Hime Lolita Doll Dress-Up, Starring Terry Tiny Terry chapter 3 by KoroKoroAi

"…play DRESS-UP!"

The words, delivered with the force of a happy hurricane, sent a shudder of pure, cold dread through Terry’s tiny frame. Not again. Anything but this.

“Hazel, no,” he said, trying to muster a tone of firm authority. “I have reading for my Intro to Psych class. And - and I told Tina I’d call her, I'm sorry Hazel, but-”

Hazel’s delighted expression didn’t falter for a second. She just giggled, a sound like tinkling bells from his perspective, if the bells were the size of cathedral gongs. “You can do all that later, silly! This is sister-brother bonding time!”

So much for his firm authority. Her massive, perfectly manicured fingers descended. They didn’t grab him roughly, but with a terrifying, inevitable gentleness. They plucked him from the vanity’s surface as easily as she might pick up a fallen earring. He dangled in the air, kicking his legs uselessly.

“First,” she sang, “we have to get you ready. You can’t wear those boring old boy clothes for what we have planned!”

“Wait, Hazel, don’t-!”

But he was powerless. Her other hand came up, and her fingernails pinched the hem of his simple cotton t-shirt. With a tiny rrrip, the shirt was gone, flicked away into the glittery void of her bedroom floor. His jeans were next. The button popped, the zipper screeched, and they were peeled from his legs like a banana skin. After just one horrifying moment he stood, completely exposed, shivering in the cool air of her room, cupped in the bowl of her palm.

He crossed his arms over his groin, face burning. He knew, logically, that to her he was not too much bigger than a pinkish speck. His anatomy was almost invisible to her, a bumpy suggestion. From her god’s-eye view, the difference between his form and Tina’s was negligible. He probably looked like a smooth, featureless doll. A girl doll. The thought was its own special brand of humiliation.

“Aww, don’t be shy!” Hazel chirped, completely unabashed. “You’re so little, it’s not like I can see anything anyway. You’re just my cute little nakey-bean!”

She carried him across the room, her strides making the world lurch. She knelt before a large, pastel-pink trunk that sat at the foot of her canopy bed. To Terry, it was a warehouse. She flipped the latches with a CLACK-CLACK and heaved the lid open.

Inside was a treasure trove of fabrics, laces, and ribbons, scaled for all sizes of things, from fashion dolls to, apparently, tiny captive brothers. Hazel’s eyes lit up with a fervor that bordered on obsessive.

“Okay, so today,” she began, her voice taking on the lecturing tone she used when she was deeply invested, “we are going for a very specific aesthetic. We’re doing hime lolita. That’s ‘princess’ lolita. It’s all about elegance, luxury, and looking like a royal porcelain doll! Not to be confused with gothic lolita, which is darker, or sweet lolita, which is more about cakes and fruits, though there can be some overlap, of course, because the substyles aren’t monolithic, but-”

Terry tuned out. He’d heard these dissertations before. He stared despondently at the cavernous trunk as she rummaged, her fingers moving aside gigantic satin gloves and puffy slips.

“-and the silhouette is key,” she was saying, pulling out a small sachet of folded white fabric. “It starts with the blouse! See? This has Peter Pan collar and lace trim. Very classic.” She laid it beside him.

Next came a pair of pale pink tights, which she dangled before him. “These are for the leggings! To keep your little legs warm and cute.” Then, with a flourish, she produced the centerpiece. “Oh, and THIS is the jumperskirt! I got it just for you!”

It was a dress. An hourglass-shaped, complicated confection of pink and white satin. It had a fitted bodice, a wide, bell-shaped skirt that would puff out dramatically, and was adorned with ribbons, lace, and tiny, faux-pearl buttons. To Terry, it looked like a pastel circus tent. He couldn’t believe they made these in his size. No - not his size, just - a doll his size. Or Tina. Tina should be putting these on, not-

“The shoes are these Mary Janes,” she said, placing two glossy, patent-leather blocks the size of cars next to the dress. “And of course, accessories!” A hairbow the size of a mattress, a lace choker, and a tiny purse followed. “Look how teeny-tiny they are!”

Finally, she pulled out something that made Terry’s blood run cold. It was a face. A smooth, porcelain-white mask with painted-on features: large, blue, empty eyes, a small pink mouth, and a blush on the cheeks. It even had a wig, featuring a shiny pink hime haircut and a bow. It was a kigurumi mask, designed to turn tiny person into a perfect, permanently smiling mannequin.

“This,” Hazel breathed, her voice full of awe, “is the center of it all. For the full doll effect.”

“Hazel, please,” Terry begged, his voice quivering. “Please not the mask. Not… not all of it.”

“Oh, hush! You’re going to be beautiful,” she said, and there was no malice in it, only an absolute certainty. “Now, let’s get you dressed!”

The process was a slow, methodical annihilation. She was surprisingly deft with her giant finger, though she had to use her fingernails for the fine adjustments. The blouse was slipped over his head, his arms guided through the sleeves. The fabric was stifling. The pink tights were a nightmare of entanglement, stretched and pulled up his legs until they were skin-tight. Then came the dress.

She laid him on his bare stomach in front of the skirt and began to maneuver him into it. He was stuffed into the bodice, which hugged his torso tightly. The waistband of the skirt was tight, anchoring him. She did up the tiny back buttons with painstaking care, her breath washing over him in warm, candy-scented gusts as she focused hard on getting it all perfect. The bust of the dress was an empty basket cinched in front of him - but Hazel planned for this too. She slipped small silicone breast forms under the neck of the dress, sliding them over his chest. They fit perfectly.

Next were the shoes. She slipped them onto his feet. They were hard and unyielding. Then the choker was fastened around his neck, a constant, gentle pressure.

Finally, she picked up the mask.

“No, Hazel, don’t—” he struggled, but she simply pinched his shoulders gently, holding him still.

“Just hold still, Terry-Berry. It’ll be perfect.”

The world went dark, then was replaced by a tunnel vision of two blue painted eyes, with a grid of holes he struggled to see out of. The mask was forced over his head. It was snug, muffling his hearing and his protests. His own face was now gone, replaced by this softly smiling, girlish visage. The final piece of his malehood was locked away.

He was lifted into the air again and carried, a stiff, frilly prisoner, back to the vanity. He was set down carefully before the gigantic mirror.

“Okay,” Hazel whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. “Ready… and… look!”

She stepped back.

Terry looked.

He saw her fantasy staring back.

In the mirror stood a perfect, tiny lolita doll. Flawlessly dressed in coordinated pink and white, from the glossy Mary Janes to the enormous bow in his mask’s wig. The skirt was a magnificent bell of satin. The lace was pristine. The mask’s face was sweet, innocent, and empty in its blank smile. The girl staring back at him was Hazel’s beautiful object. Hazel’s treasured plaything.

But it was him. It was Terry.

“OHMYGOSH!” Hazel’s squeal was so high-pitched it felt like a physical vibration. She clapped her hands together, the concussion of air nearly knocking him over. “TERRY! YOU LOOK… YOU LOOK… (≧◡≦) ♡ SO! KAWAII! SO! MOE! I CAN’T EVEN! YOU’RE THE MOST ADORABLE THING I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!”

She leaned in, her gigantic, teary face filling his entire world. “You’re my perfect little princess doll! My living dress-up dolly! I just want to squish you and keep you in my pocket forever and marry you!”

Her joy was a tangible force, a radiant, oppressive heat. It filled the room, it pressed against his mask. Her quickened breath seeped into the tight dress and mask, fogging and steaming his whole body. It was so pure, so complete in its adoration for the image he now embodied.

He hated it. But…

...A treacherous, horrifying part of him… A small part of him, in the small and dark corner of his mind… Reacted.

He couldn’t name the feeling. The girl he saw in the mirror was gorgeous. She demanded attention. And here, in front of him, was attention of the most intense, focused kind. He was the center of Hazel’s universe. He was desired. Coveted. Precious. Worthy of Hazel’s overwhelming love. The doll was pretty. The doll was her fantasy. And he was-

NO.

He clenched his tiny hands inside the lace-trimmed sleeves. This was stupid. He had a girlfriend. He was going to college. He was not a doll. He was not a princess. He was not cute. He was a man, god damnit, a man with more important things to do than THIS!

But the dress was heavy. He knew what would happen if he tried to run. And his little sister’s ecstatic, loving coos and adoration were inescapable.

“I’m going to get my phone!” she declared, already bouncing towards her bed. “I need to take, like, a million pictures! Mom has GOT to see this! This is your best dress-up yet, Terry! Oh, but I’m definitely not showing Tina, she’d be way too jealous of how pretty you are!” She giggled.

Terry dropped to his knees before the mirror, a prisoner in a cage of pink satin. The tiny, frilly figure in the glass offered no answers, only a silent, perfect, and utterly damning reflection. He hung his head.

How much longer was Hazel going to keep this up?