Emma, still convinced you're a doll, pulls you out of her cleavage with a puzzled look."What's all this squirming about?" she mutters, turning you over in her hands. She notices your eyes darting around and your limbs flailing, but she is dismisses it as a glitch or a quirk of the toy."Well, this is certainly...active," she says, her voice thick with unshed tears.Emma, her eyes red from crying,examines you again."You're just a silly little doll, aren't you?" she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She turns you over in her hands, her fingers brushing against your frozen smile."My feet hurt so much from all the running and standing, I just need a few minutes to rest." She sighs, her gaze distant, lost in thought.
Suddenly, an idea seems to strike her. She looks at you, then at her feet, and back at you again. "Maybe you can help with that," she murmurs, placing you on the floor. She kicks off her heels, revealing her bare feet, damp with sweat and caked with dirt from rushing around in search of you.You try to protest, to beg her not to do what you fear is coming, but your mouth remains frozen in that infuriating smile. Your eyes, however, widen in horror as she lifts one foot and places it on top of you.
The sensation is overwhelming. Her foot is hot, sweaty, and dirty, pressing down on you with a force that makes you feel every grain of dirt, every callous on her sole. You can smell the pungent aroma of her sweat, a mix of salt and something else, something uniquely Emma. It fills your nostrils, making you want to gag, but you can't even do that.Emma begins to move her foot, grinding it back and forth, using you as a makeshift foot massage tool. You can feel every movement, every twist and turn, as she tries to alleviate the pain in her arches. The dirt and sweat on her foot smear across your face, getting into your eyes, your mouth, your nose. You try to close your eyes, to turn your head, but you're trapped, frozen in place.
The sensation is disgusting, humiliating. You've never felt so helpless, so used. You want to scream, to cry out, to make her stop, but all you can do is lie there, a silent, unmoving doll, as she uses you to her heart's content.
Emma, oblivious to your distress, continues to massage her foot, a small sigh of relief escaping her lips. "That's better," she murmurs, switching feet and placing her other foot on top of you. You can feel the heat, the dampness, the dirt, all over again. You can taste the salt of her sweat, feel the grit of the dirt as it gets into your mouth, your eyes, your nose.You've never felt so dirty, so used, so utterly humiliated. And Emma, your beloved Emma, still thinks you're just a toy, a silly little thing she can use to her heart's content. You've never felt so far from her, so unable to reach her, to make her understand that you're right here, trapped, desperate, and in need of her help.Just a few more minutes, Sophie," she whispers to herself, still hoping against hope that you'll appear."I just need to find you and then we can...we can..." Her voice trails off as she fights back more tears.**The minutes tick by, and with each passing second, you feel more desperate, more trapped. You try to wriggle free, to catch her attention, but she's too lost in her own world of worry and despair to notice.**Suddenly, Ashile's voice pierces through the room,"Emma, it's time. The guests are getting restless." Emma sighs, lifts her feet off you, and you feel a moment of relief. But then, she picks you up and stuffs you into her handbag. "I'll take this with me. Maybe Sophie will find it amusing when she shows up," she says, her voice devoid of any humor or joy.**The bag zips shut, plunging you into darkness once more. You can hear the rustling of tissues, the jingle of keys, the distant murmur of voices. You're trapped, unable to move, unable to speak, as the most important moment of your life approaches. And Emma, your beloved Emma, is still none the wiser that you're right here, trapped in this tiny, plastic form.*
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