By Dr. Mercurious

While I am not alive, a still thing of wood and rags, sometimes I dream. For the most part I don't remember them, but one repeats so often that it has etched itself on my soul. In the dream I am standing before my Owner -- The Sorceress -- and I am unclothed. My body feels strangely heavy and unfinished. The sorceress smiles and gestures, and I feel myself being put right again. My chest reshapes itself, the mounds of my breasts reappearing. Whatever ugly thing is dangling between my legs drops off, freeing my sex. My waist narrows back down and my hips and ass resume their normal strokable lines. My skin darkens as it resumes its varnished luster and my flesh is proper wood once again. "My Toy," she proclaims, and then the dream goes dark. The meaning of it is unclear to me but usually a terrible nightmare follows, so I have come to dread this visitor from the land of dreams.

This time is different. When the dream wakes, I find myself alive once more. I draw in a sweet breath, then stand up to stretch the stiffness from my metal joints. I do not know how long my Owner will permit me life, so I resolve to make the most of it. I note it is night-time as I glance around eagerly for her; I seem to be in her bedroom, which is something of a surprise. Always before she had left on the spot where she bade me not live, and I'm curious to know why I was moved. Finally, my eyes find my Owner, sleeping alone in her bed -- another unheard-of event.

This, I decide, is why I now live.

I quietly creep under the covers and marvel at her beauty, evident even in the thin light cast through her large bedroom window by the half-moon. A soft whimper escapes her, and I tremble at the twist fear gives her sleeping perfection. My heart aches for her, trapped in the throes of a nightmare.

Luckily, I have the keys to effect her release.

Gently, I slide my hand downward, to her creamy thighs, and begin to caress them. Softly, I move towards the sweetness of her own gender and stroke it with a delicate finger. The fear vanishes, to be replaced by a warm smile. Her eyelids flutter, and she awakens to look at me. Instantly she is sitting bolt upright. "Bertham! What on earth are you doing?"

Bertham? Who's that? My Owner must still be confused by her nightmare. "Pleasuring you, my Owner. Is that not why I now live?"

She stared at me for a long moment and then laughs. "Oh, so it's the submissive game now, is it? I swear, that inventive streak of yours why you're one of my favorites. You're still trying to save my soul." She embraces me. "I still remember you, dressed in your cleric's robes, standing in front of my door bravely announcing you'd come to bring me back to the 'Light'."

My Owner's new game puzzles me, but I am enjoying the feel of her breasts pressed against mine and can't restrain a gasp as she slides a finger inside me. "Whatever you wish, my Owner," I purr.

"Yes," she purrs in return. "That's what I said, when you asked me what I thought my purpose in life is. Your answer was 'to make each other happy, as The Creator makes all his children.'" Her eyes glittered strangely. "I remember that comment made me very furious for some reason. I told that since you were already a puppet for your god, you could be mine as well." She giggled. "So go ahead, tell me again how you don't hold it against me."

I am very confused. "Owner?"

"Tell me how your god will forgive me," she taunted, pressing against me harder. No longer just one finger, her whole hand is now sliding in and out of me. I moan and buck against it. "Tell me I may still be forgiven." There is a brittle edge to her voice, at odds with her carnal ministrations to my womanhood. I quell my self-doubts and shake my torso against her breasts, enjoying the feel of them rubbing against my own and hoping she does as well. "Tell me there is still hope for my soul. Tell me!" Her hand paws me to the point of bruising. Waves of ecstasy and agony mar my vision. Then, abruptly she stops and looks at me. I cannot make her features out very well, as an errant cloud now hides the half-moon, casting my Owner's tower in starlight.

"Owner," I beg, "please, won't you tell me how you want me to play? These questions...I find them confusing."

"Who are you?" The answer is a whisper.

"I am Toy," I say. "That is all I have the right to claim."

"Who am I?" Again in that same, quiet whisper.

"You are my Owner, the Sorceress," I gush. "Beyond all else in creation, be it divine or infernal."

"You mean that," she murmured. Her hand reaches out and runs through my yarn hair; I don't see it, so it startles me. "You really aren't playing."

I am more confused than ever. "No, but I would like to play. Oh please, my Owner, won't you tell me how you want me to play?"

She is silent for a long time, her hand motionless in my hair. Then in a strange tone I have never heard and do not recognize she murmurs. "My Toy. I've broken you at last."

In the shallow light of the stars, I can just make out the smoothness of her cheek on a side. I can see a tear coursing down her cheek and I relax inside, despite the odd comment. They must be tears of joy, for my Owner knows no want or need in her garden of delights.

I have finally played to her satisfaction.


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