hard plastic

by delcatty

Summary:

Barbie's not-so-perfect human life is interrupted by the world's worst house guest.

Notes:

this is a vehicle for filth and that's it, but i'm incapable of not writing a premise, so here you go.

read the tags for future chapters, and more will come :)

Chapter 1: this Barbie is experiencing the crushing despair of loneliness

The real world is nothing like Barbieland.

Her feet are flat on the floor all the time, and she only wears heels if she wants to feel special. She prioritises comfort first, has to actually do her hair in the morning, and even gets groceries (sometimes, if she can be bothered).

Barbie has to eat and sleep and bathe—with actual water—and everything else humans need to do to survive. She has to deal with difficult clients and people who cut her off in traffic and sad rainy days.

Barbie doesn’t have a dreamhouse anymore, but she does rent a modest studio apartment in Santa Monica that’s not insanely far from her work and it suits her fine. It might not be top to bottom pink or feature a wardrobe that chooses her outfits for her, it might have noisy upstairs neighbours and a broken AC unit, but it’s hers in ways the dreamhouse never was.

Here, her decisions are truly hers, not made on the whim of someone else. Barbie loves Gloria, they’re besties, but there’s a frightening freedom in knowing she is now the only person playing with her, the only influence in her life. 

Being human is hard sometimes, but it’s real and it’s hers. Her experiences, her battles, her choice.

It’s also—and she would never admit this out loud—a little lonely.

Barbie has Saturday girls nights with Gloria and Sasha and goes out for drinks with her coworkers on Friday. She hits clubs when she wants to dance and attends book club every third Wednesday and takes exorbitantly priced spin classes and reformer pilates to get her blood pumping.

She even goes on dates to try and cure the unexpected loneliness, but it’s not the same as Barbieland where there was always someone waiting to say hello, to greet her warmly and authentically and wholeheartedly.

She loves her independent life, but it’s a Sunday and Barbie is alone on her ratty secondhand couch watching Friends on Gloria’s Netflix account and eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s alone. It’s fine, but it’s not exactly the life she imagined when she took her first real breath.

Then, as if the universe hears her silent plea, there is a knock on her door.

Barbie is wearing three day old sweats and an oversized t-shirt one of her ex-flings left at her apartment. She dropped ketchup on it yesterday and neglected to throw it in the hamper because she really didn’t feel like doing laundry. She can’t remember if she brushed her teeth this morning, and she has a heart shaped pimple patch on her face from the night before that’s peeling at the corner, so it looks more like a deformed kidney.

The Barbie from a year ago would have died. The Barbie from right now doesn’t give a shit, and opens the door.

“Hi, Barbie!” Ken greets, a wide grin on his face.

Barbie gapes, her thoughts swirling around but amounting to nothing but a blank bubble and a giant question mark. “Hi…”

He pouts. “You’re meant to say, ‘Hi, Ken!’” he says and slips in through her front door.

“Hi, Ken…” Barbie closes the door, because what else is she supposed to do? Her mind is spinning. “How did you… Wait. No. Why are you here?” Too many questions, so little chance of a good answer. “How are you here?”

Ken stands in the middle of her apartment in a pair of tiny blue and white striped shorts and a matching button up that leaves very little to the imagination. Was he out in public like this? Surely that’s indecent exposure.

“I’m human!” he says, loudly and proudly, and Barbie feels the world drop out from beneath her. “I wished for it, like, really hard, then I had this dream and talked to an old woman and woke up like this!” He gestures to his body and his windblown hair, then over his heart. “I can feel the blood pumping through my body, Barbie. It’s so crazy, here, have a listen—”

Ken reaches out to grab her hand, but Barbie takes a giant step back, hands up to stop him. “Okay… okay, you’re human,” she breathes. “How did you get here?”

“I drove here,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing. “Then I took a boat, and a camper van, and a rocket ship, then a bike—not tandem unfortunately, and I did fall off a few times—then rollerblades. I didn’t fall over with those. Beach Ken always knows how to rollerblade.”

Barbie bites her lip and closes her eyes, wondering if she tries hard enough, he’ll go away. “And how did you find my apartment?”

Please don’t say there’s some mystical connection that lets you find me wherever I am!

“I went to that school from the last time we came to the real world,” he says, unaware of her internalised panic. “Then I found that girl who went to Barbieland with you.” He frowns. “She’s so mean. She made fun of my rollerblades. I cried a little.”

Barbie’s eyes snap open and she scrambles for her phone, buried in her comforter. Sasha’s text sits in her notifications from an hour ago, a cheery LOL have fun :) greets her.

Ken hasn’t stopped talking. “She told me where you lived, but it didn’t make any sense so she drew me a map. It was a piece of cake following it, since I’m so good at following directions. Like, I never get lost ever.”

He pulls out a scrap piece of lined paper featuring a crude map of Santa Monica drawn in sparkly pink gel pen. The route Sasha gave him took him around the same block three times over with a dozen other pointless detours. He went past the same pier four times.

“How long did it take you?” she asks, eyes wide.

“I’m not sure,” Ken says, thoughtful. “But I borrowed a bike when my feet started to hurt.”

Barbie rubs her eyes, already feeling a headache building. “Ken, did you steal someone’s bike?”

He shoots her that dumb, pretty smile. “I borrowed it.”

“You have to return it!”

“Do you know you have a lot of crime around here?” Ken says, low and quiet like he’s concerned. “Someone stole my bike. I can’t return it.”

“You have to lock bikes up on the street.”

“I was riding it.”

“You have to not look like you’d let someone steal your bike.”

“You know, there’s a lot of mean people in the real world.”

Barbie exhales. “That’s what makes it the real world. It’s not nice all the time. Actually, it sucks a lot of the time.”

But it can be so incredibly wonderful.

Ken frowns. “Someone outside asked me for money. Barbie, I didn’t have any money to give them.”

Barbie smiles wanly. “You need a job to have money.”

“I have a job,” is out of his mouth before he realises, and he backtracks. “I had a job. I don’t expect to be a doctor or anyone important here—I don’t have an ABC, I know—”

“PhD,” Barbie corrects.

“—but I was good at beach, I could do beach here.”

“Beach isn’t a job in the real world,” Barbie crushes his dreams with a small smile. “You could be a lifeguard, but you’re not Lifeguard Ken… and I’m not sure you know how to swim.” She sighs. “I had to get a job, a proper job, because being Stereotypical Barbie doesn’t pay my bills.”

Ken smiles, and it lights up his stupid face. “I’m so proud of you! What did you decide to do?”

Barbie looks away. “I’m a life coach.”

There’s a long beat before, “What’s a life coach?”

Of course, there’s no need for any kind of guidance in Barbieland where everyone has their place.

“Someone who helps other people.” Barbie smiles softly. “I help people find purpose and realise their dreams.”

“That’s so cool,” Ken breathes, eyes wide. “I want a job. I want to help people. I will help them with Beach.”

Ken has never helped anyone in his entire existence. Barbie isn’t sure he knows how.

“I told you, you’re Beach Ken,” she says, exasperated. “That’s not a job.”

Ken frowns. “You’re not Life Coach Barbie, but you do it anyway.”

“You’re right…” she says slowly. “I don’t think they make Life Coach Barbie.”

He nods. “They should. It would sell very well, I’m sure of it.”

Barbie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks, Ken.” Shock hits her. “No! No, Ken, you need to go back to Barbieland.”

Ken looks hurt. “Why? I’m here. I became a human for you.”

Barbie wants to cry in frustration. “Didn’t you listen to me back in Barbieland when you stole my house? I told you to learn who Ken is, to not try and fit in with my new life. This isn’t what I wanted for you!”

“But this is what I want,” he pleads and steps closer again, looking suspiciously like he wants to hold her hand or something. “I looked inside myself and realised what it means to be Ken. I made peace with it, I became human—and then I found you!”

“Then why are you here?” Barbie exclaims. “You shouldn’t want to be with me if you worked on yourself!”

Ken’s face crumples and he collapses in on himself, like she’s taken all his air. “Why not?”

Barbie raises her hands. “Because you only wanted to be with me because I’m Barbie and you’re Ken. You were supposed to… work through that. Understand it.” She gestures around her tiny studio, complete with old takeout, piles of laundry, and half-dead houseplants. “You were supposed to make your own life.”

Ken’s brow furrows, like he doesn’t quite understand what she means. “I know,” he says slowly. “I did. I thought a lot about what you said, and what it means to be burdened with the name Ken.”

May the doll gods save her, she thinks desperately. “That’s good,” she cheers weakly.

He nods. “It is good. I reached my full potential after talking to that old woman in my dream, and now I realise what I have to do.”

Barbie squeezes her eyes shut, dreading what realisation he came to. “What do you have to do?”

Let it be simple, she begs whoever is listening. Let it be easy. Let Ken leave as quickly as he came and allow me to return to my normal, gross, lonely life.

Ken breathes in and exhales. “I must apologise.”

Barbie’s eyes snap open. “Huh?”

“I have to apologise,” he says again. “To you. So, I’m sorry—for everything.”

Barbie smiles, ridiculously relieved. “I forgave you already,” she says, and his face brightens for a split second until she shoots him down. “But you did introduce the patriarchy to Barbieland, which is like, the worst possible thing to bring back from the real world. Honestly, you could have given them chocolate or vibrators instead, but noooo, you chose servitude and the mini fridge.”

“It was convenient,” he mumbles, and flinches at her glare. “The mini fridge! Not the… the foot rubs and the maid outfits.”

“My point is,” Barbie says, and makes sure Ken is looking her dead in the eye. “You can go home. You don’t need to make up for anything, because there’s nothing to forgive. It’s done. You can go and be just Ken now.”

Ken laughs, and to her horror, walks over to her unmade bed and falls into it in a tanned, pastel heap.

“Oh no, I’m not going home,” he says as he stretches out, crossing his arms leisurely behind his head. “The old woman in my weird dream said I have to really make amends for all the, uh, ‘pain and deeply felt annoyance’ I have caused you—her words, not mine—and I agree.”

Barbie screams internally. “I really don’t need you to—”

“So!” Ken exclaims, looking around. “Where’s the hot tub? On the second or the third floor? And what’s for dinner? I’m starving.” He pauses. “I also need a new bike.”

Oh, Barbie would kill Ruth if she weren’t already dead.

Chapter 2: this Ken gets a handjob

Notes:

i have no excuses!!!!!!!!!

Ken isn’t sure about the real world. His first week in a human body is spent in vague confusion and general lethargy. The exhaustion is not from physical activity but from having to learn. He never knew how much he didn’t know, or how tiring everything was as a human instead of a doll.

He wakes up each day bleary-eyed and tired, dragging himself from Barbie’s tiny sofa and into the bathroom in a dazed crawl. And oh, don’t get him started on the bathroom stuff.

Everything is so messy and annoying. Really, who decided brushing your teeth should be that difficult? Ken tried to get out of it, but Barbie told him awful stories about dentists in the real world, and apparently they’re nothing like Barbieland dentists. He still has nightmares from her description of the drill and the fillings and whatever a root canal is.

Showering is stupid and deciding what to eat is frustrating and on top of that, Barbie said he actually has to work out to keep his body. When is he supposed to do that in between the bathing and the eating and the sleeping?

Worst of all, Barbie is hardly ever home. She wakes up early—not unusual, she always did in Barbieland—but doesn’t stay to have breakfast or discuss outfits with him. She does her own bathing, gets dressed in the bathroom, and leaves with a rushed ‘bye, Ken!’ as she runs out the door.

The whole day would pass and the sun would set before she cane home, leaving Ken alone all day, bored and doing mindless chores to keep busy until Barbie showed him what Netflix is, and now he does all that while watching any tv show he can find.

All in all, it’s not exactly what he expected. She told him on the second day of his human life that he needed to get a job, but he’s not confident in leaving the apartment yet. The last time he was left to his own devices, he ended up brainwashing all the Barbies and making his Barbie cry—a lot. He didn’t like who he was when that happened, didn’t like the way he became consumed with foreign, indignant rage.

He’s scared it will happen again, so he stays indoors and does the laundry and washes dishes and waters the indoor pants and dusts every surface—and watches hours of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Dance Moms—until Barbie comes home and he can spend time with her.

His days usually go like this, with Ken languishing in his newfound humanity for hours on end, but today is different.

One week after arriving in the human world, when he’s lounging on Barbie’s bed—she told him he wasn’t allowed, but she doesn’t have to know and it’s so comfy and it smells just like her—watching tv when it first starts to stir.

He’s watching a blonde on the television.  She’s lounging by a big pool in a tiny bikini. It’s a pretty yellow colour, and Ken is thinking about a pair of shorts in the same shade for himself when, unbidden, he imagines Barbie in the same bikini. 

It’s smaller than the ones Barbie—or any Barbie, really—usually wears. It’s so small, the underside of the woman’s breasts peek out. Ken can’t help but imagine Barbie’s breasts, perfect and round and sometimes when it’s cold they’re tipped hard, and before he realises it is he is imagining getting his mouth around them.

He’s not sure why. He’s never thought about it before, but without warning and without sense, all Ken wants to do is wrap his hands and lips around Barbie’s breasts and suck and squeeze until they’re red and flushed, until she’s crying out in good-pleasure-happiness.

There’s a low thrum in his belly that makes its way outward, and before he knows it, the new appendage between his legs he usually uses to urinate is standing up straight and making a tent in his sweats.

“What the…” Ken turns off the television—because it’s distracting and he’s afraid the girl in the bikini has magical powers—and pokes it. The thing wobbles for a second before returning to its original place. Panic starts to build. “Oh no, this is not normal.”

Ken paces the tiny length of the apartment for hours, staring at the clock and the thing and the window on loop until the sun begins to set and the telltale sound of Barbie’s keys in the lock fills his ears.

“Oh my god, that was a day,” she announces, stumbling through the door. “Like, major bummer of a day. You know, I love my job, but sometimes it’s so difficult. One guy cried on me and I swear I still smell like his cologne. Yuck.”

Ken can hardly get a word in before she’s slipped inside, dumped her bags, and disappeared into the bathroom with her pyjamas.

Ken washed them for her today. He’s proud he helped, but—his problem hasn’t disappeared.

She didn’t even look at him. Can’t she tell he is in some serious distress?

No, he tells himself. Barbie does so much for him. She works hard so he can live a life of leisure and reality tv and ‘Uber Eats’. He can wait a while longer, even if he’s starting to ache.

Barbie exits in a cloud of steam and her pink silky pjs half an hour later. Ken hasn’t moved an inch. He’s not sure he even can anymore.

“Oh my gosh, I need to tell you what Linda did today,” Barbie says, towelling off her hair. Still not looking at him. “She went absolutely crazy at this guy who—”

She stops, dead in her tracks, eyes wide as she locks eyes with his… thing.

“Um, I’m happy to listen to you about your day later but… what is this?” he asks, eyes wide and beseeching.

“It’s an erection,” she says quietly.

“I have an erection,” Ken announces. She doesn’t sound too worried?

“Oh, okay, that sounds weird.” Barbie fiddles with her hair. She never used to do that. “That's the, like, scientific way of saying it. Most people would say ‘hard-on’ or something.”

Ken considers her wisdom. “I have a hard-on.”

She cringes. “That’s… better?”

“What a weird name.” He looks down at it, protruding outward like nothing else on his body. “I was surprised when I woke up human and found it, because it seems so inconvenient? I sat on my hard-on like, five times on the first day.” He pauses, remembering the agony of dealing with zippers. “I didn’t sit for a long time.”

“It’s—” Barbie pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s not called a hard-on all the time. It’s a penis, or a dick or cock in slang when it’s soft. And when it’s hard too, I guess, but it’s all contextual.”

“Oh.” He stares down at his dick. “What else is there?”

Ken learns—although it takes a lot of prodding on his end to get Barbie to talk—that there are many parts of the body unique to humans.

Dicks are just one of many, along with breasts which he knew—"Tits,” Barbie had admitted quietly, flushed red—along with balls and ass and nipples and his favourite word, because it made him laugh: pussy. There’s a lot to remember, but it helped that Barbie pointed out each part on himself, and when he apparently lacked the correct anatomy, on herself.

It doesn’t help his penis-dick-erection-hard-on problem. If anything, it only makes it worse.

“Okay, so… now you know,” Barbie says with a forced smile. “Time to go take care of it!”

Ken is confused. “Huh?”

Barbie is flushed red, eyes wide and stuttering, a world’s difference from the Barbie of before.

“Just—Just… You know!” she says. Her words are rushed and she can’t seem to meet his eyes. “Like, in the shower. Go take care of it or something!”

Ken stares down at the thing like it’ll go away if he tries hard enough. It doesn’t.

“Water helps?” he asks, hesitantly. It’s kind of getting hard to think.

“It… no, water doesn’t help,” she huffs. “The bathroom is private and water helps with the clean up afterwards. It’s messy.”

Ken is mostly familiar with the less than ideal requirements a human body has, but he hasn’t encountered this before. He doubts it has anything to do with cleaning oneself. Barbie would tell him otherwise. Oh, it must be really bad if she won’t tell him.

“Am I dying?” he asks in a choked whisper, hand coming up to lay over his chest. His heart is beating wildly, another part of this human thing he’s not super excited about. “Barbie, am I going to die?”

“No!” she yells, clearly frustrated. “You’re not dying, Ken, you’re horny!”

He doesn’t know what that means. “I don’t have horns, Barbie.”

She groans. “No, you’re like—turned on. Aroused. Sexually interested.”

Those words are also vague, but he’s understanding it a bit more. This is different from normal human life, this is special, and it’s made Barbie very excited. Worked up? Interested? He can only hope.

“This is a good thing?”

“It’s… not a bad thing.” Her nose scrunches up. “You can either ignore it, or take care of it yourself.”

“It’s been like this for hours,” he whines.

“Okay,” she inhales. “Then you need to make it go away. In the bathroom. Alone.”

Ken stomps his foot. “I don’t know how, Barbie. How am I supposed to learn if you won’t teach me?”

She fidgets. “You touch yourself,” she says weakly. “Like… wrap your hand around your dick and… squeeze… and go up and down.”

“Just the once?” That seems too easy.

“No, a lot.” She pauses. “Actually, some guys don’t have to do it a lot, but usually more than once is normal.”

Barbie knows so much. Too much.

“Have you…” Ken can hardly voice his fear. “Have you done this with someone else?”

Barbie turns red and splotchy. “Um. I guess?”

Ken blanches. She said it was private! “What! Barbie, no!”

“I’ve been here over a year, Ken!” she retorts, throwing her hands up in the air. It makes her breasts jiggle. No, stay focused, Ken! “What was I supposed to do? Ignore my vagina? It doesn’t work like that!”

Ken doesn’t know how any of this works.

He looks down at himself miserably, dick still tenting his sweats. It looks wrong. He’s so used to the smooth, flat nothingness. This in comparison is practically obscene.

“And you definitely can’t show me?”

“No, Ken.” Barbie practically pushes him towards the bathroom. “Give it a go! I’ll, uh, put on some music,” she shouts before she slams the door in his face.

Ken is puzzled. “Music helps?” he muses, before turning his attention to the problem.

The bathroom is still steamy and the heady scent of Barbie’s shampoo, conditioner, and body wash invades his senses. A mix of vanilla and strawberries and coconut, like a leisurely day on the beach soaking up the sun and Barbie all rolled into one, salt slick and warmed skin.

His hard-on throbs, sick and overwhelming and Ken stumbles to lean against the vanity. It’s covered in Barbie’s things; lotions and creams and perfumes, brushes and blushes and compacts. It’s so her, all of it, surrounding him entirely.

Not for the first time, he curses the Ken from a year ago, the one ruined by the temptations of the real world and his own blind selfishness.

Ken slips off his sweatpants and kicks them into the laundry pile he has to do later, and, with a shaking hand, tentatively touches himself.

He jumps when his cold hand makes contact with warm, hard flesh—hard on is right—but remembers Barbie’s advice. Touch, squeeze, stroke. Once the sensation becomes familiar, he moves.

Up and down, up and down. He squeezes occasionally, but not very rough because that seems wrong somehow, and he tries, he really does. He tries for ages, like a whole ten minutes, but—nothing.

Oh, he stays hard. That part doesn’t change. His dick doesn’t go down to how it usually is, and the throbbing does not abate. His mind is still filled with Barbie and a tiny yellow bikini, her tits out and jiggling. How it would feel to hold them and kiss them and suck them, how he might touch other parts of her too—

There’s a spark of something, a sharp pleasure he chases blindly, strokes turning hard and fast, but it disappears as quickly as it came and he’s left frustrated and tearful.

“Bar-bie,” Ken whines through the door. “It’s not working.”

There’s a long, painful pause before Barbie groans. “Ugh, fine. Come out.” Ken steps out of the bathroom, and Barbie jumps. “You’re naked!”

“You told me to touch myself,” he says, frowning. He’s not ashamed of his body. Beach Ken always has a good body. All Kens have good bodies, but Beach Ken especially.

“You usually only get undressed with people you care about,” she explains, eyes diverted.

“Like friends?” He thought they were friends. He does care about Barbie, a whole lot. Too much, maybe. No, that’s impossible!

“No, like… a significant other. A partner.”

Ken brightens. “Like cowboys!”

Barbie groans again. “No, like… like intimate partners. The person you share your life with.” Then, under her breath she mumbles, “Or a one night stand.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” Barbie finally looks at him again—studiously above the shoulders—and purses her lips. “Like, boyfriend-girlfriend, Ken.”

Oh. “We were boyfriend-girlfriend once,” he says quietly.

“We were,” Barbie says slowly, “because we were made that way.”

That’s… sad. He knew she never liked him as much as he liked her, but he always thought there was some affection on her part. To hear it was only because their manufacturers made her like him is a knife to the heart, gut-wrenchingly painful.

“So… do I need to find a girlfriend?” he asks softly, but it’s truly the very last thing in the entire universe he wants to do.

“You don’t need a girlfriend to jerk off,” she mutters. “You just need to touch yourself.”

Ken kind of feels like crying. “I tried.”

“Ugh, okay, fine.” Barbie is flushed head to toe, her skin turning as pink as her pyjamas, and it’s so cute Ken just has to smile despite the situation. “Get on the bed. I’ll help, but just this once. Just to show you how to do it.”

Ken is beaming as he throws himself onto the mattress, making sure to get comfortable and cozy. He knew she could help him! She was probably just trying to teach him how to be self-sufficient, but sometimes he needs a hands on demonstration first. He’s a visual learner.

“Okay,” he declares, smiling up at her. “I’m ready!”

Barbie’s brow furrows. “This is… no.” Ken’s heart sinks for a moment. “Sit up. It’s too awkward when you’re staring at me like that.”

“Like what?” Ken asks as he sits up. “Am I looking at you wrong? I can close my eyes instead, or squint?”

“No,” she stresses before she—to Ken’s delight—slips in behind him, her legs coming around either side of his hips to cage him in. “It makes me nervous.”

Ken’s heart thunders in his chest—and oh, this is what it means to be truly human—as she rests her hands on his shoulders and pulls him back until his head is nestled between her breasts, his back flush with her soft pyjamas and even softer skin.

“Wow,” he whispers, and stares up at her, her flushed face pretty even upside down. “This is just. Wow.”

“I said not to look at me,” she grumbles, and pushes his head forward, but the angle is all wrong. “Ugh. Just close your eyes or something.”

Ken obliges, although he really wants to look at her. He doesn’t often get to see the underside of her jaw. It’s a part of her body he has neglected for way too long.

“Why are you nervous?” he asks, blind to her expression. “I thought you had done this before.”

There’s a long beat before she answers.

“I have,” she says quietly, her hand drifting over the skin of his shoulders and collarbones, almost absentmindedly, up and down, getting closer to his pecs with every pass. “But I was never the one in charge.”

Ken’s eyes snap open. “What?” He can hardly believe it! “But Barbie is always in charge. Even when I tried to turn Barbieland into Kendom, you were still in charge… I just didn’t know it.”

Barbie rolls her eyes. “This is the real world, Ken. Remember? Patriarchy and inequality and the gender pay gap.”

“I only know what some of those things are,” he admits.

“When you were learning how to use my phone, did you do it on your own?” she asks.

“No, you taught me.” Barbie was very patient with him, even when he accidentally called emergency services and she had to explain to the person on the other side that he was learning.

She also lied and said he was only a kid. Ken is way older than seven-years-old.

“Exactly. You didn’t know how to use any real technology and I taught you how.” Barbie looks away, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “When I first got here, I didn’t know how to do anything sexual with my body. It was all new to me, and no matter how many books Gloria gave me, it didn’t help when it came to the actual moment.”

Ken doesn’t quite follow. “So you got Gloria to help?”

She smiles wryly. “Not quite, although she did give me a few numbers to get me started.” He still doesn’t get it. “I was a virgin, Ken. I didn’t know what I liked, so someone helped me. They guided me. It’s normal here, the guy just kind of takes charge.”

“Did you like it?”

Barbie ponders the question. “It was fine,” she finally answers, soft and hushed. “It wasn’t amazing, but it was fine.”

Ken frowns. “You said it’s boyfriend-girlfriend stuff.” He still doesn’t get it. “Boyfriend-girlfriend stuff is supposed to be amazing, Barbie.”

She sighs. “Yeah. It is, but first times aren’t always good.”

Ken wants to ask Why not? but from the wistful look on her face, he doesn’t think Barbie would appreciate it. He wants to make it better, wants to go back in time and fix it for her and make sure her ‘first time’ is what it’s meant to be—he just has to work out what that is first.

“Does this mean this is my ‘first time’?” Ken asks.

Barbie narrows her eyes as her fingers begin their exploration once more, trailing curious fingertips over his chilled flesh. “Ye… No. Yes. It depends.”

“On what?”

Barbie’s fingertips trail down his chest and to his pecs, brushing over his nipples lightly. Ken shivers. His hard-on hasn’t gone down at all—it’s actually gotten worse—so there must be more to come.

“On people’s perception of the construct of virginity.”

Barbie is so smart. “What do you mean?”

She sighs and her nail catches his pebbled nipple. Barbie doesn’t seem to notice, but his dick jumps from the sensation. “I mean, some people consider first sexual contact to be enough, but others believe a penis has to go into a vagina—but that opinion discounts anyone outside a straight, cis relationship. People who identify as gay or lesbian or transgender might have a totally different viewpoint which shouldn’t be discounted simply because they’re the societal minority.”

Ken understood maybe five words. “So…”

Barbie looks down, as if surprised he’s there. “Oh, sorry. I only mean virginity is a social construct that doesn’t mean anything. What’s more concerning is how little you know about your own body. It makes me nervous being the person to, like, introduce you to all this.” She frowns. “I could fuck you up for life,” she admits. “You’re already weird, Ken. You don’t need another hang up.”

He smiles, endlessly sure of himself and even more so of her. “You won’t.”

“I don’t want to get it wrong.”

Ken closes the rift and raises his hand to cup Barbie’s cheek. “You could never get it wrong,” he says, with weight and feeling, and knows without a doubt this is why he became human.

Barbie flinches, and pushes his hand away—ouch, that hurt. “Thanks, Ken, but humans get it wrong all the time. It’s kind of part of the whole deal.”

Ken can’t believe that, but by virtue of her never being wrong, she must be right about people getting it wrong. It’s giving him what he can only assume is a ‘headache’—which Barbie seems to get a lot—and abandons his train of thought.

“Even if you’re wrong, even if you mess me up, I still trust you,” he says, beaming up at her. “We’ll discuss the concept of virginity later, when I understand this all more.”

Barbie inhales. “Alright. Alright. I am only doing this once,” she warns before her hand drifts further down, past his nipples and rests over his abs. Ken shivers in anticipation, entirely focused on the path her hand takes. “After this, you take care of it by yourself, okay? In the shower, or when I’m at work, but not on my bed. Alone.”

She’s not moving. Why isn’t she moving? Ken whines and squirms, hoping it will prompt her on.

“Ken!” she snaps. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” he whines, hips moving on their own accord as her fingers drag through the new thatch of hair on his lower stomach. “Yes, Barbie, anything you say.”

“I’m not sure you’re listening,” she murmurs into his ear. Her hand inches further, stroking the sensitive flesh around the new extrusion, “but it’ll have to wait. This looks… really painful.”

Her hand finally reaches where he’s red and throbbing and her fingers split in two around his dick, thumb coming up to pet the base of him.

“Barbie!” he gasps as pleasure sings through his body, from the base of his spine to the top of his head. Ken is lightheaded and breathless, and his hand snaps around her wrist—to do what, he isn’t sure, but he couldn’t just lie there, has to hold her close for support. “Barbie, please, that's—”

“Good?” she coos, uncaring of his weak interference as she wraps her hand around him. “It’s meant to feel good.”

“It’s—” She grips him tight and slides her hand up and up until her thumb swirls around the strange mushroom shaped tip. “Oh, oh, that’s—I don’t think it’s meant to—um, ah!” He shakes when she brings her palm up and rubs it over the over-sensitive head, gathering new wetness and stroking back down, her fingers a tight, slick vice.

“You’re a total virgin,” she breathes and starts a smooth rhythm, her hand sliding up and down his cock, steady and sure. He’s so dizzy, he has to close his eyes and focus on his breathing because he doesn’t know what is coming, what is building up in his belly. It scares him. “Was I like this? Was I this crazy for it?” He whines when her hand brushes against his balls, the slightest contact almost too much. “Fuck, you’re so desperate for it. It’s kind of hot.”

The profanity falling from her lips is wrong but perfect and perfectly sums up how he’s feeling.

“Please, Barbie,” he begs and blearily opens his eyes. They’re wet—he’s near tears. He can’t seem to stop the hitch of his hips or the way his legs kick out with every stroke. “Please, please, please.”

She laughs, breathless and wide-eyed. “Please what?” she teases, and her hand grows tighter, firmer, her stroke faster. 

“I want—!” He chokes out a cry and twists away, but Barbie is quicker. The legs she had on either side of him slide under his thighs and push them outward, forcing his legs to open wide. She exposes him, stretching him open with her own legs. Her other hand comes up like a vice around his chest, idly plucking and twisting his nipples.

It’s too much, too soon, too fast—

“You’re so pretty like this,” she breathes into his ear and teases the lobe with her teeth. “You’re gonna cum so quick. Fuck, I could keep you like this, sweetie. This is—oh, this is something else. I didn’t know it could be like this.”

She sounds almost as wrecked as he feels, desperate for something entirely unknown to him.

“Am I doing good, Barbie?” he asks through heavy panting, through wet eyes and an arched back. Leaning in and squirming away, wanting and dreading for the sheer fear of it all. He’s scared of what is going to happen, he’s scared he’s going to like it too much to leave it at once.

Barbie smiles down at him, eyes half-mast and wild in a way he didn’t know was possible, and cups his neck with her free hand.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers as her hand squeezes his cock and his throat and oh, the overwhelming sensation in his stomach bubbles over and over until he’s shivering and shaking. “You’re such a good boy, Ken.”

The pain, pleasure, too much, good, yes explodes in a white haze, his sight dimming for a moment as ecstasy floods his senses. He tenses and twitches and releases in sobs and tears.

“Fuck,” he hears breathed over the ringing. “Oh, fuck, shit. That’s so—”

Ken wants to stay awake and talk to Barbie. He wants to ask her what was that, what it meant and what she felt herself, but numb joy falls over him like a warm blanket and before he can say another word, it sends him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Chapter 3: this Barbie is dealing with the guilt of feminine sexuality

Notes:

thank you sm for the response!! please enjoy your regularly scheduled ken torture :)

Ken now knows how to masturbate because of Barbie, and it is simultaneously the best and worst decision she’s ever made.

He asked for her help only once after she showed him how to touch himself—did it for him, more like—but she quickly shot him down, and steadfastly ignored his puppy eyes. He could try all he liked, but Barbie wasn’t budging, so Ken chose instead to put her lesson to good use. Very good use and, thankfully, has since stopped asking her for any kind of assistance.

Sometimes she can feel him watching her when she escapes to the bathroom for her shower, or when she’s wearing her little lounge shorts. He watches her, and she knows it’s not the same innocent boyfriend she had in Barbieland. That Ken is long gone, for better or worse.

“I touched myself again today,” he tells her the second she walks through the door after work. He’s proud, lounging languid on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table like a giant house cat. “It was so cool.”

To his credit, he also did the laundry and vacuumed, so she can’t be too annoyed at him.

She still allows herself to be a little annoyed.

“That’s good,” she says, awkward as she shuffles inside and closes the door behind her. What if the cute and very old Mrs Jenkins was outside and overheard?

“It was.”

Wow, he really is proud. Barbie wants to know if this misplaced lack of shame is because he’s so new to humanity, or if it’s because he’s just Ken.

“Did you have a nice day, um, apart from that?” she asks. She dumps her bags and takes off her jacket, and hangs it over the back of her tiny two person dining table. It used to have only a candle and a vase—which occasionally even had flowers inside—but now is littered with Ken’s belongings. Muscle magazines and Cosmo and post-it notes of recipe ideas and a single ten-pound dumbbell. It’s a stark reminder that her apartment, and her life, is no longer completely hers.

Her routines are mixed up, her privacy nearly entirely gone. She used to ring Gloria every night before bed to debrief about her day until she started picking up the vibes that maybe calling her bestie at 11pm every night just to chat wasn’t always appreciated. After that painful realisation, she would come home, order takeout, watch trashy tv, and bust out her vibrator before doing it all again the next day.

Despite the loss of privacy and her new routine, she finds having someone to come home to is nice.

Speaking of, Barbie has yet to tell Gloria or Sasha about her new house guest. She’s pretending it’s because it hasn’t come up in conversation—why would it?—but it’s really because she knows the response will be some combination of confused, disappointed, and probably even angry. Barbie doesn’t want to have that argument, and definitely does not want to have to choose between them.

Ken might have tried to take over Barbieland and fill it with horses and beer and bad mid-2000s divorced dad rock, but he’s still Ken. He will die in the real world without her. He’s likely to get hit by a bus or arrested for public indecency or kidnapped or something. He’s helpless, and it’s Barbie’s job to look after him, like a high maintenance poodle, or a houseplant.

She ignores the fact she’s never owned a real pet, and has killed her fair share of houseplants.

Gloria doesn’t need to know everything just yet. Maybe when Ken has a job and an apartment of his own, and Barbie can sweep it all under the rug.

No Gloria, I promise I never financially and emotionally—and once sexually—supported the guy who almost ruined Barbieland with toxic masculinity and faux fur coats!

“I had a great day!” Ken answers, following her around her studio. “I made a smoothie for breakfast and it was a-mazing, then I washed your sheets and remade your bed—”

That could be dangerous.

“—and then I did a workout with this girl on YouTube. Wow, my abs were burning! Exercise is sooo much harder in the real world than in Barbieland—”

Because everything in Barbieland is perfect and nothing is wrong until it is.

“—I had lunch, and oh, I made extra if you want some, then I watched the last episode of Friends.” Ken inhales shakily. “I may have shed a few tears. Barbie, they left the keys on the counter of the apartment. They were all leaving, it was—” His breath hitches, and Barbie turns around to find him with his head in his hands. “It was so sad.”

Barbie was more into Gilmore Girls when she first became human, but she appreciates his dedication. He’s basically only watched Friends and various editions of The Real Housewives since she showed him how to use Netflix.

“I’m sure all the Friends see each other on the weekends,” she tries to soothe, but also opens the fridge looking for those leftovers because she’s starving. “What did you make for lunch?”

“Pancakes,” he cries. “It’s not the same!”

“Yeah, it’s cold now,” she mumbles, but pulls out the foil-covered plate anyway to nuke.

“Not the pancakes! Friends!”

“Sounds like you had a big day,” she says idly, watching the sad pancakes go round and round in the microwave.

“Oh, yeah. I got really emotional. After I cried for a while, I thought touching myself would make me feel better.”

Barbie tenses, a creeping interest rising in her. Ken always tells her about his exploits, and while it’s uncomfortable, she also finds it strangely intriguing how he’s navigating this new discovery. It’s like watching Animal Planet, but not the Bigfoot specials.

She clears her throat as the microwave beeps, but can’t find the motivation to take the plate out. “Yeah?”

“I found out that if I almost cum,” he says as he hovers behind her, “but pull back, then bring myself to that point again, and pull back again, then do it again—”

“Yes!” Barbie exclaims, shoulders tense and face flushed. She’s flying too close to the sun. “You learned about edging. Good job, Ken.”

He exhales. “Edging,” he murmurs, eyes hazy. “Yeah. That’s a good name for it. Oh, Barbie, it was so good.”

“That’s nice.”

Ken leans against the kitchen counter in her line of sight and beams at her. “Did I do good today?”

She shouldn’t entertain him. It’s not going to end well for either of them.

“My clothes are folded very well,” she says cheerily, but Ken’s face falls and her heart clenches. “And—they smell nice! Did you use the new fabric softener?”

His shoulders slump. “Cuddly Soft Vanilla Lavender Breeze.” His head falls back and thumps against the upper cabinet. “It smells like a teddy bear picnic in a field of flowers.”

“Well, it‘s just great!” she praises and squeezes Ken’s arm. “Keep up the good work!”

His bicep flexes under her hand, and she drops it like she’s been shocked. Fuck.

“Thanks, Barbie,” he says, and smiles softly—genuinely, like he really is happy she appreciates his hard work while she’s at work. Ugh, she’s so stupidly horny.

She’s been horny coming up two weeks now, and it’s all because of Ken. He is always at home. Barbie is never alone in her apartment now, her shadow perpetually a few paces behind her. It’s usually not that bad. She likes the company and Ken is so innocent about everything it’s kind of cute.

Only… he’s touching himself with no shame, and Barbie can’t.

In her old life, pre-human-Ken, she would masturbate at least three times a week, sometimes more if work was stressful. In her first few months of life she quickly mastered her fingers, then moved on to toys. Dildos and vibrators of various shapes and types—she has a stash that was already safely tucked away because she was always worried Sasha would accidentally find it—and fuck, Barbie misses those magical little things to the point of tears.

Sexually frustrated tears. Agonised tears, the kind that makes her want to pull her hair out because she just wants to cum.

But she is never, ever alone. Not anymore.

She tried to do it in the shower in the first week, before the incident with Ken, but the angle was wrong and the water too slippery and it was just not right. She likes to look after herself in her own bed, loud and unreserved in privacy, writhing and moaning and touching herself how she truly likes. A quick, unsatisfying orgasm in the bathroom next to the toilet is not ideal nor, she fears, even possible for her.

Maybe if she could sneak her vibe into the bathroom, but even then it’s noisy enough that Ken would hear. Ken, who is ever present. Ken, who she swears sits with his ear to the door whenever she has a shower just to be closer to her. There’s a childlike curiosity to him that has him asking questions constantly. With her luck, he’ll ask what the buzzing noise is and then she’ll really have something to teach him: privacy.

Barbie pushes down her frustration, because when she snaps he gets the most pitiful crushed look on his face that she would rather avoid.

“Do you want to order pizza for dinner?” she asks, clearing her throat, trying to turn her mind away from anything but having a mind-blowing, amazing orgasm. “I can’t be bothered to cook anything.”

Ken loves pizza.

They spend the evening in domesticity. Barbie talks Ken through ordering the pizza, since it involves different communication than Uber Eats. He gets up from the sofa to answer the door and inevitably starts a conversation with the delivery boy about transportation—wouldn’t he prefer to deliver pizzas on horseback?—that borders on incoherent, and Barbie has to rescue the poor kid.

They eat pizza and she introduces Ken to Gilmore Girls because if he’s done one sitcom he can do another, and he proclaims immediately that he loves Dean which, of course he does. They’re both the inconsiderate puppy type.

They shower. Barbie goes first, because Ken wants to clean the bathroom after her. Fine, fine, it’s not like that makes her fucking ridiculously turned on. She tries to touch herself again in the shower, but almost falls over trying to finger herself and decides sexual frustration is better than breaking a bone seeking relief.

“Goodnight, Barbie!” Ken says after his own shower, smiling widely from his spot on the sofa. Guilt creeps up on her, because her studio is small and her sofa matches, and that can’t be comfortable for a guy his size. Still, he never complains, never voices a word of discomfort.

“Goodnight, Ken,” she says weakly before turning out the light and turning over.

She cannot have him in her bed. That would be an absolute disaster.

Ken isn’t unattractive. In her short but worthwhile time as a human so far, Barbie has seen her fair share of body parts from a wide range of people. Her age, a little younger, a little older—and a lot older once or twice—alongside men and women and those who identified as neither or both. People are beautiful in all forms and Barbie wanted to learn them all, and in doing so, has seen many bodies and many dicks.

Ken is… he’s Ken. He’s literally made to be physically perfect, sculpted like the ideal beach body, and frankly, that continues elsewhere. His dick isn’t too big or too small, is slightly curved and perfectly proportioned. He has a thick vein running up the side, but it isn’t too veiny. Pink but flushed red near the tip, and surprisingly uncut. He has, arguably, the perfect dick yet the sight of his perfect body pales in comparison to his response to her. 

Barbie wasn’t lying when she said her relationships in the past tended to lean towards the guy taking charge. She never planned for it, but quickly realised after a somewhat embarrassing talk with Gloria—for her, Barbie was only curious—that men tended to be like that in relationships.

“All of them?” Barbie asked, three months into her human life and three hookups later. It wasn’t bad, per se, but after spending a lifetime in Barbieland where the Barbies ran everything , she wasn’t prepared for such a drastic flip.

Gloria shrugged. “Most of them, although…”

“Although what?”

Her friend fidgeted. “Sometimes… guys like it the other way around. Sometimes they want the girl to take charge, to tell them what to do.” Gloria turned a surprising shade of pink. “Sometimes they even want to be the one getting fucked.”

Barbie discovered that men like that were few and far between, and many didn’t try to find someone at all because it was so difficult to find a woman who felt the same.

She couldn’t quite explain why she felt so disappointed at the time, but one night of having Ken between her legs, writhing and whining and bucking into her hand like she was the sole controller of his pleasure was… fuck.

Her pussy throbs and she squeezes her legs shut, turning over to try and alleviate the pressure.

Barbie hasn’t been able to think about anything else since, the incident going round and round in her mind, over and over and over. His moans and the way he clung to her thighs, how he was so unabashedly free with his desire. His complete and utter dependence on her and the way he begged, how he wanted to know if he was a good boy. It sent her into a spiral.

And then after. The endless descriptions. Ken has no shame, no concerns about discussing his sexual exploits with her. He has no problem jerking off in the shower, on the sofa, sitting up or lying down, and she has a suspicion he also does so in her own bed, but has since decided ignorance is bliss. He has explained in detail how, his newly discovered techniques and speeds and pressure and now, fucking hell, he’s discovered edging.

She’s considering introducing him to pornography before he discovers it himself, if only to control his understanding. No, Ken, it’s not all real. No, foursomes are not the norm. No, it’s not normal to fuck your step-sister.

Yes, women can fuck men.

Inevitably, her mind forms the scene in her mind. Ken, wide eyed and unsuspecting, his head resting on her breasts as she shows him video after video of what is possible, what she might be able to do to him. She imagines the way his hand would tighten around her thigh with every digital lick, suck, and thrust. He might even start humping her leg like a dog, and wouldn’t that—fuck, shit, fuck. She can’t do this any more. She has to take care of this.

Surely she can be quiet enough?

Barbie waits until her studio is completely silent, until Ken’s breathing evens out and the only sound to be heard is the faint traffic from the street. Then, with only the thump of her heart beating in her ears, she starts to touch herself.

Barbie’s hand drifts down, over her breasts and her stomach to skim past the thatch of hair she really should trim—but who even goes down there these days?—to slide her fingers through her dripping cunt.

The first brush against her clit is like a bolt of lightning, sending her into a shivery mess. It’s been two weeks since she’s touched herself properly, and she isn’t going to last.

She has to stop herself from laughing, comparing herself to Ken. He didn’t last long because he had literally never been touched before. She’s only had to keep her hands to herself for a fortnight and she’s already bursting at the seams.

“Ah,” she breathes, eyes squeezed shut as she dips her fingers down to her entrance. She’s so wet, slick and squelchy, almost too slippery with her own want. She usually likes a bit more friction to work with, but she’s so turned on already that this definitely won’t take long.

She can be done and asleep in ten minutes, tops.

“Mm.” Barbie slides her middle and ring finger inside her hot cunt, curling inwards to hit that amazing spot inside her a few times before moving back. She circles her clit, feeling the pleasure and promised release mounting inside her with every swirl. “Fuck, fuck, yes—”

“What are you doing?”

Barbie’s eyes snap open and she wrenches her hand from her pyjama pants in an instant.

Ken is staring at her from the couch, wide-eyed and sleep ruffled, shirtless and so innocent looking.

“What?” she gasps, trying to look less mid-fuck and more composed.

“What are you…” His eyes glance from her mussed hair to her heaving chest to the conspicuous hand she’s trying to hide. Ken might be dumb, but he’s not stupid. “…doing…” He gasps. “You were touching yourself! You’re masturbating!”

“No, I’m not!” Her protests fall on deaf ears as Ken practically leaps from the sofa to scramble onto her bed.

“You are!” He kneels at the foot of her bed, eyes wide and beseeching. “You’re—Barbie, I didn’t think you did it!”

She blanches, all thought of protest leaving her mind. “What! Why!?”

“Because you never talk about it!” He’s practically pouting. “I always tell you when I touch myself.”

Oh, she knows.

“Because—Because it’s not polite!” she screeches, pulling the comforter up higher. Ken’s gaze flicks down before they snap back to her face. “Because people don’t usually tell other people about it! It’s private!”

Ken is quiet for a long moment, only the sounds of their tandem laboured breaths filling the room.

“So…” he finally says, voice breathy. “So you do touch yourself.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “You were just touching yourself… right next to me.”

Fuck. Without thinking, her eyes dart down to the indecently tiny shorts he wears to bed. He’s hard. Oh, shit.

“Not… not right next to you,” she offers in weak protest. It’s a studio apartment, it might as well have been right next to him.

How stupid can she be? Of course he was going to hear her! The man wakes up when she tries to get a glass of water in the middle of the night, and offers to get it for her. He has a Barbie-radar built into his very being.

“How do you do it?” he asks, biting his lip and fiddling with his hands, unable to sit still. Eager. “I know how I do it, since you showed me and—gosh, Barbie, it’s so good—but I want to know how you do it, too.”

That sounds like a recipe for disaster.

“It’s not so different than how you do it,” she says, squeezing her thighs together under the comforter the longer he stares at her. He’s still hard, but he isn’t paying any attention to himself. Only her.

“You touch your dick too?”

Barbie closes her eyes. “No, Ken. I don’t have a dick, remember?”

She didn’t think she would need to do an actual anatomy lesson, but then again, she learnt everything from a combination of Gloria and some helpful Google searches. Ken doesn’t seem to want to play around with the her old phone, content to watch Netflix and clean (and masturbate) all day. He probably doesn’t know. She’s going to actually have to teach him.

“What do you have instead?” he asks, taken aback. “I can’t imagine not having one. It’s so much fun.”

“I’m sure it is,” she grits out, heart beating, wondering am I really going to do this? It’s one thing to jerk him off, it’s entirely different to show him herself. (She tries to tell herself, but finds herself failing.) “I have a vagina.” She exhales. “A pussy, and, um, other things. I told you before.”

He shuffles forward, his knees on either side of her legs, separated only by thin fabric. Her breath hitches. “Show me?” he pleads, hands clasped together. “I want to… I wanna see you, Barbie, please?”

She was going to, but fuck if his whining isn’t actually doing something for her.

“Yeah,” she breathes, and delights in the way his eyes go wide and how he breaks out into a wide smile. “Okay. Let me just—”

He scoots back enough to let her pull her legs out from under the comforter, revealing herself, legs still closed, to his appreciative eye. “You’re wearing clothes,” he murmurs, hand drifting over to brush against her ankle.

She kicks it away. “I was trying to be subtle,” she says with a pout, toying with the band of her pyjama shorts. “I haven’t been able to touch myself in weeks.”

He frowns. “Because of me? I wouldn’t have minded! I don’t mind!”

She knows that. “I told you, it’s private. You wouldn’t touch yourself with me in the room, would you?” He guiltily averts his eyes, and Barbie’s jaw drops. “Ken!”

“I haven’t!” he scrambles to say, avoiding her foot as she tries to kick him again. “I’ve only… well, I’ve thought about it, but didn’t do anything!” He places a hand over his heart. “I promise.”

Barbie stares at him through narrowed eyes for a beat before sighing. “Fine. I believe you.” She plants her foot in the centre of his bare chest, and pushes him until he’s sitting back on his haunches. “Ground rules—no touching.” She pauses then with their earlier conversation in mind, says “Not even yourself.”

Ken nods slowly, looking down at her foot and past it to his own dick, hard in his shorts. He swallows and his hands twitch, hanging limp at his sides. “Yes. Yeah, yes, I won’t, I promise.”

He promises so much. She wonders if he’ll stick to it.

She bites her lip. “Good,” she breathes, dropping her foot to the mattress before tucking her thumbs under the waistband. She lifts her hips and slides her pyjama shorts over her hips and down her legs, down and down until they’re off and she’s thrown them to the other side of the bed.

She watches Ken’s face like a hawk. His eyes are wide and his fists are clenched, but he hasn’t touched her yet.

Then, slowly, she opens her legs.

“That’s not like mine,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “That’s… oh.” Soft and reverential. In her year of being a human, no one has ever spoken of her with such gentle worship. “Barbie.”

“This is what I have,” she says quietly, matching his tone. She doesn’t want to be the one to break the hush that has fallen over her small apartment, their tiny oasis. “Do you—” Should she? “—like it?”

It shouldn’t even matter, but it does.

He laughs, breathy and incredulous. “Do I—? Barbie, of course I do.” He flexes his hands, and she shivers. “I like all of you, but this is… special.”

She fights the urge to close her legs. “Okay. Okay. I’m going to—yeah.” Barbie finds herself too embarrassed to say anything else, twitchy and nervous but ridiculously turned on.

“Yeah,” Ken echoes, sitting straighter. “Please.”

Barbie closes her eyes, relaxes, and resumes her exploration, hand dipping down, over her clothed stomach and over her mound to her still wet cunt, fingers sliding through the slick.

She shivers as she brushes over her clit, throbbing, plump and needy and begging for attention, but if she focuses on it too much, she knows she’ll cum too soon. She’s committed herself now, she has to put on a performance.

“Could you take off your top?” Ken asks hesitantly. “So I could see—”

“No,” Barbie says, voice laboured. “You don’t—not tonight.”

She can’t say never, not when she doesn’t believe herself.

Ken whines, but doesn’t protest. Good boy.

“Fuck,” she breathes as she goes lower, dipping two fingers into her entrance once more and sliding deep, curling inwards. “Oh, oh.”

She keeps her nails short just for this, to slip her fingers inside herself to touch and grind against the digits. The hands of a man are something else, something out of this world. Thick and calloused, rubbing in all the right places, but there’s something beautiful about using her own hands. Taking control of her own pleasure.

Barbie opens her eyes and slides her fingers out of her cunt, the squelch obscene to even her own ears, and watches the way Ken follows her movements. She watches the way his hands clench and unclench, like he’s desperate to touch her.

“What are you doing?” he asks, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, bruising them, like they’re been kissed too much. “Can you tell me?”

Barbie sighs. “Of course.” She returns to her clit, throbbing with need, and presses gently just off to the side. “I like to go between my vagina and my clit, fingering and rubbing. I like both, but my clit is more sensitive.”

 “Both,” he repeats. “Both. Sensitive. Clit. Okay, I could…” His eyes glaze over. “Yeah.”

“You have to be gentle, at first,” she coaches, eyes locked with his as she skims around her quivering cunt. He doesn’t look away, open mouthed and nodding along. “Then—” Her touch speeds up, becoming firmer. “—you can use more pressure.”

“More pressure,” he repeats again, entranced. Taking notes. What a good boy.

“But it’s important to listen to your partner.” She dips back down to her entrance, gathering more wet to ease the glide before returning to her clit. “They’ll tell you what they—ah—like, and—and what they don’t.” It’s getting harder and harder to pay attention, to remember what she’s supposed to be teaching him. “Fuck.”

“You’re so pretty, Barbie,” he praises in a high whine, fidgeting in his spot. “You’re so… oh, you’re so pink and cute and I just—”

“Mmhm!” She can’t help but moan, high and reedy as she fucks herself, encouraged by his praises. The same devoted language he used back in Barbieland but more. Heat builds in her spine, and she tenses, release unexpected but so, so fucking welcome. “Oh, fuck, Ken, I’m gonna—I’m so close.” 

“Can I please touch myself?” he begs, his hips twitching aborted little thrusts, even from his seat on his haunches. “Please, please, Barbie, I’ll be good, I just—”

“No,” she says, fingers swirling around her clit. Her own hips rise off the bed, her orgasm approaching from the stimulation and the visual, Ken hard and desperate but denied. “No, baby, you’re not allowed to.”

He practically sobs. “Please!”

She laughs as she tips over the edge, legs kicking out and colliding with his thighs, cumming in a rush of please, please, Barbie, please, I want to, I want you, I want—and it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever heard.

Once the shivers have subsided, Barbie opens her bleary eyes to take in the evidence of her lesson.

Ken is wrecked. Face flushed, brow damp, lips bitten raw. One hand is wrapped around the ankle of the leg she hit him with, but she allows it. He’s tense and shaking himself, like he’s the one who came, but no. His cock is hard and leaking through his tight shorts. He’s obscene. He’s fucking beautiful.

“Do you…” he starts, and stares down between her open legs, taking in the evidence of her singular pleasure. “Do you want a tissue?”

How about your tongue?

Barbie laughs. “That’s too rough right now,” she answers, breathless. “Can you bring me a warm cloth?”

Ken rushes to the bathroom, almost falling over himself to follow her request. Cock bobbing, caged in his wet shorts, he’s a vision she never expected to want so much.

“Can I touch myself now?” he begs once he’s returned to her side. He resumes the exact same position, eyes damp with want, fingers skimming over her leg as a calculated accident. Despite her orgasm, cruel desire sparks deep inside her.

“No,” she orders as she slides the warm cloth over her swollen flesh. “In fact, you’re not allowed to touch yourself again.” She delights in the way his eyes go wide, how his mouth drops open, and feels a new realm of possibility open in front of her. If he wants to edge himself, she’ll take it to the next level. “You’re going to be a good boy, and you’re not going to cum again until I say you can.”

Chapter 4: this Ken jerks off

Notes:

you're all soooooo horny it's great

Nothing much changes after that night—the night Ken woke to the sounds of soft moans and the rustling of a comforter, when he was pulled from his nice dream to an even better reality—and he’s not sure what he expected.

Barbie lives up to her word, and so does he. Ken doesn’t touch himself. At all.

Before, he was making himself come once, twice, three times a day. In bed after Barbie left for work, her vanilla perfume still lingering in the air. At noon, bent over the kitchen counter, remembering the way her breasts strained against her tiny pyjama top the night before. In the evening, during his shower, thinking about the water sliding from her slick, wet body and how he’d just die to be able to touch her.

It was the highlight of his new human life, second only to living with Barbie, talking to Barbie, spending time in her presence, having her all to himself and not the other Kens.

Yet the absence of pleasure after such a short time of having it is an ache he wasn’t expecting, and he spends most of his day thinking about taking himself in hand and stroking to completion. From the moment he wakes up, hard and dripping, straining against his shorts, to the moment he goes to sleep, cock red and weeping still—he’s yearning.

Despite the fact his brain is stuffed full of want, their routine mostly stays the same. Barbie goes to work in a rush and Ken is left to his own devices.

Through his desire, he cooks and cleans and starts Modern Family—he’s not allowed to watch Gilmore Girls without Barbie—and exists in a vague haze of want until she returns home. 

Barbie asks the same questions every night. Ken dutifully answers.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Yes.” It was fine, but it would have been better with her.

“Did you do anything?”

“I made a soufflé.” Three times, until it came out perfect for her.

“Did you go anywhere?”

“…No.”

Pause.

“Did you touch yourself?”

Heat and desire floods his body and he trembles from his spot on the sofa, fists straining against his legs like it’s taking every inch of his self control not to snap.

“No,” he gasps. It’s been a week, and he thinks he might be dying.

Barbie smiles, like she doesn’t believe him. “Really?”

Ken whines and shuts his eyes, legs closed tightly together. He might have to sit on his hands soon enough, he’s so sick with want. “Yes.”

She sidles up to him, dropping her bag and her jacket and her shoes until she’s unburdened, and kneels in front of him. She places one hand by the side of his hip, no point of contact between them, and raises her little finger.

“Do you pinky swear it?”

Ken doesn’t hesitate to loop his own pinky with hers, the tiny, insignificant contact devastating. She hasn’t touched him since that night a week ago (which was next to none at all) and the week before that (which was life altering), and something as simple as one digit intertwined with his sends his heart racing and makes his dick throb.

His shorts are getting dangerously damp. He doesn’t want to stain her sofa.

“I promise,” he chokes out, tears gathering in his eyes.

Barbie grins and stands before she, oh, strokes his hair, soft and gentle. “I can tell,” she says before she drifts away. He reaches out, but she’s already moved on. “You’re so keyed up. It’s impressive you’ve held out this long since you probably have the libido of a teenager who just discovered masturbation.”

Ken is technically over 60 years old, but the comparison has merit. He might as well be a teenager, new to all the experiences life has to offer, from hormones to bathing to whatever this is.

He still has to pinch himself some days when he realises how lucky he is. Whether she actually cares or if she’s just taken pity on him, it doesn’t matter. He gets to be with her in ways he never could in Barbieland, where he was little more than an accessory, or worse, an afterthought. He thought he was content, but it was shallow and hollow and fake. An affection he was born with, and he held no real realisation of the extent of his love for her until he discovered what love truly is.

But now he sees it all. He loves her for who she is, innately and naturally, and it is her humanness that highlights it all. He loves her when she smiles, when she’s kind, when she’s smart. He loves her when she’s tired, when she’s grumpy, when she’s had a tough day. There is no perfect world, but there is Barbie, as she is, and he wouldn’t have her any other way.

The fact she is giving him the time of day is a mystery and a miracle.

He’s not sure what changed between them. He wasn’t purposefully trying to sway her or anything, especially not the night he woke up unexpectedly. He was just so overcome, brushing the last of sleep away and realising that the object of his lifelong, unrequited affection was touching herself only a few feet away. Under the covers, sighing like someone else was touching her, the soft, slick noises that drifted over to him… Ken moved on instinct, desperation licking at his heels, and he had to see.

He wasn’t thinking, mind clouded, but he’s still surprised she didn’t push him away, kick him out, or say she hates him. He’s very surprised—honoured, practically—that she slipped herself free from the comforter, opened her legs and revealed her—oh, fuck—bare slit, pink and soft and so cute like the prettiest flower, blooming just for him.

Ken thought it was hard not to touch her then, until she told him not to touch himself.

Ken loves Barbie. He loves everything about her, irrevocably and unconditionally, devoted to her in ways he never thought possible in Barbieland. He would do anything for her if she asked, but this…

This is possibly one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

“It’s the weekend tomorrow,” she calls out from the bathroom later that night, the sound of rushing water following. “Do you want to go out for breakfast?”

“No,” Ken mumbles, fidgeting from his spot on the sofa. “I think I’d rather just stay home.” Barbie exits the bathroom, and he picks at a loose thread of his shirt, and pointedly does not look at her. “You can go without me.”

He feels rather than sees Barbie’s answering frown. “Ken…”

He doesn’t want to leave the apartment. He’s not ready. The world outside is big and loud and he’s worried what it will turn him into. Here, in the safe cocoon of Barbie’s smell and Barbie’s clothes and Barbie’s bed, he’s safe. Safe from the outside and safe for her.

Also—

“I don’t think I can,” he admits, squirming in place. A strategically placed pillow over his lap shields her from the obscene way his shorts tent, but she’s smart. She already knows what he’s hiding.

“Oh,” she breathes, and Ken really doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s gone all soft and relaxed, that her eyes are now trained on the very part of him he’s trying to hide.

Ken clears his throat, trying to move her attention, because even her gaze is enough to set his heart racing. “Yeah, yes, um, so I should probably stay here, but you can go.” He licks his lips and finally looks up at her. 

She’s flushed. Comfortable. Dressed in the tiny pyjama set that brings out the blue of her eyes. She’s so adorable and hot and this is exactly what he’s been trying to avoid.

His cock jumps and he feels some of the telltale clear fluid seeps from the head. He whines, and hunches over the pillow.

She doesn’t care.

“Show me,” Barbie says, her eyes bright and wide. “I want to see it.”

Ken’s has never felt more like a lifeless doll, shut down and rendered mute. “Wh–Huh?”

Barbie sits on the sofa, her legs curled up underneath her, and towers over his slumped form. “Show me,” she insists, hand coming to rest over his clenched hands, and over the pillow. “I want to see how good you’ve been for me.”

Ken couldn’t deny her, even if he wanted to.

“Should I… here?” he asks hesitantly, lifting his hands to allow her to move the pillow away.

“Here,” she murmurs, like she’s far away, eyes glazed over as she throws the pillow across the room. “I’ve been thinking about this all week.”

Her words make him shiver and his chest heave. He thinks about her all the time. Knowing she thinks of him is more than he could ever wish for.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. That’s cool,” he says, trying to hide his nerves. “Let me just…”

Ken lifts his hips and peels his shorts away from his thighs and legs slowly until he kicks them off towards the hamper. The cool air makes him shudder, every sensation against his flesh like a new torturous experience, every point of contact directly connected to how ridiculously turned on he is.

“It’s so red,” she breathes, bringing her hand to her mouth to bite at a manicured pink nail. She’s entirely focused on his dick, and it jumps at her scrutiny. Ken fights the urge to hide again. He doesn’t want to disappoint her. “Is it painful?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Painful might not be the right word.” How about excruciating or torturous? “Um. Super uncomfortable?”

It’s everything and more, flushed crimson with blood and so hard. Even the brush of his soft sleep shorts were enough to make him throb with want, held on the edge of cumming for over a week now.

It made going to the bathroom very difficult.

“Poor baby,” she coos, scooting closer until her body is pressed against his left side. One of her arms comes up around to cup his neck, while the other starts to caress his chest, his throat. A brand of ownership that isn’t required. He’s already hers. “Can you tell me more about your week? How has it been?”

Where to begin?

“It’s been—” He squeals when she squeezes his neck. “—fine!”

“Mm, just fine?”

He inhales and exhales, slowly and deeply, because he’s probably not going to survive this, and if he fails Barbie he’s going to literally die.

“I try to keep myself busy,” he admits. “I do stuff to stop thinking about it.”

“About what?” she prompts. She’s so mean. He loves her so much.

“About… about my dick,” he whispers, hands clenching. One is trapped between his own thigh and Barbie’s, and her skin is so soft and warm. He would do anything to be allowed to touch her. “About how hard I am. How much I want to touch myself. How I—” She removes her hand from his throat and skims down, over his pecs. “H-How I want to cum so bad but you told me I’m not allowed so I haven’t, I promise.”

“And you’re doing so well,” she murmurs, hand stroking up and down his stomach, paying extra attention to the places that make his muscles jump. “I’ve heard that some guys can’t be trusted to keep their hands to themselves.”

Her nails scrape upwards until they catch on his pebbled nipple, and he has to clench his tightly wound body not to react.

“What—ah!” he cries out when she pinches the same nipple tight. “What do they d-do instead?”

Maybe they don’t care enough about their own Barbies to follow orders. He can’t comprehend a world where he wouldn’t obey her, not now, not when he knows what he would be forfeiting.

“They either give in,” she whispers, lips caressing his ear as she strokes his chest, brushing up around his throat and down again, “or they use special toys. Things to keep them from cumming too easily, or to stop them from touching themselves.”

Ken is naive to the real world and he is very oblivious. They were toys only a short time ago. What toy could possibly be used in this situation?

“What are they?” he forces out in a rush of air, tense as Barbie’s hand once again trails down his chest, over his bunched stomach, and settles in the deep V of his abdomen.

Ever so gently, she traces around the base of his cock. “Metal usually, but sometimes plastic,” she says as Ken starts to shake from the overwhelming touch. Even this light, brief caress is enough to send him hurtling towards orgasm. “A ring around the base to stop it, or sometimes—” With a featherlight touch, she skims down the hard, rigid length of him to hold his dick up with two fingers, barely touching him. “—they’re caged entirely, not allowed to touch it at all.”

Ken doesn’t know enough about the human world to picture exactly what she means, but the intent is there. It’s a means of control, of taking away the option entirely, of choosing if and when and how someone might release.

Pink plastic fit tight around his dick, stamped with her ownership, her touch, her love for him. She could lock it up and wear the key around her neck.

“Does it hurt?” he chokes out. He has recently discovered that his dick is very sensitive, and although his time learning how to pleasure himself gave him some experience, some stamina, he knows that even the lightest of touches can send him hurtling towards release.

“Only if they want it to.” Barbie’s hand curls back around the base of dick and squeezes, and the intense sensation of an orgasm comes forth with unexpected speed.

“Wh—Barbie!” Ken cries, grabbing her wrist but stops before he pulls her away. “That’s too—I’m gonna—”

Her grip is tight and overwhelming, firm and unyielding. She smiles and presses a kiss against his jaw. “No, you won’t.”

Ken’s hips twitch for a moment or two, head fuzzy and body wound tight, but Barbie is right—as always—and his orgasm ebbs away. Although he stays rigid and his dick is even harder than before, the head turning an alarming shade of purple, he doesn’t cum.

“Oh,” he breathes, panting from the effort exerted. “I didn’t…”

“What a good boy,” Barbie praises, and gently releases him. His throbbing dick rests against his stomach, leaking fluid onto his abs. It twitches at her words.

Ken grins, turning to dopey gaze at her. “That was scary.”

“Why?”

How can she not know? “Because I was going to cum, and you stopped me,” he says, guileless. “I didn’t want to fail.”

Barbie is quiet for a long moment, and he can’t decipher the look on her face. It’s one of her new expressions, one she’s gained in the real world. Too complicated for a doll.

“You haven’t failed me, Ken,” she finally says, gently. “I shouldn’t have asked you to be celibate for the whole week, not without—”

Um, what?

“Noooo, no, no!” He can’t get the words out quick enough! He turns to face her and takes her hands between his own—oh, they’re so cute and dainty!—and stares into her eyes. “No, it’s fine! I like it, Barbie! I promise!”

She doesn’t look convinced, all traces of the Barbie from before gone. “But… we didn’t really talk about it at all.”

Ken narrows his eyes. “Were we… supposed to?”

“Um. Kinda?” Barbie worries her bottom lip with her teeth, and Ken would really like to stop her because it’s very distracting. “Most people like, discuss limits and stuff. What they want. When they should stop.”

Oh. That’s it?

Ken laughs. “Oh, Barbie. That’s silly.”

She frowns and tries to pull her hands away, but he doesn’t let her. “It’s not silly. It’s safe.”

Ken brings her hands up to kiss them, along her knuckles and her fingertips and the palms of her hands. The same hands that, just a moment ago, were wrapped around his dick so tightly he saw the fake stars of Barbieland once again. He loves everything about Barbie, but her hands are especially lovely.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, carefree. “You’re Barbie. Nothing you do to me could be bad.”

Barbie’s frown becomes more pronounced, which was not his intention. “No, that’s why we need to discuss this—”

“Barbie.” He presses his finger against her lips, and although it very clearly makes her angrier, she doesn’t fight it. “Barbie. This is your permission, from now until the end of time, to do whatever you want to me, with me, because of me. I’ll do anything.”

He means it, too.

Barbie pulls his finger away. “That’s…” She exhales, pupils blown wide. “Okay. This is probably wrong in so many ways, but I’ll… yeah. Okay, Ken. Um.” She swallows and closes her eyes. When she opens them, her eyes are narrowed.

Ken represses a shiver. “Barbie?”

“If you want to stop,” she says slowly, “you’re going to say Venice. Do you understand?”

“I don’t—”

“Do you understand?” she repeats with such force in her tone that Ken stills. “Only bad Kens don’t listen to their Barbie.”

Oh. His dick twitches. “Yes,” he says quickly, nodding his head so fast he gets dizzy. “Yes, I understand, Barbie.”

“What’s the word?”

“It’s—” Ken winces, wracking his brain. “It’s… It’s Venice!”

Barbie smiles and finally reaches out to cup his cheek. “Good boy.” He preens under her praise. “You’re going to cum tonight.”

He inhales sharply. “Really?” Too needy, Ken, come on! “I mean… only if you want me to.”

Barbie strokes his cheek with her thumb. “I do, Ken, and I want you to ask for something, too. Whatever you want.”

She’s so perfect, she’s cruel and mean and wonderful. Whatever he wants? There’s too much in this world and beyond to ask him such a question. Ken wants everything he can think of and even stuff he doesn’t know exists yet. He wants her attention and her affection and her love, but how could he possibly ask for something of such magnitude?

“Can you—” He stalls, awkward and fidgety, like he’s been asked to be in a swimsuit competition with no preparation time. Like he’s been asked to choose one thing out of millions that he wants. “I’m, um, I’m wondering if I could…”

Barbie’s patience is infinite, and her careful smile grows sharp. “Yes, Ken?”

No, she’ll never go for it!

Ken buries his face into his hands to hide his embarrassment. “Please forget it,” he says, voice muffled. “It’s dumb.”

Barbie’s hand cards through his hair and stops, devastatingly, on the back of his neck. The sensation of her nails sends a shiver down his spine which settles uncomfortably in his pelvis.

“You can tell me,” she says softly, then sharper: “You have to tell me.”

Barbie isn’t used to being told no. Ken doesn’t want to tell her no.

“I want to touch you,” he says in a rush, breathless and wanting. He doesn’t let her say anything before he continues. “I want to… I want to taste you. Everywhere.”

She smiles with teeth. “Everywhere?” she teases. “Be more specific, baby.”

 Where to begin? He wants to touch her cheeks and her neck, her waist, her hips, her legs. He wants to touch the place between her legs that brought her such pleasure the week before, the dripping entrance and the little pearl that grew the more she touched herself. He wants it all, although…

“Can I touch your breasts?”

Barbie smiles. “My breasts?” Her hand trails down between them and over her little pyjama top. Her nipples, hard and firm, strain against the fabric and his mouth waters. “A little tame, don’t you think?”

Is it? “I haven’t seen them yet,” he confesses. He’s managed to see every other part of her, but not them. “Can I?”

Barbie doesn’t reply, and instead moves to stand in front of him. She grips the hem of her shirt and slips it off, so quickly and without the fanfare they deserve, but Ken has to make himself breathe all the same.

Her breasts are full and round, skin flushed and cute, capped with pink nipples. And they are directly in front of his face. He wants nothing more than to touch, to hold, to lick, and suck, but he restrains himself. Barely.

Then, devastatingly, she kneels. The submission is wrong for a split second, because he wants nothing more than to be the one kneeling for her, but then—

“You can touch them,” she says softly, cupping her breasts like an offering. “It’s okay, baby. You’re allowed. This is your reward for being a good boy.”

Barbie is always in control. Barbie always knows what to do.

Ken’s cock dribbles against his stomach.

He reaches out, hands shaking, to finally touch her with reverence, gently skimming his fingertips across the underside of her breast, then over the top, plush flesh.

“So soft,” he murmurs, eyes wide. “It’s…”

“Do you like them?” she asks, hushed.

“Don’t be silly,” he scoffs, and holds them both in his hands, huffing a breath. “Fuck, Barbie, you’re so gorgeous. Like, mega gorgeous. No other Barbie could compare, here or in Barbieland, and—”

“Can you touch them more?” Barbie asks, breathless herself, chest heaving. “Squeeze them. Play with them. I like—I like my nipples touched.”

Ken nods. “Yes, yes, I can—” He squeezes her tits, softly at first, then firmer when the flesh gives way under his grip, the silky skin spilling out between his fingers. His thumbs brush against her nipples, and Barbie sighs. Ken watches her. “Was that good? Did I do it right?”

“So right,” she encourages. “Touch yourself, Ken. I want you to touch yourself until you cum over my breasts. Can you do that for me?”

Ken whines, high pitched and desperate, because fuck yes, he can. “Yes, yes, I can, I wanna, I just...” He doesn’t want to stop touching her, but he can’t do both.

“Shh, I’ll help,” she soothes, and shuffles forward until she’s directly between his legs, breasts level with his cock. “Look—I’ll just…” Barbie leans forward until her creamy skin is pressed against his dick, and rests her hands on his thighs. She stares up at him, innocently. “Go on. I wanna see.”

He’s helpless against her wants.

Ken takes himself in hand, and it’s nothing like before. Every nerve lights up and his dick pulses under his grip. He’s been on edge for days now, desperate and wanting and near tears, and now that Barbie is in front of him, her tits brushing against his dick with every exhale—ugh, he’s done for.

“S-Should I make it last?” he pants, loosely stroking himself. Every move is overwhelming, dizzying, the sight of her only adding to how hot he is. “Should I, um, should I edge myself?”

“Do what you want, baby.” Barbie grips his bare thighs and brushes her tits against his dick again. “I want you to enjoy yourself. I want to see you cum all over us, make us messy.” She narrows her eyes. “Then you can clean up my tits with your tongue.”

Ken whimpers, and helpless, starts to fuck his fist.

“Barbie,” he pants, focusing his attention on her tits brushing against his tip, flushed a purplish-red and oozing slick. He’s so turned on he could die. “Barbie, Barbie, oh, it’s so good, so good, I’ve been so good for you, I wanted to make you proud, I wanted—”

“Mm, I’m so proud,” she gushes, and holds her tits up so he can fuck against them. So silky smooth and a billion times better than his own hand. “You’re such a good boy, my good boy. I wanna see you wrecked, I want you to cry when you cum. I can’t wait to do more to you, baby.”

“Fuck!” Ken’s hips buck, and he feels his orgasm building dangerously fast. “Barbie,” he whines, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Ugh, he’s such a crybaby!

“You’re so wet,” she says in awe. Without touching the rest of him, she presses one pink nail into the slit of his dick. “Dripping like a girl. It’s so cute, Ken. I should… You’d look really nice in my underwear, you know? You’d barely fit, and make them all wet and gooey.” She giggles and smears the precum around. “Next time.”

Next time, next time, next time. She wants to do this again. She actually wants to—oh, he’s not going to last.

“Sh—Shit, fuck, Barbie!” he cries, tears falling to stream down his cheeks as he strips his dick. “I wanna—I’m so close, I just—Please!”

Barbie reaches out and wraps her hand around the base of his dick. She doesn’t squeeze this time, doesn’t deny him, but simply holds him. Gentle and soft, and leans forward, mouth close to his, sharing breath.

“Cum for me, baby,” she orders, and he’s gone. 

The tip of his dick brushes against her hard nipple once, twice, the simple pressure enough to send him over the edge, and with a loud cry, he cums in long, excruciating ropes over her tits.

His vision whites out for a second, his orgasm harder and longer than he’s experienced so far. It makes his body shake and his cock jump and twitch, and his brain goes staticy and weird and it’s just—a lot.

When he comes to, he finds Barbie stroking his hair. 

“You came so much,” Barbie murmurs. She’s shuffled forward even further between his legs, pressed in close, and is petting his softening cock with her other hand. It’s nice, although edging on too much. “It must have been a lot.”

“So much,” he mumbles, euphoric and floaty. His head still isn’t right, and he’s feeling different than when he usually cums. Less tethered to the ground, a little shaken, like he wants to crawl out of his skin. “Did I do good?”

Barbie smiles. “You did so good, baby. I’m proud of you.”

Ken isn’t sure what comes over him, but there’s tightness to his body and a fragility in his mind that yearns for connection, for reassurance. Before he realises, he’s leaning in, eyes closed desperately, seeking nothing more than a connection. A kiss.

“Um.”

His eyes snap open. Barbie is staring at him, with a strained smile and wide eyes, Ken’s heart sinks—only worse.

“Sorry,” he says, forcing the words out as he leans back. Far away. Not far enough. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry.”

He’s crushed. 

Barbie nods slowly, but there is none of the relaxed, affectionate, loving woman from moments ago. She’s holding herself tight and on guard, and it’s so similar to back then, a year ago in Barbieland before she left forever, and Ken can’t handle it.

“No, it’s fi—um, it’s not that…” She fiddles with her nails and looks down, breaking their gaze. “I’m… I’m going to get cleaned up,” she announces, across the room and in the bathroom before Ken can say a single word.

The door locks behind her. She’s never locked the door before.

Ken tries not to let the rejection sting, tries to even his breathing and not panic because, well, because he’s been through this before. He should have known nothing had truly changed.

He shouldn’t have let himself want what was never his to have.

He just didn’t think it would feel this bad. He didn’t think it would feel like he was drowning and suffocating, unable to do anything but stare at the closed door.

Maybe this is what it means to be human.

He doesn’t like it at all.

Chapter 5: this Barbie learns about the inherent responsibility of a domme

Notes:

agoraphobic ken and intimacy issues barbie will not be coming to a store near you. sorry.

Every two weeks, Barbie and Gloria put on their prettiest outfits, do their hair and makeup, use the fancy perfume they save for special occasions, and do brunch.

It’s not the same as when Barbie lived with Gloria and her family in the early days, when she had nothing but a fake identity gifted by Mattel and a burning desire to experience all that is human. Back then, every morning, afternoon, evening, and weekend was Barbie & Gloria time. 

Until Barbie got a job at a local coffee shop, which morphed into the personal assistant of a life coach, who in turn saw Barbie’s own potential and offered to teach her. Shortly after, Barbie signed the lease of her first—and only, so far—apartment and became a proper, real adult.

She is certain Sasha and Ryan like having their mom and wife back, but Barbie misses having Gloria only an arms’ reach away at any given moment. Their fortnightly brunches make up for it. Just.

They weren’t scheduled to have brunch this weekend, but it was required considering the circumstances, and if Barbie has learnt anything from her year in the real world, it’s that friendships here are much like those in Barbieland.

Gloria, beautiful and warm-hearted person she is, drops everything the second she hears the warble in Barbie’s voice over the phone and books them in at their favourite coffee spot.

Barbie loves Gloria.

“You look awful,” she exclaims when Barbie walks in, dressed only half as nice as usual, with the slumped posture of someone who has truly fucked up. “Are you okay?”

Gloria’s genuine worry is almost enough to break her. It does make her cry.

“Gloria…” she whines, collapsing into the chair opposite her.

“Oh, sweetie,” Gloria fusses, reaching over to grasp her hands, all motherly affection and it’s too much. She pushes a drink over. “I got you your favourite. Triple chocolate fudge brownie milkshake.”

“With caramel drizzle?” Barbie asks, voice wavering as she takes the drink with grabby hands.

“Of course, sweetie. Now tell me everything.”

“I did it again,” Barbie moans around the straw. “Ugh, this is so good.”

“Did what?”

“That thing.” Can’t Gloria just read her mind? That’s what besties do!

“I’m not a mind reader,” she replies, contrary to Barbie’s own thoughts. “I need more info. A time, a place, a category. We can play charades.”

Barbie huffs, pulling back to stare at Gloria with dull, lifeless eyes. “That thing… when I’m with someone…”

Gloria hums. “You charm them with your many talents?”

“No! Ugh!” Barbie growls. “That thing where I can’t… can’t kiss them.”

“Ohhhh.” Gloria makes a noise of sympathy. “You froze again?”

“Yes.” 

Agonisingly, yes. She’s had last night replaying over and over in her mind. Ken leaning up, face open and soft and vulnerable, wanting the least from her after a close moment between them and… she froze.

“Is this a hook-up?”

“Not a hook-up,” Barbie begrudgingly admits. It’s so much more, whether she wants to acknowledge it or not.

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone!” Gloria scolds.

You don’t know the half of it, Barbie thinks.

“It’s… not not serious.” She fiddles with her nails, picking at the polish. “We’ve fooled around once or twice, and then, last night, he just… he wanted to kiss me. And I couldn’t.”

It hasn’t been a problem before. Guys she met at clubs or through friends were happy to keep it casual, and kissing is never high on the priority list when you’re drunk. (Secondhand tequila tastes terrible.) Girls were tougher, always a little put out when she avoided their lips by falling to their necks, but an orgasm or two would ease the sting.

No one ever looked at her the way Ken did. Devastated. Crushed. Resigned.

“Well, you know what I think already,” Gloria says, in the same tone she uses when Sasha has girl problems. “It’s Ken.”

For a moment, Barbie’s heart stops because she knows she hasn’t told Gloria yet—and the guilt is eating her up inside, okay—so how could she possibly know?

Then, Gloria continues with a sympathetic, “You don’t spend decades with someone chasing you without some intimacy trauma. You’re just remembering him. Like, remembering how uncomfortable it made you.”

Did it? Back in Barbieland, it was closer to confusion than discomfort. Like she never really understood why Ken wanted to kiss her, why any of the Kens would want to kiss their Barbies. 

Some of the Barbies and Kens did that. Writer Barbie and her Ken. Lawyer Barbie, too. Fond of their Kens in ways Barbie never truly understood. It didn’t make sense to her when they could be friends instead. Truthfully, that’s what she thought boyfriend-girlfriends were, but better.

He was her Ken, nothing more and nothing less, without question, and she never explored the idea further than that.

She never knew he was unhappy.

Unhappiness wasn’t a thing in Barbieland, but then again, he’s not a Barbie. He’s a Ken.

“It’s not because of Ken,” she says quietly. It is, but not exactly.

“If it’s not because of Ken,” Gloria says, “then why?”

“I—I don’t know what came over me,” she says in a rush, breathing coming a little too slow. “I just… he was in front of me and so cute and he came when I told him to, Gloria! He was good and all he wanted was a kiss and I just—”

Gloria gasps. “Barbie!”

“What? Did I do something wrong?” Oh, what if she’s broken a rule she didn’t know about? She’s done that before.

“Barbie, are you topping this guy?”

Barbie blinks. “Um, what?”

Gloria glances around, content they’re being ignored, before leaning in and asking in a hushed tone, “Barbie, have you fucked this random man I have yet to approve of?”

Barbie’s mouth drops open. “No!” she exclaims, then—“Well…”

Gloria gasps again. “Barbie!”

“No, I just—it depends on like, what you mean by fucked.” She fidgets and takes a long sip of her milkshake just to occupy her hands.

“I thought we went over this ages ago,” Gloria says slowly. “Remember? The inherent patriarchal view of virginity and—”

Barbie stops her, because that’s a little too close to home. “Yeah. Yeah, no, I remember. We haven’t done anything more than, um, handjobs. Oh, and I…” She lowers her voice. “I masturbated in front of him.”

Gloria grins. “Barbara, I cannot believe it. Weeks you said?”

“Yes,” she admits guiltily.

Gloria hums and nods her head. “I always wondered about you.”

Barbie frowns. “What does—”

“So, what have you done?” Gloria asks with a manic glint to her eye. “Give me details. I have to live vicariously through you as a married mother with no privacy.”

What has she done?

“Oh, um, I… jerked him off, like I said,” Barbie says hesitantly, wondering how much to tell. “Then he watched me make myself cum, and then I watched him make himself cum…”

Gloria pouts. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean, that’s it?” Barbie asks, face turning red. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Well, it’s not actually dominating this guy, is it?”

Barbie gasps. “I made him wait! For a whole week!”

Gloria raises an eyebrow. “How do you know he’s telling the truth?”

Ken, teary-eyed and promising that he didn’t. Ken, so hard his dick was turning red and purple with flushed blood. Ken, the way he came with the barest of touch of her tits against his erection.

She regrets she didn’t stay long enough to make him lick his cum off her skin before pushing him down. Maybe he would have been content with kissing her cunt instead.

Maybe not.

“I don’t think he’s the type to lie,” Barbie says quietly. “Not about this, at least.”

“Barbie.” Gloria reaches over and takes hold of her hand. “Every man is the type to lie. The question is how much and about what.”

Barbie groans and falls forward until her forehead lands on their intertwined hands. Gloria starts running a hand through her hair, and it’s so nice she kind of wants to cry. Again.

There is so much Barbie doesn’t know. She knows how to dress, how to talk to people, and how to do the prettiest braids, but being a human is so much more than hair care. It’s understanding context and making connections and just knowing stuff! Stuff she would have learnt as a child, and a teenager, and a young woman. Barbie doesn’t know a lot of important stuff, because Barbieland didn’t require her to know.

It certainly didn’t prioritise navigating a long-term, short-distance, strangely high-commitment casual situationship with the guy who has been pursuing her for the last six decades.

It didn’t even prioritise periods. Isn’t that something people should know about? Why don’t they have a ‘My First Menstruation Barbie’?

“So, you like this guy?” Gloria finally asks once Barbie has sulked for a while. “Or is this another fling like that Australian guy?”

Australian Guy was very pretty to look at, but so is Ken.

“This isn’t a fling.” Barbie lifts her head to stare blankly at her best friend. The person she should be able to tell everything. “But I don’t know what it is. I want to have fun.”

“Barbie,” Gloria says, in her serious voice. “Barbara.”

“Um, yes?”

“Barbara Handler.”

“Yes, Gloria?”

“How serious are you about this mystery man?”

“Oh, um, I mean—”

Barbie flounders for a second too long, and Gloria rephrases. “What do you want to do with him?”

Oh.

What does she want to do with Ken? Ken, who is always pleased to see her, who cleans her apartment and does her laundry and cooks delicious meals. Ken, who leans into the slightest bit of affection like he’s starved for it, who gazes at her like she’s hung the moon, like she’s worth taking up space on this planet.

Ken, who was crushed when she turned him down. Who fell asleep on the couch, alone, long before Barbie finally crept out of the bathroom.

The man who just wants to be the Ken to her Barbie.

“I want to… make him happy,” Barbie says softly. “I want him to feel comfortable. I want to sit and watch dumb tv shows he’s never watched and make popcorn together and talk about our day. I don’t want this to be so difficult.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Gloria coos. “But no, sorry. I mean, what do you want to do to this guy?”

Oh.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Barbie says nervously, looking around for a distraction. The check, a stray dog, the apocalypse…

“You know what I mean.” Gloria leans over so Barbie has no choice but to look at her. “You’ve already been intimate with him. What else do you want to do?”

What doesn’t she want to do? Barbie feels like she’s barely scratched the surface of what is possible with him, of what he would be willing to do for her. It’s a heady, addictive drug knowing he would be up for anything she desired. The responsibility of it is almost enough to scare her off. Almost.

“I want…” she breathes, far away. “I want to control him. I want to tell him when and where and how to cum. I want to cage him. I want to wrap my hands around his neck like a collar. I want to—” Her breath hitches as the image forms. Ken restrained with pretty pink satin, arms and legs and cock trussed up in a bow like the perfect present. “I want to own him. Completely.”

“Well that settles it. We need to go on a field trip,” Gloria announces, and starts getting ready to go. “You don’t have anywhere to be, right? I’m going to take you to Cleo’s. Now, I’m no expert. Well, actually, I’m as much of an expert someone can be without, like, a degree, but I don’t think anyone offers a Bachelor of Domination.”

“Are you taking me to some sex dungeon?” Barbie asks, aghast, still blinking away her impromptu fantasy.

Not that she’s opposed, but it’s before noon! Aren’t those things done under the anonymity of darkness?

Gloria rolls her eyes. “No, Barbie,” she says as she drags her up and out the door. “Not yet, at least.”

---

The sunset is streaming into the apartment when Barbie finally makes it home. Her pristine apartment is bathed in orange and smells like apple pie from a lit candle on the sparkling kitchen counter. It feels like a home; not an empty, cold space.

Ken steps out of the bathroom as Barbie is admiring the creaseless comforter—did he iron the bed?—and stops still.

“Barbie,” he breathes, eyes wide. “You’re back.”

“I am,” she answers, stilted for a long moment before she remembers her plan. “You cleaned.”

Ken steps closer, slowly, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed. “I did.”

She glances around at the spotless room, the only sign of life the slight dent in the sofa where Ken was presumably sitting, and the Netflix screen paused on Clueless. “You did a good job.”

He exhales shakily. “Thanks, Barbie.” He takes another step. “I didn’t know when you’d—I mean, I wasn’t sure what time you were gonna come home.”

It was late in the day. “I had brunch with Gloria,” she says casually, and covertly moves her shopping bag behind her. “Then Sasha wanted me to stay for dinner, so… I did.”

Not a lie, but not the whole truth, either.

Ken’s eyes go vaguely soft and gooey before he smiles, small and tired. “You saw Gloria. Okay. Um, I should have—yeah. Of course.”

Barbie’s brow furrows. “What?”

“What what?”

“Why are you acting like that?”

“Like what?”

Ugh. “Don’t play dumb, Ken. What’s with the ‘uh, yeah, of course’?” she repeats, putting on her best Ken voice.

Ken blanches. “Was that supposed to be me? I do not sound like that!”

“Uh, yeah, you do,” she retorts, “and don’t try to distract me! Why did you sound all mopey and sad?”

Ken avoids her eyes until he cracks, which doesn’t take long at all. “I just—” He stalls, frustrated. “You got ready really early, and you were all dressed up, and you looked so pretty but you barely even looked at me let alone spoke to me this morning and then—” His breath hitches. “I wondered if, like, maybe you were going on a date today. If—if that’s why you didn’t… last night, you didn’t…” Ken trails off, eyes downcast and avoiding her.

Barbie’s heart aches. She had no intention of making him think that, of implying she was denying his affection because there was someone else. How could there be? He’s Ken.

“No,” Barbie says softly. “No, I saw Gloria and Sasha. No one else. I promise.”

Ken nods, as if reassuring himself. “Yeah. Yes. I’m—I’m glad.” His eyes widen mid-sentence and he seems to shift. He crosses his arms and scoffs. “I mean, I’m like, totally cool either way. If you wanna see some other guy, that’s fine. I won’t, uh, get in your way or anything.”

Barbie sees through his weak facade to the fragile man underneath, the one who reached out for affection and reassurance and received rejection in return. 

He thought she was going on a date the day after she knelt in front of him and coaxed him to release, like she was going to see another guy hours after she called him my good boy.

This isn’t some fling. She might not be able to give him everything he wants, not right now, but she’s not going to throw him aside either.

He’s her Ken.

“I know you won’t,” she says, pitching her voice lower, smoother. “I know you’ll do anything I ask, right Ken?”

He perks up at her works, at her tone. He knows, either consciously or unconsciously, what she intends.

“Always,” he breathes, fidgeting in place. “Whatever you ask, Barbie.”

What a good boy.

“I want you to take a shower,” she orders.

Ken frowns, perhaps anticipating something along the lines of kneel and present your dick. “I had a shower this morning.”

Barbie clicks her tongue. “You told me you’d do anything, then question my first request?”

Ken scrambles backwards into the bathroom. “Sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll—”

“Hold on.” Ken stops in his tracks, three buttons of his shirt already undone. “I wasn’t finished.”

His hands drop to his side and he waits, face open and ready. “Sorry, Barbie.”

She nods, and centres herself. “Shower, and be thorough. Wash everything, even if you don’t believe you need to. I mean it. Everything. Twice, if you don’t think you’re clean enough. Do this every shower from now on. Oh, and brush your teeth—and floss.”

Ken whines. “I hate flossing.”

“I’ll know if you don’t,” Barbie warns, hands on her hips, secret bag dangling at her side. Ken hasn’t once looked at it. “Take your time and do it right. Now go.”

Ken doesn’t waste another second and darts into the bathroom. Barbie waits until she hears the sound of the shower before she moves.

She undresses quickly and puts on her silky robe, making sure her clothes are put in the hamper. She puts her shoes and her handbag away and keeps the apartment as tidy as Ken made it.

Then, heart racing, and not knowing how much time she has, Barbie kneels by her bed and pulls out her secret box.

She doesn’t know if Ken has found it yet, but if he has, he’s kept his mouth shut. She’s leaning towards that he hasn’t found it, because surely he would mention the modest collection of toys inside.

Barbie opens the box, but doesn’t pay attention to the small range of vibrators and the singular dildo. Instead, she unpacks her new bag.

Gloria was very informative, surprisingly so. When she told Barbie, months ago now, that some men enjoy being dominated and love being the ones fucked, she never expected that Gloria and her husband participated.

Her knowledge was intimidatingly vast, but Barbie loves to learn. She followed Gloria around the store for hours, hanging off her every word. Soaked in the information about preparation and lube and safe words. She stared wide-eyed at the varieties of straps and fake cocks and double-ended dildos. She finally got to touch a cock ring and a cage and oh, a sparkly pink plug with a flared base designed to fit snug inside an asshole.

A lot of what Gloria showed her, Barbie already had some idea of. Some were entirely new, and some were a bit too outrageous to consider, either now or later. Regardless, Barbie loved it.

She couldn’t help but wonder how Ken would react in such a store. How he would act, what he would say.

If he would ask for anything.

If he would behave himself.

Barbie spent more money than she expected to, but can’t find it in herself to regret her purchases.

She stares longingly at the bright pink cock ring in her hand, still in the packaging, and debates leaving it out. She wants to see his pretty cock turn as pink as the ring, throbbing and leaking under her teasing touches. Maybe she could even rub herself against him, grinding her clit against his hard cock as she chases her own pleasure while cruelly denying him his own.

Barbie closes her eyes to centre herself, her breathing laboured as she places everything she bought—cock ring included—into the box before returning it under her bed.

There will be time for that later.

Tonight is about atonement. A promise. A connection.

In the back of her mind, Barbie knows it should be about understanding. She knows she should sit down with him and explain everything. Why she fled the night before, what she’s feeling now, what she wants, so fucking desperately. She should ask Ken what he wants, what he expects, his deepest concerns and fondest desires and everything in between.

But all of that feels larger than she is ready for, and making him submit is so easy.

Tomorrow, or next week. Sometime soon. Maybe.

The bathroom door opens with a rush of stream, revealing a flushed pink Ken with a towel held precariously around his waist.

“I think I’m clean,” he says, unsure. “I did what you asked. I got everywhere.”

Barbie observes the way the water droplets slide off his hair and down his chest, disappearing below the towel. She wants to lick him. She wants him to lick her.

Patience, Barbie.

“Did you floss?”

Ken nods. “I did. I promise.”

“Good.” Barbie steps away from the bed and gestures towards it. “Lie down, in the middle of the bed.”

Ken falters. “Um. Under the covers?”

“You can pull the comforter down if you want, but not under it.” She smiles, with teeth. “I want to see you.”

Ken shivers, nods, and moves to follow her instructions. It is only when he goes to kneel on the bed in his towel that she speaks again.

“I want to see you,” she repeats, eyeing the towel with contempt, as if it alone is keeping her from what she wants. “I want you bare, Ken.”

Ken’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he pulls the towel off silently.

Barbie watches the way his muscles bunch. She stares at his cock, already hard and leaking at the tip slightly, as it twitches under her scrutiny. She notes how he keeps looking at her—for reassurance or praise, or just to look at her—as he moves to put the towel in the hamper.

“Good,” she praises, watching the tips of his ears go pink. “Bed, now.”

When Ken is lying supine in the middle of her bed, hands flat against his stomach and legs slightly spread, Barbie finally allows herself to unwind.

“Is this right?” he asks softly, staring up at her with those puppy dog eyes. “Am I doing good?”

She can’t praise him too much.

“It’s correct,” she answers his first question, then ignores his second. “I’m going to have my own shower now. Wait for me. Don’t move.”

She doesn’t give him the opportunity to question her before she’s slipped into the bathroom herself.

Barbie does not lock the door.

A bath would have been perfect. She likes the idea of Ken mere steps away having to listen to the faint splashes, having to endure the torturous quiet. But a bath requires patience she does not have right now—maybe one day, and she’ll leave the door open, touch herself and moan prettily, forcing him to listen without being able to act—and steps into the shower instead.

Barbie lathers up her favourite soap and scrubs her entire body. She washes her hair, rinses and repeats, puts in a nourishing conditioner, and shaves her legs. Out of the shower, she blow-dries her hair and brushes her teeth. She flosses, because it’s important for dental health although she agrees with Ken, it’s annoying. She does her skin care routine. She lotions her entire body before she slips her robe back on, the silk clinging provocatively to her sticky skin.

She takes her time, just to make him squirm.

By the time she exits the bathroom, nearly an hour has passed.

To her immense pleasure and bone deep arousal, Ken hasn’t moved an inch.

“I’m impressed,” Barbie says softly as she steps closer, and closer, slowly and evenly. She doesn’t want to rush this. “I thought you would have moved by now.”

She doesn’t bother acknowledging the fact that he could have moved without her knowledge. She knows he didn’t.

“I didn’t,” he confirms, only his head turned towards her. She knows he didn’t. From his slightly spread legs to his hands on his stomach, even the pinky finger an inch away from the rest hasn’t moved.

Her eyes drift to his cock, harder than before, resting just below his hands on his stomach. The shiny, purpling head is drooling precum onto his belly.

It jumps under her scrutiny.

“Seems like something moved,” she teases and lowers herself to the mattress beside him. He watches with wide, expectant eyes as her hand hovers over him. “Would you like me to touch you, Ken?”

His answering exhale is half a whine, reedy and desperate already. “Please, Barbie,” he begs, body practically vibrating with the effort it’s taking to stay still.

“Well, since you’ve been a good boy for me.” Barbie presses the palm of her hand down on his cock, forcing it firmly against his stomach. “Try to make yourself cum.”

Ken’s throat bobs at the pressure, his breath coming a little faster, and he nods quickly. He’s a quick learner, her boy, and soon his hips are thrusting up, as much as he can, creating friction against her still hand and his stomach. “Like—mhh—like this?”

The way his cock leaks onto his stomach, his breathless, fucked out moans. The sweat beading on his forehead. He’s perfect.

“Does it feel good?” Barbie asks instead, pressing her thumb under the bulbous head. Ken’s hips jerk and he whines, but it’s not an answer. “Use your words, baby.”

“Wha—?” he gasps, eyes tightly closed as he chases his quick orgasm with aborted, awkward thrusts. His hand stay resolutely on his stomach, only inches away from his cock, fingertips digging into his skin.

“Do you feel good?” she repeats, pressing harder, giving him more friction. She squeezes her thighs together to abate her own desire. “Are you going to cum for me already?”

“Yes,” he whines. His eyes crack over to stare at her, plead with her, tiny tear tracks trailing down his pinked cheeks. “Please, Barbie, I wanna—I’m good, I’ll be good, I just—“

“Are you going to cum right now?” she demands, taking mental note of the way his body begins to shiver, how his balls grow tighter against his body, how his cock drools and drools, precum slipping down his stomach, around his cock and to his asshole. He’s wet like a girl, enough that she wonders how easy it would be to slick up her favourite cock and slide it inside him.

“—gonna, gonna, Barbie, oh fuck, oh, I—hnnng—” Barbie is shaken from her fantasy by a real life wet dream, Ken practically sobbing as his hips chase his orgasm, frantically humping up like an unrestrained beast. Yet he still asks. “Barbie, I’m gonna cum now, I’m gonna, please tell me I can, I wanna—“ Barbie lifts her hand, and Ken sobs and shakes, fingers digging deep into his abs as his hips continue their useless thrusts into nothing. “No! No, no no no, Barbie, please, I was good, I can be good, please let me—”

“Shh,” she soothes, and crawls up the bed until she can lift his head onto her thigh to run her fingers through his hair. “Relax. Breathe, it’s okay.” She takes big, exaggerated breaths in and out until Ken is matching her. Until the shivering recedes and the tears have slowed back to damp eyes.

“Why did…” Ken tries, but can’t seem to get the rest of the words out. Barbie understands regardless.

“I wanted to see if you could be good for me,” she explains gently, softly tugging on his crown.

“I can,” he whimpers, cute and pathetic, staring up at her like she holds the secrets to the universe. She might as well, to a man this desperate to cum. “I am, Barbie. You know I am. You… you said it before.”

“You’re so good for me.” Her unoccupied hand drifts down, pushing aside the fold of her robe to dip into swollen, wet folds. “Such a good boy, following my every order.”

His eyes are wide and his chest rises with every deep, measured breath. “I am a good boy,” he whispers.

“Good boys take what their Barbies give them,” she whispers, withdrawing her dripping fingers and pressing them against her lips. “Open wide, baby.”

Ken takes them without hesitation, tongue laving between the digits and sucking them clean. Moaning like a whore as he does it, and the sound only makes her wetter.

“Do you want more?” she asks as she removes her hand, delighting in the way he chases her with his tongue.

“Yeah,” he pants, lips slick and eyes hazy. “Yes. More. Please.”

Barbie hums. “I can’t say no to you, can I?” She pets his cheek, smearing his own spit over his cheekbones. “Move down the bed a little for me—bring the pillow—yes, that’s right.”

Ken is eyeing her hands with eager anticipation, like she’s going to dip back between her folds and gather more slick for him to suckle on—but Barbie has a far better reward for him, a sweeter gift for his blind obedience.

“If you need to breathe,” she says gently, seriously, as she pushes herself to her knees, “tap my thigh twice. Hard. I don’t want to miss it.”

Gloria was very insistent with her instruction when it came to safe-words—which Barbie was aware of—but also safe-gestures, if the mouth was preoccupied.

Ken doesn’t seem to understand yet.

“I wouldn’t hit—”

“You won’t hurt me,” Barbie interrupts. “It’s like when I asked you to say Venice if you wanted to stop. It’s a precaution. Tell me you understand.” Ken nods after a long moment, but it’s not enough. “Use your words.”

She doesn’t want to tell him again.

“Yes,” he finally says, throat working as he pushes the words out. “Yes, I understand. I’ll—I’ll tap your thigh if I need to. But I won’t.”

Good enough. Barbie relaxes back into the moment. “Lovely boy,” she praises before placing a steadying hand on his chest. “Now stay still for me. I’m going to sit on your face, and you’re going to eat me out.”

She is awarded the briefest of seconds to admire the shocked excitement on Ken’s face before she swings her leg to hover her cunt over his waiting mouth.

Barbie wonders, for a moment, if she will need to direct him. He didn’t even know he could touch his own cock a few weeks ago, and now she’s expecting him to eat her pussy without so much as a few pointers? Maybe she’s expecting too much, trying to make this go a certain way without considering that they’re both human now and sometimes humans—and sex—are messy and unpredictable.

She should have had more faith, because the second Barbie lowers herself onto his mouth, hands braced on his stomach for leverage, he’s devouring her like a man starved.

His tongue, wide and flat, tastes the entirety of her. Swipes long and fierce, as if making up for lost time. He licks along her inner folds, along the sides, and over her clit. She shivers as he explores, unaware of what he is doing to her as he dips down and forces his tongue deep inside her cunt.

“Fuck,” she breathes, unsteady as he assaults her with single minded focus, tongue probing, sucking, consuming. “So good, baby.”

He has had no practice, has no frame of reference beyond his own imagination. Ken hasn’t even kissed anyone before and yet he takes to it with ease.

Ken retreats from her channel and returns up, nudging the hood of her clit with the point of his tongue until she falls forward, forcing her to brace against his bunched abs—and next to his hands, where he still hasn’t moved them.

So good, so perfect, what have I done to deserve such an obedient Ken?

“Hands,” she orders, voice higher than she would have liked, although she doubts he can even hear her with his head between her thighs. “You can—here.”

Ken doesn’t give any indication of hearing her, but when she lifts his hands from his stomach to place them on her thighs, he takes the initiative. He pulls her close, arms looped tight and firm and perfect around her, forcing her cunt against his mouth more.

He either moans or tries to say something against her flesh, but the sound is muffled and does nothing more than send the loveliest of vibrations through her body.

“So good,” she sighs, leaning forward, back arched. “So good for me, baby, so perfect, you should—yes.” As if reading her mind, he begins to suckle on her clit, worrying the outside of her button with single minded focus.

Too focused.

Barbie loosens the tie of her robe, pushing it aside before she takes his cock in hand. She strokes him, firm and hard, from the base to the head. She smears the steadily leaking precum around the flushed tip and briefly considers leaning down to take him into her mouth.

No. Not yet.

“You look like a doll here,” she says between breaths, fondling him like she owns him. She does, in fact. “Carved for me, made for me, made in my image—of course you’re perfect.”

The words spill from her mouth without reservation, praise coming easy when he’s so dutiful, when his tongue is so lovely and his lips so careful. When he offers her pleasure she’s never received with any other person. It’s so fucking easy.

He moans something else under her, and she tightens her thighs. He moans more.

“I’d keep you naked all the time,” she pants, rocking back onto his tongue. “Lock you up, tie you to the bedposts and never let you leave.” She moans as he spears her cunt, tongue wide and forceful. “Oh. Oh, yes, more, just… ah!”

It’s becoming harder and harder to concentrate on his cock, but it’s so cute she tries. Holds him and pets him, breathing laboured as he tongue fucks her faster and faster.

“Yes, yes, baby, right there, a little more.” She grinds down on his mouth, orgasm building the harder he works, until—“Oh, fuck!”

Barbie cums in an unexpected rush, body locking up as electric pleasure runs through her body. Her thighs shake and her stomach quivers, and all throughout, Ken doesn’t relent. He licks and sucks and eats, delivering her to the pinnacle and holding her steady as she comes down. 

Tense body aching from the powerful orgasm, she drops down until her face is mere inches away from Ken’s hard, dripping, perfect cock.

Ken’s hands grip her thighs harder, and she knows.

“You can,” she breathes, languishing in the wake of her orgasm. She squeezes his balls with one hand and strokes his cock with the other, firmer and faster, swirling the palm of her hand over the head. “Cum for me, baby. Now.”

She can feel more than hear his orgasm, from the vibrations of his long, drawn out moan against her cunt to his warm release that lands on her tits.

Without giving him time to relax, Barbie swings herself around and seats herself in his lap, the brush of his softening cock against her swollen cunt almost too much.

It must be the same for him too, because Ken jumps, overstimulated and shivering, still coming down from his orgasm—which now paints her tits with white, creamy droplets.

“I told you I want you to clean your mess up with your tongue,” she says, voice still breathy and hoarse. She draws him up until he’s sitting and wraps her arms around his neck, one hand settling at the back of his damp head—wet from sweat, or from her?—and guides his face to her chest.

Ken pants, hazy and spaced out, as he laves his tongue over her flushed flesh. She shivers every time he passes over her nipples, catching each with the edge of his lip or his teeth as he chases every last drop of his own cum. He cleans her methodically, meticulously, and she cannot help but praise him.

“I couldn’t have asked for anyone better,” she coos, hand raking through his hair. “You were made for me. Made to be good for me, made to be perfect.”

“Just for you,” he mumbles against her breast, mouth seeking out her other nipple. “Only for you.”

Her tits clean, Ken’s lips wrap around her nipple and suckles the same way he did her clit, like he’s seeking something, instinctually wanting something that isn’t there.

Barbie hasn’t given much thought to babies and pregnancy and everything that comes with it. She knows she could, it was one of the first questions she had for her gynaecologist, but she asked more out of practicality than of desire for a baby.

But—maybe, it wouldn’t be…

Ken’s teeth nip at her tit a little too hard in the wake of her orgasm, and she wrests him back.

“That was so cool,” he says in a daze, gasping for air, lips shiny and wet with spit and more. “Like—whoa. Barbie, you taste soooo good. I’m not even lying. You taste better than anything else I’ve ever tasted.”

Barbie smiles and pets his cheek. “If you behave yourself,” she murmurs, promise in her tone, “you can taste me again, and again, and again.”

Ken beams. “I can be good,” he swears. “Was I good today? Are you proud of me?”

“You did good, baby. I’m very proud of you.”

Only when the words are out of her mouth does she realise the similarity to the night before, when she praised him in the wake of his release and was asked to give more than she was able.

Now, Barbie waits for the moment again, for Ken to lean forward with closed eyes, for him to ask for that which she isn’t sure she can give right now, waits for the guilt and the anxiety to bubble up inside her again.

Except, he doesn’t. Ken smiles at her, cum drunk and dopey. He strokes her cheek with his thumb, and says, “We should probably shower again!” before he’s up, hoisting her into his arms and escorting her to the bathroom.

There is no cause for worry, she tells herself, and there is no reason to stress. He didn’t ask to kiss her again.

She should be relieved.

She isn’t.

Chapter 6: this Ken gets overstimulated

Notes:

i have no excuses

Ken is certain the universe is working against him, because just as they start to become really, properly intimate, Barbie gets busy.

It seems like everyone in LA needs guidance of the life variety, and Barbie is run off her feet. She leaves early and comes home late, talking about meetings and conferences and workshops and clients. She’s tired and distracted, and comes home to eat and shower and look at her phone for a few hours before she falls asleep. She manages small, tired conversations about his day, but not much more and Ken is not so self-absorbed to demand they fall into bed again for his own sake.

Ken wants to fulfil her desires. Ken wants to make sure Barbie is satisfied.

Ken is not.

He could jerk off, but… well, Barbie told him not to. That was one week ago. Another week, and the dull, incessant throb of his untouched cock is almost a familiar presence now. At night, he can count his heartbeats with the pulse of it.

It’s made all the worse by her unexpected request to sleep in her bed with her.

“I’m tired just looking at you hunched up on the sofa,” she mumbled sleepily the same night they last touched each other, when he held onto her thighs and buried his face in her pussy and she let him come on her tits. “Just sleep with me from now on, okay? It’ll be less laundry for you to do.”

That evening was everything he wanted, minus one little thing he wouldn’t dare ask for now.

Ken will take anything he can get.

Now, Barbie sleeps deep and plush beside him, smelling of strawberries and vanilla, her soft skin pressed flush against his, and he’s helpless as his cock rises to the occasion.

It’s like a giant neon sign just for him. It screams—touch her lick her kiss her love her—on a thundering repeat. Blood pumps the message throughout his tense and drawn body, never-ending and violent in its desire.

Ken wants to touch her. 

Ken wants to come. Desperately. 

Ken is not allowed to touch her. 

Ken is not allowed to come.

It’s fine. Really, he’s not even lying a little bit. He doesn’t mind waiting until she says it’s okay for him to touch himself, because it’s not really about him. It’s about her, and that’s the worst of it.

Ken cleans himself every day, top to bottom, inside and out, because she told him to. Ken doesn’t touch his dick any more than he needs to, quick yet thorough and perfunctory movements with soap to make sure he is squeaky clean and ready for her, just in case today is the day she decides to touch him again. 

In the meantime, he lives for her soft looks, her gentle words, and every time she brushes against him, every time she praises his cooking or his cleaning, every time she presses the lightest of greeting kisses against his cheek, he wonders if today will be the day.

It never is.

Ken might be going a bit crazy.

He’s stopped watching The Real Housewives completely because even though none of the women look like Barbie, there’s a few blondes and even the smallest connection is enough to send him reeling.

He’s taken to binging Food Network television and shows about ancient aliens to pass the time instead. It’s useful, but not exciting like thinking about Barbie. He likes learning about how aliens built the pyramids and what a creature with big feet sounds like, but it’s not Barbie.

Barbie is busy with work and friends and other commitments which aren’t Ken, but that’s okay. He swears it is, even if it’s going a little crazy every time her breasts brush up against him in the middle of the night, with every soft sigh bordering on a moan.

A few nights ago he woke up with her leg thrown over his waist, oversized t-shirt hiked up around her waist, wet pussy pressed against his hip… only for her to roll out of bed at her alarm to get ready for work, oblivious to his raging hard on (and the entirely unrelated damp spot on his boxers).

Ken is going to throw himself over the balcony of Barbie’s studio if something doesn’t break.

His opportunity comes a week later.

Ken waits for Barbie’s alarm to go off bright and early at 7am, just like it has for the last six days in a row—even Saturday, which Barbie claimed was an unexpected situation—but as 7am creeps towards 7:15, then 7:30, Ken starts to hope. By 8, Ken is leaning over to shake Barbie awake.

“Mm, what time is it?” she mumbles, not yet stirring.

“It’s 8,” Ken whispers, then adds; “In the morning.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Her eyes are squeezed shut against the morning light straining through the blinds. “Why’d you wake me up? We can sleep a little longer, baby.”

Ken’s heart practically bursts out of his chest. “I thought you might have work,” he says softly. “I didn’t want you to be late.”

“No work today,” she says, eyes still closed as a smile creeps over her face. “I’m free for the day.”

Ken doesn’t let himself get too excited. “And Gloria? Sasha?”

Barbie yawns and stretches her arms up over her legs, making the cutest noise. “I saw them last weekend,” she reminds him. Of course, when Ken thought she was going on a date. She went to see Gloria instead, then sat on his face, and—

No! No, he can’t think of that. It’s too much, and he’s so close.

“Right,” Ken breathes, and he collapses back on the bed. “Right. No work, no Gloria, no… nothing.”

“Just a lazy Sunday,” Barbie sings softly, arm falling behind his head to scratch through his sleep-ruffled hair. She turns to face him, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Wanna eat me out?”

Oh. Oh.

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters, pushing himself up to look her in the eye. “Uh, if you want to?”

“I did just ask.”

“Yeah,” he says again, useless. “Yeah, you did.”

Barbie kicks the comforter down to their feet and throws her legs out. She’s wearing that same oversized t-shirt from a few nights ago—“You don’t need to do my laundry every day, Ken.”—and it’s crawling up her thighs, soft fabric clinging to her sleep-sweet body. She goes the extra mile and pulls it up.

Laid out on the bed, flat on her back with her t-shirt hiked up around her waist, it’s the easiest thing in the world to kneel at her feet and wait for instruction. Body and mind scrambling to attention, he breathes, “Barbie”, and waits.

“Good boy,” she croons, lifting her leg to stroke her foot along his tense abs. “You’ve been so patient, haven’t you?”

“So patient.” He fights the urge to rise up to his knees, to push his waiting, clothed dick against her foot, to seek any kind of attention she’s willing to give. “I know you have to work, you’ve told me about jobs and stuff, but I didn’t think you’d have to work that much.” He frowns, gazing down at her elegant foot, arched just like it used to be all of the time in Barbieland. “I missed you.”

Barbie’s sharp gaze softens. “I missed you too,” she says, her foot dropping from his chest to spread her legs wide, hinged at her hips to expose her bare pussy. “Now I want you to show me everything you thought about while you missed me, okay?”

Ken wouldn’t dare wait a second longer. He drops down until he’s hunched over her sex and licks a long, slick stripe from her asshole to her clit.

“Ken!” she gasps, hands already coming down to wind through his growing hair—should he get a haircut? Does Barbie want him to get a haircut?—and tugs, like she isn’t quite sure if she wants him closer or to push him away. “Fuck, I forgot you—”

Ken licks again, cutting her off, then licks again and again and again like a dog.

Barbie’s pussy tastes amazing. It tasted amazing last time, too, but this is something else. Last time she had showered, and while he loves her vanilla-strawberry-coconut scent, there’s something about just Barbie he loves even more. Warm and soft, her thighs come up around his head to cage him in. This morning she doesn’t taste like anything but herself. Slightly heavy, richer, and it’s enough to have him burying his face between her legs and feasting.

He brings his hands up to grip her thighs and her backside, the flesh giving way like melted plastic. Thick and soft. Perfect.

Ken moans against her, desperate for more. 

“To think you’ve never…” Barbie sighs, leaning back and into his touch. “Oh. Oh, Ken, yeah. Like that, baby. Just like that.”

He loved the way she came apart on top of him last time, her thighs and pussy suffocating him was the best, but there’s something about this, too; the way she continues to direct him even lying flat, how the pitch of her moans tells him what to do, how he can explore the same parts of her but differently, drawing out different reactions. He feels like he’s really doing this for her, and that is so fucking good.

He sucks at her clit like he did her tits last week, gentle and cute little draws between his lips until he can feel her thighs tense.

“Inside,” she orders, and Ken is quick to act, slipping down and pushing his tongue inside of her. She loved that last time, but this time—“No, your fingers, put your fingers inside me.”

Put his fingers inside of her? Is he allowed to do that? Is that a thing people like?

Unwilling to question her—and admittedly unwilling to pull away from her pussy—Ken legs go of one thigh to tentatively press his fingers against her wet hole.

“Just one to start with,” Barbie mercifully directs, petting his head as he slips the tip of one finger inside of her. “Yes, yeah, that’s good. Keep going, baby. Right in. That’s it, that’s—oh, and curl it a little? No, upwards. Like, towards you. Just—ah!”

Ken does as he’s told.

Barbie is hot inside, like absolutely hot as anything, and she grips his finger tight. Something in his brain, something he hasn’t even touched yet—and to be honest, is a little afraid to—is crazy about that. She squeezes tight, wet spilling out around his single curled finger as he laps at her clit.

“Barbieeee,” he groans against her. He’s so, so hard, he’s going to burst. This was way worse than the last time she made him stop masturbating because now he knows what’s coming. “P’se, B,” he moans, words muffled. “B’bie, lemme, lemme—”

“Another,” she orders breathlessly.

Ken slips another finger in alongside the first, her pussy becoming even tighter. He curls his fingers like she told him to, and she tugs his hair in approval.

“Fuck, baby,” she sighs, and he can see her other hand grip the sheets beside his head with white knuckles. “Good, that’s good, keep going—” Ken wouldn’t stop even if he could. Instead, he suckles her clit between his spit-wet lips and moves his wrist to curl inside her firmer. “I’m close, I’m so close, Ken, baby, I’m—”

He can feel the way she falls apart around him. Her whole body tenses up, thighs going tight around his head. She shakes and shakes, keening loud and clear, head thrown back. His scalp hurts, oh it hurts so bad from how hard she pulls but it hurts so good. Ken licks at her the whole way through, never pulling free.

Barbie collapses. Her legs sprawl open, chest heaving. She starts to giggle, then laugh, then whines as he finally slips his fingers free of her still clenching pussy.

“Wow, Ken,” she says breathlessly, smiling even with her eyes closed. “Good boy.”

Ken beams and crawls up to lay beside her. “I did good?”

She reaches out lazy hand out to scratch at the back of his head, unknowingly soothing where she pulled a bit too hard. “Very good, baby.”

Ken melts. “Do you want me to wake you up like that tomorrow morning, too? I can do it everyday!” It’s the most relaxed Barbie’s been all week. If he can do even a little bit for her, he’ll do it happily and with a smile.

“Mm, how about a weekend treat?” she asks with a giggle. “I don’t think I’d survive that every day.”

Neither would Ken, if he’s being honest.

He can feel her wetness drying on his face, tacky and tight. With the realisation, he sucks the two fingers that were inside of her into his mouth. “You taste really good,” he says around his fingers. “It wouldn’t be a chore.”

Barbie’s wide eyed stare is so cute! Her big baby blues staring at no one else but him, just the way it should be.

“You’re something else,” Barbie murmurs, before she pushes him to lay flat on her back. She hooks her leg over his waist—oh, just like the other night!—and brings her hand to his stomach to pluck at his almost ruined sleep shorts. “I think it’s time I thank you. What do you think?”

Uh, heck yes. Ken’s only been waiting an entire week for this. He kind of thought she would just get him to jerk himself off again, but if Barbie is going to be the one touching him, all the better.

“Oh, yes, please,” he says as sweetly as he can, letting his fingers drop free of his mouth to curl tentatively around her shoulders before squirming out of his shorts—without breaking contact with Barbie—and throwing them somewhere else—he’ll wash them later today, along with all the bedding. Ken loves his Sunday refresh.

Barbie’s hand strokes along his bare belly, one fingertip dragging between his abs as they bunch. Ken giggles. Barbie ignores him.

“You’re so hard,” she murmurs, inching down to pet his dick, firm and erect. She wraps her hand around his base and squeezes. “You have a perfect dick. Did I tell you that? It’s like… it’s made for me.”

Ken wraps his hand around her wrist; not to hold or stop, but just… rest. The connection is grounding.

“I was made for you,” he says, voice already carrying a little warble. “Literally. I was made for you, Barbie.”

“Mm, maybe not this.” She gives him another squeeze, another twist of her wrist. His hand slips around it loosely, following the movement. 

“It was.” Ken writhes against her, hips twitching as she thumbs the head, and before he knows it and without permission he’s—“Barbie!”

Ken comes shaking apart in thick, heavy ropes across his cock, his stomach, some of it even makes it to his pecs, and her hand—her hand is covered with him. He shivers and whimpers through his first orgasm in a week, given to him by Barbie after he got to eat her out and bring her to orgasm.

This is what it means to be real.

“Do you usually come this quickly?” Barbie asks slowly, that cute serious look on her face as she looks down at her soiled hand. “I don’t remember…”

“It’s been a while,” Ken says with a delirious giggle, closing his eyes to roll his head back and forth on the pillow. “Well, a while for me.”

There’s a long, worrying pause, and when Ken opens his eyes again, he sees her once soft and satisfied gaze now sharp with concern.

“Ken,” Barbie says slowly, “have you not come since… since last time?”

“You didn’t tell me I could!” he says, trying not to make it too whiny because he isn’t unhappy about it, even if he would have loved to come sooner, she didn’t tell him he could. Besides, how could he ever be unhappy right now? “I didn’t want to let you down, and you told me I couldn’t touch myself the last time we—”

“That was a week ago!” Barbie exclaims, her flushed face turning redder than before. “And I didn’t—I didn’t mean for the whole week, I just meant… fuck, Ken. Really?”

“Barbie,” Ken says seriously—well, as seriously as he is able—and takes her hands, one still covered in his come, “you have to tell me if I can come now.”

Barbie blanches. “What!”

“It’s yours,” he says, completely sincerely because it’s true. “I don’t even want to come unless you tell me I can, even if it’s on my own.” He brightens at his sudden idea. “Oh! You could ring me during the day and tell me I should come! That would be so much fun. I could even send you pictures afterwards—or a video.”

“Ken, just—” Barbie squeezes his arm, and he comes back to her immediately. “Let’s take this slow. Not that I don’t… like that idea.” She inhales slowly, cheeks flushed. “But let’s go back to how you haven’t come in a week.”

“Technically it’s been about three minutes.”

“Ken.”

“I mean it. You control it now.” He sits back, happy and languid. “No takesies-backsies!”

Barbie groans. “You’re impossible!”

He should mop up his come with his sleeping shorts. “I’m your impossible.” Where are they? He knows he threw them somewhere…

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Aha!” Ken grabs his shorts and cleans Barbie’s hands, although most of Ken’s come is on him. 

“Gross, Ken. You can just go get a wash cloth!”

He peers up at her. “I didn’t want to leave you even for a second.”

“Ken!” Barbie groans and clearly gives up, which is a feat Ken appreciates because unusually Barbie is very tenacious. It’s one small part of why he loves her so much. “I guess that’s why you came so quickly.”

“I usually feel like I’m going to come that fast with you even if I did touch myself during the day,” Ken confesses without hesitation. “But I try really hard not to come too soon when it’s with you. This time was just, whoa, way too much.”

She furrows her brow. “You don’t need to put it off for my sake.”

Ken frowns. “Should I have been?” Damn, is this one of those human things he should just know? There’s so much he’s missed out on! “I try not to come too fast because I want it to last as long as I can!”

It’s the only time he ever gets Barbie’s purposeful hands on him, not just on his dick—which is wonderful, don’t get him wrong!—but on his arms, his shoulders, his stomach, even his hair. Little touches that potentially mean even more than the sexual stuff, and that’s good all on its own. 

He would do anything to prolong that connection, even for just a few seconds.

Barbie’s face softens. “Oh, Ken…”

“I can come quickly if you want,” he says quickly, trying to understand what’s asking for. “It won’t be hard, trust me.”

“Oh, uh. No, not necessary.” Barbie worries her bottom lip—so cute!—before coming to some kind of decision. “In fact… do you want it to last even longer?”

“Yes.” Always. He would die to have Barbie’s hands on him for even a second more.

“Okay,” she says, voice firm. “Close your eyes—and no peeking, okay? I’ll know if you do!”

Ken nods enthusiastically. “Of course! I would never peek.” He holds up his pinky, memories of the other night flooding his already overwhelmed brain—Barbie kneeling before him, making him promise as if he would ever deliberately disobey her—making him stupid. Stupider. “Promise.”

Barbie hooks her pinky with his and waits until he has his eyes firmly closed before she climbs off the bed.

“I’m happy to do whatever you ask, Barbie,” Ken babbles, because if he’s honest he does find being in the dark a little unsettling and there’s only the faint rattling and scraping of something across the ground nearby to distract him from his own racing thoughts. “You know this. Closing my eyes is nothing. I’d give up horses for you—”

“You’ve never even gone horseback riding before.”

“—I would give up the beach for you—”

“You haven’t left the apartment in a month.”

“—I would do anything, Barbie.”

Barbie climbs back on the bed. He can tell because the mattress dips down and he has to rebalance to stay upright; that and he can smell her closer, that sweet, musky scent of her own sex. He feels himself getting hard again.

“You can open your eyes again.”

He does. “See?” he grins, squinting at the morning light. “Easy.”

“Let’s see about that.” Barbie hands over what she went to get. “What do you think?”

It’s pink. It’s a hot pink ring, a bit stretchy, and a little sparkly, and it fits in the palm of his hand.

“What is it?” Ken asks, stretching it between his fingers. There’s give, but not much, not like a rubber band. He could probably sling it pretty far if he tried…

“A ring,” she says unhelpfully, then adds at his scrunched face: “It’s a cock ring.”

Ken’s mouth makes a perfect circle. “You told me about this!” Suddenly, the innocent pink and sparkly rubber is a lot more. He swallows against the lump in his throat. “This is for…”

“Your dick.” Barbie reaches out and plucks it from his hands before he really does fling it somewhere in the apartment to be lost forever. “It goes around here.” She traces the circumference of the base of his soft dick. “Keeps you harder for longer… if you want it.”

“I want it,” Ken says quickly and immediately, barely letting her finish. “I really want it, Barbie. Can you show me how to put it on? I think I’ll need some help.”

But Barbie doesn’t. She looks at him instead with that careful, measured look of hers. The one that says she’s thinking. His Barbie is so smart.

“Do you really want it?” Barbie asks slowly, voice quiet in the stillness of the apartment. “I don’t want you to do this just because I want it.”

Barbie is so silly. By his very nature, anything Barbie wants, Ken wants. Even if she wanted him to leave and never come back, he would do it because she wanted it. Thank the doll gods she doesn’t, that she’s somehow managed to find a use for him as limited as he is. He really doesn’t want to leave her, but he would.

This is nothing in comparison.

Besides, he wants this, too.

“Yes, Barbie,” he says. “I want this.” He pauses, trying really hard to think back to a few weeks ago. “Venice!” he exclaims as Barbie jumps.

“What?” 

“Venice,” he says again, slower. “If I didn’t want this, I’d say Venice. Remember? You told me.” He stops, unsure. “It was Venice right?”

“Yeah,” Barbie says with a shaky laugh. “Yeah, it was Venice. Okay.” She holds the ring hooked over her index and middle fingers. “Lay down for me, baby.”

Ken has remained soft, although not from lack of arousal. He’s wanted to get hard again the whole time, but his body didn’t want to react.

Even now, as Barbie slides one of his balls through the pink ring, the second following soon after, his dick doesn’t do much more than twitch hopefully.

“Tell me if this is uncomfortable,” she warns him from her spot kneeling between his spread legs. “It shouldn’t hurt, though.”

“I trust you,” he says, beaming up at her.

Barbie doesn’t answer him, but she does gently pull his dick through the already snug ring. She was right, it didn’t hurt but the unusual stretch quickly gives way to a tight sensation.

Ken pushes himself up to his elbows to look.

The ring sits snug against his pelvis, the plastic holding both his dick and balls slightly away from his body, cradled and pushed together. It’s a pressure Ken’s only felt when holding himself, but even then it’s different. Firmer, and like he doesn’t have as much control.

Barbie has control now. He can see it in her eyes.

“Barbie, it’s—” He shivers, and watches his dick jump as it gets harder and harder again.

“It’s what, baby?” Barbie asks, voice low but careful. “Use your words. We can take it off if you don’t like it.”

“No!” Ken gasps, leaning back as if she might take it away right then and there. “No, no it’s okay. I want it. I want to keep it on.”

Barbie hums. “Good. Good… It looks really good on you, Ken.” She presses the pad of her thumb to his still-wet tip. “Pink is your colour.”

Ken scoffs, but it’s weak and shivery. “Of course pink is my colour.” Every colour is his colour, but pink is especially his colour; but even he can admit his dick looks really good held tight in the hot pink ring.

“I could get you every colour of the rainbow,” she muses, toying with him as his dick slowly fills out and comes to attention. “With matching accessories…”

“I’m all about the accessories,” he chokes out.

His arousal is already building in his gut, that tell-tale tension, the throb and pulse linked with his own heartbeat. Ken knows this sensation intimately now, even if he only started becoming accustomed to it a few weeks ago.

Barbie finally wraps her hand around his dick. She doesn’t squeeze yet, doesn’t apply any pressure, but just holds him, cradles him as he gets harder.

He’s going to come sooner than he thought, even with the ring. Just the vision of her between his legs, holding his arousal in her sweet little hands, holding him like he means something to her. She’s biting her lip, the tip of her tongue poking out as she rolls his balls in her other hand. Oh, oh no.

“Barbie, is this supposed to stop me from coming?” Ken asks, a little hysterical already. “Because—”

“It’s supposed to help,” she says, applying the barest pressure around the base, just above the tightening ring. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you.”

And then Barbie starts to stroke him firmly, up and down, over and over until he’s shaking with the want to come. He feels it building in his gut, heavy and strong even though he’s already come this morning. It’s bubbling up and he’s ready, he’s going to—

Then, Barbie takes her hand away.

Ken’s eyes snap open. She’s leaning over him, lips bitten red, watching his dick jump and leak onto his belly. 

“Barbie,” he whines, humping the air uselessly.

“I’m teaching you some restraint.” She pets his stomach. “You have the patience down, now you just have to last.” She takes him in hand again once he’s stopped shaking. “Let’s try again, hm?”

She does this over and over again, bringing him to the very brink before pulling back just as he’s about to come. Without the ring—tighter than ever around his leaking dick—he would have come over and over again. Ken is a sobbing, shaking, begging, desperate mess by the time she decides to torture him in a different way.

Barbie swings one long, perfect leg over his hips to settle on his lap. The movement places her wet pussy directly over his bound cock, and it’s too much.

“Barbie!” he yells, darting forward to wrap his arms tight around her waist, to bring her flush against him. Her bare breasts push up against his neck, then his lips… it’s almost too easy to drop open his jaw and take one hard-capped, rosy nipple into his mouth and suck.

“Don’t move.” Rather than scold him for taking liberties, she instead wraps her arms around the back of his head and cradles him to her breast while he suckles.

“Please,” he begs, although he isn’t sure what he even wants right now; to come, for this to never end, a kiss…

“Naughty,” Barbie says, voice reedy as she starts to grind herself against his dick. 

She angles herself carefully, he can tell, so her clit is against the firm rubber at the base. It means her wet folds glide across his dick with every small hump, driving him crazy. Crazier.

“I don’t mean to be,” he whines, fighting the urge to thrust up with what little leverage he has. “I just…”

“I think I want to fuck you,” she sighs, and it sounds like the sweetest thing in the world. “A strap the same colour as your cage… Hot pink disappearing into your hole… Mm. Yeah. Do you want that, baby? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,” Ken gasps wetly against her soaked nipple, breath hot and laboured. “Yeah. Fuck me, Barbie.”

“I’ll keep you locked up so you couldn’t come, even if you wanted to,” she continues, grinding harder and harder against his locked up dick. “Fucking you through a dry orgasm…”

Ken doesn’t even know what half of these things are, but he wants it so much he would say anything, do anything to get it.

“Yeah, yeah, yes. Barbie, yes, I’ll do it, I’ll do whatever you want,” he babbles mindlessly, clinging desperately, as she takes her own pleasure while giving him his own. “Whatever, honey, whatever you want. You can have it, you can take it from me. Mhmm!” She digs her nails into the back of his neck as she stiffens on top of him, chasing her next orgasm. “Fuck, fuck, Barbie, yes. Take it. Take me, take what you need. Oh my goodness, oh fuck.”

He can’t do anything but hold on, entirely at her mercy.

“Fuck me,” she whispers into his ear before slipping off him. He goes to protest—it felt so good having her on him, her sweet pussy grinding against him—but snaps his mouth closed when she stops with her mouth just above his dick.

“Barbie?” Ken croaks, chest heaving with the effort to keep himself in check.

Barbie doesn’t answer him. She just holds his hard and purpling locked-up dick in her soft hands and then—

“Now it’s your turn to come for me, baby,” she orders sweetly, then leans forward and licks the head.

It’s one tiny kitten lick, and it’s the best orgasm he’s ever had in his short, real life. It’s overwhelming, and all-encompassing. He feels it from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He comes all over himself, over her hand and his dick until it’s dribbling down to his balls and the pink ring.

Ken is making noises, he realises suddenly when his ears stop ringing. He’s shaking, trembling as he comes down, body and mind a live wire in the aftermath and the aftershocks.

He’s crying weak little sniffles, cheeks wet as Barbie slips the ring off, his softened dick and balls lying wet against his stomach. He whines once the tight sensation disappears for good, as something else threatens to creep in.

“C-Can’t I wear it all the time?” he asks, making useless grabby hands at it even as Barbie takes it away to the bathroom.

“No,” she shouts over running water, much to his immense disappointment. When she returns, wash cloth in one hand, she hands him the brightly patterned box in the other which promises “Incredible Prolonged Pleasure for You and Your Love!”

The tiny print on the back says it shouldn’t be used for more than thirty minutes at a time.

“Oh,” Ken says, resigned but strangely crushed. He will always follow packaging instructions. “That’s, um. T-That’s super sucky.”

“There are other things we can get you for long term use,” Barbie says lightly, but when he looks up at her he sees her apprehension.

“Barbie?”

She shrugs and wrings the cloth between her hands. “Gloria told me a bunch of stuff, but… I don’t want to get it by myself.” Something shifts, something sharpens. “I want you to come with me.”

Come with her? Like, to a shop somewhere… outside of the apartment. In the real world, the one with cowboys and coats and all the things Ken knows is so bad for him.

“Oh, I don’t know, Barbie,” he hedges, any residual bliss from his orgasm fleeing at the idea of going outside. “I’d probably just make a mess of it. You should go alone.”

Barbie purses her lips. “Ken…”

“Or we could look online?” he tries instead, because he knows where she is going and he really does not want to do this. Not when he’s naked in her bed, feeling colder and colder with every second that passes where she’s not in bed with him. “You want me to get better at using the ‘enternet’. We could try that.”

“Internet, Ken,” she corrects, but it serves its purpose. She finally crawls into bed with him and wipes him down with the cloth. It’s cold—“Sorry, baby. It was warm before.”—but he likes it anyway. Any time she touches him is good.

She doesn’t pull open the blinds even though it’s well into the morning now. She doesn’t get up to get breakfast, nor does she prod Ken to do it for her. Instead, she wraps them up in the blankets pushed to the bottom of the mattress and puts on Gilmore Girls.

He starts to feel a little more grounded.

“We can order in later,” she says as she draws him in until his head is resting between her naked breasts. Her hand inevitably finds itself carding through his hair, and his wraps around her thigh, just to center himself.

He wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her so badly he might just die. He wants to hold her soft cheeks and press sweet little kisses to her lips and her jaw and her forehead. He wants to kiss her with his tongue, the way he’s already kissed her sex and her body, the way he’s seen people do on the tv. He wants to kiss her so badly, but he can’t.

Not after last time. He doesn’t want to go through that again. Not for anything.

Ken will take whatever he can get.

“Okay, Barbie,” he says, and wants to cry.

Notes:

i told myself the next wip i got a comment on would be the next one i updated, and this one won 🎉

Chapter 7: this Barbie suffers through the sexual education of an idiot

Notes:

this one got away from me.

I want you to hump the kitchen counter until you come. Make sure to record your pretty face for me. We can watch it together when I get home, baby ♥︎

Barbie sets her phone face down and pushes away from her desk. Her rolling chair hits the wall. She takes a big breath in, covers her face, and screams.

While cathartic, this unfortunately has the side effect of calling attention to her breakdown. From her lovely—yet overbearing—coworkers, Barbie is offered homemade cookies, coffee from the cafe down the road, and a shoulder to cry on. She accepts the first and the second, but the third is better suited for one particular person and not Polly from HR.

She picks up her phone again once the busybodies who call her Babs are gone.

(No one really calls her Barbie outside of Gloria and her family. And Ken, but Ken doesn’t count. She’s Barbara to her clients and Babs to her bookclub friends. A date once tried to call her Barb and she pretended Sasha had an emergency and left half-way through because in what world, real or doll, is she a Barb?)

Ken replied to her message. Of course he has, he’s practically glued to his phone during the day when he isn’t cleaning or cooking or following the newest YouTube workout fad.

It’s Pilates right now, and she suspects he’s going to try to mess with the AC next and attempt hot yoga.

He’s sent a single text made up of a half dozen emojis followed by an excitable YES! 

She isn’t sure how long it will take him to film the video, but she already knows she will be too nervous to watch it. She’ll tackle it after work, which will likely also involve Saturday, then depending on how Ken reacts to her surprise, Sunday…

Barbie texts Gloria.

Won’t be able to make brunch, sorry sweetie! Next week? My treat!

She doesn’t have to wait longer than a few minutes before Gloria rings her.

Barbie considers leaving it. She’s technically not on her break, although she has quite a lot of autonomy in her job. But… maybe she’s busy, maybe she’s with a client, maybe she’s too cowardly to face her best friend with the truth.

She answers the phone, because Gloria would never let her ring out.

“Barbie,” she scolds through the phone. “You can’t just cancel on me without any follow up! You’ve never cancelled our annual brunch! I think the world is ending, actually, and will continue to think this until you tell me otherwise.”

“I will if you let me.” She waits for Gloria to interrupt again, but she doesn’t. She can feel her smug vindication through the phone. “Okay. Fine. I have a… date. Tonight.”

Not technically incorrect, although it’s not like either of them will be going anywhere.

But really, how is she supposed to explain to her already suspicious best friend that her nerves are off the charts because she just told her situationship of six decades to send her a dirty video?

“Which could potentially go into tomorrow…” Gloria reads between the lines, the glee in her tone evident. “Is this about that little sub you’ve got hidden away?” she teases, and it’s too close to home for Barbie’s liking. “The one you don’t want to tell me about?”

“Perhaps,” Barbie hedges, fiddling with the little figurines on her desk, the ones Sasha gave her when she said how cute she found Hello Kitty. In an attempt to put Gloria off the scent of Barbie’s unexplainable tension, she asks; “How’s Sasha?”

“She’s fine,” Gloria is quick to say, then follows it up with a sharp laugh. “Don’t change the subject. You have a date with the guy you want to peg. Tell me everything, Barbie.”

“I don’t recall telling you I want to—” She looks around, sees the not-quite distracted faces of her coworkers, and lowers her voice to a whisper. “—peg him.”

Gloria scoffs. “It was obvious, sweetie. You wanted to do way more than just sit on his face last time we talked, and I bet it’s gone even further since then.”

She’s right. Barbie babbled a lot the weekend prior. Her mouth got away from her, which led to Ken enthusiastically bringing up their next ‘session’ whenever he could.

“You said you wanted to fuck me,” he said with wide, starry eyes. “What does that mean?”

Between that and the concept of a cage, Barbie knew the floodgates of Ken’s curiosity had cracked. Might as well bust them open. In preparation, Barbie showed Ken porn for the first time, and it went just about as awful as she thought it would.

“Barbie, he just hit her!”

“Spanked, Ken. He spanked her. Some women like it.”

“I have no idea why they would want that.”

“It’s just a thing. Not every guy likes being told not to come, but look at you.”

“…Would you spank me?”

Okay, it didn’t go as terribly as she expected, but it opened Ken’s mind to hundreds of new possibilities that he was unaware of before, and a curious Ken is dangerous.

Barbie doesn’t like telling him no, mostly because his ideas excite her, too. Like texting him orders in the middle of the day, telling him to record himself for her to watch later… It did take her a good hour to teach him how to use the camera app so she can actually watch it later. They practiced, and the first video he made was more nostril than sexy, but he got it. Eventually.

Actually, Ken didn’t react as strongly to the pornography as she thought he would. Considering the whole patriarchy thing he fell for within hours of being in the real world, the sexual content didn’t seem to do much for him beyond giving him ideas of what to do with her.

Online shopping was a different story.

“Barbieee, I want this one!” Ken exclaimed the second he saw listing for the matching cage to his cock ring. “Oh my gosh, could I wear them together?”

Barbie wasn’t sure, but she bought it anyway. And fuzzy handcuffs. And a collar, although she did that while checking out after he went to shower. She still isn’t sure if she wants him to wear it, and wonders if maybe that’s a step too far; like cock cages and telling him when to come is one thing, but a collar feels official. Like she’s laying real claim to Ken, and despite the big feelings she can’t quite name yet, she isn’t sure if she’s ready.

Ken would love the collar. It’s pink and faux-leather—not real, since the cage was already pricey enough—and comes with a little heart-shaped metal tag. Barbie knows the local pet supply store has an engraver… for pets, not that they have to know she isn’t the new owner of a golden retriever, but instead a just-as-excitable manchild who probably won’t go outside even if she offers to put him on a leash.

That’s another problem she is completely unequipped to deal with, but burying her head in the sand has worked so far. That’s a common strategy when dealing with Ken.

Yet for all her hesitance, he’s been living with her for over a month now. It’s the slowest she’s ever gone with a partner, although none were ever as serious as Ken. But he’s Ken, how could she ever be casual about Ken?

“Barbie?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, buried under the weight of her wants and his expectations. “Yeah. It’s gone further. It’s going to go further tonight… tomorrow… I’m not sure.”

Gloria makes a sympathetic noise down the line. “Oh, sweetie. Are you doing okay? You know you don’t have to do this. Vanilla sex is fun, too. You could just fuck him missionary then cuddle. Get breakfast. Do the domestic thing.”

Somehow, that’s even scarier than what she has planned.

“Um. No. I don’t think vanilla is what he wants.”

“Is that what has you all tied up in knots?” Gloria asks sharply. “Is he pressuring you?”

That’s one way of putting it, Barbie thinks as she feels her face flush in embarrassment.

“No,” she says emphatically, burying her face in her hands. “No. He isn’t. I’m in control. He’s so… he wants what I want. It’s cute. I just don’t want to mess it up.”

“You’re a late bloomer through circumstance, Barbie.” Gloria makes soothing noises through the speaker, and it’s actually helping. “You’re going through decades of experiences within mere months. It’s understandable that you’ll be nervous.”

Barbie’s been human for a while now. Not as long as one born to it, but long enough. Ken’s been human for a matter of weeks.

This can’t be good for him.

“Thanks, Gloria,” she says, back to the nervous and miserable mess she was before the call.

They talk about making plans for next week, Sasha’s newest boyfriend, and the latest project Ryan’s taken on until she needs to start preparing for her next client.

“Barbie,” Gloria says before they make their goodbyes. “Is this guy good to you?”

That’s a loaded question.

“He is,” Barbie confirms, memories of him clinging to her as she took her own pleasure from the ring tight around his dick. Him begging, pleading—“It’s yours now, my orgasms are yours.”—desperate for not only her touch, but for her orders. “He is good to me.”

But am I good to him?

Barbie swears on her own humanity that she won’t do anything she doesn’t really want to do, then promises to ring Gloria when she can give an update on her ‘date’. Even then, Gloria doesn’t sound sure but she’s dedicated to letting Barbie make her own mistakes the human way.

She pulls herself together in time for her client—a woman looking for a career change but doesn’t know how to start it nor break it to her husband, and wow isn’t that familiar—and resolutely does not look at her phone for the rest of the day.

She clocks out early for her nail appointment. It’s one of the few luxuries she allows herself. Everything else she can do at home, but Barbie’s seen way too many videos about contact dermatitis to mess with her own nails.

Sometimes being a girl is too much.

She has the middle and ring fingers on her right hand filed down to next to nothing. Then, she has them painted baby blue, the same shade as Ken’s eyes.

Okay, she’s officially in over her head.

It’s dark by the time she gets home, and while there’s nothing more she wants than to run upstairs and see Ken, she has one more stop.

There’s a package waiting for her in her mailbox. Medium sized with discreet packaging per the website’s promise, but Barbie knows exactly what’s inside.

“Ken,” she sings as she steps inside her apartment, already flinging her shoes and coat off. “Baby, guess what I got.”

“A pony?” Ken throws himself off the bed to greet her, beaming wide. He’s dressed himself in her favourite oversized fluffy robe, although on Ken it’s decidedly more fitted. And short.

“Did you get dressed at all today?” she asks, eyeing the long lines of his well-shaped legs as she kicks the door closed.

“I had a shower earlier and didn’t bother to put my clothes back on.” He pulls the robe around himself tighter. “It smelled like you. Now, did you get a pony?”

She holds up the box and steps around him. “Does this look like a horse?”

He follows. “A pony isn’t as big as a horse.”

“Okay, well. No. I didn’t get a pony. Clearly.”

“Oh.” Ken visibly deflates. “How about a miniature pony?”

“No, Ken. But I think you’ll like this even better.”

“Better than a pony?” He sounds skeptical.

Barbie rolls her eyes. “We’ll just have to see, hm?” She sets the box down on the kitchen counter, then remembers her text. “Did you follow my orders today?”

He flushes red, eyes dropping to the counter. “Of course I did.”

“And did you record yourself?”

Ken exhales shakily. “Yes.”

Barbie finally pulls her phone out of her bag and opens their messages.

Under her last text ordering him to hump the counter until he came and his enthusiastic reply, he sent a selfie; Ken, topless and grinning at the camera holding a thumbs up, said counter in the background.

In the present, Barbie glances at the counter. It’s sparkling clean, no sign of what—and if—Ken actually did what she asked.

“I figured you were working when you didn’t reply, so I kept the video until now.” Ken holds out his own phone, the old one Barbie was given from Gloria that she had upgraded when it started getting too slow. “Do you want to watch it now?”

Yes.

She takes the phone, but doesn’t open the video. “You said you showered today?” she asks instead.

“Yep.”

“Thoroughly?” she prods, tapping the package with his phone. “I want you to be clean everywhere.”

Ken’s eyes go wide as he finally realises exactly what has arrived. “I can shower again,” he says eagerly, already backing up towards the bathroom. “I’ll be quick!”

“Not too quick!” she yells as he disappears. The sound of the shower starts a few seconds later.

Barbie looks between the phone and the package. Decisions, decisions. She eventually sets Ken’s phone aside and grabs a knife to open the box. They can watch the video together later.

For now, she has some new toys to inspect.

She opens the box by the kitchen sink. Thankfully, everything inside survived the trip. Ken would have been so disappointed if it didn’t.

The environmentally-friendly paper bubble wrap is quickly thrown aside to reveal her modest haul: a cock cage, a set of handcuffs, an anal plug, a new bottle of lube, and the collar.

Barbie slips the collar to the bottom of her underwear drawer before she can think too hard about what it means and what she wants, and instead works at sanitising the other toys.

The cock cage is simple in its design; it isn’t as small as some of the ones they looked at, more symbolic than truly restrictive, but it’ll serve its purpose. The sparkly pink silicone is firmer than she thought it would be, and it even locks with a heart-shaped key. Barbie sets both aside.

Next, Barbie pulls out a set of handcuffs. The fluffy kind, padded with soft velvet. She thinks, in a pinch, Ken could tug himself free; but that isn’t the point. He’ll keep himself restrained if she asks it of him. He could probably pretend to be handcuffed and it would have the same effect, but she can’t deny the vision he’ll make will be titillating. She puts the handcuffs away with the collar. Next time, Barbie.

The next is the plug. It matches the cock ring he enjoyed so much before, sparkly pink like everything else they bought. Buying any other colour seems absurd, but she has to bury her delirious laughter when holding the modestly-sized anal plug in the palm of her hand.

It’s not big at all, as Barbie highly doubts Ken has even started exploring there. They’ll have to build up to what she wants to do to him, slowly and surely, even if she’s certain he’ll want to go full throttle, regardless of his own well-being.

Well, that’s what Barbie is here for.

She cleans the plug, then sets it aside to dry with the cage.

A full bottle of pink strawberry-flavoured lube is next. She hasn’t tried this brand before, nor has she tried flavoured lube. She didn’t see the point when she was only using it on herself, but there was something intriguing when sharing the experience with someone else.

Barbie uncaps the bottle and squeezes a tiny amount onto her thumb before popping it into her mouth.

Very fake strawberry forward. Not unpleasant, but not a taste she would seek out. It doesn’t matter, though. Barbie has no intention of being the one consuming it tonight.

“What… are you doing?”

Barbie swings around, strangely guilty at being caught with her thumb in her mouth. It pops out, and Ken’s eyes lock onto the wet digit.

“Just giving it a try,” Barbie says, trying to remain lighthearted. It doesn’t work. “The lube, I mean. It’s flavoured.”

Ken nods, already looking a bit like a space cadet in a plume of shower steam. He’s naked and hazy, the exact same way he gets after he’s orgasmed, when he buries in close to her and huffs those soft little sighs…

“Strawberry,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “I remember.” He licks his lips, eyes wide. “Can I?”

He’ll probably try it later, Barbie reasons, but can’t help herself, not when he’s looking at her like that.

“Sure.”

Ken doesn’t stick his own thumb out. He doesn’t take the bottle. Doesn’t kneel and open his mouth, wide and waiting.

 No, Ken crosses the room in three long strides, takes her wrist, and places her wet thumb into his mouth.

Barbie’s backside hits the kitchen counter, mouth dropping open as Ken sucks at her thumb. With his eyes closed as if in a trance, he takes long and deep sucks, tongue swirling around like he’s trying to taste every inch. With every draw, her pussy throbs like there’s a direct connection.

“Ah,” she pants, leaning back to brace herself against the counter, her free hand gripping the faux-marble tight. She bites her lip, uselessly attempting to muffle her noises. It doesn’t work. “Ken. Ken. You—”

He releases her thumb with a wet, obscene pop. A string of sticky saliva connects it to her red, glistening lips until it snaps loose.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers, and Barbie just about combusts. He licks his lips, as if trying to chase the taste, and looks at her from under thick, envious lashes. “Can I have some more?”

“Later,” she says shakily, petting his bottom lip with the same wet thumb. “I have plans for you tonight.”

Ken both seems to brighten and soften at the same time, anticipation likely building the same way it’s building in Barbie. A want and a desire and something even sweeter growing deep inside.

After directing Ken to inspect the toys—but to not use them, an order she knows Ken will take very seriously—Barbie slips into the bathroom.

The steam has dissipated but Ken remains. Even though he uses her shower gel, shampoo, conditioner, body scrub, lotion, and whatever else he can get his hands on, it somehow smells different when he uses it. Richer and deeper, like the coconut and vanilla takes on whatever makes Ken, Ken. Something manlier, something different. Something she never considered she would even want.

She likes it, even if it means she’ll have to replace her expensive moisturiser twice as often.

Barbie showers thoroughly. She isn’t supposed to, not so soon after getting her manicure, but she can’t not. Not when she’s spent the entire day at work, thinking about Ken, about this evening… The crux between her legs sparks with the memory of the last week, of the touching and the sucking and the kissing—of everywhere but Ken’s mouth.

They haven’t kissed. He’s eaten her out countless times, she’s jerked him off even more often, and while they haven’t fucked yet, they’ve done enough to be considered by the majority as ‘intimate’.

She hasn’t kissed him. He hasn’t tried to kiss her, not since the last time, and much like then she isn’t sure if she’s happy about this fact or disappointed. There’s a part of her that wants him to try again, if only to take the decision away from her.

As it stands, he hasn’t come close. He avoids her mouth entirely, although he loves to pay her chest and breasts more than enough attention to make up for it. She isn’t unhappy about it, but…

Barbie buries that thought deep, deep down, because now is not the time to consider what she does or does not want with Ken. She knows what she wants right now, and it involves a cage and a key and some lube which will probably give Ken cavities if she leaves him alone with it for much longer.

Barbie finishes showering, braids her hair back, slips into her fluffy robe; the same one Ken wore when she was at work, then prepares herself.

“I’m excited about this one,” Ken says with bright eyes when she steps out of the bathroom in a plume of steam. He holds the plug between his thumb and forefinger aloft like a curiosity. Well, to him, and to her, it is. She’s never used one before, and he’s new to everything. “Is this gonna go inside me?”

Have mercy.

“Eventually,” she hedges, leaning forward to pluck it from his hands. She sets it aside on the bedside table, making sure it’s out of his line of sight. He’ll fixate on it otherwise, and as it is he’s already moving onto the cage. She takes that from him, and the heart-shaped key too, but she doesn’t move it away. She keeps it in hand, ready to go. “We can’t use that yet.”

He frowns, hands held open but empty of any sex toy. “Why not?” When she looks down, he understands. “Oh.”

“You have to be softer. It’ll make it easier to use, since it’s your first time.” Our first time, she adds mentally but doesn’t say out loud. He doesn’t need to know. He wants her to be in control, so she’ll be in control. “So we’ll have to deal with… this first.”

She drops her free hand to his hard, desperate cock and squeezes.

Ken releases a punched out whine, hunching inwards instinctually. “Barbie, you—!”

“What is it?” she asks, eyes trained on his cock and her hand, and how well he fits in her palm. She curls her hand around the nape of his neck. “I thought this is what you wanted?”

Ken pouts, even as she begins to stroke slowly and steadily. “You know what I want,” he complains, voice whiny. His hands gripping the counter bely his desperation.

“I can’t put the cage on until you’re all soft,” Barbie admonishes. She squeezes his cock and the back of his neck at the same time, admiring Ken’s honest spasm in response. “It could hurt you otherwise.”

Ken bites his lip. “I don’t mind a bit of pain.”

She knows he doesn’t, but there are limits even with this little game they play. Besides, pain isn’t Barbie’s thing beyond love bites littering his chest and the way he shakes when she overstimulates him. Ken would let her do more, would let her do worse, but that isn’t what she wants.

She should probably tell him that. In fact, they should sit down and talk about this properly, about everything from pain and kissing and wants and expectations and limits and the future and—

Barbie inhales, then exhales, then locks that thought back in the dreamhouse in her mind and focuses on the present.

“I’ll give you what you want,” she says, peeling herself away to inch down the length of his body. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get everything you want soon.”

Ken doesn’t release his grip on the counter. In fact, his grip gets tighter, knuckles turning white from the effort to keep himself upright, body trembling like he doesn’t know what to do as he looks down at her with giant doe eyes.

He’s so cute.

Last time Ken came from a single lick to the head of his dick. This time, he lasts a little longer, but only because Barbie keeps a firm hold around the base to prolong his orgasm. She would’ve brought his cock ring out if she didn’t have a different plan for him tonight.

“Mm. Made for me,” she murmurs, holding him in her hand. His dick is soft yet hard and perfect, so perfect, and once again she’s amazed at how much she wants him. Barbie is no stranger to penises, but his is like it’s been sculpted from marble to her exact specifications, like someone peeked inside her mind to craft everything she would ever want.

“All yours,” Ken breathes from above her, supplicant even as she kneels at his feet, “and it’ll be yours even when—if I, um, if you make me… I mean, if I come. It’s still yours.” His head drops back, exposing the long line of his neck. She wants to mark it up as a sick proof of ownership. “Barbie, please.”

Barbie takes pity on him—or maybe she’s just out of patience—and takes him into her mouth.

Ken, as sensitive as he is, barely holds it together. It is the first time she’s got her mouth on his since last time, since her last little kitten lick, and he has a hair trigger as is, but oh, he’s so responsive to her.

“Please, please, please,“ he begs, body one long, tense line. The words spill from his lips as she takes him deep into her mouth, tongue flat cradling his cock. “Barbie, honey, Barbie, oh, oh, oh!”

She’s not new to cocks, or to blowjobs, but it’s never been her favourite activity. She can only make educated assumptions as to why, but it’s always been so aggressive to her. Guys like to grab her hair and wrap it around their fists, tugging her like she’s nothing but an object for them to use. They go too quick and too hard and their cocks go too far down her throat too soon; it’s unpleasant at the best of times. She knows some women like it and doesn’t fault them for it, but it’s never been her preference.

This is different.

Ken doesn’t reach out to grab her hair or tell her to go faster. He doesn’t even try to nudge his cock down her throat with his hips.

He’s the opposite. He waits patiently, if desperate, hands clenched so tight on the counter she wonders if it’ll crack. He holds himself tightly, gazing down at her like she hung the moon, and he doesn’t move.

“You’re doing good for me, baby,” she says when she pulls off, voice already a little rougher. Ken shivers above her, breath hitching. “Be good for a little longer, okay? Then I’ll give you what you really want.”

He nods, quick and fast, but doesn’t say anything.

“Ken?” she asks, stroking his cock gently to keep him focused. “Use your words.”

“O-Okay,” he croaks, practically hyperventilating as she returns her mouth to his cock. “Hngh—Barbie.”

She pays close attention to the head of his cock as it leaks onto her tongue. It’s spongy and soft and slick with her own spit, and the taste isn’t awful. It’s salty and musky, but Ken is good at cleaning himself, surprisingly fastidious considering he’s only had a penis for a matter of weeks.

She appreciates it as she sucks him down, stroking the parts of his cock she can’t quite take, as she squeezes his balls in her free hand and suckles at him until he’s begging and pleading and blabbering—

“Barbie, Barbie, I’m gonna come, I’m so close, I’m—mhn! Barbie, stop, stop!”

She doesn’t. Even as Ken’s hands release the counter to flitter around her face—neven grabbing, never doing much more than brushing over her cheek as if she isn’t paying attention, sweet boy—she doesn’t let up, and Ken comes down her throat with a bellow which shakes her to her core.

Turns out Barbie likes giving head, she knows now, if it means she’s in control.

As she stands, knees aching from kneeling on the floor, she swallows his come, wishing not for the first time to just get over herself and kiss him.

She wants to feed him his own come and make him swallow it.

Ken is breathing deep, eyes closed as he slowly comes down from his orgasm when she grabs the sparkly pink cage.

He jumps when she takes a gentle hold of his wet cock, sensitive at the overstimulation of over-handling, but he doesn’t stop her. He just watches, silent except for his deep breaths. 

He hasn’t softened much, but it’s easier to feed his length into the cage like this. It takes a little bit of gentle force and squeezing, but soon she has it secured tight and firm.

Ken was holding his breath. The second she turns the heart-shaped key, he exhales in a shuddery, desperate cry.

“Yeah,” he breathes, sniffling as she inspects it. She doesn’t want it pinching or doing any lasting harm, and she doesn’t trust Ken to actually tell her if it was hurting. “Yes. Yeah, Barbie, this is…”

His head drops back. She bites his neck and sucks a loving little bruises against his Adam’s apple just because he’ll let her.

“It looks so good,” she praises, gazing down at her handiwork. The pink of his cock and the pink of his cage contrast but complement, sparkly and wet intertwined together. She pokes it.

Ken releases a punched-out whine into the crook of her neck.

“S-Sensitive,” he stutters, breath brushing across her skin.

“It’ll feel better soon,” she says and Ken starts to melt against her, his body liquid as he relaxes into the sensation of being held and controlled at the same time. “Come on, baby. We have a video to watch.”

Barbie leads Ken to her bed and draws the covers before making him lay down, slightly propped up against the pillows. A little wrinkle appears between his eyebrows, but he follows her lead without complaint or question, still a little come-stupid, or maybe just getting used to the sensation of being completely caged for the first time ever.

Once settled, Barbie plasters herself against his side and props the phone up against his stomach. It rises and falls with every tiny breath he takes, but not enough to disturb her viewing.

“Barbie,” he whines, squirming next to her once he realises what she has planned. Behind the phone, his caged cock tries to come back to full hardness but fails. It’s even better than she thought, watching his first experience with true restriction.

“Are you going to try and get hard again while watching yourself?” she coos into his ear. Her free hand, the one not holding the phone, winds around the back of his neck. She squeezes when he doesn’t answer. “Tell me, baby. Did you put on a show for me?”

“Yes,” he forces out, eyes wide and beseeching. “I practiced at first and tried to keep the camera focused on, um, on my dick. It was kinda hard because I started to shake a little but—” Ken flushes as pink as the assortment of toys on the bedside table, and Barbie takes pity on her boy.

“Press play,” she says, resting her head on his chest to watch.

With a shaky hand, Ken starts the video.

“Hey Barbie,” the Ken on the screen says with a wide, if nervous, smile. He holds the phone at a low angle, which would be unflattering on anyone else, but on Ken is merely charming. “You asked for me to… You want me to film myself…” Video-Ken stutters through the start, clearly nervous at fulfilling her request. He inhales, seemingly steeling himself. “I’m gonna hump our kitchen counter until I come. Because you asked me to.”

That in itself is unbelievably erotic; the assurance, the confidence, the vulnerability, but also, our kitchen counter. Yes, she thinks as the Ken in the video props up the phone against what is probably her perpetually empty flower vase. Their kitchen counter.

“Okay, I’m just gonna—” Ken places both of his hands flat on the counter. The angle doesn’t allow any view of his dick, but that’s okay. The first grind of his clothed cock against the cabinets is more than enough for Barbie. “Oh, fuck. Fuck…”

His head drops down as he starts a slow, steady rolling, hunched over the counter, breathing heavily as he chases his pleasure. 

Ken’s breath starts to grow heavy again in real life, too. The phone rises and falls quicker, and Barbie can hear his heart beating fast against her ear.

“You look so cute,” Barbie murmurs quietly, scratching her nails against the back of his neck. “It was a good idea to keep your shorts on.”

“I knew it would’ve been too much without them,” he replies, voice too high to be steady. His cock is fully hard now, pink flesh straining through the plastic bars, desperately trying to grow to a full erection. “I would’ve come way too quickly and—” He ducks his head until his chin is resting on his chest.

In the video, he whines loud, hips stuttering wildly against the counter.

“And what, baby?” Barbie coaxes, eyes trained to the screen.

“And I wanted to make it last for you.”

Considering the Ken in the video is now whining his way to his first orgasm of the day, she wonders how quickly he would have come had he not been wearing shorts.

“That looks painful,” she murmurs, nails scratch-scratch-scratching against the nape of his neck. He shivers with every pass. “Did it hurt?”

As she asks that, video-Ken hiccups a few breaths, hips shoving erratically against the surface, then hunches over, whining long and low. He’s coming on camera. Ken is coming on camera all because Barbie told him to.

“It hurt so good,” Ken whispers to her in real life as the video-Ken grins and leans over to grab the camera.

“I hope that’s what you wanted,” he says with a cheeky, shy smile. “And I hope you have a good day. See you tonight, honey!”

The video ends with a shuffle. Barbie sets the phone on the bedside table—next to the last item she isn’t even sure they’ll get to: the anal plug—then presses a not-quite kiss against Ken’s peck, dangerously close to one hard nipple. She resists the urge to take it into her mouth and bite, but only just.

“Did you like it?” he asks shyly.

Did she like it?

“You should’ve sent it to me at work,” she says instead, giving into her desire and biting down. Ken’s dick jumps again within the cage as he gasps. She releases him and admires the perfect cast of her teeth in his skin. “I would’ve really appreciated it. Like an afternoon pick me up.”

She would’ve wanted to touch herself right then and there at her desk, skirt hiked up around her waist with three fingers shoved up against her g-spot. As it is, she wants to hook her leg over Ken’s waist and grind to her own orgasm against his hip.

“Should I have?” He sounds unsure. “I just thought—”

“No, no, you’re right.” Barbie buries her head against his marked chest to hide her smile. “I would’ve been distracted all day. It’s good you kept it until now, so we could watch it together.”

Ken relaxes. “Okay, good.” He squirms as she pets his abs idly, like he’s an oversized puppy, enjoying the way his muscles bunch and release under her hand. “Not that I don’t love this, but…”

But she promised something better, and Barbie intends to deliver.

“I know,” she murmurs, inching away to tap his quivering hip, where his waist narrows into his pelvis. “Turn over, baby.”

Ken does as he’s asked, all loose limbed obedience flipping over onto his belly baring his backside to her greedy eyes.

“You really were made in a factory,” she admires, stroking the same thumb over the little dimples above his ass. “So cute.”

“Barbie,” he complains, voice muffled into the mattress.

She taps his back. “Lift up,” she says, slipping a pillow under his hips, nestled against his caged cock. There must be only the slightest pressure against his dick, but it’s enough to have Ken whining. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, barely audible. “So comfy. In your bed, with you.” He reaches out blindly for her. “Always with you.”

She takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, does the same on the other hand, and brings them both up to the top of the bed. She leans over and presses the lightest kiss to the back of his neck. “Keep them there for me, baby.”

Ken nods into the pillow. She isn’t worried about him disobeying her. She isn’t sure he’s even capable of it.

That shouldn’t turn her on as much as it does.

She kisses his neck again, then the bunched space between his shoulder blades, then the small of his back. She bites one pert cheek, then the other even when he twitches, and soothes the hurt with a kiss.

Then, she spreads his backside.

She told him to clean thoroughly, and he has. He always does, but they’ve never ventured here before. This is the first time, and she’s so excited.

He isn’t completely hairless like the actors in porn, but like his cock and his face and his body, he’s pretty. His pink little furl of a hole winks at her as he struggles to keep still under her appraising eye. He must be so nervous, trying to claw out of his skin between the anticipation and the want and the cage, but her good boy remains completely still.

“I’ll start with one,” she tells him as she grabs the lube on the bedside table and squeezes a decent amount onto her filed-down index finger. The scent of artificial strawberries fills the room and her senses. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, okay baby?”

She can’t guarantee that he will, but she feels better for saying it out loud.

Ken jolts at the first touch of her finger against his hole. She has to squeeze his backside to keep him still, and he whines in apology.

“S’rry,” he mumbles, or she thinks that is what he said. He makes another groaning noise when she touches him again, this time circling the pucker, spreading the lube around.

“Breathe for me,” she coos as she dips the tip of her finger in, going as far as to reach the first knuckle. “In and out, there’s a good boy…”

Ken does breath, but it's shivery and unsettled. He holds himself tight, body shining with sweat.

She pets his side to calm him down, but it does little to relax him. If anything, it winds him up even further.

Her finger slips in a little deeper, and then she slips it in deeper still.

“Fuck,” Ken keens when her palm hits the flesh of his backside. “Deep, so deep, Barbie, you’re inside me, you’re inside.”

She could be even deeper. She wants to open him up and bury herself inside where she’ll never leave.

He would probably love that, she thinks as she tugs her finger free before sliding it back inside. He would want to keep her there forever.

Barbie starts fucking Ken thoroughly, single digit fingering him without pause. He’s so warm inside, and when she dribbles more lube along his crack, he becomes slicker and wetter and she wants to get her mouth on him as much as she wants him to keep whining and pleading and uselessly grinding his caged cock against her pillow.

Then, when she turns her palm face-up and strokes towards her, she finds it.

Ken releases a long whine, almost pained, but she knows she’s found his prostate.

“Is that good?” she breathes, pussy throbbing with every grind of her finger into his—“Do you like me fingering your pussy, baby?”

She’s inching her middle finger in alongside her index when Ken goes bow-string tight and wails.

Fuck.

“Barbie!” Ken yells, back arching, body quivering, “I’m—stop, I’m gonna—!”

She pulls her fingers out, cruelly brushing past his prostate as she goes. 

“Ken?”

“I was gonna come,” he babbles, crying desperately into the pillow. Even in his distress, he remains still. His arms tremble where he’s kept them above his head, knuckles white with the effort. “I didn’t want to come, I didn’t wanna, you didn’t say I could, I can’t—Not unless you say, Barbie, not unless you tell me. I don’t know what I’d do if I… I promised, I promised.”

He’s working himself up into a frenzy, but Barbie is so, so fond of him.

I think I l—

“Turn over,” Barbie orders, brain fuzzy and voice breathy as she guides him over. “On your back, baby. Now.”

Like everything, Ken is quick to move—quicker, even—and is lying face-up in the middle of the bed in seconds. His mouth is open and panting from want, his eyes are lined red and wet after crying, his chest speckled pink and his cock. Oh, his perfect cock is caged and desperate from her ministrations, bright pink from trying to get hard and erect against the unforgiving plastic and failing miserably. Thin, clear fluid leaks constantly through the cage against his belly and it’s the sweetest sight she’s ever fucking seen.

Overcome, she grabs the plug from the bedside table and holds the base of it against her mound, wishing uselessly she thought to buy a strap. It crossed her mind when browsing the website, but the technicalities of size and dimensions didn’t seem worth it at the time.

“Please, Barbie,” he slurs, eyes hazy and unfocused as she climbs up to hover over his open, wet mouth. “I can be good. Give it to me, I want it, I…”

She pets his hair, soaked through with sweat, and lowers herself and the plug to his mouth.

Now, as Ken mouths at the comparably tiny plug with his wide, wet tongue, she wishes she took the extra time. She wants to jut her hips out and smear her cock against his lips, wants to card her fingers through Ken’s hair and drag him closer until he’s forced to part his lips and take her in. She wants to fuck his face, but she can’t. Not while she has to hold it against herself.

“Good boy,” she breathes, pushing the thought aside to enjoy the moment for what it is. “You suck me down so well. Your pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock.” She teases the corners with her thumb, dragging it across his plush bottom lip, falling deeper into the fantasy.

“Mm,” he groans around the plug, alternating between suckling and laving his tongue in long, luxurious strokes. “W’nna suck you,” he mumbles around the plastic, then, more firmly; “Wanna suck your cock.”

And isn’t that just—

“Oh, baby,” she breathes, shuffling down the bed and his slick body to kneel between his open legs. “You’re so…”

“So what?” he croaks, the words slipping free without reservation. “Tell me, please, tell me what you think about me, Barbie. I wanna know. I have to know.”

Where to start?

“You’re so good,” she coos, reaching out to stroke her thumb over the sharp cut of his sweaty jaw. It’s smooth as silk, not a hint of stubble. He must have shaved in the shower, her good boy. She could get rid of the plug and sit on his face and grind without any discomfort. She hasn’t come yet tonight, but for some reason the concept is secondary to him. Even though her pussy throbs in time with her heartbeat, even though she’s probably a minute max away from orgasm, she wants to touch him even more.

“I can be even better,” he claims, fingertips dragging over her bare thigh, inching closer to her core. She wants, but not now. When she tugs his hand away and puts it on his own thigh, he whines as if denied his own pleasure once again. “Barbie.”

“Hold your legs up,” she says, guiding him into tugging his thighs up to press against his stomach. His hands hook behind his knees, and then Ken is holding himself open wide for her own pleasure. “Yes. Just like that.”

The new position exposes himself to her appraising eye, and it is revolutionary in its eroticism. Between his wet hole and his caged cock and her teeth in his peck and his red-rimmed eyes, he is splayed out as if a sacrifice on her own altar, and all Barbie wants is to consume.

“Barbie?” Ken warbles as she leans away, but only so far as to grab the lube again. “Oh. Oh, yeah, please.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

She dribbles the lube over the plug until it’s glistening before teasing it against Ken’s wet, pink hole. It shimmers with the remnants of strawberry-scented lube. It’s not a big plug by any means, but it’s far wider than Barbie’s singular, slim finger. The abused flesh gives way slightly under pressure as Ken whines, pushing and pulling away in equal measure.

“You can have this,” Barbie says gently, an idea forming in her mind, one she should probably analyse closer before giving voice to it.

“I want it,” he replies, voice wrecked and reedy, hips flexing to try and take what she isn’t ready to give. “Barbie, I want it. I want it more than anything, I’ll—Please give it to me.”

“You can have it.” She pushes it in again, his hole spreading to try and accomodate the widest part. Ken stays still, hands hooked around his knees even as he shakes and trembles from the increasing pressure, from the feeling of something larger than he’s ever taken being forced inside. “On one condition.”

She pulls the plug out. Ken groans. 

She sets it aside. Ken cries.

“What is it?” he sobs, wet-eyed and desperate. “I’ll do anything.”

“You can have it,” she says again, leaning over him to breathe into his open mouth: “but I want you to wear it outside.”

Notes:

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