So this is the second part of the commissioned story. I've just been contacted by the commissioner and this will be a 5 part story, with 4/5 commissioned and 2 written at the moment so there will be a delay for the rest of the story. Enjoy.
Diane was seated at a solid wooden reading table, in a room bathed in soft light, surrounded by the hushed murmurs and characteristic scent of old books. Around her, about a dozen people, mostly students and researchers, were engrossed in their reading, adding to the studious calm of the place. She was browsing a dusty volume, searching for a clue about the mysterious symbol engraved on the watch.
Focused, she slowly turned the yellowed pages, her ballet flats resting on the floor and her legs crossed under the table. The silence of the library seemed to amplify the sound of the pages rustling under her fingers. But suddenly, a strange sensation swept through her. It was just a slight shiver at first, like an invisible breath gliding along her ribs.
Diane froze, her gaze briefly lifting from the book. She ran a hand over her side, where she had felt the sensation. Nothing. Everything seemed normal. She frowned, perplexed, then returned to her reading. But the shivers returned, more pronounced this time, like little imaginary feathers dancing on her skin. They concentrated on her belly, rising towards her ribs. Diane slightly contracted her abdominals, surprised, and a discreet but uncontrollable laugh escaped her.
"Hmm, sorry..." she murmured, straightening up, addressing a nervous smile to a young woman seated nearby who had looked up at her.
Redness spread across her cheeks, but she tried to refocus on her work. However, the sensations became increasingly difficult to ignore. It was as if an invisible hand was brushing against her body, playfully teasing her nerves. The shivers slowly descended, settling on her hips, then rose with almost insidious precision to the bottom of her chest.
Diane crossed her arms over her chest and discreetly squeezed her shoulders, trying to minimize the sensations. Her lips twisted into a grimace that she tried to hide. She murmured to herself, almost inaudibly:
"What is this...?"
But the sensation did not subside. If something was actually brushing against her ribs and the bottom of her chest, it seemed both delicate and insistent. She placed her hand on her shirt, hoping that this simple gesture would stop the strangeness that was bothering her.
Unfortunately, nothing worked. A new wave of tickles slid gently, intensifying on the sides of her waist, just below her chest. Diane felt her lips tremble, an irrepressible laugh rising in her throat. She clenched her teeth, subtly squirming in her chair, hoping that no one would notice her agitation.
"Haha... oh, no..." she breathed, her fingers gripping the edges of the table to keep herself in place.
The sensations became more daring, rising towards her breasts, triggering tingles around her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Diane briefly looked away from her book to discreetly scan the room. No one seemed to be paying attention to her, but she felt exposed, vulnerable. She crossed her arms over her chest again, pressing lightly in the hope of easing the shivers.
In the back room, the seller watched through the mirror, a smug smile on his face. His fingers gently traced the torso of the doll, exactly replicating the movements he wanted to transmit to Diane. He saw her body stiffen, her lips trying to contain her laughter, and he savored every second. She didn't yet understand what was happening to her, but he was determined to make her leave the library, one way or another, despite the tenuous link between Diane and the doll.
Diane, on her side, felt the situation becoming unbearable. The tickles rose along her breasts, like invisible feathers circling her nipples, triggering uncontrollable shivers. Her cheeks were burning, and she bit her lip to keep from bursting into laughter. She leaned slightly over the table, pretending to be absorbed in her book, but her mind was elsewhere, entirely focused on her body.
"Stop..." she whispered to herself, her trembling fingers briefly brushing her shirt.
But the sensations persisted, teasing and relentless. Diane no longer dared to move, aware that every gesture risked revealing her distress to those around her. She glanced nervously around. No one seemed to be looking at her, but she felt as if everyone could sense her discomfort.
In her mind, a fleeting thought emerged: was it the watch? The symbol? No, that was absurd. But she couldn't help connecting these strange sensations to that shop and what she had felt since leaving it.
As she tried to regain her composure, the sensations intensified briefly before fading, leaving her breathless and confused. Diane placed a hand on her chest, feeling her heart racing, and closed her eyes for a moment. She wondered if she was going crazy, or if something darker was happening around her.
Diane, determined to ignore the strange sensations that had troubled her, returned to her reading. Her slender fingers slid over the pages of the old book, trying to decipher the symbols and engravings. The ancient volumes she consulted were filled with mysterious signs, but nothing specific seemed to match the watch's symbol. She frowned slightly, concentrating, but a barely perceptible sensation abruptly pulled her from her research.
A soft, precise caress brushed her belly, just below her navel, catching her off guard. Diane startled slightly, her hands instinctively resting on her abdomen as if to chase away an invisible hand. But there was nothing. She nervously looked around. The library was still silent, the few people present engrossed in their books. Biting her lip, she tried to refocus, but the shivers returned, more persistent this time.
The sensations, fine and delicate, seemed to slip under her loose blouse, following the contours of her ribs to rise slowly towards her chest again. Diane straightened in her chair, her breath quickening despite herself. She crossed her arms over her torso in a futile attempt to ease the strange tingling that was starting around her breasts.
"Not again..." she murmured in a barely audible breath, her cheeks turning pink with the effort to contain her reaction.
In the back room, the seller, his eyes fixed on the enchanted mirror, gently intensified his work. His fingers rested on the doll's chest, slowly tracing the contours. The movements were meticulous, precise, and he observed with malicious pleasure the effect they had on Diane.
She, on her side, struggled to stay calm. The sensations focused on her breasts, light but insidious tickles that seemed to envelop her nipples in a whirlwind of shivers. Her lips trembled, a small involuntary laugh rising in her throat. She suppressed it, leaning further over the table to hide her distress.
"Ha... ha... focus..." she murmured to herself, her voice trembling.
But the tickles intensified, spreading to the sides of her waist. Each touch seemed perfectly targeted, as if an invisible entity knew exactly her sensitive spots. Diane moved slightly in her chair, her hips squirming in an almost imperceptible movement. She clenched her fists, her perfectly manicured nails pressing against her palms to try to regain control.
The sensations rose again, encircling her breasts with exasperating precision, teasing the already hardened tips under the fabric. Diane briefly closed her eyes, seeking to regain control, but a light laugh escaped her lips, drawing a furtive glance from the librarian at the other end of the room. She blushed violently, shook her head, and tried to fake a cough to cover her embarrassment.
"Sorry," she murmured, her cheeks on fire.
But within her, a mix of annoyance and distress grew. Why was her body reacting like this? Why now, here, in this place where silence was sacred? She had no explanation, but each tingle, each touch seemed to fuel a tension she couldn't release. Her hands rested on her hips, pressing her body slightly as if to anchor her reality, but nothing worked.
In the back room, the seller sketched a satisfied smile. He placed his fingers on the bottom of the doll, slowly tracing the curves that corresponded to Diane's hips and belly. The doll reacted to his touches, vibrating gently under his touch. The sensations he infused clearly manifested on Diane, visible in the mirror: her reddened cheeks, her growing agitation, and her stifled laughter.
Diane, on the other hand, felt trapped in an invisible vice. The sensations eased slightly, giving her a brief respite, but she knew they could return at any moment. She passed a trembling hand over her forehead, wiping away a thin film of sweat.
She turned a new page of the volume, her eyes scanning the ancient lines, but her mind was too troubled to concentrate. She knew she couldn't stay there indefinitely. The furtive glances of the other readers seemed to weigh on her like a silent judgment.
A symbol engraved in the margin of a text suddenly caught her attention: a sinuous and complex shape, strangely familiar. Her breath quickened slightly as she squinted to decipher it better. The symbol closely resembled the one on the watch. Her heart beat faster: she might finally be approaching a solid clue.
In the back room, the seller watched this with a glint of annoyance in his eyes. She was getting too close, too fast, and he couldn't allow her to discover crucial information. With a calculating smile, he turned to the voodoo doll, his fingers caressing the area corresponding to the feet.
Diane, focused on her reading, didn't notice at first. But as soon as her eyes delved deeper into the text, it began: a light, almost imperceptible shiver at her toes. She blinked, shaking her head slightly. Maybe a cramp, she thought. But quickly, the sensation became more insistent. Fine, insidious tickles invaded the soles of her feet, rising to the arch, as if invisible feathers were brushing against them.
"Ah!" she let out in a small start, squeezing her legs under the table.
Her ballerinas, usually comfortable, suddenly felt like a trap. Diane rubbed her feet against each other, hoping to dispel the tingles, but it only made things worse. The tickles concentrated on her toes, sliding between them, teasing with diabolical precision. A wave of heat rose in her, her cheeks taking on a bright red hue as she tried not to draw attention.
"Hahaha... no..." she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Her feet squirmed in her shoes, desperately seeking an escape. She crossed her legs under the table, but every movement amplified the sensations. The invisible feathers seemed to enjoy exploring every millimeter of skin, from heels to toe tips. Diane bit her lip to contain an uncontrollable laugh that threatened to escape.
In the back room, the seller observed the scene with satisfaction. Diane moved slightly away from the book, her thoughts visibly distracted by the tickles. Perfect. But when she pushed the volume away, taking another book from the nearby table, he understood that she wasn't giving up. Annoyed, he changed his strategy. His fingers left the doll's feet to rise towards the torso and crotch.
Diane, still troubled by the sensations in her feet, felt a deeper shiver. The tickles moved, slipping under her blouse, caressing her ribs and rising towards her breasts. She straightened slightly, placing a hand on her belly to try to calm the tingles, but it only made things worse. The invisible touches reached her nipples, teasing them gently. A disorienting heat overcame her, mixed with rising laughter.
"Hahaha... stop, stop..." she murmured, leaning over the table to hide her distress.
But the worst was yet to come. As she tried to push away the sensations, an insidious tingling arose between her thighs. Diane stiffened, her hands gripping the edges of the book. The stimulation was subtle but terribly targeted. She felt caresses brushing her sex, at first light, then increasingly precise. A mix of pleasure and panic overwhelmed her.
"Oh... my God..." she murmured, her cheeks burning.
She abruptly closed the book, hoping to break her concentration. But every second spent searching for clues seemed to intensify the sensations. The tickles on her torso mingled with delicate pulsations between her thighs. Diane placed a trembling hand on her chest, trying to hide the involuntary movements of her body. She moved slightly in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs in a desperate attempt to calm herself.
A student sitting at a nearby table gave her a curious look, intrigued by her agitated movements. Diane avoided her gaze, biting her lip to stifle a nervous laugh rising in her throat. But the invisible caresses, controlled by the seller, did not weaken. On the contrary, they seemed to adapt to her inner struggle, testing her limits.
The seller, satisfied to see Diane becoming more and more agitated, intensified the stimulations on her nipples and sex, while briefly easing the tickles. He wanted to bring her to the brink of orgasm, to make her crack publicly. Diane, for her part, fought with all her might to keep her composure, ignoring the furtive glances turning in her direction.
"Hahaha... please..." she whispered softly, her struggle becoming more visible.
Diane, breathless and cheeks on fire, grabbed the volume where she had glimpsed the symbol. She felt a shiver run through her as she brushed the cover, her trembling hands betraying her state. She knew she was approaching something important. But as soon as she reopened the book, a new wave of sensations overwhelmed her.
The shopkeeper, observing her distress through the mirror, smiled with dark satisfaction. His fingers gently brushed the doll's feet, triggering a series of light but precise tickles on Diane's. He knew her feet were a weak point, a hypersensitive area she hated to see stimulated. Although she wasn't yet fully connected to the doll, her reactions were already intense enough to deeply trouble her.
Diane felt the tickles slip through her ballerinas, like invisible fingers sliding over the soles of her feet, exploring every nook and cranny. She gritted her teeth, trying to maintain a semblance of calm, but her feet moved involuntarily. The tingles between her toes were the worst: an insidious and uncontrollable taunting that drew uncontrolled shivers from her.
"Hahaha... no, not that... not here..." she murmured in a halting, breathless voice.
She curled her feet in her ballerinas, her toes pressing against the leather in a vain attempt to escape the sensations. But it only intensified them. Every movement seemed to provoke a new series of tickles, as if the invisible fingers were adapting to her efforts.
A librarian, seated nearby, cast a piercing glance in her direction. Diane, aware of the attention she was drawing, placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a nervous laugh. Her legs trembled under the table, and her face reddened with each passing second.
"Calm down... calm down... you can do it..." she murmured to herself, trying to regain control.
But as soon as she turned a new page of the book, the sensations intensified. The shopkeeper increased the stimulation, his fingers pressing lightly on the doll's arch. Diane felt a stronger wave of tingles surge over her feet. The tickles were unbearable now, accumulating in relentless waves that drew spasms from her.
"Hahaha... please!" she breathed in a stifled laugh, her panicked gaze seeking an escape.
She briefly let go of the book, but it seemed to make things worse. Her feet danced in their ballerinas, and she crossed them under the table in a desperate attempt to calm the sensations. The soft leather seemed to amplify, each movement intensifying the invisible caresses.
"Is everything okay?" asked a woman at a nearby table, her intrigued gaze fixed on Diane.
"Yes, hahaha... yes, everything's fine!" she replied hurriedly, her laugh escaping despite herself.
She quickly grabbed the book, aware that she needed to concentrate. The symbol engraved in the margin seemed to almost vibrate before her eyes. She had a feeling that this was where the key lay, but reading became an impossible task with the tickles invading her entire body.
The shopkeeper, frustrated that she persisted, changed his target. He released his fingers from the doll's feet and moved gently up the body. Diane felt a strange heat rise through her torso. The tickles intensified on her ribs, slowly rising towards her breasts. An insidious taunting emerged again under her bra, her nipples becoming the new focus of attention.
"Oh, no... no, not that..." she murmured, squirming in her chair.
The sensations between her thighs also resumed, taunting her sex with troubling precision. Diane let out a sigh, a mix of frustration and involuntary pleasure. Her concentration was breaking bit by bit, and she knew she was losing control.
The librarian frowned, approaching the table.
"Madam, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. You're disturbing the other readers," she said sharply.
Diane, tears in her eyes, tried to respond, but a new uncontrolled laugh escaped her. She felt a wave of shame wash over her as all eyes turned to her. The tickles continued, relentless, and her body betrayed her.
The shopkeeper, satisfied with the scene, briefly intensified the sensations on her breasts and sex. Diane twisted in her chair, trying not to give in to the orgasm threatening to overwhelm her in the middle of the library. Her hands gripped the edges of the table, her mind torn between shame and the desire to escape.
"I... I'm sorry..." she stammered, her cheeks red with confusion.
The librarian shook her head, annoyed, and Diane, realizing she couldn't stay any longer, abruptly closed the book. She stood up hurriedly, her legs trembling, and headed for the exit under the questioning and mocking gazes of the other readers.
Diane, the book pressed against her chest, walked quickly through the library, her ballerinas clicking softly on the floor. Each step seemed to echo louder in her ears, accompanying the rise of discomfort that enveloped her. She knew she was on the verge of explosion, and she had only one goal: to leave this place before something even more embarrassing happened.
But as soon as she reached the door, a new wave of sensations hit her. The shopkeeper, observing through the back room mirror, gently ran a fine brush over the doll's feet, tickling each toe with diabolical precision. Diane immediately felt the tickles on her own feet, so intense that they made her stride falter. She stopped abruptly, lifting one foot as if something had slipped into her shoe.
"Hahaha! What is...?" she breathed, a nervous laugh escaping despite herself.
The tickles intensified, concentrating on the arch, then sliding between her toes like an insidious caress. Diane tried to contain her laughter, biting her lip, but her feet refused to obey her. She stumbled, seeking a balance that eluded her.
The brush, carefully manipulated, now ran along the sides of the doll, triggering deep tickles on Diane's flanks. She let out a small cry, her arms flailing to keep from falling. But the shopkeeper wasn't done. He returned to her feet, tickling each toe again, before running the brush over the entire sole. The sensations were too strong.
Diane suddenly slipped, her ballerinas lacking grip on the smooth floor. She fell heavily, half-kneeling in a disordered posture, her book falling beside her. Her face reddened further as she felt the gazes of the other visitors upon her. She tried to stand up quickly, but a new series of tickles on her feet made her tremble, her legs giving way beneath her.
In the back room, the shopkeeper observed with a carnivorous smile. He knew Diane was at her limit, and he intended to make the most of this moment. Abandoning the brush, he took the doll and ran his tongue along the crotch of the puppet, the smooth, satiny surface responding immediately to his gesture. Diane, hundreds of meters away, felt a surge of heat between her thighs.
"Oh no... no!" she murmured, her breath ragged. Her panties vibrated slightly, amplifying the stimulation rising within her.
The shopkeeper continued his work, his tongue tracing slow, precise circles, while one of his hands guided the brush towards the doll's breasts. The bristles of the brush gently tickled the tips of the doll, triggering immediate tingles on Diane's nipples. She half-straightened, her hand gripping the table to stabilize herself, but her body was out of control.
"Hahaha... I... I can't!" she gasped, the uncontrollable laughter mixing with groans of frustration.
The tickles and stimulations overwhelmed her, the sensations on her sex rising in intensity. She knew she was on the verge of giving in to shameful pleasure, here, in public, before all these gazes.
A man approached timidly, visibly concerned about her state.
"Madam, are you okay? Do you need help?" he asked.
Diane lifted tear-filled eyes, unable to respond. The pleasure rising within her made every word impossible to form. Her lips trembled, her body arched slightly, and she let out a small stifled cry, her voice broken by a mix of shame and desire. The shopkeeper, delighted to see his plan working, intensified his assault on the doll.
"Yes, that's it... come closer to your destiny," he murmured, his low voice resonating in the dark room.
He licked with more ardor, his movements precise and calculated, while the brush whirled over the doll's breasts. Diane, on her knees on the library floor, felt an irresistible wave rise within her. Her hands gripped the fallen book, her fingers trembling, as she struggled to regain control. But her body betrayed her.
Diane, still on her knees on the library floor, felt the heat rise within her like an insurmountable wave. Her legs trembled, her hands desperately gripping the book at her side, and her breath became erratic. She tried to stand up one last time, but the sensations on her body had become too intense. Each invisible caress, each insidious tickle seemed to push her further, to the brink of surrender.
The shopkeeper, still in his back room, intensified his work. His tongue slid slowly over the doll, rising and falling with almost cruel precision, while the brush in his hand continued to draw delicate circles on the puppet's breasts. The doll responded, as if absorbing Diane's energy, its appearance becoming gradually more distinct, more human as the sensations overwhelmed the woman.
Diane felt her sex vibrate in a way she had never known. The stimulation, subtle but insistent, accelerated. Her feet, confined in her ballerinas, seemed to burn with insufferable hypersensitivity, each ghostly touch on her arches amplifying the tension rising within her.
She finally burst. A stifled cry escaped her lips, followed by an uncontrollable groan that resonated in the silent library. Diane arched violently, her shoulders trembling as her entire body succumbed to an orgasm so intense it left her disoriented. Shame and embarrassment faded under the raw force of her pleasure. Her hand flew to her mouth, trying to mask the sound, but it was useless. Her cry betrayed everything.
"Oh... oh... my God!" she breathed, her cheeks red, her eyes half-closed, as tears of confusion and laughter ran down her cheeks.
The horrified or intrigued gazes of those present weighed on her, but she no longer had the strength to face them. An elderly woman recoiled, murmuring something softly to a man beside her. A library employee approached, visibly shocked.
In the back room, the shopkeeper observed the scene with a triumphant smile. He released the doll to admire its evolution. Its transformation had progressed: the hair had lengthened, and the face now closely resembled Diane. Its hips, flat stomach, breasts... everything was a crude copy of Diane. The silky blond hair now reached its shoulders.
The journey home was a blur of conflicting emotions for Diane. Shame burned her cheeks every time she thought of the scene in the library: the perplexed and scandalized gazes of the people, the murmurs that seemed to amplify as she tried to gather her things and hurriedly leave the place. Her heart was still beating at a frantic pace, both from embarrassment and the troubling, intense sensations she had experienced.
The book was pressed tightly against her chest, held firmly in her arms like a shield. She hadn't taken the time to look back, afraid to meet the faces of those who had witnessed her public humiliation. In her haste, she had forgotten her coat and hadn't even tried to hide her disheveled appearance: her once-impeccable hair had come undone and fell in disordered strands over her shoulders, and her ballerinas, rubbed by her fall, made a slight squeaking sound with each step.
When she finally reached the door of her house, Diane felt exhausted, drained of all energy. She entered stumbling, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, her forehead pressed against the cold wood. The quiet inside was a relief after the cacophony of her mind and the library.
She placed the book on the coffee table in the living room before collapsing onto the couch. Her still-trembling legs folded under her, and she curled up in an instinctive attempt to find some comfort. She tried to calm her mind by observing the rays of light filtering through the window curtains. Yet, every detail of her humiliation returned in a loop, mixed with another thought she tried to ignore: the way her body had reacted, so violently, so involuntarily, to the point of causing that orgasm she couldn't rationalize.
A sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes for a moment, seeking refuge in the silence. She didn't notice that, on the dresser where the watch case still rested, a faint red glow pulsed at regular intervals, almost imperceptible. The room seemed darker than usual, as if natural light struggled to penetrate the walls. A subtle chill settled in, but Diane, too absorbed in her thoughts, wasn't yet aware of it.
"What's happening to me..." she murmured, her voice barely audible.
The book on the coffee table finally caught her gaze. The symbol on the cover seemed to stare at her, deeply engraved in the worn leather. A shiver ran down her spine, but she pushed that sensation away, trying to rationalize. It was just a book, after all, a harmless object. She convinced herself that once she found answers to her questions, all this would be behind her.
In the quiet of her home, Diane settled at the kitchen table, the book placed before her. The thick pages exuded an odor of old paper and faded ink, a scent that could have been soothing if not for the sense of apprehension. The symbol engraved on the cover seemed to glow faintly under the dim light of the suspended lamp.
Diane carefully opened the book, her heart beating heavily in her chest. The first pages were written in an ancient language she didn't understand, but captivating and unsettling illustrations bordered the margins: familiar symbols, similar to the one on the watch, and grotesque representations of human figures, deformed and tortured.
The more she browsed the pages, the more an eerie anxiety gripped her. Some words seemed to float before her eyes, as if trying to imprint themselves in her mind: "power," "bonds," "sacrifices." One of the drawings particularly caught her attention: a hand-carved doll, adorned with the same demonic symbol, and surrounded by a pulsating red aura. The illustration showed the doll in a richly decorated miniature house, each detail seeming to vibrate with sinister energy.
Diane felt a cold sweat break out on her neck. The house depicted in the book eerily resembled the one she had glimpsed in the antique shop. "It's impossible," she murmured to herself, but a deep unease settled in. The texts seemed to describe an ancient enchantment, a complex ritual linking a living person to an effigy representing them. The implications were troubling: pain, pleasure, control... all passed through the doll.
A faint creak behind her made Diane jump. It was just a slight noise in the house, probably due to the wood settling, but in the tense atmosphere of the night, it seemed almost a warning. She abruptly closed the book, her trembling fingers leaving a damp imprint on the cover.
"I must sleep... It's nothing. Nothing at all," she murmured, trying to soothe her mind.
She stood up slowly, taking the book with her to place it on her nightstand. Her reflection in the hallway mirror surprised her: her cheeks were red, her hair slightly disheveled, and her eyes shone with an intensity she didn't recognize. Was it fatigue? Or something else?
Meanwhile, in the back room, the shopkeeper observed Diane's progress through his enchanted mirror. He saw the emotions crossing her face: fear, confusion, doubt. This did not please him. She was getting too close to the truth, and although the doll was not yet complete, Diane was becoming dangerously suspicious.
He turned to the shelf where the miniature dollhouse stood, small and sinister, a jewel of demonic craftsmanship. Inside, the doll, now humanoid to the waist, seemed to be waiting. Its blond hair shimmered under the dim light of the candles. The lower part of its body remained unfinished, but that didn't prevent it from serving its purpose.
The shopkeeper carefully took the doll in his hands and placed it inside the miniature house, setting it in a small upstairs bedroom, similar to Diane's. He murmured incantations as he slid his fingers over the cold surface of the house, activating the mystical bonds between the doll and the woman. Once the doll was in place, he stepped back, satisfied.
"You are still far from accepting your place, Diane," he murmured, caressing the edge of the house. "But tonight will bring you closer to the submission my master awaits."
In the darkness of her bedroom, Diane sank into a restless sleep, her thoughts still troubled by the images from the book and the events of the day. But it was not an ordinary sleep. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, she felt her mind slip into a different reality, as if she had been sucked in by an invisible force.
She opened her eyes in an unfamiliar, strange, and unsettling place. The walls around her were made of ancient, dark wood, covered with cracks that seemed to pulsate with a bloody red glow. The light came from candelabras with flickering candles, whose flames seemed to burn unnaturally, casting moving shadows. Every detail seemed unreal, yet eerily precise, as if she had been plunged into a nightmarish painting.
Diane looked at herself, surprised. She wore a delicate dress, similar to those of ancient dolls: a silky and stiff fabric, adorned with lace, that seemed to float around her. Her movements were slow, as if her limbs were pulled by invisible strings. She walked softly, her bare feet brushing a cold, smooth floor that seemed to absorb every sound.
"Where am I?" she murmured, her voice echoing strangely in this enclosed space.
She advanced into what seemed like an endless corridor, lined with small identical doors. Each was adorned with the symbol she had seen on the watch and in the book. A shiver ran down her spine. She placed a trembling hand on one of the doorknobs and opened the door. Behind it, she discovered a tiny, almost oppressive room. Inside, a miniature replica of her living room. Every detail was there: her couch, her favorite vase, even a small book placed on a tiny table.
— "This isn't possible..." she murmured, stepping back. "What is this?"
As she closed the door, a cold breath passed over her neck, like an intangible caress. Diane started and turned around, but there was nothing. Yet, she felt a presence, diffuse but undeniable, that seemed to be watching her. A dull fear rose within her, but she continued to move forward.
She reached a larger room, decorated with sinister opulence: an immense crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, its lights casting reddish reflections. In the center of the room, an elegant but strange chair, carved from a dark wood and adorned with a demonic symbol. Diane felt drawn to it against her will. Her legs trembled, but she couldn't stop. When she sat down, a strange weight settled in her body, as if she were being held by invisible bonds. A slight but unpleasant warmth spread through her arms and legs, then concentrated on her chest. Subtle effleurments were felt on her sides, like ghostly hands exploring her skin. She shivered, unable to move.
— "No... no... not this..." she murmured, trying to control her breath. The sensations were faint, almost ethereal, but real enough for her to notice. Shivers ran down her ribs, barely perceptible but irritating tickles that seemed to rise and fall like a wave. Diane bit her lip to hold back a nervous laugh. She hated these ghostly tickles, and even though they were greatly diminished, they made her uncomfortable.
The effleurments moved gently to her arms and thighs, like invisible spider webs dancing on her skin. She tried to stand up, but her muscles wouldn't respond, as if the chair itself had imprisoned her. A faint pressure settled on her breasts, a strange sensation, halfway between a caress and a shiver. Diane closed her eyes, trying to chase away this unreal impression. She opened her eyes suddenly, looking for the source of the voice, but there was no one. The effleurments ceased, and the chair suddenly released her. She stood up abruptly, her breath short, and left the room running. But the hallways seemed endless, and each door led to another miniature room representing a part of her house.
Diane woke up with a start, her heart pounding. She was in her bed, her room plunged into familiar darkness. Her body was drenched in sweat, and her hands convulsively clutched the sheets.
— "This... this was just a dream," she murmured to reassure herself. But the worry did not leave her. Something indefinable still weighed on her, like an invisible shadow. Meanwhile, in the back room, the seller contemplated the dollhouse, his cunning smile lit by the red light of the candles. Inside, the doll looked a little more like Diane.
In the soft morning light, Diane stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her black sports leggings and her fitted white tank top. Her blonde hair was carefully tied in a high ponytail, revealing her elegant face and fine shoulders. She slipped her feet into a pair of soft leather ballet flats, showing off her perfectly pedicured nails, always adorned with that bright red that was a signature for her. Her morning routines brought her a sense of control and balance, a comforting contrast to the growing strangeness that was creeping into her life. She grabbed her gym bag and left the house, the light scent of her moisturizing lotion trailing behind her. On the way to the pilates studio, she felt a diffuse nervousness that she tried to chase away. The watch was still on her dresser, but Diane couldn't deny that she felt a presence, an energy that seemed to accompany her, although she couldn't define it.
Meanwhile, in the back room of the shop, the shopkeeper was busy in front of the doll. His thin fingers held a small feather brush, which he slowly slid over the roughly carved areas: the sides, the thighs, and especially, the delicately formed breasts. With each pass, a shiver ran through the doll, and in his enchanted mirror, he could observe Diane, albeit blurrily, warming up in the pilates studio. He murmured softly, almost like an incantation:
— "Stronger, my sweet... feel me." The tip of the feather caressed the doll's chest, brushing the breasts, the delicately traced areolas, while in the studio, Diane felt a shiver run through her. She placed a hand on her sternum, trying to understand this strange sensation. The sensations were more intense than the day before, although much less than physical tickles. Diane, barefoot on her pilates mat, felt the soft carpet under her perfectly manicured toes, but this familiar reassurance did nothing to soothe the invisible chaos that had taken over her body. From the beginning of the class, she had the feeling that an intangible force was testing her limits, a methodical attack on her most sensitive areas.
It had started gently, like the day before, with almost innocent tickles around her sides and stomach. But this time, the tickles were more intense, more targeted. Diane struggled to maintain her balance during the first poses, but each movement seemed to aggravate the sensations, as if they were responding to her efforts to ignore them. When the instructor had them take off their ballet flats at the beginning of the session, Diane hadn't thought much of it. It was a common practice for better grounding. But now, barefoot, she felt every effleurement, every imaginary tickle that rose from her toes to her ankles, a subtle but insidious wave that seemed to play with her.
When she felt the first tickles around her chest, her reaction was immediate: her arms instinctively folded to cover her torso, but she pretended to adjust her pose to avoid attracting attention.
— "Breathe, relax," she said to herself softly, trying to mask a nervous laugh that threatened to burst out. But the sensations wouldn't let go. The intangible contact moved from her sides to her thighs, then to her breasts, each movement becoming an unbearable provocation. She felt a warmth spread through her body, and her breath quickened. Diane knew she couldn't react as she had at the library. She couldn't afford to lose control here, surrounded by these women she vaguely knew but with whom she shared a routine so carefully constructed.
Then the tickles moved again. It was subtle at first: a gentle caress along her arches, a sensation so precise that she let out a small gasp of surprise. Her toes curled on the mat, desperately trying to escape this insidious stimulation.
— "Not the feet," she murmured, her cheeks flushing as she tried to focus on the instructor's directions. But it was useless. The shopkeeper, in his back room, was having fun with the doll, tracing circles around its heels and slowly moving up to the soles of its feet with an invisible feather. Diane felt a wave of laughter rise within her, uncontrollable. She tried to camouflage her disarray by changing poses, but her movements became more and more clumsy.
— "Hahaha... oh, uh, sorry!" she suddenly blurted out, bursting into laughter before putting a hand over her mouth to stifle it. The gazes of the other participants turned towards her, curious but not yet disdainful.
— "Are you okay, Diane?" the instructor asked, visibly intrigued.
— "Yes, haha... just a... a spasm! Sorry," she stammered, straightening up quickly, her cheeks burning. The sensations on her feet became more intense, as if someone were gently tracing circles on her arches with an extremely fine brush. Diane couldn't help but move her toes, trying to get rid of what she knew was nothing, an illusion... but which seemed so real. Her legs trembled slightly as she tried to stay still. When she felt the tickles rise towards her breasts, and even more insidiously towards her crotch, a wave of panic washed over her. It was worse than the day before. Her nipples were already sensitive under her fitted tank top, and now each invisible caress seemed to tease them directly, making them painfully reactive. A diffuse warmth rose in her belly, and Diane had to clench her teeth to hold back a moan.
She looked around, hoping no one noticed her trembling hands, her erratic breathing, or the blush rising from her neck to her face. But as she raised her arms for a stretching pose, a new sensation, more precise and more intimate, exploded at the bottom of her belly. It was as if a feather were sliding directly against her sex, teasing the most sensitive areas of her anatomy. Diane froze, her mind torn between shame, dismay, and an excitement she didn't understand. She crossed her legs, hoping to hide her discomfort, but the sensations only intensified, playing with her like a predator playing with its prey. She knew she wouldn't last long. Not like this.
Diane tried to catch her breath, but it was as if her own body was conspiring against her. Each pilates pose became a silent ordeal, her muscles twitching under sensations she couldn't explain or ignore. The tingling seemed to intensify with each minute, each invisible stroke seeming to respond to her efforts to concentrate. Barefoot on the mat, she felt a growing vulnerability. Memories of the attacks from the day before at the library hung over her like a shadow, and the very idea that she was once again at the mercy of an invisible force made her want to flee.
In the back room, the shopkeeper watched all this through his enchanted mirror. His fingers caressed the half-finished doll, gradually increasing the intensity of his actions. He knew he had to stay methodical. No, he wanted to bring her gradually to her limit, to make her waver in a way she would never forget. Diane's movements became more clumsy. She felt the tickles rise along her hips, wrap around her belly, and linger on her breasts, each stimulation becoming more insidious, more impossible to ignore. The tingling around her nipples turned into a continuous teasing, and her arms instinctively tensed to protect her chest. But this only highlighted her agitation, and the gazes of the other participants began to linger on her.
— "Diane? Are you okay?" asked one of the women next to her, a mix of curiosity and concern in her voice.
— "Yes, haha... I think I'm... just a little tense today," Diane replied, her nervous laughter betraying her discomfort. But it wasn't just tension. It was an inner struggle, a battle against sensations she couldn't name, against a growing humiliation she couldn't contain. Yet, she couldn't give up. Not here, not in front of everyone. She clenched her fists, trying to hold on to the little dignity she felt slipping away.
The shopkeeper, behind his mirror, savored every moment. His smile widened as he raised a feather he hadn't used yet. He leaned over the doll, holding it by the hips, and slowly traced a circle around the chest, then a spiral that descended slowly, methodically. Diane, in the studio, felt a wave of shivers run through her entire body, her chest rising and falling at an irregular rhythm. Her breathing was ragged, and her movements became clumsy. She gritted her teeth, trying to contain the heat rising within her, but her efforts were in vain. A more intense wave suddenly ran through her, tearing a stifled moan from her lips. She quickly brought a hand to her mouth, horrified by the sound she had just made.
The gazes turned towards her, some curious, others perplexed. Diane felt the blush rise to her cheeks, her humiliation growing as she realized she had just betrayed her distress. In the back room, the shopkeeper smiled, his eyes riveted on his mirror. He savored the spectacle, each moment reinforcing his power over her. His fingers slid slowly over the doll's feet, his movements precise and deliberate. A light feather appeared between his fingers: the perfect instrument for the next act.
Diane, standing on her pilates mat, felt something new. It started as a tingling under her arches, a sensation soft but tenacious that quickly escalated. She leaned on her heels, trying to escape this strange sensation that was growing in intensity, but it only made things worse.
— "Oh no... not there," she murmured to herself, her toes curled against the floor. The shopkeeper traced circles with the feather on the doll's feet, lingering on the heels, then slowly moving up to the toes. Diane felt a wave of tickles overwhelm her bare feet. She burst out laughing despite herself, her voice echoing in the studio, drawing even more attention to her.
— "Hahaha! No... I... I'm sorry!" she said, unable to contain herself. Her feet, her most sensitive area, had become the center of the assault. The heat of the floor combined with the invisible tickles was driving her crazy. Her toes instinctively wiggled, as if trying to escape a presence she couldn't see. She tried to concentrate, to maintain her balance, but each stroke made her stumble a little more towards humiliation.
The shopkeeper intensified his work, sliding the feather between the doll's toes. Diane felt an electric shock of sensations run through her body, making her twist on the spot. Her knees almost gave way under her as she tried to mask her laughter with a forced cough.
— "Diane, are you really okay?" asked a voice, distant and blurred by the chaos in her mind. She nodded frantically, unable to form a coherent response. Her feet had become an obsession: she wanted to flee, hide their vulnerability, but she was trapped. The sensations were spreading, her skin burning with shame and mixed pleasure.
Diane desperately tried to stand up, but her body no longer responded to her will. The tickles that were devouring her feet were unbearable, each invisible effleurement turning into a wave of torture. Her toes curled and wiggled, trying to escape an immaterial presence. The shopkeeper, in his back room, watched the scene through the enchanted mirror, his smile widening. His hands worked skillfully: on one side, the feather slid between the doll's toes, lingering on the arches; on the other, he pressed and gently rubbed the doll's sex, synchronizing the stimulations to maximize the effect on Diane.
In the pilates studio, Diane burst into uncontrollable laughter, her voice echoing in the room, drawing all eyes to her. She curled up on the floor, unable to stand up.
— "Hahaha! No! Please... stop!" she stammered between laughs, her hands trying to protect her bare feet. But the sensations didn't stop. They intensified. The tickles on her feet, already hard to bear, were now mixed with a growing heat between her thighs. Diane felt a wave of pleasure rise within her, an irresistible fire fueled by the invisible caresses on her sex.
— "Diane, are you okay? What's happening?" asked another of her classmates, moving closer to help. Diane couldn't hear anything anymore. Her hysterical laughter mixed with stifled moans as she writhed on the floor, her hands sliding from her feet to her belly, desperately trying to escape this mix of sensations.
The shopkeeper accelerated his work, sliding the feather along the doll's arches while pressing more intensely on its sex. Diane screamed a "No!" mixed with laughter, her body arching violently.
— "Hahaha! Stop! Oh my God... Aaaaaaah..." Diane was on the verge of orgasm as she had let out a loud moan in the studio between laughs. The eyes of her classmates were wide, their faces betraying incomprehension and embarrassment.
— "Diane, what... ?" one of them murmured, hesitating to intervene further. Diane, ashamed and confused, curled up even more, hiding her face in her hands. Her breathing was ragged, her feet still sensitive, everything in her screaming humiliation and loss of control.
Diane felt an icy shiver run through her entire body as the familiar and unbearable sensation of an invisible feather brushed her arches. She froze, her eyes widening in horror, before a burst of uncontrollable laughter escaped her lips.
— "Hahaha! No, not again! Hahaha... Please!" Her feet, bare against the studio floor, flailed frantically, trying to escape the invisible assailant. The other participants, perplexed, watched Diane with growing concern as she laughed and gesticulated, unable to contain herself.
In the back room, the shopkeeper watched Diane through his enchanted mirror, a predatory smile on his face. In one hand, he held the half-finished doll, its feet now perfectly formed and shiny, while the other manipulated a fine feather that he slowly passed over the arches and between the delicately modeled toes. Diane leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees, her breath ragged between laughs.
— "Hahaha... I... I can't! Stop it!" she cried, her cheeks flushed with effort and embarrassment. The sensations were unbearable, as if every nerve in her feet had been amplified to the extreme. Each imaginary pass of the feather between her toes plunged her into uncontrollable laughter, leaving her trembling and helpless.
She tried to straighten up, but her legs gave way under her when a new wave of targeted tickles threw off her balance.
— "Diane, are you okay?" asked one of the participants, approaching cautiously. Diane looked up, her face contorted with a mix of hysterical laughter and tears, and shook her head.
— "Hahaha... I... I have to go!" she managed to stammer, stumbling as she tried to move towards the exit. But the sensations didn't stop. The shopkeeper intensified his work, now passing the feather over the doll's heels and sliding up to the soles of its feet, tracing precise and cruel circles, while with the other hand he tickled the doll's sex with a feather. Diane cried out with laughter, almost collapsing to her knees.
— "Hahaha! Please! Hahaha... I'm going to go crazy!" She managed to straighten up, her bare feet pounding the floor as she staggered towards the door. The astonished gazes of her classmates followed each of her movements, and Diane felt their incomprehension weighing on her like a burden.
— "I have to... get out... hahaha... now!" she gasped as she rushed towards the exit. Diane was almost at the studio door, her bare feet slipping slightly on the polished floor, when a soft but firm hand rested on her arm.
— "Diane, wait! What's wrong?" asked Emma, a close friend from the class, her eyes filled with concern. Diane turned abruptly, her breath rapid and ragged, her cheeks flushed with effort and shame. Before she could respond, an insidious shiver rose from her belly to her chest, and she felt a wave of irresistible heat wash over her.
In the back room, the shopkeeper, now perfectly in sync with the link between Diane and the doll, ran his fingers over the roughly carved breasts of the effigy, gently caressing and pinching the nipples. His movements were calculated, firm but teasing, tracing circles around the sensitive tips. With the other hand, he slowly brushed the doll's crotch, his fingers manipulating every inch of the imaginary fabric covering it with precision. Diane felt her nipples harden instantly under her tank top, and a raw sigh escaped her lips before she could contain it.
— "Ah... oh..." Emma frowned, perplexed.
— "Diane, are you sure you're okay? You're all red... You seem... strange." But Diane couldn't respond. A new caress, this time more insistent, invaded her sex, making her jump. She opened her mouth to protest, but it was an uncontrollable moan that escaped, high-pitched and trembling.
— "Aaaah..." Emma's face darkened with concern.
— "Diane? What... ?" Diane tried to speak, but each word died in her throat, drowned out by waves of forced pleasure. Her legs trembled, her hips contracted despite her, and her arms instinctively wrapped around her chest, now painfully taut under the effect of the stimulations.
— "I... ah... hah... I have to go..." she murmured, her voice broken by a mix of shame and frustration. But Emma didn't let go, her gaze becoming more insistent.
— "Diane, what's happening to you? You seem..." Another moan escaped Diane, this time longer, almost guttural. She bit her lip to try to contain herself, but it was useless. The shopkeeper was accelerating his work, his fingers lingering with calculated intensity on the doll that now had Diane's exact face. Each movement he imprinted on the effigy resonated directly with Diane, amplified by the growing link between them.
Her breath short, her eyes half-closed with confusion and pleasure, Diane finally raised her hand to gently push Emma away.
— "Hah... please... let me..." she murmured, her voice a mix of supplication and embarrassment. But Emma, confused and increasingly alarmed, still hesitated. Diane felt a new stimulation invade her body, precise but invisible caresses that trapped her. Her hips contracted slightly, and she let out another uncontrolled moan, this time directly into Emma's face.
— "Oh... aaah..." Emma stepped back, shocked.
— "Diane? But what's happening?" But she could no longer resist the sensations that were overwhelming her. Her knees trembled, she brought a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her moans as a wave of pleasure mounted within her. A burning heat invaded her body, rising from her lower belly to her mind. She felt her sex pulse violently, and an orgasm hit her full force, leaving her breathless.
Shame surged in Diane's mind. She turned her eyes away, a tear rolling down her cheek.
— "I... I'm sorry... I have to go!" she almost cried, her voice broken by the effort to contain what had become unbearable. She finally freed herself from Emma's hand and rushed out of the studio, the stifled laughter and perplexed gazes of her classmates weighing on her shoulders like a leaden cloak.
Diane rushed home, her ballet flats in hand, the cold floor of the entrance caressing her already sensitive bare feet, a sensation she hated even more after the events of the studio. Her breathing was ragged, her heart pounding at a frantic rhythm as she leaned against the door she had just slammed shut. She felt every fiber of her body still reacting to the stimulations, each brush of her clothes against her skin exacerbating a sensitivity she could no longer manage. She hurried through the house, ignoring the reflection of her flushed face in the mirrors, and climbed the stairs, her feet brushing the smooth wood with a precision that made her shiver. Entering her room, her gaze immediately fell on the dresser where the watch sat in its black velvet case. The object seemed to be waiting for her, radiating a silent aura, as if calling to her.
— "It's you... all of this is because of you," Diane murmured, her voice trembling with anger and fear. She approached slowly, her fingers hesitating for a second before picking up the case, lifting it carefully as if it were a living thing. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and revolt. She knew that this object was the source of her torments: the tickles, the intense sensations, the public embarrassment... it all traced back to this damned watch.
— "I'm going to get rid of it. That's enough," she declared with determination, clutching the case to her chest. But at that moment, as if the object had heard her thoughts, a dark red glow burst from inside the case. The lid opened slightly, revealing the golden watch that seemed to vibrate softly, emitting an almost imperceptible sound, a hypnotic murmur that resonated directly in Diane's mind. She tried to look away, but her eyes were magnetically drawn to the symbol engraved on the case. A red light pulsed softly, synchronizing with her racing heart.
— "No... no..." she stammered, stepping back slightly, but her legs refused to obey her. The flash came without warning. An explosion of intense red light filled the room, invading Diane's mind like a burning wave. Her body froze, her eyes wide and glassy, and her lips parted in a silent breath. Murmurs invaded her mind, deep and seductive, words she didn't understand but that seemed to take root deep within her. Her posture relaxed, her body leaning slightly forward as her mind sank into a state of temporary submission.
A shiver ran through her as she felt a diffuse heat spread through her entire body, amplifying her already exacerbated sensitivity even more. Every particle of her skin seemed on the verge of bursting into flames, and an involuntary sigh escaped her lips. When the light went out, Diane swayed slightly, her trembling hands still holding the open case. Her eyes regained their clarity, but her mind was confused, as if enveloped in a thick fog. She tried to remember her intentions, but they seemed blurry, distant. With a hesitant gesture, she gently closed the case and set it back on the dresser, her fingers brushing the velvet with involuntary tenderness.
— "Maybe... maybe I'm overreacting," she murmured, her tone uncertain. But deep down, a part of her mind knew she was already lost.
Chapter 2 : Voodoo Doll
Diane was seated at a solid wooden reading table, in a room bathed in soft light, surrounded by the hushed murmurs and characteristic scent of old books. Around her, about a dozen people, mostly students and researchers, were engrossed in their reading, adding to the studious calm of the place. She was browsing a dusty volume, searching for a clue about the mysterious symbol engraved on the watch.
Focused, she slowly turned the yellowed pages, her ballet flats resting on the floor and her legs crossed under the table. The silence of the library seemed to amplify the sound of the pages rustling under her fingers. But suddenly, a strange sensation swept through her. It was just a slight shiver at first, like an invisible breath gliding along her ribs.
Diane froze, her gaze briefly lifting from the book. She ran a hand over her side, where she had felt the sensation. Nothing. Everything seemed normal. She frowned, perplexed, then returned to her reading. But the shivers returned, more pronounced this time, like little imaginary feathers dancing on her skin. They concentrated on her belly, rising towards her ribs. Diane slightly contracted her abdominals, surprised, and a discreet but uncontrollable laugh escaped her.
"Hmm, sorry..." she murmured, straightening up, addressing a nervous smile to a young woman seated nearby who had looked up at her.
Redness spread across her cheeks, but she tried to refocus on her work. However, the sensations became increasingly difficult to ignore. It was as if an invisible hand was brushing against her body, playfully teasing her nerves. The shivers slowly descended, settling on her hips, then rose with almost insidious precision to the bottom of her chest.
Diane crossed her arms over her chest and discreetly squeezed her shoulders, trying to minimize the sensations. Her lips twisted into a grimace that she tried to hide. She murmured to herself, almost inaudibly:
"What is this...?"
But the sensation did not subside. If something was actually brushing against her ribs and the bottom of her chest, it seemed both delicate and insistent. She placed her hand on her shirt, hoping that this simple gesture would stop the strangeness that was bothering her.
Unfortunately, nothing worked. A new wave of tickles slid gently, intensifying on the sides of her waist, just below her chest. Diane felt her lips tremble, an irrepressible laugh rising in her throat. She clenched her teeth, subtly squirming in her chair, hoping that no one would notice her agitation.
"Haha... oh, no..." she breathed, her fingers gripping the edges of the table to keep herself in place.
The sensations became more daring, rising towards her breasts, triggering tingles around her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Diane briefly looked away from her book to discreetly scan the room. No one seemed to be paying attention to her, but she felt exposed, vulnerable. She crossed her arms over her chest again, pressing lightly in the hope of easing the shivers.
In the back room, the seller watched through the mirror, a smug smile on his face. His fingers gently traced the torso of the doll, exactly replicating the movements he wanted to transmit to Diane. He saw her body stiffen, her lips trying to contain her laughter, and he savored every second. She didn't yet understand what was happening to her, but he was determined to make her leave the library, one way or another, despite the tenuous link between Diane and the doll.
Diane, on her side, felt the situation becoming unbearable. The tickles rose along her breasts, like invisible feathers circling her nipples, triggering uncontrollable shivers. Her cheeks were burning, and she bit her lip to keep from bursting into laughter. She leaned slightly over the table, pretending to be absorbed in her book, but her mind was elsewhere, entirely focused on her body.
"Stop..." she whispered to herself, her trembling fingers briefly brushing her shirt.
But the sensations persisted, teasing and relentless. Diane no longer dared to move, aware that every gesture risked revealing her distress to those around her. She glanced nervously around. No one seemed to be looking at her, but she felt as if everyone could sense her discomfort.
In her mind, a fleeting thought emerged: was it the watch? The symbol? No, that was absurd. But she couldn't help connecting these strange sensations to that shop and what she had felt since leaving it.
As she tried to regain her composure, the sensations intensified briefly before fading, leaving her breathless and confused. Diane placed a hand on her chest, feeling her heart racing, and closed her eyes for a moment. She wondered if she was going crazy, or if something darker was happening around her.
Diane, determined to ignore the strange sensations that had troubled her, returned to her reading. Her slender fingers slid over the pages of the old book, trying to decipher the symbols and engravings. The ancient volumes she consulted were filled with mysterious signs, but nothing specific seemed to match the watch's symbol. She frowned slightly, concentrating, but a barely perceptible sensation abruptly pulled her from her research.
A soft, precise caress brushed her belly, just below her navel, catching her off guard. Diane startled slightly, her hands instinctively resting on her abdomen as if to chase away an invisible hand. But there was nothing. She nervously looked around. The library was still silent, the few people present engrossed in their books. Biting her lip, she tried to refocus, but the shivers returned, more persistent this time.
The sensations, fine and delicate, seemed to slip under her loose blouse, following the contours of her ribs to rise slowly towards her chest again. Diane straightened in her chair, her breath quickening despite herself. She crossed her arms over her torso in a futile attempt to ease the strange tingling that was starting around her breasts.
"Not again..." she murmured in a barely audible breath, her cheeks turning pink with the effort to contain her reaction.
In the back room, the seller, his eyes fixed on the enchanted mirror, gently intensified his work. His fingers rested on the doll's chest, slowly tracing the contours. The movements were meticulous, precise, and he observed with malicious pleasure the effect they had on Diane.
She, on her side, struggled to stay calm. The sensations focused on her breasts, light but insidious tickles that seemed to envelop her nipples in a whirlwind of shivers. Her lips trembled, a small involuntary laugh rising in her throat. She suppressed it, leaning further over the table to hide her distress.
"Ha... ha... focus..." she murmured to herself, her voice trembling.
But the tickles intensified, spreading to the sides of her waist. Each touch seemed perfectly targeted, as if an invisible entity knew exactly her sensitive spots. Diane moved slightly in her chair, her hips squirming in an almost imperceptible movement. She clenched her fists, her perfectly manicured nails pressing against her palms to try to regain control.
The sensations rose again, encircling her breasts with exasperating precision, teasing the already hardened tips under the fabric. Diane briefly closed her eyes, seeking to regain control, but a light laugh escaped her lips, drawing a furtive glance from the librarian at the other end of the room. She blushed violently, shook her head, and tried to fake a cough to cover her embarrassment.
"Sorry," she murmured, her cheeks on fire.
But within her, a mix of annoyance and distress grew. Why was her body reacting like this? Why now, here, in this place where silence was sacred? She had no explanation, but each tingle, each touch seemed to fuel a tension she couldn't release. Her hands rested on her hips, pressing her body slightly as if to anchor her reality, but nothing worked.
In the back room, the seller sketched a satisfied smile. He placed his fingers on the bottom of the doll, slowly tracing the curves that corresponded to Diane's hips and belly. The doll reacted to his touches, vibrating gently under his touch. The sensations he infused clearly manifested on Diane, visible in the mirror: her reddened cheeks, her growing agitation, and her stifled laughter.
Diane, on the other hand, felt trapped in an invisible vice. The sensations eased slightly, giving her a brief respite, but she knew they could return at any moment. She passed a trembling hand over her forehead, wiping away a thin film of sweat.
She turned a new page of the volume, her eyes scanning the ancient lines, but her mind was too troubled to concentrate. She knew she couldn't stay there indefinitely. The furtive glances of the other readers seemed to weigh on her like a silent judgment.
A symbol engraved in the margin of a text suddenly caught her attention: a sinuous and complex shape, strangely familiar. Her breath quickened slightly as she squinted to decipher it better. The symbol closely resembled the one on the watch. Her heart beat faster: she might finally be approaching a solid clue.
In the back room, the seller watched this with a glint of annoyance in his eyes. She was getting too close, too fast, and he couldn't allow her to discover crucial information. With a calculating smile, he turned to the voodoo doll, his fingers caressing the area corresponding to the feet.
Diane, focused on her reading, didn't notice at first. But as soon as her eyes delved deeper into the text, it began: a light, almost imperceptible shiver at her toes. She blinked, shaking her head slightly. Maybe a cramp, she thought. But quickly, the sensation became more insistent. Fine, insidious tickles invaded the soles of her feet, rising to the arch, as if invisible feathers were brushing against them.
"Ah!" she let out in a small start, squeezing her legs under the table.
Her ballerinas, usually comfortable, suddenly felt like a trap. Diane rubbed her feet against each other, hoping to dispel the tingles, but it only made things worse. The tickles concentrated on her toes, sliding between them, teasing with diabolical precision. A wave of heat rose in her, her cheeks taking on a bright red hue as she tried not to draw attention.
"Hahaha... no..." she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Her feet squirmed in her shoes, desperately seeking an escape. She crossed her legs under the table, but every movement amplified the sensations. The invisible feathers seemed to enjoy exploring every millimeter of skin, from heels to toe tips. Diane bit her lip to contain an uncontrollable laugh that threatened to escape.
In the back room, the seller observed the scene with satisfaction. Diane moved slightly away from the book, her thoughts visibly distracted by the tickles. Perfect. But when she pushed the volume away, taking another book from the nearby table, he understood that she wasn't giving up. Annoyed, he changed his strategy. His fingers left the doll's feet to rise towards the torso and crotch.
Diane, still troubled by the sensations in her feet, felt a deeper shiver. The tickles moved, slipping under her blouse, caressing her ribs and rising towards her breasts. She straightened slightly, placing a hand on her belly to try to calm the tingles, but it only made things worse. The invisible touches reached her nipples, teasing them gently. A disorienting heat overcame her, mixed with rising laughter.
"Hahaha... stop, stop..." she murmured, leaning over the table to hide her distress.
But the worst was yet to come. As she tried to push away the sensations, an insidious tingling arose between her thighs. Diane stiffened, her hands gripping the edges of the book. The stimulation was subtle but terribly targeted. She felt caresses brushing her sex, at first light, then increasingly precise. A mix of pleasure and panic overwhelmed her.
"Oh... my God..." she murmured, her cheeks burning.
She abruptly closed the book, hoping to break her concentration. But every second spent searching for clues seemed to intensify the sensations. The tickles on her torso mingled with delicate pulsations between her thighs. Diane placed a trembling hand on her chest, trying to hide the involuntary movements of her body. She moved slightly in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs in a desperate attempt to calm herself.
A student sitting at a nearby table gave her a curious look, intrigued by her agitated movements. Diane avoided her gaze, biting her lip to stifle a nervous laugh rising in her throat. But the invisible caresses, controlled by the seller, did not weaken. On the contrary, they seemed to adapt to her inner struggle, testing her limits.
The seller, satisfied to see Diane becoming more and more agitated, intensified the stimulations on her nipples and sex, while briefly easing the tickles. He wanted to bring her to the brink of orgasm, to make her crack publicly. Diane, for her part, fought with all her might to keep her composure, ignoring the furtive glances turning in her direction.
"Hahaha... please..." she whispered softly, her struggle becoming more visible.
Diane, breathless and cheeks on fire, grabbed the volume where she had glimpsed the symbol. She felt a shiver run through her as she brushed the cover, her trembling hands betraying her state. She knew she was approaching something important. But as soon as she reopened the book, a new wave of sensations overwhelmed her.
The shopkeeper, observing her distress through the mirror, smiled with dark satisfaction. His fingers gently brushed the doll's feet, triggering a series of light but precise tickles on Diane's. He knew her feet were a weak point, a hypersensitive area she hated to see stimulated. Although she wasn't yet fully connected to the doll, her reactions were already intense enough to deeply trouble her.
Diane felt the tickles slip through her ballerinas, like invisible fingers sliding over the soles of her feet, exploring every nook and cranny. She gritted her teeth, trying to maintain a semblance of calm, but her feet moved involuntarily. The tingles between her toes were the worst: an insidious and uncontrollable taunting that drew uncontrolled shivers from her.
"Hahaha... no, not that... not here..." she murmured in a halting, breathless voice.
She curled her feet in her ballerinas, her toes pressing against the leather in a vain attempt to escape the sensations. But it only intensified them. Every movement seemed to provoke a new series of tickles, as if the invisible fingers were adapting to her efforts.
A librarian, seated nearby, cast a piercing glance in her direction. Diane, aware of the attention she was drawing, placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a nervous laugh. Her legs trembled under the table, and her face reddened with each passing second.
"Calm down... calm down... you can do it..." she murmured to herself, trying to regain control.
But as soon as she turned a new page of the book, the sensations intensified. The shopkeeper increased the stimulation, his fingers pressing lightly on the doll's arch. Diane felt a stronger wave of tingles surge over her feet. The tickles were unbearable now, accumulating in relentless waves that drew spasms from her.
"Hahaha... please!" she breathed in a stifled laugh, her panicked gaze seeking an escape.
She briefly let go of the book, but it seemed to make things worse. Her feet danced in their ballerinas, and she crossed them under the table in a desperate attempt to calm the sensations. The soft leather seemed to amplify, each movement intensifying the invisible caresses.
"Is everything okay?" asked a woman at a nearby table, her intrigued gaze fixed on Diane.
"Yes, hahaha... yes, everything's fine!" she replied hurriedly, her laugh escaping despite herself.
She quickly grabbed the book, aware that she needed to concentrate. The symbol engraved in the margin seemed to almost vibrate before her eyes. She had a feeling that this was where the key lay, but reading became an impossible task with the tickles invading her entire body.
The shopkeeper, frustrated that she persisted, changed his target. He released his fingers from the doll's feet and moved gently up the body. Diane felt a strange heat rise through her torso. The tickles intensified on her ribs, slowly rising towards her breasts. An insidious taunting emerged again under her bra, her nipples becoming the new focus of attention.
"Oh, no... no, not that..." she murmured, squirming in her chair.
The sensations between her thighs also resumed, taunting her sex with troubling precision. Diane let out a sigh, a mix of frustration and involuntary pleasure. Her concentration was breaking bit by bit, and she knew she was losing control.
The librarian frowned, approaching the table.
"Madam, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. You're disturbing the other readers," she said sharply.
Diane, tears in her eyes, tried to respond, but a new uncontrolled laugh escaped her. She felt a wave of shame wash over her as all eyes turned to her. The tickles continued, relentless, and her body betrayed her.
The shopkeeper, satisfied with the scene, briefly intensified the sensations on her breasts and sex. Diane twisted in her chair, trying not to give in to the orgasm threatening to overwhelm her in the middle of the library. Her hands gripped the edges of the table, her mind torn between shame and the desire to escape.
"I... I'm sorry..." she stammered, her cheeks red with confusion.
The librarian shook her head, annoyed, and Diane, realizing she couldn't stay any longer, abruptly closed the book. She stood up hurriedly, her legs trembling, and headed for the exit under the questioning and mocking gazes of the other readers.
Diane, the book pressed against her chest, walked quickly through the library, her ballerinas clicking softly on the floor. Each step seemed to echo louder in her ears, accompanying the rise of discomfort that enveloped her. She knew she was on the verge of explosion, and she had only one goal: to leave this place before something even more embarrassing happened.
But as soon as she reached the door, a new wave of sensations hit her. The shopkeeper, observing through the back room mirror, gently ran a fine brush over the doll's feet, tickling each toe with diabolical precision. Diane immediately felt the tickles on her own feet, so intense that they made her stride falter. She stopped abruptly, lifting one foot as if something had slipped into her shoe.
"Hahaha! What is...?" she breathed, a nervous laugh escaping despite herself.
The tickles intensified, concentrating on the arch, then sliding between her toes like an insidious caress. Diane tried to contain her laughter, biting her lip, but her feet refused to obey her. She stumbled, seeking a balance that eluded her.
The brush, carefully manipulated, now ran along the sides of the doll, triggering deep tickles on Diane's flanks. She let out a small cry, her arms flailing to keep from falling. But the shopkeeper wasn't done. He returned to her feet, tickling each toe again, before running the brush over the entire sole. The sensations were too strong.
Diane suddenly slipped, her ballerinas lacking grip on the smooth floor. She fell heavily, half-kneeling in a disordered posture, her book falling beside her. Her face reddened further as she felt the gazes of the other visitors upon her. She tried to stand up quickly, but a new series of tickles on her feet made her tremble, her legs giving way beneath her.
In the back room, the shopkeeper observed with a carnivorous smile. He knew Diane was at her limit, and he intended to make the most of this moment. Abandoning the brush, he took the doll and ran his tongue along the crotch of the puppet, the smooth, satiny surface responding immediately to his gesture. Diane, hundreds of meters away, felt a surge of heat between her thighs.
"Oh no... no!" she murmured, her breath ragged. Her panties vibrated slightly, amplifying the stimulation rising within her.
The shopkeeper continued his work, his tongue tracing slow, precise circles, while one of his hands guided the brush towards the doll's breasts. The bristles of the brush gently tickled the tips of the doll, triggering immediate tingles on Diane's nipples. She half-straightened, her hand gripping the table to stabilize herself, but her body was out of control.
"Hahaha... I... I can't!" she gasped, the uncontrollable laughter mixing with groans of frustration.
The tickles and stimulations overwhelmed her, the sensations on her sex rising in intensity. She knew she was on the verge of giving in to shameful pleasure, here, in public, before all these gazes.
A man approached timidly, visibly concerned about her state.
"Madam, are you okay? Do you need help?" he asked.
Diane lifted tear-filled eyes, unable to respond. The pleasure rising within her made every word impossible to form. Her lips trembled, her body arched slightly, and she let out a small stifled cry, her voice broken by a mix of shame and desire. The shopkeeper, delighted to see his plan working, intensified his assault on the doll.
"Yes, that's it... come closer to your destiny," he murmured, his low voice resonating in the dark room.
He licked with more ardor, his movements precise and calculated, while the brush whirled over the doll's breasts. Diane, on her knees on the library floor, felt an irresistible wave rise within her. Her hands gripped the fallen book, her fingers trembling, as she struggled to regain control. But her body betrayed her.
Diane, still on her knees on the library floor, felt the heat rise within her like an insurmountable wave. Her legs trembled, her hands desperately gripping the book at her side, and her breath became erratic. She tried to stand up one last time, but the sensations on her body had become too intense. Each invisible caress, each insidious tickle seemed to push her further, to the brink of surrender.
The shopkeeper, still in his back room, intensified his work. His tongue slid slowly over the doll, rising and falling with almost cruel precision, while the brush in his hand continued to draw delicate circles on the puppet's breasts. The doll responded, as if absorbing Diane's energy, its appearance becoming gradually more distinct, more human as the sensations overwhelmed the woman.
Diane felt her sex vibrate in a way she had never known. The stimulation, subtle but insistent, accelerated. Her feet, confined in her ballerinas, seemed to burn with insufferable hypersensitivity, each ghostly touch on her arches amplifying the tension rising within her.
She finally burst. A stifled cry escaped her lips, followed by an uncontrollable groan that resonated in the silent library. Diane arched violently, her shoulders trembling as her entire body succumbed to an orgasm so intense it left her disoriented. Shame and embarrassment faded under the raw force of her pleasure. Her hand flew to her mouth, trying to mask the sound, but it was useless. Her cry betrayed everything.
"Oh... oh... my God!" she breathed, her cheeks red, her eyes half-closed, as tears of confusion and laughter ran down her cheeks.
The horrified or intrigued gazes of those present weighed on her, but she no longer had the strength to face them. An elderly woman recoiled, murmuring something softly to a man beside her. A library employee approached, visibly shocked.
In the back room, the shopkeeper observed the scene with a triumphant smile. He released the doll to admire its evolution. Its transformation had progressed: the hair had lengthened, and the face now closely resembled Diane. Its hips, flat stomach, breasts... everything was a crude copy of Diane. The silky blond hair now reached its shoulders.
The journey home was a blur of conflicting emotions for Diane. Shame burned her cheeks every time she thought of the scene in the library: the perplexed and scandalized gazes of the people, the murmurs that seemed to amplify as she tried to gather her things and hurriedly leave the place. Her heart was still beating at a frantic pace, both from embarrassment and the troubling, intense sensations she had experienced.
The book was pressed tightly against her chest, held firmly in her arms like a shield. She hadn't taken the time to look back, afraid to meet the faces of those who had witnessed her public humiliation. In her haste, she had forgotten her coat and hadn't even tried to hide her disheveled appearance: her once-impeccable hair had come undone and fell in disordered strands over her shoulders, and her ballerinas, rubbed by her fall, made a slight squeaking sound with each step.
When she finally reached the door of her house, Diane felt exhausted, drained of all energy. She entered stumbling, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, her forehead pressed against the cold wood. The quiet inside was a relief after the cacophony of her mind and the library.
She placed the book on the coffee table in the living room before collapsing onto the couch. Her still-trembling legs folded under her, and she curled up in an instinctive attempt to find some comfort. She tried to calm her mind by observing the rays of light filtering through the window curtains. Yet, every detail of her humiliation returned in a loop, mixed with another thought she tried to ignore: the way her body had reacted, so violently, so involuntarily, to the point of causing that orgasm she couldn't rationalize.
A sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes for a moment, seeking refuge in the silence. She didn't notice that, on the dresser where the watch case still rested, a faint red glow pulsed at regular intervals, almost imperceptible. The room seemed darker than usual, as if natural light struggled to penetrate the walls. A subtle chill settled in, but Diane, too absorbed in her thoughts, wasn't yet aware of it.
"What's happening to me..." she murmured, her voice barely audible.
The book on the coffee table finally caught her gaze. The symbol on the cover seemed to stare at her, deeply engraved in the worn leather. A shiver ran down her spine, but she pushed that sensation away, trying to rationalize. It was just a book, after all, a harmless object. She convinced herself that once she found answers to her questions, all this would be behind her.
In the quiet of her home, Diane settled at the kitchen table, the book placed before her. The thick pages exuded an odor of old paper and faded ink, a scent that could have been soothing if not for the sense of apprehension. The symbol engraved on the cover seemed to glow faintly under the dim light of the suspended lamp.
Diane carefully opened the book, her heart beating heavily in her chest. The first pages were written in an ancient language she didn't understand, but captivating and unsettling illustrations bordered the margins: familiar symbols, similar to the one on the watch, and grotesque representations of human figures, deformed and tortured.
The more she browsed the pages, the more an eerie anxiety gripped her. Some words seemed to float before her eyes, as if trying to imprint themselves in her mind: "power," "bonds," "sacrifices." One of the drawings particularly caught her attention: a hand-carved doll, adorned with the same demonic symbol, and surrounded by a pulsating red aura. The illustration showed the doll in a richly decorated miniature house, each detail seeming to vibrate with sinister energy.
Diane felt a cold sweat break out on her neck. The house depicted in the book eerily resembled the one she had glimpsed in the antique shop. "It's impossible," she murmured to herself, but a deep unease settled in. The texts seemed to describe an ancient enchantment, a complex ritual linking a living person to an effigy representing them. The implications were troubling: pain, pleasure, control... all passed through the doll.
A faint creak behind her made Diane jump. It was just a slight noise in the house, probably due to the wood settling, but in the tense atmosphere of the night, it seemed almost a warning. She abruptly closed the book, her trembling fingers leaving a damp imprint on the cover.
"I must sleep... It's nothing. Nothing at all," she murmured, trying to soothe her mind.
She stood up slowly, taking the book with her to place it on her nightstand. Her reflection in the hallway mirror surprised her: her cheeks were red, her hair slightly disheveled, and her eyes shone with an intensity she didn't recognize. Was it fatigue? Or something else?
Meanwhile, in the back room, the shopkeeper observed Diane's progress through his enchanted mirror. He saw the emotions crossing her face: fear, confusion, doubt. This did not please him. She was getting too close to the truth, and although the doll was not yet complete, Diane was becoming dangerously suspicious.
He turned to the shelf where the miniature dollhouse stood, small and sinister, a jewel of demonic craftsmanship. Inside, the doll, now humanoid to the waist, seemed to be waiting. Its blond hair shimmered under the dim light of the candles. The lower part of its body remained unfinished, but that didn't prevent it from serving its purpose.
The shopkeeper carefully took the doll in his hands and placed it inside the miniature house, setting it in a small upstairs bedroom, similar to Diane's. He murmured incantations as he slid his fingers over the cold surface of the house, activating the mystical bonds between the doll and the woman. Once the doll was in place, he stepped back, satisfied.
"You are still far from accepting your place, Diane," he murmured, caressing the edge of the house. "But tonight will bring you closer to the submission my master awaits."
In the darkness of her bedroom, Diane sank into a restless sleep, her thoughts still troubled by the images from the book and the events of the day. But it was not an ordinary sleep. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, she felt her mind slip into a different reality, as if she had been sucked in by an invisible force.
She opened her eyes in an unfamiliar, strange, and unsettling place. The walls around her were made of ancient, dark wood, covered with cracks that seemed to pulsate with a bloody red glow. The light came from candelabras with flickering candles, whose flames seemed to burn unnaturally, casting moving shadows. Every detail seemed unreal, yet eerily precise, as if she had been plunged into a nightmarish painting.
Diane looked at herself, surprised. She wore a delicate dress, similar to those of ancient dolls: a silky and stiff fabric, adorned with lace, that seemed to float around her. Her movements were slow, as if her limbs were pulled by invisible strings. She walked softly, her bare feet brushing a cold, smooth floor that seemed to absorb every sound.
"Where am I?" she murmured, her voice echoing strangely in this enclosed space.
She advanced into what seemed like an endless corridor, lined with small identical doors. Each was adorned with the symbol she had seen on the watch and in the book. A shiver ran down her spine. She placed a trembling hand on one of the doorknobs and opened the door. Behind it, she discovered a tiny, almost oppressive room. Inside, a miniature replica of her living room. Every detail was there: her couch, her favorite vase, even a small book placed on a tiny table.
— "This isn't possible..." she murmured, stepping back. "What is this?"
As she closed the door, a cold breath passed over her neck, like an intangible caress. Diane started and turned around, but there was nothing. Yet, she felt a presence, diffuse but undeniable, that seemed to be watching her. A dull fear rose within her, but she continued to move forward.
She reached a larger room, decorated with sinister opulence: an immense crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, its lights casting reddish reflections. In the center of the room, an elegant but strange chair, carved from a dark wood and adorned with a demonic symbol. Diane felt drawn to it against her will. Her legs trembled, but she couldn't stop. When she sat down, a strange weight settled in her body, as if she were being held by invisible bonds. A slight but unpleasant warmth spread through her arms and legs, then concentrated on her chest. Subtle effleurments were felt on her sides, like ghostly hands exploring her skin. She shivered, unable to move.
— "No... no... not this..." she murmured, trying to control her breath. The sensations were faint, almost ethereal, but real enough for her to notice. Shivers ran down her ribs, barely perceptible but irritating tickles that seemed to rise and fall like a wave. Diane bit her lip to hold back a nervous laugh. She hated these ghostly tickles, and even though they were greatly diminished, they made her uncomfortable.
The effleurments moved gently to her arms and thighs, like invisible spider webs dancing on her skin. She tried to stand up, but her muscles wouldn't respond, as if the chair itself had imprisoned her. A faint pressure settled on her breasts, a strange sensation, halfway between a caress and a shiver. Diane closed her eyes, trying to chase away this unreal impression. She opened her eyes suddenly, looking for the source of the voice, but there was no one. The effleurments ceased, and the chair suddenly released her. She stood up abruptly, her breath short, and left the room running. But the hallways seemed endless, and each door led to another miniature room representing a part of her house.
Diane woke up with a start, her heart pounding. She was in her bed, her room plunged into familiar darkness. Her body was drenched in sweat, and her hands convulsively clutched the sheets.
— "This... this was just a dream," she murmured to reassure herself. But the worry did not leave her. Something indefinable still weighed on her, like an invisible shadow. Meanwhile, in the back room, the seller contemplated the dollhouse, his cunning smile lit by the red light of the candles. Inside, the doll looked a little more like Diane.
In the soft morning light, Diane stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her black sports leggings and her fitted white tank top. Her blonde hair was carefully tied in a high ponytail, revealing her elegant face and fine shoulders. She slipped her feet into a pair of soft leather ballet flats, showing off her perfectly pedicured nails, always adorned with that bright red that was a signature for her. Her morning routines brought her a sense of control and balance, a comforting contrast to the growing strangeness that was creeping into her life. She grabbed her gym bag and left the house, the light scent of her moisturizing lotion trailing behind her. On the way to the pilates studio, she felt a diffuse nervousness that she tried to chase away. The watch was still on her dresser, but Diane couldn't deny that she felt a presence, an energy that seemed to accompany her, although she couldn't define it.
Meanwhile, in the back room of the shop, the shopkeeper was busy in front of the doll. His thin fingers held a small feather brush, which he slowly slid over the roughly carved areas: the sides, the thighs, and especially, the delicately formed breasts. With each pass, a shiver ran through the doll, and in his enchanted mirror, he could observe Diane, albeit blurrily, warming up in the pilates studio. He murmured softly, almost like an incantation:
— "Stronger, my sweet... feel me." The tip of the feather caressed the doll's chest, brushing the breasts, the delicately traced areolas, while in the studio, Diane felt a shiver run through her. She placed a hand on her sternum, trying to understand this strange sensation. The sensations were more intense than the day before, although much less than physical tickles. Diane, barefoot on her pilates mat, felt the soft carpet under her perfectly manicured toes, but this familiar reassurance did nothing to soothe the invisible chaos that had taken over her body. From the beginning of the class, she had the feeling that an intangible force was testing her limits, a methodical attack on her most sensitive areas.
It had started gently, like the day before, with almost innocent tickles around her sides and stomach. But this time, the tickles were more intense, more targeted. Diane struggled to maintain her balance during the first poses, but each movement seemed to aggravate the sensations, as if they were responding to her efforts to ignore them. When the instructor had them take off their ballet flats at the beginning of the session, Diane hadn't thought much of it. It was a common practice for better grounding. But now, barefoot, she felt every effleurement, every imaginary tickle that rose from her toes to her ankles, a subtle but insidious wave that seemed to play with her.
When she felt the first tickles around her chest, her reaction was immediate: her arms instinctively folded to cover her torso, but she pretended to adjust her pose to avoid attracting attention.
— "Breathe, relax," she said to herself softly, trying to mask a nervous laugh that threatened to burst out. But the sensations wouldn't let go. The intangible contact moved from her sides to her thighs, then to her breasts, each movement becoming an unbearable provocation. She felt a warmth spread through her body, and her breath quickened. Diane knew she couldn't react as she had at the library. She couldn't afford to lose control here, surrounded by these women she vaguely knew but with whom she shared a routine so carefully constructed.
Then the tickles moved again. It was subtle at first: a gentle caress along her arches, a sensation so precise that she let out a small gasp of surprise. Her toes curled on the mat, desperately trying to escape this insidious stimulation.
— "Not the feet," she murmured, her cheeks flushing as she tried to focus on the instructor's directions. But it was useless. The shopkeeper, in his back room, was having fun with the doll, tracing circles around its heels and slowly moving up to the soles of its feet with an invisible feather. Diane felt a wave of laughter rise within her, uncontrollable. She tried to camouflage her disarray by changing poses, but her movements became more and more clumsy.
— "Hahaha... oh, uh, sorry!" she suddenly blurted out, bursting into laughter before putting a hand over her mouth to stifle it. The gazes of the other participants turned towards her, curious but not yet disdainful.
— "Are you okay, Diane?" the instructor asked, visibly intrigued.
— "Yes, haha... just a... a spasm! Sorry," she stammered, straightening up quickly, her cheeks burning. The sensations on her feet became more intense, as if someone were gently tracing circles on her arches with an extremely fine brush. Diane couldn't help but move her toes, trying to get rid of what she knew was nothing, an illusion... but which seemed so real. Her legs trembled slightly as she tried to stay still. When she felt the tickles rise towards her breasts, and even more insidiously towards her crotch, a wave of panic washed over her. It was worse than the day before. Her nipples were already sensitive under her fitted tank top, and now each invisible caress seemed to tease them directly, making them painfully reactive. A diffuse warmth rose in her belly, and Diane had to clench her teeth to hold back a moan.
She looked around, hoping no one noticed her trembling hands, her erratic breathing, or the blush rising from her neck to her face. But as she raised her arms for a stretching pose, a new sensation, more precise and more intimate, exploded at the bottom of her belly. It was as if a feather were sliding directly against her sex, teasing the most sensitive areas of her anatomy. Diane froze, her mind torn between shame, dismay, and an excitement she didn't understand. She crossed her legs, hoping to hide her discomfort, but the sensations only intensified, playing with her like a predator playing with its prey. She knew she wouldn't last long. Not like this.
Diane tried to catch her breath, but it was as if her own body was conspiring against her. Each pilates pose became a silent ordeal, her muscles twitching under sensations she couldn't explain or ignore. The tingling seemed to intensify with each minute, each invisible stroke seeming to respond to her efforts to concentrate. Barefoot on the mat, she felt a growing vulnerability. Memories of the attacks from the day before at the library hung over her like a shadow, and the very idea that she was once again at the mercy of an invisible force made her want to flee.
In the back room, the shopkeeper watched all this through his enchanted mirror. His fingers caressed the half-finished doll, gradually increasing the intensity of his actions. He knew he had to stay methodical. No, he wanted to bring her gradually to her limit, to make her waver in a way she would never forget. Diane's movements became more clumsy. She felt the tickles rise along her hips, wrap around her belly, and linger on her breasts, each stimulation becoming more insidious, more impossible to ignore. The tingling around her nipples turned into a continuous teasing, and her arms instinctively tensed to protect her chest. But this only highlighted her agitation, and the gazes of the other participants began to linger on her.
— "Diane? Are you okay?" asked one of the women next to her, a mix of curiosity and concern in her voice.
— "Yes, haha... I think I'm... just a little tense today," Diane replied, her nervous laughter betraying her discomfort. But it wasn't just tension. It was an inner struggle, a battle against sensations she couldn't name, against a growing humiliation she couldn't contain. Yet, she couldn't give up. Not here, not in front of everyone. She clenched her fists, trying to hold on to the little dignity she felt slipping away.
The shopkeeper, behind his mirror, savored every moment. His smile widened as he raised a feather he hadn't used yet. He leaned over the doll, holding it by the hips, and slowly traced a circle around the chest, then a spiral that descended slowly, methodically. Diane, in the studio, felt a wave of shivers run through her entire body, her chest rising and falling at an irregular rhythm. Her breathing was ragged, and her movements became clumsy. She gritted her teeth, trying to contain the heat rising within her, but her efforts were in vain. A more intense wave suddenly ran through her, tearing a stifled moan from her lips. She quickly brought a hand to her mouth, horrified by the sound she had just made.
The gazes turned towards her, some curious, others perplexed. Diane felt the blush rise to her cheeks, her humiliation growing as she realized she had just betrayed her distress. In the back room, the shopkeeper smiled, his eyes riveted on his mirror. He savored the spectacle, each moment reinforcing his power over her. His fingers slid slowly over the doll's feet, his movements precise and deliberate. A light feather appeared between his fingers: the perfect instrument for the next act.
Diane, standing on her pilates mat, felt something new. It started as a tingling under her arches, a sensation soft but tenacious that quickly escalated. She leaned on her heels, trying to escape this strange sensation that was growing in intensity, but it only made things worse.
— "Oh no... not there," she murmured to herself, her toes curled against the floor. The shopkeeper traced circles with the feather on the doll's feet, lingering on the heels, then slowly moving up to the toes. Diane felt a wave of tickles overwhelm her bare feet. She burst out laughing despite herself, her voice echoing in the studio, drawing even more attention to her.
— "Hahaha! No... I... I'm sorry!" she said, unable to contain herself. Her feet, her most sensitive area, had become the center of the assault. The heat of the floor combined with the invisible tickles was driving her crazy. Her toes instinctively wiggled, as if trying to escape a presence she couldn't see. She tried to concentrate, to maintain her balance, but each stroke made her stumble a little more towards humiliation.
The shopkeeper intensified his work, sliding the feather between the doll's toes. Diane felt an electric shock of sensations run through her body, making her twist on the spot. Her knees almost gave way under her as she tried to mask her laughter with a forced cough.
— "Diane, are you really okay?" asked a voice, distant and blurred by the chaos in her mind. She nodded frantically, unable to form a coherent response. Her feet had become an obsession: she wanted to flee, hide their vulnerability, but she was trapped. The sensations were spreading, her skin burning with shame and mixed pleasure.
Diane desperately tried to stand up, but her body no longer responded to her will. The tickles that were devouring her feet were unbearable, each invisible effleurement turning into a wave of torture. Her toes curled and wiggled, trying to escape an immaterial presence. The shopkeeper, in his back room, watched the scene through the enchanted mirror, his smile widening. His hands worked skillfully: on one side, the feather slid between the doll's toes, lingering on the arches; on the other, he pressed and gently rubbed the doll's sex, synchronizing the stimulations to maximize the effect on Diane.
In the pilates studio, Diane burst into uncontrollable laughter, her voice echoing in the room, drawing all eyes to her. She curled up on the floor, unable to stand up.
— "Hahaha! No! Please... stop!" she stammered between laughs, her hands trying to protect her bare feet. But the sensations didn't stop. They intensified. The tickles on her feet, already hard to bear, were now mixed with a growing heat between her thighs. Diane felt a wave of pleasure rise within her, an irresistible fire fueled by the invisible caresses on her sex.
— "Diane, are you okay? What's happening?" asked another of her classmates, moving closer to help. Diane couldn't hear anything anymore. Her hysterical laughter mixed with stifled moans as she writhed on the floor, her hands sliding from her feet to her belly, desperately trying to escape this mix of sensations.
The shopkeeper accelerated his work, sliding the feather along the doll's arches while pressing more intensely on its sex. Diane screamed a "No!" mixed with laughter, her body arching violently.
— "Hahaha! Stop! Oh my God... Aaaaaaah..." Diane was on the verge of orgasm as she had let out a loud moan in the studio between laughs. The eyes of her classmates were wide, their faces betraying incomprehension and embarrassment.
— "Diane, what... ?" one of them murmured, hesitating to intervene further. Diane, ashamed and confused, curled up even more, hiding her face in her hands. Her breathing was ragged, her feet still sensitive, everything in her screaming humiliation and loss of control.
Diane felt an icy shiver run through her entire body as the familiar and unbearable sensation of an invisible feather brushed her arches. She froze, her eyes widening in horror, before a burst of uncontrollable laughter escaped her lips.
— "Hahaha! No, not again! Hahaha... Please!" Her feet, bare against the studio floor, flailed frantically, trying to escape the invisible assailant. The other participants, perplexed, watched Diane with growing concern as she laughed and gesticulated, unable to contain herself.
In the back room, the shopkeeper watched Diane through his enchanted mirror, a predatory smile on his face. In one hand, he held the half-finished doll, its feet now perfectly formed and shiny, while the other manipulated a fine feather that he slowly passed over the arches and between the delicately modeled toes. Diane leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees, her breath ragged between laughs.
— "Hahaha... I... I can't! Stop it!" she cried, her cheeks flushed with effort and embarrassment. The sensations were unbearable, as if every nerve in her feet had been amplified to the extreme. Each imaginary pass of the feather between her toes plunged her into uncontrollable laughter, leaving her trembling and helpless.
She tried to straighten up, but her legs gave way under her when a new wave of targeted tickles threw off her balance.
— "Diane, are you okay?" asked one of the participants, approaching cautiously. Diane looked up, her face contorted with a mix of hysterical laughter and tears, and shook her head.
— "Hahaha... I... I have to go!" she managed to stammer, stumbling as she tried to move towards the exit. But the sensations didn't stop. The shopkeeper intensified his work, now passing the feather over the doll's heels and sliding up to the soles of its feet, tracing precise and cruel circles, while with the other hand he tickled the doll's sex with a feather. Diane cried out with laughter, almost collapsing to her knees.
— "Hahaha! Please! Hahaha... I'm going to go crazy!" She managed to straighten up, her bare feet pounding the floor as she staggered towards the door. The astonished gazes of her classmates followed each of her movements, and Diane felt their incomprehension weighing on her like a burden.
— "I have to... get out... hahaha... now!" she gasped as she rushed towards the exit. Diane was almost at the studio door, her bare feet slipping slightly on the polished floor, when a soft but firm hand rested on her arm.
— "Diane, wait! What's wrong?" asked Emma, a close friend from the class, her eyes filled with concern. Diane turned abruptly, her breath rapid and ragged, her cheeks flushed with effort and shame. Before she could respond, an insidious shiver rose from her belly to her chest, and she felt a wave of irresistible heat wash over her.
In the back room, the shopkeeper, now perfectly in sync with the link between Diane and the doll, ran his fingers over the roughly carved breasts of the effigy, gently caressing and pinching the nipples. His movements were calculated, firm but teasing, tracing circles around the sensitive tips. With the other hand, he slowly brushed the doll's crotch, his fingers manipulating every inch of the imaginary fabric covering it with precision. Diane felt her nipples harden instantly under her tank top, and a raw sigh escaped her lips before she could contain it.
— "Ah... oh..." Emma frowned, perplexed.
— "Diane, are you sure you're okay? You're all red... You seem... strange." But Diane couldn't respond. A new caress, this time more insistent, invaded her sex, making her jump. She opened her mouth to protest, but it was an uncontrollable moan that escaped, high-pitched and trembling.
— "Aaaah..." Emma's face darkened with concern.
— "Diane? What... ?" Diane tried to speak, but each word died in her throat, drowned out by waves of forced pleasure. Her legs trembled, her hips contracted despite her, and her arms instinctively wrapped around her chest, now painfully taut under the effect of the stimulations.
— "I... ah... hah... I have to go..." she murmured, her voice broken by a mix of shame and frustration. But Emma didn't let go, her gaze becoming more insistent.
— "Diane, what's happening to you? You seem..." Another moan escaped Diane, this time longer, almost guttural. She bit her lip to try to contain herself, but it was useless. The shopkeeper was accelerating his work, his fingers lingering with calculated intensity on the doll that now had Diane's exact face. Each movement he imprinted on the effigy resonated directly with Diane, amplified by the growing link between them.
Her breath short, her eyes half-closed with confusion and pleasure, Diane finally raised her hand to gently push Emma away.
— "Hah... please... let me..." she murmured, her voice a mix of supplication and embarrassment. But Emma, confused and increasingly alarmed, still hesitated. Diane felt a new stimulation invade her body, precise but invisible caresses that trapped her. Her hips contracted slightly, and she let out another uncontrolled moan, this time directly into Emma's face.
— "Oh... aaah..." Emma stepped back, shocked.
— "Diane? But what's happening?" But she could no longer resist the sensations that were overwhelming her. Her knees trembled, she brought a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her moans as a wave of pleasure mounted within her. A burning heat invaded her body, rising from her lower belly to her mind. She felt her sex pulse violently, and an orgasm hit her full force, leaving her breathless.
Shame surged in Diane's mind. She turned her eyes away, a tear rolling down her cheek.
— "I... I'm sorry... I have to go!" she almost cried, her voice broken by the effort to contain what had become unbearable. She finally freed herself from Emma's hand and rushed out of the studio, the stifled laughter and perplexed gazes of her classmates weighing on her shoulders like a leaden cloak.
Diane rushed home, her ballet flats in hand, the cold floor of the entrance caressing her already sensitive bare feet, a sensation she hated even more after the events of the studio. Her breathing was ragged, her heart pounding at a frantic rhythm as she leaned against the door she had just slammed shut. She felt every fiber of her body still reacting to the stimulations, each brush of her clothes against her skin exacerbating a sensitivity she could no longer manage. She hurried through the house, ignoring the reflection of her flushed face in the mirrors, and climbed the stairs, her feet brushing the smooth wood with a precision that made her shiver. Entering her room, her gaze immediately fell on the dresser where the watch sat in its black velvet case. The object seemed to be waiting for her, radiating a silent aura, as if calling to her.
— "It's you... all of this is because of you," Diane murmured, her voice trembling with anger and fear. She approached slowly, her fingers hesitating for a second before picking up the case, lifting it carefully as if it were a living thing. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and revolt. She knew that this object was the source of her torments: the tickles, the intense sensations, the public embarrassment... it all traced back to this damned watch.
— "I'm going to get rid of it. That's enough," she declared with determination, clutching the case to her chest. But at that moment, as if the object had heard her thoughts, a dark red glow burst from inside the case. The lid opened slightly, revealing the golden watch that seemed to vibrate softly, emitting an almost imperceptible sound, a hypnotic murmur that resonated directly in Diane's mind. She tried to look away, but her eyes were magnetically drawn to the symbol engraved on the case. A red light pulsed softly, synchronizing with her racing heart.
— "No... no..." she stammered, stepping back slightly, but her legs refused to obey her. The flash came without warning. An explosion of intense red light filled the room, invading Diane's mind like a burning wave. Her body froze, her eyes wide and glassy, and her lips parted in a silent breath. Murmurs invaded her mind, deep and seductive, words she didn't understand but that seemed to take root deep within her. Her posture relaxed, her body leaning slightly forward as her mind sank into a state of temporary submission.
A shiver ran through her as she felt a diffuse heat spread through her entire body, amplifying her already exacerbated sensitivity even more. Every particle of her skin seemed on the verge of bursting into flames, and an involuntary sigh escaped her lips. When the light went out, Diane swayed slightly, her trembling hands still holding the open case. Her eyes regained their clarity, but her mind was confused, as if enveloped in a thick fog. She tried to remember her intentions, but they seemed blurry, distant. With a hesitant gesture, she gently closed the case and set it back on the dresser, her fingers brushing the velvet with involuntary tenderness.
— "Maybe... maybe I'm overreacting," she murmured, her tone uncertain. But deep down, a part of her mind knew she was already lost.
