Miss Lauriel's demeanor undergoes quite the transformation. Though the doll is quite used to sex, some things take her participation from "pleasantly willing" to "actively aroused," and confidence is one of those things.
"Yes, Miss--" the doll's agreement is interrupted as Miss Lauriel tugs at the doll's dress, ready to have it off of her. But the doll is eminently worthy of Miss Lauriel's trust, bucking her hips up and giggling as the dress slides up and up, revealing her pale, trimmed mound, her lovingly-sculpted hips and abdominals, her modest breasts, the subtle seams separating the segments of her body, and once more her face. Nor does the doll mind that the dress she made might become dirty as it's tossed aside; such stains are marks of loyal service.
The doll has just a moment to feel the cool air (and Lauriel's eyes) on her nude form before she's given a new commmand. "Yes, Miss," the doll whispers obediently, excitedly. She's no stranger to women in trousers, but she starts by running gentle hands up and down Miss Lauriel's thighs. With dextrous fingers (and the aid of experience) she unbuttons Miss Lauriel's pants and gets partway through unbuttoning her shirt and vest...
...but alas, the doll is distracted from her task by Miss Lauriel's own exploration. The doll's body seems toned and proportioned like a tall, lithe warrior, but she's far too gentle, sensitive, and squirmy to seem remotely threatening. She's all but helpless as Miss Lauriel examines her craftsmanship, which seems either firm and sleek or soft and vulnerable according to Lauriel's whims. The aggressive exploration of the doll's seams is a particular intimacy the doll hasn't felt in some time, and on top of all this sensory stimulation, Miss Lauriel adds a barrage of lovely praise.
The doll is quite overwhelmed, and tears leak from her pale eyes as she twitches, moans, giggles, sniffles. Even if someone were watching, only Miss Lauriel could see the blush overtaking the doll's pretty face and spreading down across the seams toward her sensitive chest.
"Yes, Miss," she says, presumably to Miss Lauriel's most recent command. Her hands have shifted from exploring to simply gripping Miss Lauriel's clothes, a feeble attempt to moor herself against this overstimulation. The part of her that's aware she's stopped touching hopes Miss Lauriel will forgive her lapse, or at least give her a chance to do it better.
The best at tasks!
"Yes, Miss--" the doll's agreement is interrupted as Miss Lauriel tugs at the doll's dress, ready to have it off of her. But the doll is eminently worthy of Miss Lauriel's trust, bucking her hips up and giggling as the dress slides up and up, revealing her pale, trimmed mound, her lovingly-sculpted hips and abdominals, her modest breasts, the subtle seams separating the segments of her body, and once more her face. Nor does the doll mind that the dress she made might become dirty as it's tossed aside; such stains are marks of loyal service.
The doll has just a moment to feel the cool air (and Lauriel's eyes) on her nude form before she's given a new commmand. "Yes, Miss," the doll whispers obediently, excitedly. She's no stranger to women in trousers, but she starts by running gentle hands up and down Miss Lauriel's thighs. With dextrous fingers (and the aid of experience) she unbuttons Miss Lauriel's pants and gets partway through unbuttoning her shirt and vest...
...but alas, the doll is distracted from her task by Miss Lauriel's own exploration. The doll's body seems toned and proportioned like a tall, lithe warrior, but she's far too gentle, sensitive, and squirmy to seem remotely threatening. She's all but helpless as Miss Lauriel examines her craftsmanship, which seems either firm and sleek or soft and vulnerable according to Lauriel's whims. The aggressive exploration of the doll's seams is a particular intimacy the doll hasn't felt in some time, and on top of all this sensory stimulation, Miss Lauriel adds a barrage of lovely praise.
The doll is quite overwhelmed, and tears leak from her pale eyes as she twitches, moans, giggles, sniffles. Even if someone were watching, only Miss Lauriel could see the blush overtaking the doll's pretty face and spreading down across the seams toward her sensitive chest.
"Yes, Miss," she says, presumably to Miss Lauriel's most recent command. Her hands have shifted from exploring to simply gripping Miss Lauriel's clothes, a feeble attempt to moor herself against this overstimulation. The part of her that's aware she's stopped touching hopes Miss Lauriel will forgive her lapse, or at least give her a chance to do it better.