Lauriel would giggle, but with the dolls fingers in her mouth all she can muster is a pleased whimper. Her tongue tangled against… is it still porcelain? So smooth, so warm, so soft against her skin. Her lips close around the dolls fingers, softly pulling them in as she drags her tongue up and down, lovingly, worshipfully.

As the doll moves closer, her eyes flutter open, the wary glass in them glazed over by the dolls affection, her compliments lighting a spark behind them that quickly fades as she smiles. An indirect kiss is grand, and she leans a little closer as the doll guides her hand down. Lauriel understands this, to return touch for touch, reciprocation. Lauriel flattens her palm against the doll’s thigh, brushing it up to sweep her skirt higher as she explores the smooth expanse of … porcelain? Skin? She finds it harder and harder to grasp the difference.

She grapples with it, closing her eyes as her touch shifts from a smooth sweep up to gentle circles rubbed across the dolls inner thigh, exploring and caressing and searching for seams and imperfections, hoping for the doll to favor her with another small noise of pleasure and appreciation to show her that she’s on the right track.