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Beautiful. Stunning. Pristine and immaculate.

Many words could describe it, a mannequin taking slender steps all on its own, inanimate figure brought to life in precise and regal motion. The faintest whirr from the joints was the only giveaway of a robust system correcting her posture and ensuring those shiny black heels didn't present a challenge, especially since she'd been modelling them all day. It was 'sexy evening-wear' season, after all.

Those were the first to be taken off as she took a seat, unbuckling and slipping them into a waiting shoebox. The transparent nylon adorning her legs was next, slipping easily over smooth plastic and fibre panels - rigid where they needed to be, and flexible at the joints. It was almost impossible to spot the seams, the way the surfaces meshed together so tightly and with such machined precision. Her dress is unzipped and hung up with care, her lingerie (the season's latest fashion!) folded, and at last she can begin delicately disassembling herself.

"...Mmmmmnnnnhhhh... Ahhh, that's better..."

Inside of her is a slender young man, pulling her detached face away like a mask. From it protruded a very substantial gag, moulded to seal around his mouth-features, to extend just far enough down his throat to make it a challenge. Screens in the eyes and air-tubes in the nostrils serviced the basic needs for sight and air, although both could be taken away or redirected at the whims of his esoteric floor manager. She was a little bit twisted, and occasionally got her kicks from tweaking the mannequin-suits whilst they were on display - a strained breath here, a vibrating crotch there...

That's what they'd signed up for, though. Truly unique positions as the mannequin pilots, to strut around in the newest fashions with a breathtaking mixture of robotic precision and natural human asymmetry. A hybrid, greater than the sum of its parts. Or at least, that's what their creator dreamily described them as... Nobody knew if all the sex toys stuffed inside later were part of their design. Or if it was a full-body sex doll to begin with, and turned out so beautiful that they put them on the catwalk for the world to admire. Fashion outside, kink inside.

"Hey, see you tomorrow..."

"Right, bye..."

She'd finished undressing and releasing herself from her doll-suit before him, clearly. A good friend he'd known since joining up, and an equally fantastic model - she enjoyed lots of sassy gestures and silent attitude, a far cry from her shy personality outside of the suit. He gave a little wave back as she went, laying the mask gently down on his lap.

At least they were comfortable, in spite of the immensely close fit. Panels made to interlock together to form a rigid shell, to bend and flex, to act as supports when necessary - a neat party trick was to balance on one foot for over an hour, letting the wearer take a quick nap whilst the suit effortlessly kept them suspended. That same shell was what also ensured they completed their shifts as scheduled, no getting away early if your uniform is time-locked and your manager can control your every move if she so desires. And she so desired, once or twice... with the employee's permission of course. They signed up for the role because they got a kick out of it as well, that was a given.

This employee in particular couldn't get enough of it. It was an extra thrill to wear such adornments, to see people fawn over the pretty mannequin girl posing and showing off, none the wiser. Secretly, he was the one performing for them - in the guise of 'Miranda'. That's what he'd named her, his suited alter-ego. At the inter-office party, he discovered a handful of his fellow models had named theirs too, after things they admired, or people they held dear. It was a relationship, not just another piece of equipment. And nobody in the company batted an eyelid at hiring a guy and tailoring a mannequin to fit his body; the suits, after all, were designed to completely obscure the wearer, so long as they had the grace and charm to merge with their artificial exactness.

But each work day has to come to a close, and with everyone else almost gone, he finally set about dismantling the shell he'd been cooped up in for several hours. In spite of the suit's many 'quality of life' features (like eating and drinking, going to the bathroom or absorbing and neutralising sweat - can't be taking off the suit in the middle of a shift, now) it was still a welcome relief to get out and stretch, to return to humanity. With care, he began undoing each individual micro-lock in the surface of his limbs, applying light pressure before a thin click announced the pieces of the suit coming apart. The arms first, then his legs, his chest all came off and lay in a neatly arranged pile on the bench beside him.

The final piece was a fibre and resin thong around his waist, a gorgeously smooth flat crotch spreading up to his navel, encircling his hips, diving between his buttocks with a weighty plug in place inside of his rectum. A power source, of course. Every space possible was necessary for batteries, and typically they were stored in the extended bosom or hips - but if the employee was okay with it, they could have a gag and a plug or two pushed deep inside of them to store additional power, and make a whole day's operation possible with only a little extra discomfort (or not-so-secret pleasure, as the case may be for many of them.) Safe to say, he had plenty of spare charge stuffed inside of him.

But as he pushed his thumbs on each side, he blinked. Nothing. Both halves remained immobile, tightly locked around his nether regions and deeply embedded inside at the same time. He squirmed, trying again - it was well after his shift had ended, and all the other pieces had yielded to the unlock command, so why wouldn't it open? He pushed, he pulled, he tugged, but of course it was so perfectly fit to form that he had no chance of worming his way free from it.

"...Ah, fuck."

It was stuck. He'd heard of this happening before, pieces of the mannequin suits jamming closed and requiring some careful examination from an engineer to undo. Indeed, he'd witnessed a co-worker panic a little when her suit froze, trapping her in the head portion until an engineer could show up and reflash the firmware. An exceedingly rare occurrence, he assured them. All suits were tested to vigorous safety standards, they wanted to keep their employees healthy and happy after all.

But now it seemed he'd got a bunk unit after all. Cursing under his breath, he realised everyone but the cleaners had already left. Too late to call up the depot and ask for a replacement, he resigned himself to wearing the crotch piece overnight and having it fixed tomorrow. Embarrassing, but... not the end of the world.

Wait, it's Friday. Of course it fucking is. Damn, damn, he hissed under his breath with bitter fury. A whole weekend spent miserable and pent-up!?

As he got dressed, pulling his pants over the rigid underwear he now had to take home, he cursed his bad luck. While a doll-encased arm or a face might have been a difficult thing to conceal on his blatantly human body, he now had to secretly suffer the unavailability of his private parts, a lot of arousal built up with nowhere to go. It was normally a good thing the immovable crotch-piece didn't let a raging erection happen during the day, but now that he was trudging home, he whimpered at spending days without relief. The manager wasn't even around for him to bribe, beg her to turn the vibrators up to 11 and watch him squirm. At least it had a surplus of power left to service his primary needs, and enough waterproofing to easily survive a shower or two.

"Hey you."

He'd been so lost in thought, he hadn't spotted his best friend gesturing wildly for his attention. With a jump, he comes back to reality.

"O-oh! Hey..."

"You didn't even see me, did you? Psh. What's got you so distracted, huh? Busy day at work?"

The grinning friend knew exactly what he did for a job. They knew, and they loved it. They loved that he loved it so much. Instead of rejection and dismissal, he'd celebrated when his best friend got his dream job, even came to the store a few times to "check out some clothes" while 'she' was on duty. Several times he'd uttered sly remarks about making out with "Miranda from the store", taking her home and treating her like a princess, even the wedding dress she'd wear at their marriage... Of course that was because it was 'wedding dress' day in the store, Miranda had to walk up the aisle several times already.

All of this never failed to set his cheeks aflame, teasing that plucked on his strings mercilessly. But it was always in good nature. At first, he'd almost regretted telling his best friend his goal of becoming a mannequin-encased model, but the reaction he got set his mind at ease. Some might look unfavourably on him for his passion, but not him. He revelled in keeping his passion secret.

"Don't tell me Miranda took you in the back room to make out all day, huh? I hear she's an eager one, that girl..."

"Ha ha, hilarious. No, she's elegant and graceful and wouldn't dream of sullying herself with such inappropriate behaviour. Smartass."

They boarded the bus together, the sarcastic back-and-forth a welcome distraction from his rueful predicament.

"Inappropriate? Gosh, wouldn't want her highness to be inappropriate, would we?" his words laced with mockery, still wearing that dumb grin. Some day he'd suit up and Miranda would kick his ass... or take him up on that date offer... the feelings were confusing to look at when he was 'in the zone'. Like becoming a different person. Yeah. That was the excuse he hid his feelings behind.

"While I've heard of a coworker getting it on with someone once... They had, um, special modifications. Took out some of the plugs, let them... well, stick their dicks inside. Not standard issue..."

"Heh, now that is inappropriate."

The whole way they bantered, that glint in their eye as they teased. Enjoying his embarrassment. What a jerk he had for a friend.

"... So she's in swimwear next week? Oooh mama. Gonna have to get my beach bod ready if I wanna impress her... c'mon, then."

---

They disembarked at last, taking a moment to linger before going their separate ways home. This brief moment, he took to absentmindedly fondle beneath his jeans... yep, still trapped. Still tightly formed around his member, and wedged up his backside.

"Right."

He whipped his hand out as nonchalantly as possible, as his friend faced him once more.

"So. Before you go. There's something I need to check, real quick. I hope you don't mind, just... hold still."

With a frown, he lets him draw closer, into his personal space.

"W-what...?"

"Just trust me. I hope this isn't too forward, but..." As his searching hands begin to approach his waistline, he instinctively pulls back.

"Are... y-you... what are you d-doing?" he stammered, his heart beating quicker with every moment. All but confirming it.

"Checking. Now hold still."

Against his better judgement, he stayed. He let wandering fingers slip below his waistband, scraping against impenetrable resin, cupping his smooth mound. Oh god, how did he know to check...

"... Good."

He was close enough to feel his breaths, slow and sure. This was a fresh shame, a new thing to tease him about for sure, a random mistake that he'd never hear the end of...

"I-I can explain...! It's stuck, I... tried taking it off, and it won't budge. I'm gonna get it fixed! P-please let go."

Withdrawing, he chuckled and resumed eye contact.

"...No, you're not."

"...?"

"I've got to admit something to you. I... tinkered with Miranda's software last night. When you were busy chatting after, I snuck a transmitter in the changing rooms... I only hacked into your suit, I promise."

Eyes wide, he was lost for words. 'Hacked' was a bit of a dramatic term for 'already knew his suit's encryption key', but nonetheless he'd put quite the effort into hijacking some pretty advanced technology. This wasn't just casual interest or a prank...

"Wh... What the hell did you do!?"

"Not much. Just made one very important change to the crotch-piece firmware: ignore all requests for release. Backed it up and then deleted that function entirely from the device. To make sure."

His stomach filled with ice, as they smirked before his indignation. He was loving this. That made it so much worse.

"You... this wasn't a mistake, you did this on purpose? W-why?!"

"I'll tell you why. It's because I want to help you. Listen, listen...!" He raised a finger, to pre-empt his aghast response. "I know you spend all day in that thing and get yourself hot and bothered, and then you go home to whack off... and then what? You told me yourself, you feel regret creeping in. You worry about what people think. You are ashamed of what you enjoy, and you shouldn't be. So, I've decided I'll help you out, and keep you from feeling that shame. Great, right? If you don't jerk off, you don't feel bad!"

"You've... " his breaths fogged in the cool night air, hot and panicked. "I'm supposed to be happy about this?!"

"Well, yeah. I know what's best for you, okay? Please, trust me..."

He reached out for a consoling cuddle, and for a moment it was a hefty fight between the urges to accept it, or to shove him away in frustration. With an extremely reluctant grunt, he stood firm as his friend gave him a hug.

"Mmmm.... I'm sorry to surprise you like this, but just trust me... I want to take care of you. At least I didn't lock the whole thing, right?"

The response came in an indistinct moan. Not a yes, but not a refusal either. All those muffled feelings beyond friendship were being put to the test as he leaned in, burying his face in their shoulder, his weary arms reciprocating the embrace. Damn it. He knew he was right. He hated how right he was. He seethed at having his sexual satisfaction held hostage... but he wouldn't have chosen anyone else to do it but him.

"Good... my little Princess."

There it was. The pet name that made his breath catch, his face burning even deeper red... and made his poor trapped dick twitch. He wanted to be his Princess.

"I fucking hate you so much." he whined, muffled.

"Mmhm... I know, I know. Now, go on home, you've worked long and hard, and deserve a good rest... We'll see what happens on Monday." That damn smirk was back as he pulled away, a soft touch of his cheek the cherry on top of the humiliation cake. "Night night!"

And just like that he was back home, staring at his brutally smooth crotch in the mirror, whimpering and mumbling to nobody in particular. He could've been fapping himself silly by now if it weren't for that jerk. Fuck.

He finally admitted defeat, the clingy piece of the suit doing exactly as it was designed and preventing unauthorised removal. With only meagre distractions to pass the time, a restless and rocky sleep awaited him. He was so immensely turned on after just one night of imprisonment in this pair of rigid, high-waist, high-tech panties. Perhaps he'd wake up tomorrow and find it was all a dream... an intensely arousing dream, indeed; a dream he might even have had before, of his friend taking control away, of being his beautiful doll-suit girlfriend; but still just a dream.

---

Monday showed up, and the shop floor was calm. There they were, mannequins striding up and down, sometimes posing in the mirror, sometimes rehearsing their moves for later. Perfect, pristine, an art form in silent movements. Customers came and went, sales were made, and fashion was flaunted.

And there was Miranda, bending over to better display her generous backside in that eye-catching new bikini, now on sale for $32.99! She was about ready to finish for the day, when a young man approached her and smiled. Ogling her was expected behaviour, and he didn't hold back.

"Mmmm, now... Don't you look stunning this afternoon, Madame..."

She turned, a smouldering attitude of sensuality oozing forth. She'd been extra saucy today, bounding with energy atypical for Monday. Of course, nobody else knew that she was hiding a powder keg of built-up sexual frustration, a wonderful torture made all the worse by her return to work, locking her wearer back into a prison of arousal and pleasure. A tug at the corner of her mechanical mouth is enough to betray the secret anticipation, the urge to violently indulge his fantasies.

"You know, you're gorgeous enough that I could see y- Whoa!"

Grabbing him by the wrist, she hurried across the aisle and through a door at the back. Nobody would be using the staff changing room for the next hour or so, which meant...

"H-hey... if you're trying to get out, I'll remind you, you're still on the clock anyway-"

He was interrupted again, this time by a finger placed on his mouth. Shh.

"...Oh."

She lifted it only to kiss him aggressively, passionately, needy. Her rigid-rubber mouth dulled the sensation of direct contact, but making out with him caused her gag to push just that little bit deeper, eliciting a soft moan from beneath the flawless mask. Her slender arms squeezed him closer, and her hips couldn't help but grind, hump, drive the plug in deeper as they strain for stimulation they'd never reach.

She wanted him to fuck her silly. She was openly longing for his touch. She wanted him. No shame and no regrets. If he wanted Miranda so bad, he could have her.

His Princess.