THE DOLL (2025 Edit)

Sex-mad Terry Desmond buys a sex doll, which soon completely takes over his life

RANDY MISS MANDY, THE DOLL FOR ALL OCCASIONS. SHE CUMS COMPLETE WITH THREE WORKING HOLES! TAKE MISS MANDY WHENEVER YOU LIKE, WHEREVER YOU LIKE, THROUGH THE ORIFICE OF YOUR CHOICE. AS SHE CUMS, MISS MANDY SHRIEKS, “TAKE ME, STUD! TAKE ME!” ALL THIS FOR THE SPECIAL AFTER CHRISTMAS SELL-OFF PRICE OF JUST $69.95¢. CUM AND GET IT, WHILE SHE’S HOT HOT HOT!!!!!!!


“Where do you want it?” asked the thickset, balding deliveryman.

For a few minutes, Terry Desmond stood in the doorway staring out in amazement at the two-metre tall crate upon the yellow trolley. Finally, he stammered, “Er...in my bedroom. Follow me.”

“It’s a bit crowded,” said the delivery man, whose name tag on his overalls identified him as Fred Xanthos. The room contained two large bookcases, two four-drawer metal filing cabinets, a hi-fi deck, a dressing table, and a stereo television, all of which lined the walls of the bedroom.

Fred took a black clipboard from the top of the crate, handed it to Terry, and said, “Sign here, please.” Then, as Terry took the clipboard, Fred began to browse through the magazines and videos in one of the bookcases. “Anal Sex volumes one to twenty-three, Bondage Bizarre vols. one to seventeen,” he read aloud. “And here’s one to please all tastes, Lesbian, Drag-Queen, Nuns, In Bondage, Ready for Spanking!”

“Er...I think that’s all,” said Terry, handing back the clipboard.

“Young, shaved pussies volumes one to thirty-nine,” Fred read aloud, taking the clipboard, “Two Nuns and a Shetland Pony, The Little Boy Who Lives Down the Back Alley, Lassie Cums Homo...Gee, you’ve got some great stuff here!”


“Hell!” said Terry aloud after the deliveryman had left. Running one hand through his long, stringy brown hair, he said, “Why didn’t the stupid bastards say in the ad. you weren’t the inflatable type?” Taking a small pinch bar, he slowly removed the front of the coffin-sized crate to reveal Randy Miss Mandy in all her five-foot-two, 42-24-36-inch, naked splendour.

“Not bad, not bad at all,” said Terry. He licked his lips as he ran one hand lightly across one soft, latex breast. He was surprised by how life-like the doll was, compared to the various inflatable sex dolls that he had had down the years, all of which had hardly looked human, and had felt like cheap PVC plastic -- which, of course, they had been. He ran one hand down between Miss Mandy’s legs, across the very realistic yellow-blonde pubic hair, to lightly prod at the outer labia -- surprised that the manufacturers could afford to go to so much detail for a mere $69.95¢. Miss Mandy’s predecessors had cost up to $50.00¢ more, but had never had anything more than three crudely fashioned holes, which had looked more like knife gashes than body orifices.

“Hey, let go!” shrieked Terry. He was surprised and alarmed when the vagina clamped shut upon the two fingers which he’d thrust deep up into Miss Mandy’s body. ‘Must have some kind of gripping device built in!’ he thought. He pulled his fingers out of the opening with some difficulty. “Naughty girl,” he teased. “No fair biting.”

He had started to turn away when he was startled when a voice from the crate called out, “Take me, stud! Take me!”

“All in good time,” he said. He was surprised that the voice sounded so natural and had actually come out of the doll’s mouth, instead of from the back of the head, where the battery-operated voice box was usually situated in talking sex dolls.

“Take me, stud! Take me!” insisted Miss Mandy, refusing to be put off.

“Don’t be so impatient,” said Terry. He looked about the bedroom, wondering what he was going to do with the large, wooden crate. “I know I’m irresistible to women, but I hardly even know you!”

“Take me, stud! Take me!” repeated Miss Mandy, shouting the words out.

“Well, all right, if you insist,” said Terry. Lifting Miss Mandy from the crate, he placed her on top of his bed.

“Take me, stud! Take me!” insisted Miss Mandy, thrusting her lower body up off the bed, as though impatient to be penetrated.

“At least let me get undressed first,” Terry said, unzipping his trousers. He pulled out his rigid, though small, penis and said, “After all, it’s not how much you’ve got, but how you handle it that counts!” (And he’d had to handle it a lot over the last six months or so, since he had accidentally ‘killed’ his last lover, Sexy Miss Sophie, by dropping hot cigarette ash on her.)

“Take me, stud! Take me!” insisted Miss Mandy

“I knew you’d understand,” said Terry. “Now the big question is, which of your three working holes should I try first?”

“Take me, stud! Take me!”

“Oh, well, I guess this is one way to shut you up!” he said. Squatting over Miss Mandy’s face, he manoeuvred his penis in through her full, cherry-red lips, which puckered in readiness for him as he began to move in and out of her warm, moist mouth.

“Take me, stud! Take me!” she said one last time, but it sounded like a bad ventriloquist throwing his voice while drinking a glass of water.

“Just like a woman to talk with her mouth full,” said Terry. He began to thrust wildly, taking his pleasure hard and fast from Miss Mandy’s mouth.

Lying fully atop Miss Mandy, he began to nibble and lick at her soft, fleshy outer labia, surprised when her vagina actually began lubricating for him. Although the liquid flowing out was strong and acrid, not at all as he imagined the body fluids of a real woman would taste. Not that he had any way of knowing, since all of his previous lovers had been PVC: Sexy Miss Sophie, Horny Miss Hanna, Fancy Miss Nancy, Nudie Miss Judy, Lusty Miss Lizzie, and, of course, his very first lover, Friendly Miss Wendy.

“Oh, Miss Mandy! Miss Mandy! Mandy! Mandy! Mandy!” shrieked Terry, as he felt himself going over the brink into climax. Never able to hold back for more than a couple of minutes, he soon ejaculated into her mouth, causing Miss Mandy to gulp in an effort not to choke on his semen.

“Oh, Miss Mandy,” he said. He gasped for breath as he rolled over onto his back. “You’re the best lover I’ve ever had!” She snuggled her blonde head into the crook of her left shoulder, content to lie naked beside him for the hour or two that it would take before he was capable of a second performance.


The next morning, Terry awakened early so that he could make love to Miss Mandy again before going to work. She did not seem to mind being woken early, and, after all, she was able to lie in and go back to sleep in the nice soft bed. Terry did not have the heart to leave her standing up all day in the wooden crate, which he had carried, with difficulty, out back behind the block of flats.


“Christ, Tare, you look all washed out this morning,” said his boss by way of greeting as Terry slumped onto his chair at his desk, “been hitting the piss hard or something?”

“Or something,” agreed Terry. He did not see why he should tell Frank Weis anything about Randy Miss Mandy. Not that he did not trust Miss Mandy, but Weis had a reputation as a womaniser, and no doubt he would be as infatuated with Miss Mandy as Terry was, if he ever caught a glance of the flaxen-haired beauty.

“Or something!” repeated Weis with a snicker, making Terry groan as he gave him a none-too-gentle elbow in the ribs. “What’s her name?”

“Mandy,” said Terry, mentally kicking himself as soon as he said it.

“Mandy, eh, you sly old dog!” said Weis with a laugh. “Mandy? Mandy? Mandy?” trying the name out, searching for a suitably obscene rhyme for it. “That’s handy. Mandy? Handy? Handy? Sandy? Sandy? Has she got sandy hair?”

“Yes,” agreed Terry, before he could stop himself.

“Sandy Miss Mandy,” said Weis, still seeking rhymes. “Sandy Miss Mandy? Handy, Miss Mandy? Randy Miss Mandy!”

Terry flinched as his boss stumbled onto Miss Mandy’s full name, but then did his best to grin at Weis’ oafish humour for fear of letting on.

For the rest of the day, Weis continually tried to pump Terry for information about his new lover. Terry did his best to grin and bear it, but by the end of the day, he was almost ready to scream. But at least he had managed not to fall into any more of his boss’s traps and had divulged nothing more about Miss Mandy by the time that 5:00 PM came around, and he fled the office to return to his lover’s arms.


“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” greeted Terry. He was a little surprised to find Miss Mandy still snoozing when he returned home that evening. “You’ve had enough beauty sleep for two people.” But as soon as she batted her beautiful violet eyes at him, he was sorry for his sarcasm. He knew that it was wrong to take out his frustration at his boss’ taunting on the woman he loved. Particularly since the beauty sleep had not been wasted: she really did look more radiant than when he had seen her nine hours earlier. And, after all, he had kept her awake for most of the previous night with his constant sexual demands, although Miss Mandy could also be very demanding when it came to sexual needs.

“Take me, you great big handsome stud!” shrieked Miss Mandy, startling Terry. Until he realised that her voice box probably had half a dozen different messages to choose from. Still, he could not help wondering as he hurriedly undressed to comply with her wishes, why the record had stuck in the same track the previous night.

But as soon as he was inside her, all of his cares melted away, and they were soon making love at a frantic pace.

For hours, they made love until Terry’s penis was throbbing from overuse. So, reluctantly, he left Miss Mandy lying on top of the floral sheets, looking more radiant than ever -- as many women look immediately after sex -- so that he could prepare himself something to eat. He started to preheat the oven to cook a beef pie, but then, impatient to return to his lover, he decided that he could not wait half an hour, so he threw the pie straight into the oven. Then ten minutes later, he decided even that would take too long, so he turned off the oven and quickly buttered two slices of bread and spread a thick layer of Philadelphia cream cheese and Vegemite between them. He decided to settle for the sandwich and a cup of black coffee.

Miss Mandy was pleased to see her lover back so soon and greeted him with, “Take me with your great big beautiful dick, stud!” -- making Terry wonder if that was quite what she had said earlier that evening -- and she did not even mind when he gave her a sloppy kiss, smearing Vegemite and cream cheese across her full, Cupid’s bow lips.


Over the next few months, Terry Desmond became ever more infatuated with his flaxen-haired lover, to the point where he ignored everything else except work and Randy Miss Mandy. He made love to her in the mornings before getting dressed, rushed to work where he had to suffer through the oafish taunts of Frank Weis, who did everything he could to pump Terry for information about his new woman; then Terry rushed home from work in the evenings, frustrated and furious when the bus was delayed in traffic jams, or by defective traffic lights. He almost seethed with rage at the constant transport strikes which had held the state of Victoria at the mercy of the Australian Transport Union since the mid-1960s.

“Look, calm down,” advised Frank Weis one day, four weeks into the latest train strikes -- called over the question of who should be served first in the employees' canteen at lunch time, the train drivers or the electrical maintenance crew. “After all, Tare, we’re all in the same boat, you know.”

“It’s all right for you!” insisted Terry, “you only live in South Melbourne. If the worst comes to the worst, you can always walk into work. But living out in the suburbs, there’s nothing I can do but wait in line for an hour or more before managing to elbow my way onto a bus. But even then, the buses crawl along at half the normal speed, due to the roads being clogged with twice as many cars as usual.”

“So get up an hour or two earlier than usual, before the crowds come.”

“Then I’d have to waste an extra hour or two’s precious time each day.”

“Surely this new woman of yours can’t be such hot stuff, that even an hour or two away from her side is going to hurt? He snickered then added, “Or is it the front of her that you can’t stand being parted from?”

Terry flushed crimson as Weis said, “She really must be hot stuff, all right if you can’t...” He stopped in mid-sentence as Terry leapt out of his chair and started toward him menacingly.

“Calm down, Tare, it was only a joke,” apologised Weis, quickly backing away toward his glass-fronted office, locking the small door behind him.

Blushing from embarrassment, Terry looked around at the five other clerks, all women, who were watching him with interest. At first, they had been offended by Frank Weis’ sexist taunts of Terry, but gradually they had joined in the game. But now they wondered if they had been playing with fire. Terry Desmond was known to be a shy, quiet type, but Cathy Marsh, a middle-aged redhead, warned the younger girls later, “It’s often the quiet ones you have to watch out for!”

As the train strike dragged on, Terry was forced to spend ever greater amounts of time waiting in bus queues, until the waiting began to play havoc with his nerves. And poor Miss Mandy would pine for her lover when he was away from her eleven or twelve hours each working day.

Not that pining seemed to have any adverse effect upon her perfect complexion or beautiful violet eyes. On the contrary, she grew ever more beautiful and clear-skinned every day. While Terry grew ever more pale and sickly by the day. Every moment that he was away from Miss Mandy was agony for him.

Terry had a driver’s licence, so he bought a second-hand car so that he would not have to wait for buses at night, or be held up for hours by the ongoing train strike. But then he was held up by traffic jams during the strike, or else found himself blocked in, in car parks, unable to leave until other drivers arrived to remove their cars.

At first, Frank Weis and Cathy Marsh were pleased when Terry bought a used Morris Minor. “It’ll do him good to get out into the sunshine more,” confided Mrs. Marsh. “It’s not healthy for him to be cooped up indoors all the time. He’s getting to be a little wan.”

‘He’s getting to be a big one, if you ask me!’ thought Weis.

Terry had no intention of using his purchase to get more sun, though. Quite the opposite, the car’s sole function was to allow him to spend more time indoors with his beautiful, yellow-haired lover. Why would he ever want to go outside when he could stay inside and make endless love to his ever-willing lover? Who never feigned headaches or begged to be left alone for a while, as some women do. In fact, she never tired of sex, no matter how often they made love, or through whichever of her body entrances Terry decided to use.

As time went by, the more vocal Miss Mandy became. Her repertoire went well beyond the ten or twelve simple phrases which Terry had expected to be on her voice box. But he did not waste much time worrying about what she said; after all, it was how she acted that mattered.

And how she acted!

Terry knew that some people would call his lover a nymphomaniac. But what did they care what others thought, just as long as they could be together, arms and legs entwined in continual sexual embrace?

Unfortunately, the rest of the world refused to leave the two lovers alone:

“Hello, Tare?” asked Eileen Winthrop when he finally picked up the receiver, after the phone had been ringing for nearly three minutes.

“Lean?” asked Terry, surprised to hear his sister’s voice. Eight years his senior, Eileen Winthrop had never had much time for her younger brother.

After a few minutes of reminiscing about the not-so-good-old days when they had been children, and talking about her alcoholic husband and three hyperactive teenagers, Eileen said, “I hear you’ve got yourself a car?”

‘Now how the Hell did she hear that?’ wondered Terry, giving a nod of his head. Then, realising that she could not hear a nod over the phone, he muttered a noncommittal, “Uh ah!” which Eileen was free to take as either yes or no, whichever she preferred.

“And a new girlfriend?”

“That bastard, Weis!” cried Terry, wrongly accusing his boss. Actually, it had been Cathy Marsh who had kept in touch with Eileen Winthrop after meeting Terry’s sister at an office Christmas party a few years ago.

“Well, have you, or haven’t you?” persisted Eileen.

“Uh ah,” muttered Terry.

This time, though, his sister refused to be palmed off with an unintelligible grunt. “What was that?” she insisted. “I can’t understand you.”

“Take me, stud! Take me right now! Shove your great big beautiful cock up into me until it comes out through my mouth!” shrieked Miss Mandy suddenly, answering Eileen’s question for her.

“Oh, my God!” cried Eileen. “What kind of a...?”

“Sorry, sis, but I’ve really gotta be going,” insisted Terry. “I’m really very busy at the moment.”

“Take me with your great big dick, you handsome stud!” shrieked Miss Mandy, as Terry hung up the receiver and then hurried to comply with her wishes.


“Well, how is he?” asked Larry Winthrop. He staggered from the lounge room to where his wife was standing near the front door.

“Well, he’s got himself a girlfriend, all right,” said Eileen. She did her best to ignore her husband as he began fondling her backside, recognising that he was too inebriated to be able to fulfil any promise he might make. “But what kind of a woman, by the sounds of the obscenities she was shouting, it seems as though he’s got himself shacked up with a whore!”

“Good for him,” said Larry, breathing beery fumes into his wife’s face. “It’ll make a man of him...at last. Grow hair on his balls!”

“Oh, you men!” protested Eileen, trying to slap her husband’s hands away from her large breasts. But he refused to be denied and dragged her down to the hall carpet.

“Not in the corridor, the kids might see!” she protested. But then, she realised that Larry had passed out in a drunken stupor, pinning her to the floor beneath him.


Over the next month, Eileen Winthrop telephoned her brother every day or two, both at home and at work. Finally, after a run-in with Frank Weis, after his boss had sided with Eileen, Terry resigned from his job and enrolled for unemployment benefits. Then he could spend all day and all night in the arms of his beautiful, violet-eyed, flaxen-haired lover.

“What the Hell do we need any of them for, when we’ve got each other?” asked Terry one night after he had collapsed, too tired for any more sex for a while.

“All we need is each other, you great big beautiful stud!” agreed Miss Mandy, still managing to surprise Terry with her ever-expanding repertoire.

Surprisingly, although Terry had much more time to spend with his lover now, he found himself growing more and more listless every day. While Miss Mandy grew more and more radiant, Terry had been growing gradually weaker and paler ever since he had got Miss Mandy. At first, he had put it down to worry, caused by having to cope with Frank Weis’ cruel taunts. However, in the first month since his resignation, Terry had become so weak that he could hardly crawl out of bed anymore, even to eat or go to the toilet. So he had bought a half-sized refrigerator to keep food at his bedside, and kept a large plastic bucket beside the bed to use as a toilet, to be emptied whenever it was full. However, it took two or three days to fill the bucket, by which time the bedroom reeked from the stench of human waste, and Miss Mandy would wrinkle up her cute little nose in disgust. And in his ever-weakening state, Terry could hardly lift the full pail, let alone carry it down the metal staircase to the ground-floor toilet. So, after stepping in the bucket one day and spilling the foul contents onto the bedroom floor, he had taken to emptying the bucket when it was only half full. Then later, as he grew still feebler, he forced himself to make the epic journey down to the toilet, no longer able to carry the bucket at all.

In a bid to restore his ever-waning energy, Terry forced himself to spend no more than fifteen hours each day in bed with Miss Mandy -- during much of which he was too physically exhausted to make love to her, or else was unable to achieve an erection; an increasing problem of late. He also forced himself to eat at least two meals a day, plus an ever-increasing amount of vitamin pills. Until he began to have reactions to the fillings used in the vitamin tablets, and suffered a spell of violent diarrhoea and vomiting. Much to the disgust of Miss Mandy, who shrieked in alarm when he vomited across the bedclothes one day, narrowly missing her.

So Terry gave up the vitamins and attempted to concentrate more on eating properly and conserving energy -- a difficult proposition, since the weaker he became, the stronger and more demanding Miss Mandy became. Always ready and willing for lovemaking, she now began to demand it when Terry hardly had the strength to climb between her legs, let alone perform the sex act. So, reluctantly, Terry accepted the submissive role, lying on his back in the middle of the bed while Miss Mandy mounted him, taking her pleasure hard and fast, hour after hour, day after day. Until he realised for the first time in his life why women complain about their men treating them like sex objects, as he began to suspect that that was all he had ever been to Miss Mandy.

At first, she had seemed loving; even her obscenely erotic suggestions had seemed to show genuine appreciation of Terry’s virility. But later, as she kept him pinned on his back beneath her all day and all night, indifferent to the effect it was having on his rapidly deteriorating health, Terry began to wonder whether he had ever been anything more to Miss Mandy than just an outlet for her nymphomaniac-like sex appetite.

“For God’s sake, let me up for a rest,” pleaded Terry. But he was cowered to silence as Miss Mandy’s violet eyes glared almost demonically at him for a second, before she closed her lids and continued to ride up and down on him as though he had never spoken.

“I’m going to screw your brains out...stud!” Miss Mandy shrieked in a mocking tone. The word stud almost sneered out as though intended as a snide joke.

“Let me up, for God’s sake, let me up!” pleaded Terry, trying to push Miss Mandy off him, needing a rest, his penis aching from constant overuse. However, Miss Mandy was now much stronger than he, so she was able to easily hold him in place while she continued to ride up and down to her heart’s content.


Eileen Winthrop had become increasingly worried about her younger brother. Over the last six months, she had phoned him two or three times a week at least. But he never answered the phone, no matter how long she let it ring.

“He can’t always be out!” Eileen insisted, trying to fight off her husband’s advances with one hand while holding the receiver with the other hand.

“He’s probably too busy with his fancy lady to bother with the likes of us,” suggested Larry Winthrop, a mechanic. “Stripping her down and giving her a grease-and-oil change, probably.” He managed to defeat his wife’s swatting hand by pawing her breasts savagely with one hand and her bubble butt with the other.

“All the same, I think I ought to go over there to see if he needs anything,” insisted Eileen.

“How about staying here with me and tending to my needs first?” protested Larry, grabbing one of her large breasts in each hand, and he rubbed his crotch against her backside provocatively.

Struggling free from her husband’s grip, Eileen snatched up her purse, fled through the front doorway and set off in her Hyundai hatch to call on her brother.


Half an hour later, Eileen Winthrop stood on the metal landing outside her brother’s second-storey flat. She rapped on the screen door for a couple of minutes before trying the door and finding it unlocked. Then, using a key which Terry had given her six years earlier when he had moved into the flat, she opened the main door and stepped inside.

After a couple of seconds of feeling around in the dark, she located the light switch and gasped from shock at the pornographic posters which lined both walls of the slim corridor. Posters depicting men and women in erotic poses; men and little girls performing bizarre sex acts; others showed lesbians using carrots and cucumbers on each other to simulate coitus. In one poster, a woman in a nun’s habit, her face painted like a whore, held the head of a donkey between her obscenely spread legs, her tongue lolling from her mouth in ecstasy as the donkey licked her genitalia.

For two or three minutes, Eileen gaped in horror at the obscenities that lined the walls, before remembering her brother and forcing herself to continue down the corridor toward his bedroom door. The doorknob was wet and sticky, so she used a handkerchief to turn the knob, then pushed the door wide and stepped into Terry’s bedroom.

If she had been shocked by the posters in the hallway, Eileen was absolutely appalled by the condition of her brother’s bedroom. Pornographic magazines and videos filled two bookcases, as well as being scattered across the floor, along with dirty clothing, scraps of mouldy or decaying food and what looked like human excrement.

In the middle of the room, a naked woman lay face down on top of the single bed -- which looked as if it had not been made in six months. As Eileen watched, the woman began to move up and down as though doing push-ups, grunting and panting obscenely. It was only as the woman rocked to one side slightly that Eileen realised that there was someone else on the bed, lying face up beneath the woman.

Seeing the glossy pink skin and badly painted eyes of the man, at first Eileen thought that he was wearing clown make-up. Then, as she approached the bed, she realised that it was not a man at all, merely a rubber sex doll.

‘My God!’ thought Eileen, shocked and embarrassed at having walked in upon the beautiful blonde while she was engaged in this act of perversion.

She started to back out of the bedroom as quietly as possible, in the hope that the woman was too engrossed even to notice her. But as Eileen touched the doorknob, it squeaked loudly, and the enormous-breasted woman turned round toward her.

It was at the same instant that Randy Miss Mandy looked up at Eileen with her sparkling violet eyes, that, to her horror, Eileen realised that the rubber sex doll on the bed had the face of her brother Terry.

THE END
© Copyright 2025 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia