Karyn felt warmth spreading from the stone and had no idea what it meant until she started to feel cool a moment later. She opened her eyes to see that her skin was turning to some kind of synthetic mix, a plastic body bound together by seams. Her legs spread out and her fingers, not meant to grasp anything, opened up. The stone fell lamely to the carpet.
At that very moment Karyn wanted to scream in total fear, but another part of her mind, perhaps the part that brought her to Jon's house at this hour, was in ecstasy, and she didn't didn't know why. It didn't make sense that any part of her would want to be a fuck doll. Jon, for his part, kept his eyes closed and didn't move. Oh no, Karyn thought, did he even hear the wish? That thought made all parts of her afraid. Sure, being a fuck doll could be fun, but not forever.
But it was all a moot point now. The wish was made, the die cast, and Karyn was a sex toy. Her legs straightened out, her body filled with air, her clothes melted away, leaving her naked on Jon's bed. She couldn't support her own weight anymore, and gravity pushed her back until Karyn's head rested on Jon's body, her eyes staring fixedly at the popcorn of his room's ceiling, unable to move. Her legs stuck out over the edge of the bed, hanging in mid air, without the weight to pull her back up.
"Jon," Karyn whispered. She could feel her throat becoming stiff, and had precious little air to speak with, "Jon, please be awake. Please, I need you to heeeeeeee . . ."
The dollifying effects of Karyn's wish reached her throat and mouth, making them perfect sucking instruments for sucking someone's cock. That image; the image of being used like the sex doll she was sent a thrill through Karyn. No, not a thrill. A wave of pleasure that throbbed in her loins. Oh, God, she thought, I want to be used. I need to be used. But if she was going to be used, Karyn would have to wait, because now she heard Jon snoring. Her body bobbed along with his breathing. She fought down her fuck doll desires that seemed to keep invading her mind, and tried to keep positive that this whole thing would be temporary, and that she would be turned back. Soon. Just after she got to experience being a real sex doll.
And so she waited for Jon to wake up.
Jon was a notoriously heavy sleeper. He had an alarm clock. A loud one. It did not wake him up most mornings. So Karyn the Fuck Doll had to listen to twenty minutes of a noise that made a fire truck's sirens seem like a bike bell. Even then, the only thing that made Jon jump was someone pounding on Jon's bedroom door. BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Jon, Mom said get your ass out of bed!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Jon slowly opened his eyes and rubbed his face. "Justa minute," he mumbled. Then he crossed his eyebrows and sat up. He looked at Karyn, his face a mask of confusion.
"Karyn?" He asked
BANG! BANG! BANG! "Now, Jon!"
"SHUT UP ZOE, I'M UP!"
"Good!"
Jon turned back to Karyn. "Holy shit, it wasn't a dream."
He sat up fully, pushing Karyn around until he could look at her rubber face, which he thought would look empty or dead. But there was something in her eyes and her mouth. A twinkle in her eyes, or emotion on her lips. Something suggested this doll was more than just a doll.
Karyn now looked up to Jon, frozen in place, relieved he had called out her name. Did he truly remember her? Her-as-a-human? She looked at him and wanted to try and communicate, but could do nothing but watch, hopeful, as realization crossed his face.
"Oh my God, Karyn, you turned yourself into a fuck doll."
Relief flooded Karyn's toy body, which was followed up by an insatiable urge to be used.
"Oh crap, Karyn, why did you do this to yourself?" Jon got out of bed and looked around for the stone, which had fallen to the floor after Karyn used it. He picked it up and started to say something. But then Jon closed his mouth. Karyn watched a terrible, mischievous grin came across Jon's face. The last time he had that look Karyn had the cops called on her. It was the only time that had ever happened.
Now, he smirked and started to make a wish the stone in his hand . . .
