The Practice Dummy Part 1 20 min read

A fantasy about facesitting on a mannequin doll with a real man’s consciousness.

written by Unknown author
original source of the story was Unknown source

Brad had always been a rather kind person. So it was not uncharacteristic of him to help the elderly woman he saw desperately trying to get across a busy street. The old woman was dressed in multicolor fabrics and beads; she reminded him of Gypsies he’s seen. After he had aggressively waved off oncoming traffic and safely got her to the other side, a smile broke her wrinkled face.

“Thank you,” she said. “You are a very kind man,” she told him with broken English.

Brad smiled back. “It’s nothing,” he said. “We need to help each other out.”

The old woman stared at him with a mysterious, kind of knowing, look. “And what can I do for you?” she asked.

“Oh… nothing, really,” said Brad. He looked over her shoulder at a city park where two girls were sitting on a bench.

The old woman continued her unwavering stare into his eyes. “I know what you desire,” she said.

Brad chuckled. At that moment, he was fantasizing himself as part of the bench the girls were sitting on. But he certainly wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Is that what you truly desire?” asked the women.

“Excuse me?” said Brad.

“What you are thinking,” said the woman.

“Oh, I’d be embarrassed if you knew what I was thinking,” said Brad, still chuckling.

“Is it what you truly desire?” asked the woman, again.

“Um… Yes… Sure,” said Brad, humoring the old woman. He didn’t believe in magic. And it would require magic to get him what he truly desired.

The old woman raised a fragile hand and held it in front of his face. She uttered something in words he didn’t understand– some kind of incantation. Brad felt a vibration flowing through his body.

“Is done,” said the woman.

“Excuse me?” said Brad. “Is what done?”

“What you desire,” said the woman, matter-of-factly, as if whatever she’d done was commonplace for her.

Brad looked again at the girls sitting on the bench. He glanced down at his body. She had not turned him into that bench with the two college coeds, one wearing tight blue jeans and the other a mini-skirt, sitting on his face and chest. He was still himself, Brad, with an active imagination.

“Okay… Well… Thank you,” he told her, politely. “Magic indeed,” he thought as the old woman hobbled away. He decided to get a closer look at the two girls seated on the bench. He casually strolled by them and glanced at the bench. If the old woman had somehow magically transformed him into the bench, the blonde girl in mini-skirt would have been sitting right on his face and the pretty brunette seated beside her would have had her tightened blue jeans butt planted on his chest or stomach.

“That was nice of you,” said the blonde girl

His mind shifted back to reality.

“Excuse me?”

“Helping that old woman,” said the blonde girl, smiling.

“Oh, that was nothing,” said Brad, shyly. He tried to think of something else to say, but the girls turned to each other and continued to converse, a signal that they really didn’t have anything more to say to him. Brad shrugged and walked away thinking of the irony of the incident. The blonde girl had expressed a quick appreciation of his simple act of kindness but then just as quickly closed the door on any further interaction with them. The girls were both beautiful with sexy bodies, but, thought Brad, kind of snooty and probably sorority types who exclude others to make themselves look more important. The irony of the situation was that if the old woman had truly transformed him into the bench they were sitting on, they would have shut him out of their lives as a person, but accepted him as merely something to sit on because that’s what he was there for. The difference between him and the bench was that the girls hadn’t ignored him –as a person–enough. He chuckled at the irony.

That evening, he had a terrible nightmare. He dreamt he’d had a stroke and was completely paralyzed. But unlike any stoke he was aware of, he was standing up. He was dressed in swimwear and had a great tan, but he couldn’t move. He was totally immobile, except for his eyes. He looked around and discovered other motionless people like himself. They looked as if they had been posing, their arms and legs positioned as to look natural. He also noticed he was surrounded by racks of clothing.

“What a weird dream,” he thought. “I need to wake up.”

He tried to move his arms and legs so that he could find himself back in his bed, the bed he’d laid down on the night before. But he couldn’t’ move. He couldn’t wake up. Terrified, he realized that he was indeed awake. A sexy dark haired woman strode into his line of sight. She looked to be in her thirties, very pretty, she wore a form-fitting green dress that hugged her hips and pressed tightly over the contour of her buttocks. She walked up to him and looked him straight in the eye, but it was like she didn’t really see him. Gentle hands straightened the collar of his colorful shirt. Then she proceeded to busily fold some jeans on a rack.

“What the hell!” thought Brad. “I’m a store mannequin! The old woman must have done this to him. She must have magically transformed him into a mannequin. He wondered why. Why would she have turned him into a store mannequin? If she had actually read his mind yesterday and asked him what he wanted, she would have turned him into the bench those girls were sitting on… but a store mannequin?

He gazed about and realized he was in a small clothing shop. It was early morning and there didn’t appear to be any customers in the shop yet. The bells on the front entrance rang and a beautiful blonde woman entered the store. Apparently, the woman and the shopkeeper knew each other.

“Melissa,” said the shopkeeper. “Good morning. It’s kind of early for you, isn’t it.”

“Good morning, Marsha,” said the blonde woman. “I wanted to get here early before anyone else comes in.”

“You aren’t going to rob me, are you,” said Marsha, chuckling.

“No, no,” said the blonde Melissa. “If anyone is a robber, it’s you, with these prices.” The women laughed.

“Were you looking for something specific?” asked Marsha.

“Actually… yes… I am looking for something special,” replied Melissa. “I’m not looking for clothing this morning…well maybe… but what I’d really like to buy is one of your male mannequins.”

“You want to buy a mannequin?” asked Melissa, quizzically. “What on Earth for?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Melissa.

“Hmm,” said Marsha, the store owner. “So you want one that is really special.” She led Melissa up to where Brad was standing. Marsha said, “Late last night, when I was about to close, an old woman brought this one into the store. She had it dressed in pajamas. The strange old woman said she needed the money and wanted to sell her mannequin to me. Can you imagine that… an old woman dragging a mannequin dressed in pajamas! She said it was a very special mannequin. Well… anyway… I felt sorry for her. I bought the mannequin. Anyway… when I was dressing it I was shocked to discover what she meant by very special.”

“What do you mean?” asked Melissa.

Melissa grinned and placed a gentle hand over his cock and balls. “He’s anatomically correct.”

Are you serious!” exclaimed Melissa. “May I..? She reached for his crotch and placed her hand over his cock. Much to Brad’s surprise. His cock responded to her touch and began to push the swim trunks outwards. Melissa recoiled in shock and gasped.

“Oh!” Then after recovering, she said, “I get it. This is a joke. Shame on you, Marsha. Okay,” she said, tugging at his arm. “You can stop acting now. I know you’re a real man.”

“But he’s not,” said Marsha. “He’s not a real man… He’s a mannequin. He’s not alive.” Melissa poked at his artificial skin. “Oh my goodness!” she said. “He… is… a mannequin. But there seems to be one part of him that’s alive.” She grabbed his manhood again and squeezed. Brad could feel her tight grip on his package. He wanted to yell, but his frozen mouth wouldn’t move.

“He’s perfect for what I need,” said Melissa.

“And what might that be?” asked Marsha.

“Melissa grinned. “Sit on him.”

“You want to buy the mannequin so you can sit on him?” said Marsha.

“Yes,” replied Melissa. “You know about my video production studio, right.”

“Oh, yes. I know,” said Marsha. “You make video clips of women sitting on men’s faces. I’ve seen them. I’ve even considered being in one of your videos and sitting on one myself.”

“You can bring your butt over,” said Melissa, and sit on a face anytime you want, Marsha.”

“But what does all this have to do with my mannequin?”

“Practice,” said Melissa. “I’ve been trying to recruit some girls from the college to act in my videos, but they all seem to be so shy about sitting on a man’s face. I thought If I had a male mannequin, they could see what it feels like to sit on a man’s face.” She poked at his body some more. “Do you think I’d break him?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think I’d break him if I sat on his face?…with all my weight on him?”

“I don’t know,” said Marsha. “I don’t think so… Let’s find out.” She had a firm grip on his head and pulled at it. “The head comes off,” she told Melissa. Brad felt his head separate from his torso. He stared up at her from his pulled off head as she carried it to a chair and set it down face up. The two women stood next to the chair, towering above him, Marsha, in her green dress, and Melissa, wearing a white mini-skirt. They had no idea he was alive and could see right up Marsha’s dress and Melissa’s mini-skirt. He felt a warmth in his cock, even though it stood separated from his head and a good twenty feet away.

“I’m going to sit on his face,” said Melissa.

“You break him, you buy him,” said Marsha, laughing.

“He needs a name,” said Melissa. “How about… Brad.”

“Why Brad?” asked Marsha.

“I don’t know,” said Melissa. “It just popped into my head.” She turned and, smoothing the skirt material into her butt, began to sit down. “Okay… Brad…” She said to him. “I’m going to sit on your face.” Melissa sat down gently on his face, at first, and then allowed her whole weight to come down on his face. She sat a few moments and then got up. “Did I break him?” she asked.

“Uh-uh,” said Marsha.

“Good,” said Melissa, her rounded butt, again, descending to his face. Even though he was, apparently, a mannequin, he could feel Melissa’s weight crush his head into the chair. His face was buried beneath the twin globes of her butt, separated only by thin skirt material.

“This is what the men like,” she told Marsha. “They like it when the girls sit on a man’s face with their skirt over his head… like this…” She arose from his face, flipped the back of her skirt over his head, and sat down again— this time displaying satin white panties covering her butt as it connected with his upturned face.

“This will be perfect,” she told Marsha. “Some girls won’t sit on a real man’s face, but they would probably sit on a mannequin, like Brad here.”

Surrounded by the heavy darkness beneath Melissa’s butt, Brad heard Marsha say, “ Let me try… Let me sit on him.”

Melissa arose from his face and placed a hand on his head. “I guess I didn’t break you,” she told him, chuckling. “Now you just be still,” she said, patting his cheek. “Marsha wants to sit on your head… don’t worry… she won’t break you.”

“I might,” said Marsha, looking down at him with curious eyes and a grin.

“Oh, my!” thought Brad. “I just got my face sat on by a woman, and now another one is going to sit on me.” He felt his crotch began to warm from across the room, where the rest of his body lay.

“Poor Brad,” said Marsha. “I weight one thirty and you have to let me sit my butt and all my weight on your face.” She turned and directed her hips and butt into an arc that stopped a little above his face. Then Marsha let gravity connect her rounded butt with his face. Brad could feel all of her weight crushing his face and the back of his head into the chair. “How do you like me sitting on your face, Brad?” she asked, knowing that he couldn’t respond. He was an object, a mannequin. Marsha wasn’t a bit worried about squashing him.

“Oh, Melissa,” said Marsha. “If I sat on a real man’s face like this, I’d hurt him.”

“Some men like it,” said Melissa. “They like getting sat on by women.”

“Really?” said Marsha, incredulously. “And… they don’t care if you hurt, um?”

“I guess not,” said Melissa. “One of my models sat on one of my slave’s face and broke his nose. He just drove himself to the hospital and got it fixed… He came back for more later. You know how dumb men are.” The two women laughed.

“Yeah, they are,” said Marsha. She crossed her nylon thighs and continued to sit on Brad’s face– completely oblivious to the pain she was causing him. “I don’t know If I could do it… I mean… sit on a man’s face like this, with all my weight on him. “I like the feeling, though. The feeling of his face under my butt. But he’s only a mannequin. If I break him… well… there’s always superglue.”

“Well… When you feel like sitting on a man’s face– I mean a live one– let me know, Marsha.”

“I will,” said Marsha, lifting her butt from Brad’s face. He was both relieved and disappointed when Marsha got up off his face.

“Well,” said Melissa. “I think that the rest of your body must be missing you.” She took a hold of his head and Brad felt his head being carried back to his torso. Melissa connected his head to his torso and picked him up. It seemed easy for Melissa to pick him up because he didn’t have his former weight. He was hollow inside.

“Bye, Brad,” said Marsha, as Melissa carried him to the door. “I hope you get lots of butts on top of you.”

“This is incredible!” thought Brad, as Melissa laid him down on the back seat of her car. “I’m being taken home with Melissa so some college girls can sit on me!”

Melissa drove to her house and carried him downstairs to the basement, where she had built a studio. There was what looked to Brad like a hi-def camera mounted on a tripod and some hi-density lights. Against one wall was an editing machine. Her basement studio also had a rack of various kinds of clothing: skirts, jeans, shorts, and black spandex slacks. There were also a couple of chairs and a couch. Melissa laid him down on the couch. He watched her lovely legs and skirt sway as her high heels clumped back up the stairs.

All he could do was lay there like the dummy he was. He lay there on the couch for what seemed like hours in anticipation of Melissa coming back and sitting on him. It was spooky. She had turned the basement lights off, and he could only stare at the ceiling, imagining what was to happen next.

Finally, the basement lights came back on and he heard Melissa talking to someone.

“It’s really not that hard,” Jenna,” she said. Brad shifted his eyes to the top of the basement stairs. He saw Melissa directing a girl down the basement stairs. The girl was his age, shoulder length blonde hair, a white blouse pushed out by perky breasts, and a plaid mini-skirt which revealed half of her lovely tanned thighs. Melissa showed him the couch where Brad lay.

“So,” said the girl. “Do you want me to sit on your mannequin?”

“Yes,” said Melissa. “Just sit down on him.”

The girl gazed down at him, amused. “Won’t I break him?”

“Oh, no,” said Melissa. “He’s actually quite comfortable to sit on… and his name is Brad.”

The girl chuckled. “Okay… well… Brad… I hope you don’t mind if I sit on you.” She turned and sat down on his chest. He felt her buttocks spread out across his chest and her weight upon him. “Like this?” she said and crossed her legs. The thigh that lay over the other one was nearly touching his chin. He felt his cock began to extend, but he managed to control it.

“Yes,” said Melissa. “Just like that”

“That’s easy,” said the girl.

“Now,” said Melissa, “sit on his face.”

“Want me to sit on his face?” said the girl, chucking. “Are you sure I won’t break him?”

“Oh, no,” Melissa reassured her. “I sat on his face myself, and I’m a little heavier than you.”

“Well,” said the girl, hesitantly. “I guess… since you’re only a mannequin, Brad, I’ll sit on your face.” She uncrossed her legs and lifted her butt off his chest. Her plaid skirt hung seductively over his face a moment, and he gazed at her pink panty-covered butt, then she lowered it to his face, engulfing it as she allowed her weight to settle down. The couch beneath him groaned a little from the added weight. Brad loved the ease at which the girl had sat on his face, because, to her, he wasn’t a person. She crossed those smooth, tanned thighs as she sat heavily upon him. He was able to peer beneath the raised thigh to where it met with her bent knee, the inner lining of her plaid skirt draped over them.

“I like sitting on your face, Brad,” said the girl. “I hope you know that if you were a real person I wouldn’t be sitting on you like this.”

“Why not?” asked Melissa.

“I’d hurt him for one thing,” said the girl. “And I’d be embarrassed… I’m not in the habit of letting a man look up my skirt—even though I’m wearing panties.” Brad loved it that she was so nonchalantly sitting on his face while at the same time expressing a reluctance to sit on a live man’s face. To her, he was an object without feelings. She had no idea how much discomfort she was causing him with her weight, nor did it enter her mind that her skirt was over his head, mashing his face into her panty-covered butt.

“Besides,” continued the girl. “I sat on your mannequin because he’s not alive. I don’t’ think a live man would want my butt on his face.” She raised up off his face, smoothed her skirt into her butt, and looked down at Brad. “You don’t care if I sit on you, do you.” Of course, she didn’t expect an answer from him, so she answered for him. “ I didn’t think so.” She let go of the gathered skirt material and let it fly over his head as she sat back down on him. She wiggled her butt a little, getting comfortable on his face, and crossed her legs again.

“I’m disappointed,” said Melissa. “I was hoping you would act in one of my videos. I want to do a human couch video.”

“What would I do?” asked the girl. “Would I just come in and sit on his face? Like he’s a chair or something?”

“That’s about it,” said Melissa. “The scenario is he’s your slave and you use him as a couch or chair cushion and sit on him.”

“And you don’t think I’d hurt him?” asked the girl. She demonstrated by bouncing a couple times on Brad’s face.”

Melissa started to answer when the sound of a loud buzzer interrupted her.

“Someone’s upstairs, at the front door,” said Melissa. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

The girl continued to unknowingly torture his face sitting on it. Brad heard Melissa clump up the basement stairs. After a minute or so, the girl got up from his face. She found a stack of magazines, selected one, and then came back to the couch where Brad lay. She stood next to the couch, leafing through the magazine. Suddenly, she glanced down at him, an unconcerned girl-to-seat glance that only an inanimate object could see. Her legs were together, forming a V of tanned thighs leading to her rounded butt, and sat down full on his face. He heard her leafing through the magazine as she sat on him.

After a while, he heard the familiar heels on stairs clumping as Melissa came back down to the basement.

“Oh, now that’s just great,” Melissa said, frustrated. “The man who was going to act as a human seat in my next video just canceled out. Now I have to find a man to sit on as well as a girl to sit on him.”

“I’m sorry,” said the girl in a sweet voice. “I… could… use the money for tuition… I guess I could sit on someone if you can find another one of your… um… slaves.”

Brad felt an additional weight on his chest and stomach. Melissa had sat on him alongside the girl.

“Do you know of anyone?” asked Melissa.

“Hmmm,” said the girl. “I don’t know of anyone who would let me sit on his face like this.” She crossed her legs, again. Brad laughed inside his motionless head. “Me! Me!” he said to himself. “You can sit on me, as you already are– if you only knew.”

“How would it be possible?” asked the girl. “How would it be possible to use a man like a piece of furniture and… just… sit on him? I mean… He would suffocate if I sat on his face. I’ve been sitting on this mannequin’s face for quite a while. But I don’t have to worry about,” she hesitated, “Killing him! The mannequin doesn’t need to breathe.”

It was true, thought Brad. Being a mannequin, he did not need air. He could enjoy getting sat on for as long as a girl wanted–but the weight on him was uncomfortable.

“Oh… No,” Melissa reassured her. “You don’t sit on a slave for very long–at least not on his face.”

“Hmmm,” said the girl, considering Melissa’s offer. “I suppose I could try to find someone to sit on.”

“That would be great,” said Melissa. Melissa and the girl arose from his face and chest. Brad could only lay there as they went back upstairs. He wondered what was going to happen next. It didn’t take long for him to find out. He felt his body whirling and he found himself back in his bed. He raised his arm and leg. He was his old self. He wasn’t a mannequin, anymore.

“What the Hell!” he said aloud. “Was that a dream? It hadn’t felt like one of those crazy dreams. It felt like the mysterious experience had really happened. Suddenly, it dawned on him that he was dressed in the swimwear from Marsha’s clothing shop. It also felt as if someone had placed a heavy weight on his face and chest.

Publisher note: The Part 2 can be found here

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