"would you like any help with your sizing today?" the woman behind the counter has a warm smile and, frankly enormous cleavage you're struggling not to stare at. so even tho you think you know your bra size, you don't turn down her assistance.
you watch her squeeze into the changing room behind you in the mirror, and awkwardly disrobe, while she gets out a long fabric tape measure.
you swear something feels off when she wraps it around your bust, like your tits are swelling and stretching it out further than normal - and you definitely blink at the number she reads off. but you shake the thought away, trying to hide the growing erection that having her this close is giving you.
she asks you what your preferred styles are. something conservative, or more showy? how much lace do you like? how much of a problem if it shows through clothes? and you're distracted enough you almost don't notice the tape measure moving elsewhere.
it's only as it wraps around your upper arm that you stop and turn towards her, confused.
"quiet sweetheart. i know what you came here for" something about her voice stops you in your tracks, and you feel your body freeze up a little. she runs her fingers down your back, far too handsy to be appropriate, but your body feels different now too. something firm but soft to the touch, plastic? or maybe silicone? definitely not the flesh you entered with.
she pulls the tape measure tight around your arm and you feel something click. she then gently unscrews your arm from its newly apparent socket, leaving you with only a shoulder. then the other arm. then both legs, leaving only the tops of your thighs, and a butt she keeps grabbing and feeling up while she talks to you.
"look at yourself in the mirror ok? a good mannequin should know how pretty she looks". you don't have the muscles to speak back anymore but you can't deny a certain thrill in your changed body. while you stare into the mirror she leaves your view for only a moment. returning with a stack of clothes on hangers.
one by one you feel her undress your body, too stiff to move or protest (but somehow still sensate) and dress you up in garment after garment.
the lacy underwear you thought was too feminine to pull off. soft satins sliding against your throbbing cock (apparently that's still there, oh god). she brings out expensive latex pieces you could never afford, and you feel them cling tight to your body. some plain options too, cute striped or polka dots, things you'd caught glimpses of on other girls and always felt a pang of lust or jealousy about.
just when you think you won't be able to stand it any longer, you feel a strong arm lift your entire body and she holds you up in front of the mirror. "you like this set don't you?". its made of soft fabric, with black and white stripes that accentuate the shape of your bulge and your curves. and you feel her hand slip below the waistband of your panties.
she strokes your cock, pointedly making you face yourself in the mirror. you aren't used to looking so directly at yourself, and you notice other changes she must have been making along the way, hips wider, ass fatter. you maybe see what everyone else seems to like about your body. you feel her soft tits press against the back of your now firm doll body, one hand gripping your tits, the other stroking your cock, faster and faster. and you cum all over the mirror.
a stifled moan comes from your throat, still barely capable of movement, and she tucks your softening cock back into your panties. "that's a good doll for me. you've done well." she muses, carrying you out onto the shop floor. "you can keep the clothes" she continues, "just as long as you pay off the cost like my other girls" and you find yourself being set down in the shop window with the other mannequins.
hurriedly thinking back to when you entered her store, small and suspiciously fancy for the part of town you live in, you remember the look of the other mannequins. they did remind you somewhat, of girls you knew from the town. "shut up, stop being such a pervert" you'd told yourself, "you clearly just want to imagine them in their underwear". popular girls you'd known at school, who'd always have the latest clothes, lots of pretty bras and panties you'd catch glimpses of in an unguarded moment - through a wide shirt neck, or a dangerously short crop top. girls who'd often mysteriously disappear from class for weeks at a time, claiming to have been ill, but seemingly with whole new wardrobes each time...
you stare out the window, realising the crowds that walk past this storefront each day. a woman walks up to the window with her friend, and points you out, looking you up and down. feeling their eyes on you makes you throb in your panties, still soft enough from your earlier orgasm to go unnoticed.
each day you wake to find her rearranging the display, putting you in new revealing outfits. if your response is too strong she drags you into the change room, makes you cum to your own appearance again, keeping you soft enough for the display to be tasteful. you start to think living like this might not be so bad after all.
