed, dark eyes fixed on the place where the thick plastic stretches your drenched cunt open.

"So what do you think?" Kamilla asks, grinning. "Did I do a good job?"

John leans down and kisses her first before turning his attention back to your pussy. "Maybe I shouldn't let you play with your toys alone if you ruin them like this," he jokes.

The woman next to you snorts. "You just say that because you wanted to be the one who ruins her."

The bed dips, and a second later, cold stone hands slide up your inner thighs. John kneels between your legs, thumbs spreading you open so he can watch the way your pussy stretches around the toy.

"Look at that," he grunts. "All stuffed and still begging for more."

His thumb finds your swollen clit and fresh tears roll from the corners of your eyes. You do not know how much longer you can bear this without coming apart.

"Oh, my poor doll," Kamilla coos, but still works the toy inside you. "Maybe I should let her cum. Just this once." You both know it's a lie, but you keep the knowledge locked behind your teeth.

Silence stretches as you both wait for John's answer. Tension coils around your muscles, your nerves.

"It's your doll, baby," the gargoyle says at last. "She does whatever you want."

"Then make her cum."

Gratitude burns behind your eyes. You are certain you could not have held out through whatever they planned to do next.

"As you wish, wife."

John's thumb presses harder on your clit in firm, relentless circles while Kamilla twists the dildo deep, dragging every ridge along your tightening walls. Your orgasm crashes through you without a twitch or a sound. A moan tries to claw its way up your throat, a cry burns behind your teeth, but you swallow them down. Gulp after gulp to be good for them. Your cunt spasms and gushes around the toy, soaking John's cold fingers, but you do not move.

"Good doll," Kamilla praises.

Her wet fingers trail upward from your pussy, over your belly, between your breasts, then higher until she cups your face. She leans down and kisses you while John carefully draws the thick toy out of you. Your empty hole clenches hard around the loss.

For a few heartbeats, you sink into the feeling settling over you.

Then the numbness registers.

Your arms, held above your head for so long, have gone heavy by now, and you flinch without meaning to.

Kamilla breaks the kiss, concern pulling her brows together. "What's wrong?"

John stills between your legs, cold hands resting lightly on your thighs.

You lick your lips. Speaking feels strange, and your voice comes out quiet and hoarse. "My arms."

Kamilla moves immediately. She lifts each arm with careful hands, supporting the weight as she brings them down to rest beside your body. Her thumbs press in with careful circles along the rigid muscles of your shoulders and upper arms. You can't help but sigh as the warmth floods back into your limbs.

John's usual frown deepens. "You should have told us sooner."

"I didn't notice it before," you explain.

Kamilla keeps massaging you gently. "Is it better?"

You nod.

She searches your eyes for another second, then asks; "Can we continue?"

You nod again.

Worry softening on her face, Kamilla climbs up on your stomach, knees bracketing your sides. She leans down and claims your mouth in a deep kiss while John's slides a pillow beneath you, adjusting you into a slightly new position that leaves you just as exposed and available.

"Maybe you should take better care of your doll, wife."

Kamilla pouts against your lips. The soft press of her mouth turns sulky for a moment. "I do take care of her," she murmurs, and her hand comes up to cradle your face again, thumbs stroking gently over your cheekbone. "I care so much she will get my pussy in a second."

John laughs, because while his wife was busy kissing you, his fingers wandered back to your pussy, checking the stretched, still-slick entrance that clenches at Kamilla's word. "I think your doll would really like that."

"Is that right? My pretty doll wants my cunt on her tongue while my husband fucks her hole?" She gives you one last deep, claiming kiss, then climbs off your body. "Open your mouth," she instructs. "Show me your tongue. And don't move."

Kamilla swings a leg over your head, thighs against your ears. She is facing John so she can see him still playing with your pussy while you stare up at her glistening folds until her warm, slick heat sinks on your tongue. She grinds against your open mouth, your chin, your nose. You become nothing but a toy for her pleasure. Her slick smears across your cheeks and chin. Your every breath is thick with her. And between your legs, the bed dips a bit closer as the gargoyle adjusts himself at your abused entrance. Your walls flutter open around him. Every ridge of his cock drags against the places the dildo already made sensitive. A broken sound tries to rise in your throat, but you swallow it down with his wife's wetness. She rolls her hips faster. She rides your tongue in sloppy circles, grinding down harder whenever John drives particularly deep. They lean in for a kiss while their bodies use yours without mercy. John's hips snap forward, and the force of each thrust makes your whole body rock and bounce against Kamilla's cunt. Your lungs burn for air that smells only of her.

"Perfect little fuck-doll."

"Thank you for the present," Kamilla pants. "She feels so fucking good."

"Yeah? Are you happy?" he grunts. "Should we keep her?"

"We could use her whenever we want. Leave her on the bed in the morning, come home and find our doll still waiting with her holes ready."

"Fuck- imagine that-" John drives into you deeper, the thick stretch of his cock forcing another helpless flutter from your overused pussy. "You could use her when I'm at work. Spend the whole day fucking this pretty pussy with all your toys. Stretch her open, keep her wet and ready for me."

"And I could make her kneel by the door when you get home. Mouth open. Tongue out. Just waiting for you to walk in and use her throat before you even take your shoes off."

John leans forward over your body, still buried deep, and kisses his wife messily above you. "Our own personal fuck toy," he murmurs against her lips. "Pass her back and forth all night. You sleep with her tongue in your cunt... I wake up and slide straight into this dripping hole."

The picture they paint of you, left on the bed like a toy, used whenever they please, mouth and pussy always available for them, floods your mind so vividly that everything disappears. Your orgasm crashes through you without permission. Your back tries to arch, your hips try to buck, and you fight every single one of them. Tears spill from the corners of your eyes. Drool and Kamilla's slick run from your tongue. Your cunt clamps down hard around John's cock, trying to milk something he can't give. And the gargoyle feels it immediately. A low, rough growl rumbles out of his chest, stone against stone. His hips stutter, then grind deep and stay there. His orgasm is dry; just the hard clench of his hands on your thighs, the full-body shudder that rolls through him as he empties nothing into the greedy flutter of your cunt. He is still kissing his wife while Kamilla follows, and what John can't give you since he is a gargoyle, his wife makes up; fresh slick floods your tongue, spills down your cheeks and drips onto the bed. She keeps grinding through her climax in tight, selfish circles until the last aftershocks leave her. And only then does she move off you, but even then, the air you so desperately try to catch still tastes like her.

She looks down at you and smiles. "I think she likes the idea."

You don't know how much time passes while they clean you up and settle you between them in a more comfortable position. Kamilla molds herself against your back, the flowers blooming on her brush the bare skin of yours. John is in front of you, letting you use his arm as a pillow... under a real pillow.

You fall in and out of sleep, their voices coming from afar even though they are right next to you.

"Do you have her number? I want it. I think we could be friends," Kamilla says from behind you.

"It's in my phone."

A second passes. You almost fall back asleep.

"I can't find it."

"It's under CrazyPickleJar404."