WARNING: This fictional work involves doll fantasy reenactments with crude language. Please stay safe, know your rights when you practice BDSM, and consult your local laws regarding these taboos.
In this post:
Story recap refreshers:
Chrissy snaps his eyes open but quickly covers them with his hand. It’s been a few months since he moved into Billy’s rental unit, a tiny studio in Pico-Union, but he still can’t get used to the intrusive, rolling shrillness of the sirens.
Ambulances (or fire trucks or police cars, who knows or cares anymore) almost endlessly criss-cross the streets directly outside his window above the mattress, their lights bleeding through the curtains and iron bars, casting dancing shadows on the walls. His whole body reverberates with the heavy rumbles of their wheels rolling on the asphalt.
One time, mere weeks after he moved in, he heard several popping noises. He didn’t register them as gunshots, not even after hearing sirens blaring nearby very soon. He only realized what they were the next morning, as he walked to get groceries from the nearby mercado. He saw the apartment building a block away was cordoned off with yellow police tape. He’s heard more popping noises since then. They’ve been infrequent, but as soon as he forgets about them, they reappear, trapping him in an endless loop of false sense of security.
It’s a good thing the daily taunts and death threats he still receives no longer bother him too much.
Chrissy sits up and gasps as the cold wall burns his naked back. A wire fence cages the only window of his unit. Beyond it, a fire truck and an ambulance idle in front of the building across the street. A small crowd has gathered. Muffled voices drift up.
He sighs and pulls the curtain to block the lights, but it’s too small. He’ll just have to bear it until he can afford a new one.
Apart from doing design work for Billy and Anaïs, Chrissy’s been trying to build his OnlyDolls. For a while, Chrissy just posted free content. But people had dug up both his work and personal emails, and every time he uploaded a video, he’d receive a barrage of hostile messages and emails, with people referencing the viral video of his incident at Takeshi’s Lick It ice cream shop a few months back.
There’s even a small (but active) forum on the DollBoard that takes cruel joy in vivisecting him, attacking his politics, mocking his insecurities, ridiculing his voice and pink hair, blasting his nude photos and sex videos. He reported the latter, trying to have those taken down, to no avail.
Chrissy shivers. He can feel the chill in his bones. Not having a bedframe makes things worse. It’s like his childhood in reverse; he used to sleep on the floor when it got too hot. He pulls his Wonder Woman comforter (a housewarming present from Fred) around him.
Cleaning his inbox had become just another part of Chrissy’s ritual. At first, the emails made him paranoid, and he refused to go out. But after a few months, he’d grown accustomed to them. The threats never materialized, and between the cost of food and grocery deliveries, he couldn’t afford the luxury of worry anymore.
It’s a cold night. Too cold. The December air seeps through the thin walls and the single-pane window. Next to where he lies, separated by mere inches of drywall and insulation, is the narrow alley that runs alongside the building. (The emergency vehicles are still there, Chrissy can tell by the bright red flashing light flooding his room through the cracks of his curtain.)
On the other wall, where the closet is, are unpacked cardboard boxes, stacked unevenly and stashed so as not to crowd the tiny place and trip him.
During the day, muffled footsteps and the occasional voice drift down from the office spaces above and next door, but at night the place is quiet enough for the street noise and alley echoes (and muffled voices of people crowding around outside) to fill his studio.
Chrissy coughs and reaches to his side to fetch his tumbler from the bedside table, an upside-down apple crate. He takes a few big gulps and unlocks his phone. A text is waiting.
“Hey, sexykins! Whatcha doin’? Just finished editing some videos here. Can finally get some shuteye, but thought I’d check in with you.”
It’s from Fred. It came in a few minutes ago.
“Hey,” Chrissy starts typing. “Just woke up. Sirens. I finally sent the proposal for a new potential client. Maybe I’ll start on that design project for Billy’s new toy? Get some sleep, you.”
It doesn’t take long before the ellipses appear on his text screen. Fred is still up and writing a reply.
“Aw, my poor baby. Want me to come over?”
Ever since Chrissy left Matt, Fred (and Billy) has been nothing but kind toward Chrissy. Although, unlike Billy, Fred has shown he’s interested in becoming more than friends.
“Nah. Get some sleep. I need to start working. Thank you for checking in.”
An ellipsis, and then a frowny face emoji followed by a sleepy face emoji. “OK. Talk to you in the AM?”
“Yup,” Chrissy writes back. He sees ellipses appearing. Fred’s typing something. Chrissy waits. But nothing shows up, so he puts his phone away.
Chrissy adjusts his seating position and pulls his laptop open. The screen showers the room with blue light. He’s about to open Illustrator when his phone buzzes. Fred?
Chrissy likes Fred, but not like that, and it pains him to always have to brush Fred off.
No, not Fred. It’s an email from his OnlyDolls subscriber. His username is AustinTechBro, but “You’ll address me as Master Rajiv,” he said during their first video call, laying the groundwork for everything that followed. “And I’m gonna call you my randi. My whore.” Chrissy’s heart fluttered as he repeated the word in his head. Run-dee.
“Need to see my sweet lil’ randi tonight in her skirt and heels. Stressed outta my wits debugging this fuckin’ line of codes but shld be done in fifteen. U free?”
“Yes, Master Rajiv,” Chrissy replies. “I’ll send you the link.”
He sets the timer on his laptop and grabs the twin-size PlayPad, courtesy of Priapus, and spreads it so the lube and his cum don’t ruin the bedding.
He smooths out his hair and ties his bun up. He glances at his laptop. Twelve minutes. He has time to squeeze in a quick workout.
He gets up to get the dumbbells and stubs his toe on one of the unpacked boxes.
“Fuck, fuckety fuck,” Chrissy says. No time for pain. He grimaces and limps away from his mattress. With a dumbbell in each hand, he launches into a bicep curl, making sure every muscle pops for his patron.
If only he could take videos of himself exercising naked for OnlyDolls, but the apartment is too tiny and disheveled.
He hasn’t gone back to Gar’s Gym (where his membership is free) after Manuel’s ultimatum, and can’t afford to pay to join another gym.
Of all the relationships lost that day, losing Manuel hit Chrissy the hardest. The statement Lick It put out to quell the endless onslaught of fake reviews and negative comments on their social media read like pure vitriol and had Manuel’s mark all over it.
The heat didn’t stop there. The Internet found out about him being engaged to Matt, forcing BILT, Matt’s construction company, to release a statement after getting review-bombed. It hurts Chrissy whenever he remembers what he put BILT through. Matt didn’t deserve the blowback from Chrissy’s decision. Not even after Matt did to him. Nobody else did. He was thankful that at least Wade’s Life Sanctuary Ranch didn’t get piled on.
Initially, Billy also took a reputational hit. But the weird thing is, the video package of Chrissy’s product review became a popular download for a while (before someone leaked the entirety of the video on a porn site). However, by and large, business at Priapus has never been better thanks to the exposure, and Billy never puts out any statement. “Waste of time,” Billy said.
Chrissy moves on to do goblet squats. He used to be able to use his anger to fuel his workouts. Nowadays, though, he mostly feels sad, but he knows he has to power through the reps.
And Anaïs? “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about you,” she replied after Chrissy texted her he was surprised she still wanted to give him work after so many other clients cut ties. “I’ve fired retouchers for lightening the skin or making my plus-sized models look skinny. You retouch with respect. Besides, we’ve known each other too long. I’m not giving your job to anyone else, babes.”
But the royalties from Billy are drying up, and the design gigs have become too infrequent to survive.
Chrissy glances at his laptop. Seven minutes. He needs to wrap up his mini workout soon. He’s happy to do all this work for Master Rajiv, even if he was wary at first.
He found Chrissy on OnlyDolls. Chrissy didn’t know if this person was for real or just someone waiting to catch him at his most vulnerable and turn it into gotcha content. When Chrissy didn’t respond to his DMs, money appeared in his PayDoll account instead, along with a note telling him to email if he wanted more. That got Chrissy’s attention.
He darts back to his bed to tidy up the blanket and sheets.
Master Rajiv is from Mumbai, working in tech in Austin, Texas, like his OnlyDolls username (“Yes, it’s not creative,” he said with a laugh). He’s in his thirties, loves vintage cars, and likes watching submissive muscle femboys with pink hair wreck themselves with oversized dildos, hence the PlayPad. Chrissy has never seen his patron’s face, but he learned quickly how he wanted things done.
Five minutes. Next to his mattress is a box marked “Toys.” He takes out several dildos and puts them on the bed.
Chrissy’s grown to enjoy their sessions. Sometimes, Master Rajiv will tell him about his stressful day before making Chrissy perform, but most of the time, he shows up ready to demand that Chrissy do whatever he wants in front of the camera. After ten minutes, Chrissy usually hears Master Rajiv’s breathing quicken, followed by an audible grunt and the remark that he’s cumming, he’s cumming, he’s cumming. The video call ends with Rajiv thanking Chrissy for “another sexy time.”
And the money? Let’s just say it’s enough to pay rent and keep food on the table, even if it’s just a repeat of frozen vegetables with either lentils or beans. He could definitely use more, but it seems like Master Rajiv has a host of performers on rotation. He doesn’t have to say it to Chrissy. Chrissy knows he’s replaceable. It’s not like another guy couldn’t just dye his hair pink and put on a show. Sex work is ephemeral. Hell, life is ephemeral.
Four minutes. He runs to the bathroom to use the bidet and gives himself a thorough cleanup.
After toweling himself off, he strips and puts on his jewelry, a neon pink g-string, a metallic skirt, and stilettos.
“Fuck!” In the dim light and in his haste, he knocks over a stack of A4 papers that were already placed precariously on a tall box. No time. He’ll just have to deal with them later.
One minute. Chrissy drops onto the mattress. He props his laptop on a cardboard box, fixes his bun, and takes a quick sip of water. The room glows as he switches on the ring light. Red flashes from the emergency vehicles outside strobe faintly through the curtain, an accidental but welcome improvement to his little sex show.
When he joins, Master Rajiv is already in the video room. As always, Chrissy only hears a slightly accented, deep voice from the black square profile photo.
“There’s my favorite little randi,” he says. “Been waiting all day to see your gaping sissy whore cunt.”
A notification pops up in the corner of his screen: money’s received. Chrissy smiles and breathes a sigh of relief. He’s been craving a warm bowl of vegetarian yellow rice with crunchy fried tempe from the Indonesian restaurant a few miles away, and now he can afford it.
“Yes, Master Rajiv,” Chrissy says, slightly taken aback by how easy it is for him to fake a giggle. Bracing himself, he presses his naked back against the cold wall and lifts and spreads his legs wide for his audience.
He plays with his hole as he sucks on the long, girthy black dildo, making sure the smacking, slurping sounds are audible on top of his moaning, and relishing the “good girl” and the “what a nasty bitch” comments from his only patron.
Maybe he’ll order the rice tomorrow. The new blackout curtain can wait.
News clippings
Social media clippings
Statement from Lick It (and Lick It review bombs)
Statement from BILT (and BILT review bombs)
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Dollsexposed showcases homoerotica and kink through twelve-inch doll photography. Their adventures in the doll world began in 2011 before establishing a home on dollsexposed.com eleven years later.
Dollsexposed's works have been displayed at the Seattle Erotic Art Festival, Los Angeles Kinky Art Show, and Los Angeles Leather Getaway.
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