Sex Doll: No. 7 - Batch 13 - Sequel

Sequel: The trouble with Mitzi.

"Eat up all of those cornflakes, Tiger. I want to see that cereal bowl empty," said Mitzi from across the breakfast table. "You are going to need all of those B vitamins," she added, smiling meaningfully.

Tiger.

Derek smiled delightedly. 'Tiger' - ha ha!

Well, he certainly hadn't gotten much in the way of sleep last night - their 'honeymoon' night!

How many times (and in how many different positions!) had he and Mitzi done it ...?

He was no shy, awkward, lacking in confidence, sexual novice now - thanks to Mitzi.

Tiger - ha ha ha!

And to his great delight, even now, Mitzi wasn't leaving him alone ...

Under the table, Mitzi's foot was marauding inside his boxer shorts, scant protection against her playfully incursive bare toes playing all sorts of games with his easily accessible (vulnerable!) dick. She'd invade, wreak havoc ... and then retreat. Work him all up ... and then let him come down.

Derek thought of taking off his boxers - but decided it would be more fun to leave them on. Besides, he did have a sense of propriety!

On Sunday mornings Derek usually treated himself to a full English breakfast fry-up: sausages, bacon, eggs, a slice of fried bread, buttered toast - the whole works.

But at seeing him gathering the high-fat content wherewithal from the fridge and putting the frying pan on the hob, with a concerned frown Mitzi had told him she wouldn't like to see him eating all of that stuff because of what it would do to his heart health and to his arteries. No wonder he was at least a stone overweight. Hadn't he heard of cholesterol?

So he had switched to cereal and fresh fruit to please her.

And at Mitzi's urging he'd also promised to stock up on plain yoghurts and the other low-fat food items she'd written up on his shopping list the next time he visited the supermarket.

He was going to eat healthily from now on, Mitzi had told him, in what had sounded to Derek very much like a decree.

Mitzi, of course, didn't eat or drink a thing.

That was one of the great things about Mitzi: she didn't cost him a penny.

Well, apart from the bank loaned £20,000, he'd paid for her yesterday at Sex Doll for U's High St boutique ... And (unbeknown to him, while he'd been taking a shower yesterday) the £1,500 or so, on the Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoes she'd bought online ... And the additional £200 or so, she'd spent on nail polishes - lots of different lovely colours, so that (she'd told him) he could paint her toes for her every day in a different eye-pleasing shade.

Mitzi, easily cracking or somehow bypassing his not uncomplicated computer and bank account passwords, had maxed out all of his credit cards.

Now, Derek was down to his last few hundred pounds in readily available cash, and the maybe £150 or so he had left in his wallet.

Derek had told himself that it was only money. And the bright side: Mitzi would look dynamite, shod and adorned in all of the tasteful and stylish items 'she'd' bought.

But he had learned an expensive lesson: From now on, no more credit accounts. He would just have to get by without them.

As though reading something of his thoughts, Mitzi said, "My new shoes will be arriving later. Are you looking forward to seeing me try them all on, Degsie? And my nail polishes too. Are you looking forward to painting my toes for me? You can choose the colour, Degsie darling."

Degsie.

Derek loved Mitzi's pet name for him. He was still getting used to it.

Mitzi was full of surprises.

Sometimes, yesterday, she'd called him Derek. When she was being ... assertive.

Or rather, bossy.

No. Better make that: Controlling.

There seemed to be two sides, to Mitzi.

Maybe that was what that extremely attractive young woman from Sex Doll For U had come about, early yesterday evening?

But, for some reason, Derek rather liked it when Mitzi acted that way.

He liked it a lot.

When she dominated him.

And the answer to both of her questions was yes: He was, looking forward to watching Mitzi try on all of those pairs of fabulous sexy shoes - and especially, to painting her lovely slender toes for her every day in the exciting hues she'd chosen.

He was looking forward to it a lot; to painting a girl's toes for her.

Much more than he would have imagined, just a couple of days ago.

Before Mitzi.

He was now finding that, more than anything, he wanted to submit to her every whim.

And her every command.

Mitzi was full of surprises, yes. But now he was also learning some surprising things about himself.

Mitzi stretched her leg under the table again and, her bare foot invading his boxers she resumed playing with her owner's dick, again expertly teasing it to erection ... not that it took much.

It was all Derek could do to stop himself from giggling. This was such fun! Mitzi treating his thing as if it was ... well, her plaything.

That was one of the other great things about Mitzi: In her company, he was totally unselfconscious. She banished his shyness, his awkwardness, his inhibitions. She made him feel confident.

And to the diffident, given to nervous stuttering twenty-one-year-old Derek Duncan, with his adolescent remnant acne scarred skin and girlfriend-deterring carrot-coloured hair, it was a new, liberating feeling.

It was a new lease on life.

"If you've finished your breakfast, Degsie ... why don't we go back to bed?" invited Mitzi, with that come-to-bed smile of hers. "And you can ... work off a few of those calories."

Derek didn't need to be asked twice.

Hand in hand, Derek and Mitzi headed back to the bedroom.

Customarily Derek enjoyed a bit of a lie-in on Sunday mornings. It was the only day of the week he didn't turn out for work, at his dad's small Building and DIY supplies business.

But today it would be no ordinary lie-in.

It would be a lie-in with a difference!

***

Sitting at their breakfast table too, were Derek's mum and dad, Douglas and Doreen Duncan.

"Dougie, how about we call on our Derek today, at tea-time? I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks. I'll take along one of the walnut sponge cakes I baked yesterday - they're his favourite."

"But, Dor, I was going to go down to the pub to watch the pre-season friendly match on Sky with a few of the blokes. It's a five o'clock kick-off: Chelsea v Spurs."

"And I, Douglas, would like to see our son, every once in a while - if that's okay with you?"

"Aw, Dor ..."

"Douglas!"

"All right, love. All right. Of course."

"You see Derek every day, Douglas, at work. While I-"

"Yes, I know, love. I know. You are right, of course."

"And anyway, Dougie, Derek will have the match on, won't he? He's football mad."

"Yes, there is that."

"Besides ... I get a bit concerned, don't you, Dougie? About Derek living all on his own?"

"No, love. Not at all. Why, Dor?"

"Well, he's only twenty-one, and ... Oh, I don't know."

"Derek's all right, Dor. He's a level-headed lad. He just likes his own space, that's all. I mean, what do you think he might get up to?"

***

Later that Sunday morning ...

Derek was lying on his long settee, enjoying the sensations of Mitzi's fingers running through his unruly shock of carrot-coloured hair as he rested his head upon her bosom. And, as he stared at the endless unfathomable lines of numbers, symbols, and upper and lower case letters flitting across the black background of his 50-inch Smart TV screen that Mitzi was so intent upon watching, suddenly Mitzi said, "I know, Degsie! Go and sit over there on that chair, in front of the bureau mirror ... Go on!"

"Okay," said Derek, wondering what Mitzi was up to now.

Reluctantly, but by now almost automatically doing as Mitzi asked, Derek gave up his comfortable and highly agreeable position on his settee and did as Mitzi bade.

A moment later, in the bureau's mirror, Derek saw Mitzi standing right behind him. She had his naff cartoon-vegetable character kitchen apron in one hand and a comb and a small pair of scissors in her other.

"M-Mitzi. Wh-what are you-"

"Shh!" commanded Mitzi, draping his colourful kitchen apron over him.

Positioning and holding in place as necessary Derek's head with the fingers of her comb-holding left hand, with her right hand Mitzi expertly snip-snipped away with the sharp scissors.

Just under two minutes later, Mitzi's hairstyling handiwork was done.

And Derek, wide-eyed, stared into the mirror at his utterly transformed appearance.

In less than two minutes, Mitzi had given him what his dad would refer to as a '£100-haircut'.

Derek could hardly believe his eyes. To say he was pleased would be the understatement of the year.

"Mitzi, thank you! It's great! It's fantastic! It's-"

At hearing the knock at the door, Mitzi looked out the window and saw a courier van parked outside.

"My shoes are here, Degsie! And my nail polishes!"

"Right ... great!"

"You brush up all of this hair, Degsie, and I'll get the door."

Without stopping to think, Derek just obeyed Mitzi. "Okay!" he said, setting off to get his dustpan and brush from the kitchen cupboard.

As he performed his brushing-up chore, he heard Mitzi's squeals of delight at receiving her deliveries.

When he returned to the living room after disposing of his dustpanful of cut hair, Derek saw a clutter of shoeboxes and a small pile of smaller boxes on the carpet ... and his wallet, in Mitzi's hand.

"Thank you!" Mitzi told the delivery driver, a young man of about Derek's own age, who's admiring eyes were all over Mitzi from head to toe - not that Derek could blame him. That was the effect she had.

"And here ..." said Mitzi, putting her hand into Derek's wallet and fishing out a £50 note, severely diminishing his now critically depleted funds even further "... this is for you."

"Wow!" exclaimed the astonished courier. "Thank you, Miss. You are very generous! But ... you don't have to, you know. You really don't."

"Yes, I know. But I like spending money!"

Looking smilingly down on the carpet at all of the Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoe boxes and the clutter of smaller boxes of expensive nail polishes, the delivery driver said, "Yes, Miss ... so I can see!"

After Mitzi's first financial foray, how could he have been so lacking in foresight? Leaving his wallet, where Mitzi could get her thriftless, money-no-object, free spending hands on it?

Derek had just learned another expensive lesson, he mused self-admonishingly.

At the door, the delivery driver waved his £50 note at Mitzi in a cheery goodbye and a gesture of gratitude.

Letting himself out, he said to Derek, "Hey - great haircut, man!"

And Derek was left wondering, if he was £50 poorer, or £50 richer.

***

"I'll see you later, then, sweetheart," said Douglas Duncan to his wife, Doreen.

"All right, love. Enjoy your game of golf."

"If the rain holds off, we should be finished by about three o'clock, and I'll be back by about four."

"Okay. But don't forget, Dougie, that we're popping round to see Derek at tea-time. So don't be late getting back - I know what you boys are like when you get together."

"I've no idea what you mean, Dor," said Douglas in mock indignation.

And Doreen threw a tea-towel at his swiftly retreating back.

***

After Mitzi had tried on and paraded around the living room in each of her pairs of Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoes, at Derek's suggestion she'd finally settled on her pair of bright red Jimmy Choo five-inch heeled mules, to wear today.

Derek loved them.

The high heeled mules made Mitzi's already lovely shapely feet look sexy as hell. And he was crazy about the sound they made, slapping against the bottoms of Mitzi's bare heels as she walked around like a beauty queen. He'd been mesmerised, his eyes glued to them as Mitzi had modelled them for him. When viewed from behind, in split-second flashes the soles of her shapely sexy bare feet were deliciously and tantalisingly revealed to him with her each and every seductive step.

Mitzi's footwear for the day having been decided upon, Derek returned all of Mitzi's other new shoes to their respective boxes and put them away in the bedroom, while she went back to watching her 'programme' on TV.

Derek had then painted Mitzi's toes for her, in the colour of his own choice: A sort of fire-engine red, the shade that most closely matched her mules, and that also set off her short-hemmed red dress.

And Derek was loving Mitzi's high heeled mules and admiring her matching bright-red painted toes - the result of the efforts of his own reverent, painstaking service - now.

Sitting on the carpet, with Mitzi sitting right behind him on the settee, Mitzi was resting her legs on his shoulders and, ankles crossed, she was dangling her bright-red high heeled mules from her toes as she watched her TV 'programme'.

Derek didn't care, that there was nothing but an endless gobbledegook of unbroken white lines of numbers, symbols, and upper and lower case letters skittering across the black screen of his 50-inch Smart TV.

Because he had something more interesting to watch.

Something that, to him, was becoming infinitely fascinating.

And obsessing.

***

"What time do you call this, Douglas?" complained Doreen Duncan when her husband finally rolled up in their Land Rover Discovery.

She was standing outside the front door, coat on, all handbagged up and waiting impatiently to go. "It's nearly five o'clock. Where have you been?" she inquired crossly.

The prestige vehicle was very handy in Douglas Duncan's line of business. With its decent payload the sturdy but pleasing to the eye four-wheel drive Discovery could work as well as play.

Sometimes he trusted his son Derek with it to make local drop-offs of small deliveries. Or to go get a few things from Ken Sherwood's, when Ken's flatbed lorry was otherwise tied up.

He had an idea that Derek had his eye on Julie, Ken's twenty-year-old daughter, who worked at the customer service counter at Ken's commercial Building and DIY supplies warehouse/shop. He sometimes seemed to take an unaccountably long time in returning from Ken's ...

Ken had, in fact, confided to him on more than one occasion that he had the feeling his daughter Julie was waiting for Derek to say something. Maybe ask her out.

Ken said he thought they would make a lovely couple. And he agreed wholeheartedly, with his supplier and friend.

His boy loved to drive the Discovery, Douglas thought fondly. He felt like the Cock of the Walk, behind the wheel of that vehicle; though he knew his son was always careful and sensible in it. He was a good lad, his son Derek.

Derek was painfully shy, though, Douglas reflected. What he needed was a nice girl, to bring him out of himself ... maybe Julie?

Gradually he would allow Derek to take up the reins. And one day, he would take over the running of his business. And then, he thought, he would have a little more time to play golf with his bank manager friend Stuart and his other Rotary Club cronies. And ...

"Douglas? Did you hear what I just said?" said Doreen querulously, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Sorry, Dor ... I was miles away," said Douglas through the lowered driver's window. "Someone decided to get a puncture on the slip road leading off the M 25; must have been just a few minutes in front of me, and traffic was queuing to go by in single file."

"Oh," said Doreen, clearly sceptical.

"Hop in, Dor. It'll only take us five minutes to drive round to Derek's place."

"Yes, as long as no one in front of us is foolish enough to get a puncture," said Doreen sarcastically as she fastened her seatbelt and settled herself in the front passenger seat beside her errant husband. Doreen then pulled down the sun visor and used its small mirror to apply make-up.

The Discovery's engine idling, Douglas let more than a minute pass, then said, with studied casualness, "Um ... haven't you forgotten something, Dor?"

"Forgotten something? Forgotten what?" said Doreen, her words indistinct from moving her cheeks this way and that as now she powdered them after having performed a quick application of her lipstick.

"Didn't you say something about bringing one of those walnut sponge cakes you baked yesterday? They're Derek's favourite."

Irritably, Doreen snapped closed her make-up compact, unfastened her seatbelt, threw her handbag to the floor well, flung open the door and got out of her seat.

Her body language emanating waves of annoyance, Doreen strode back to the house.

At the front door, Doreen looked back at her husband, who smiled.

Doreen threw him a look, and then went back inside to get one of her walnut sponge cakes.

***

"You've got such lovely feet, Mitzi. I just can't stop looking at them. All the time, I want to hold them. To kiss them," said Derek who, now sitting at the opposite end of the long settee to Mitzi, was doing exactly that.

Mitzi rewarded him with such a radiant, dazzling smile, as caused a tightening; a slightly alarming constriction in his chest, such was the intensity of his emotion.

To think that such a smile was for him!

Derek was still coming to terms with the fact of his deriving so much pleasure, so much excitement, and such a feeling of contentment - such blissful serenity - from holding, and smelling, and kissing, and from just merely looking at, Mitzi's feet.

And, the best part of all: Mitzi wanted him to love them.

Derek hadn't really paid much attention to girls' feet, before. He'd considered himself your traditional tits, legs, and ass, man.

Until Mitzi.

Now, he was wondering how he could have been so blind to their attraction: the shapeliness, the loveliness, the desirability - the sheer, alluring sexiness - of girls' feet.

Well, he would certainly not neglect Mitzi's feet.

But it wasn't just Mitzi's feet: it was her companionship.

Derek could still hardly believe that Mitzi was his.

He couldn't put into words, just how happy he was. Couldn't give expression, to just how changed, his life now was.

And to how changed, he was.

It had all happened so fast.

Ever since yesterday lunchtime, when he'd carried Mitzi over the threshold ... as it were, he'd been in an almost permanent state of arousal.

Just as he was now, as ...

Holding Mitzi's bare right foot in his hands, his eyes devoured the mesmerising view of the undersides of her slender toes as firmly he rotated the pads of his thumbs into the ball of her foot.

The sight of Mitzi's bare sole in his hands was all-consuming. Like a powerful, irresistible magnet, it drew his helpless eyes to it. And held them.

Mitzi suddenly pushed the sole of her foot right up to his face, the closed pocket of her slender toes cupping his nose, prompting Derek to bury his nostrils under her toes and inhale deeply ... And promptly his dick responded yet again to the erotic stimulus of Mitzi's in-between-the-toes aroma.

Yet again, at breathing in Mitzi's aphrodisiacal foot perfume, instantly he was delirious with desire. Insane, with undeniable need.

Crazy, with insatiable craving.

Heaven, help him, he just couldn't get enough of it. Just couldn't get enough, of Mitzi's intoxicating, pulse-quickening, pungent cheesy foot-stink.

And Mitzi knew it.

In reverent adoration, Derek pressed his lips into the slightly 'sweaty' sole of Mitzi's bare right foot.

Passionately he kissed the bottom of her heel - oh, such a sweet spot! Ardently he kissed her lovely arch, lingeringly he kissed the ball of her foot, and-

Upon hearing outside the distinctive squawky triple-blip blurt of his dad's Land Rover Discovery's central locking, Derek froze ... And then a moment later came his mum's unmistakable knock at his front door.