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It’s evening by the time you find yourself at the door of what has now permanently become Ken’s mojo dojo casa house. Barbie hadn’t wanted to keep it, electing to move on with her existence in the real world. Ken hadn’t had the wherewithal to do the same. He remained in this plastic oasis, still coming to terms with being ‘just Ken’. He wasn’t progressing anything that had happened to him. There are still too many patriarchal ideas knocking around in that blond head of his, which is where you come in.
The other Barbies had been nervous about letting you go alone to confront him, but you had reassured them that you would be able to handle the situation just fine. Ken wouldn’t be a problem. He just needed a firm hand.
You press the large, heart shaped button serving as the doorbell. The chime echoes easily through the open concept home. Almost immediately, you hear the noises of objects being tossed aside as Ken hurries to answer the door. He swings the door open with such energy that you have to take a step back to avoid being hit with the saloon door. He stands in the doorway, arm slung over the plastic.
“Hey.” He squints at you, clearly confused as to why you’re not his ex-girlfriend.
You take in his disheveled appearance. It’s late and Ken has stripped off all the extra accessories that he piles on each time he leaves the house for the day. He’s just in his pants with the lightning bolts down the side. There’s not a watch or headband in sight. He looks softer like this, more authentic.
“Hi, Ken. I’m here to help you,” you tell him before going on the offensive and putting a hand on his bare chest. Despite himself, his eyes flutter closed at your touch and he shudders. Your other hand is occupied with holding onto your overflowing bag.
“H-help me with what?” When he speaks, it sounds as though he’s struggling to form thoughts, much less sentences. You’ve already overwhelmed him and you haven’t even gotten him upstairs yet.
“Being a better member of Barbieland,” you respond, trailing your hand down his chest before pulling it away. Depriving him. He nearly pitches over forward to chase after the contact. He’s even more needy than you had expected.
He barely collects himself enough to scramble for the macho persona he’s developed to make up for his insecurities. He can’t quite put on the indifferent mask, not when he’s looking at you with such wide eyes. He stands aside though, allowing you to pass by him into the spacious home.
“What do you mean by a… better member?”
“I’ve heard that you haven’t been a very good Ken lately, a lot of dolls are upset with what you’ve been getting up to.”
He frowns at your chiding words and looks away. There’s shame in the movement and you almost think he might apologize, making the lesson you came here to teach obsolete. The horse decor is so overwhelming that you reach out and gently cup his chin to get him to look at you. He’s a more pleasant sight than the 72’ inch screen of the same horse video looping over and over again. You ignore the tapestry fluttering in the corner over his shoulder.
The blond doll is trying to put on an indifferent face and failing miserably. “It’s impossible to do anything right. I can’t even get an appliance that has freezer space. ”
Your face softens. “I know. I can help you learn.”
“There’s nothing for me to learn. I learned everything I needed to know in Century City.” He pauses, taking in the hand still under his chin. He straightens up and pulls you into his muscular arms. You fight back surprise as he swings you into a low dip. “For instance, I learned what to do when someone pretty comes to your house in the middle of the night…”
He purses his lips and leans down to plant a kiss on you. You slap him across the face, hard. “Bad dog!”
Ken recoils, nearly dropping you as he reels back. He lets you drag yourself back into an upright position by using his shoulder for support. You shove his clinging arms away.
“I didn’t give you permission,” you say. Your tone is cold.
His eyes flit away from you. He’s holding onto his cheek with one broad hand. “Men don’t need permission.”
“Ken, you’re going to learn that they do.”
That gets a sarcastic laugh out of him. It’s unbearably obnoxious and part of you wants to strike him across the face again. You manage to hold yourself back by reassuring yourself that he’s about to get what he deserves.
“Prove it,” he says to you. He’s way too cocky.
He wilts a little under your unimpressed gaze. Even now, Ken is in desperate need of approval. That desire is what had gotten him into trouble in the real world. You suppose the fault doesn’t rest solely upon his shoulders when you consider that he had been treated like a second rate citizen, an accessory , for who knows how long.
You catch him by the arm. He brightens up at the meager contact. He follows willingly as you make the trek to the third floor. The bedroom is equally a decorative disaster to the ground floor, but you’re not here to make too many judgements about his interior design choices. You separate from him to put your bag down on the horse themed bedspread before pulling out the first of the many items you will be using for Ken’s lesson. You turn to face him. He stands slightly off to the side near one of the support pillars. The pose he’s striking seems to be one that’s attempting to portray an aura of confidence, but it doesn’t seem to be working out for him. He seems wrong-footed and uncertain.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
He rolls his eyes at your demand but listens. The innate desire to obey is still in him. Tonight, your job will be to remind him that it exists. You feel like everything is going to plan while you calmly observe him settle in and look up at you expectantly from halfway across the room.
It’s time to move to the next stage. Thinking quickly, you pull his faux fur coat off the bed and spread it out onto the floor at your feet. “Come here.”
There’s a long moment where you think his pride will be too much, that he will refuse to listen to you, but he submits to your instruction once again. He does exactly what you meant for him to do. Instead of rising to his feet, he crawls across the floor to you. He pauses once he’s squarely on his coat. There’s a defiant look on his face that tries to inform you that he’s playing along just for now.
You kneel and fasten the collar that you’ve been holding in your hands around his neck. It fits snugly with just enough room to squeeze a couple fingers in between the bright pink material and his skin. There’s no tag on the collar. He hasn’t yet earned one. While he waits, you quickly pull out another object. After a quick adjustment, it’s ready.
“Take those off,” you order, gesturing to his pants, “and put this on.” you finish, throwing the mess of faux leather straps that you’ve been holding at him.
Ken picks up and turns it over in his broad hands, trying to decipher what it is. You don’t provide assistance. You’ve unclipped the arm restraints and tossed them onto the bed next to the bag. You’ll need them later. Ken isn’t quite at the point where you need that much control over him.
“This looks like something they had at that dance party place,” he mumbles to himself. You struggle to not raise your eyebrows. Just what had he gotten up to while in the real world?
His own words seem to assist him in connecting the dots because he flashes you a smirk. He launches into action. Almost as if he’s thinking this is some macho Century City display, he tries to sensually strip for you. He does an unnecessary amount of flexing and posturing while he pulls off his pants and clumsily tightens the straps around his waist and thighs. Once he’s sure everything is in place, he settles back on all fours. He’s fully naked now aside from the harness he’s wearing. The pink straps of the harness, made complete by the pink bows settled precisely on his asscheeks, are obvious against his tanned skin. He’s waiting rather impatiently for you to make the next move, but something else seems to register in his mind.
“Well? Why am I the only one exposed like this?” He asks, brow furrowed.
“It’s part of your lesson. Remember how you made the Barbies wear demeaning outfits?” You explain, trying to keep the condescension out of your tone. You would not be removing so much as your shoes during the duration of the lesson. He had done nothing to earn an eyeful of your skin. No visuals and no touching. Bad pets don't get the privilege.
He doesn’t respond, mulling over your words. You step onto the coat and offer him a pecan as a treat after pulling it from your pocket. His eyes light up at the sight of one of his favorite snacks and he eagerly takes it right from your hand. Good behavior gets rewarded. You decide to be magnanimous and offer him another scrap of affection. You pet him, running a firm hand over his head and down his back. He shivers at the touch.
“Part of being a good dog is minding your manners. Do you think you’ve been doing that?”
“You’re the one who is supposed to be listening to me, you know.” He’s smug in his wrongness.
That’s enough of a signal to you that the lesson needs to proceed. You slick your fingers liberally with the lube that you pulled from the bag during the time it took him to spew more patriarchal nonsense at you. You move into position behind him, crouching slightly to get better access. He turns to look at you curiously.
“Look straight ahead,” you correct.
He grumbles and you’re sure that he rolls his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I told you to do it. A good dog listens to his owner.”
“That’s not good enough of a reason.” He’s whiny, petulant.
You grab him by the hair and jerk his head into the position that you want. You’re thoroughly done with hearing him speak. “It’s about all the reason you gave the barbies when you decided to make Kendomland a reality.”
Ken stays silent after your rebuttal. His breathing is uneven, however, and you notice that he’s flushed. The back of his neck is all but glowing in the dim light. You decide that he’s ready. You transition your grip from his hair to his shoulder, hooking your fingers over the firm muscle. He won’t be able to go anywhere without purposely struggling. With your free hand, you nudge your way between his cheeks to circle his tight hole. He jerks at the unexpected touch and you feel him start to tremble in your hold as you slip a lubricated finger into him. You start pumping it inside of him, opening him up enough to introduce a second finger. He instinctively spreads wider for the intrusion. Perhaps he was made to be a different kind of doll.
By the time you’re scissoring your pointer and middle fingers in him to work up enough space for your ring finger, he’s a gasping, shaky mess. You cast a glance to check on his state and find him open mouthed and nearly drooling onto the faux fur coat underneath him, not even bothering to wipe his mouth. He’s trying to rock back against your hand, utterly smitten with the new sensation you’ve introduced him to. Abruptly, you withdraw your fingers. He whines, almost doglike, at the sudden emptiness.
“Good Ken, good.” He squirms at the praise. “You know that good boys get gifts and I have one to give you right now.”
You produce the butt plug you’ve brought with you and press it against his entrance. It slips in with no resistance, you had fucked him right open with your fingers. He makes a wounded noise and clenches around the new introduction.
“Oh Mattel! Oh Mattel !” He gasps, his arms are struggling to support him. He’s nearly face down on his coat while he fights to collect himself.
“Mattel can’t help you here.”
He tries to grab for his achingly hard erection. It has been left completely neglected during this entire lesson so far and it must have him at a breaking point. He can’t be allowed to give himself any relief, however. It would spoil the lesson. You slap him across the ass, avoiding the bow-adorned strap that crosses over the pliant flesh.
“That hurt,” he whines, the imprint of your hand blooming across his skin.
“Your actions hurt everyone in Barbieland,” you remind him.
“I was just trying to set things right,” he protests. His argument isn’t all that compelling given that he’s on his hands and knees with his asshole firmly plugged.
Letting out a sigh, you move to fully restrain him by putting the leather cuffs you had set aside earlier around his wrists. If he is going to try to touch himself without explicit permission, he needs to be bound. You guide his arms into place behind his back and clip them into place onto his harness. He’s fully restrained and completely at the mercy of whatever you decide to allow him.
Ken is trembling a little on spread knees. His body is curved into an uncomfortable arc while he sits back on his haunches. He’s a marble sculpture come to life, blinking and breathing, on the floor of his unfairly acquired residence. You know the unyielding butt plug must be digging into him in a way that feels pleasurable because his cock is standing at attention, glittery precum beading at the tip of his slit and shining like a diamond in the moonlight.
You leave him there, vulnerable and pent up, while you go to slip your own harness on. Unlike Ken’s, it’s not meant to restrict movement. You make the final adjustments to the straps and secure the dildo that you will be using for tonight’s session. It’s made of a crystal clear silicone, gradiented from purple to pink. His lips will look pretty wrapped around it.
Crossing the scant few feet between you and the waiting figure, you come to a stop in front of him. His gaze narrows in on the silicone cock sitting proudly against your clothed pelvis. It’s an easy thing to coax his mouth open. You simply press your thumb to the corner of his lips and he lets his jaw relax and opens up for you. Keeping his head steady with a hand fisted in his hair, you slowly push the dildo past his lips, sliding it over his tongue. You make him stretch forward so that he finds himself struggling to not choke himself on the silicone. You cannot make his lesson too easy, you’d be a bad trainer.
“Suck it,” you tell him, and he does.
His lips seal around the shaft and you’re glad that you can’t feel the inexperienced scrape of his teeth against it. You use your grip on his hair to drag him up and down the length of the dildo. Eventually he gets the hang of the motion and starts enthusiastically sucking you off. Your hand loosens in those blond strands and you merely watch him, letting him take control in this submissive capacity. He has no issues taking the silicone all the way to the base. His gag reflex is nonexistent. You praise Ken with small niceties when he makes a particularly effortful attempt. He receives a ‘good boy’ and a soft scratch of his scalp when he pulls all the way off and licks at the tip while sheepishly making eye contact with you.
Eventually, you do have to call it quits after he’s thoroughly acquainted himself with the dildo. You don’t want him too worn out before the main part of the training session gets underway. Sliding two fingers against his warm skin and the leather of the collar he’s wearing is enough to hold him in place as you slip out of his mouth. Strings of spit connect the tip of the silicone cock to his mouth. His lips are puffy and his eyes are a little glazed. He’s clearly used, maybe a little cock-drunk. He leans after the strap, nearly face planting onto the fabric underneath him in his eagerness to continue.
“Easy, Ken. Don’t get too excited.”
“I’m not excited,” he argues, voice rough. His body betrays him. He’s not slumped so far forward that you can’t see the way his erection twitches and shines with sparkling precum. He’s so wet and you haven’t even touched him.
“Of course not. Down.”
“Why? Haven’t I had enough?”
“Because your lesson isn’t over,” you explain patiently.
Ken hesitates, eyeing the coat. He lowers himself, chest first to the floor, hissing as his sensitive nipples receive the barest hint of stimulation. His face is all but rubbing into the faux fur. The position elevates his hips for easy access. You pull the butt plug from him and toss it onto the coat. It’s going to leave another wet spot. You get the dildo ready with lube. The rapidly drying saliva coating it isn’t going to provide enough slickness to penetrate him with.
He shifts uncomfortably while he waits for you to get prepared to breach him. Much to his obvious relief, he doesn’t have to wait too long before you’re taking his hips in hand and guiding him downwards onto the thick cock. He makes a sound like you’ve stricken him when you finally bottom out, your pelvis flush against his ass. He’s so tense against you that you take some pity on him and rub your thumb in soothing circles on his hip bone.
“Good dog. You’re taking it so well.”
The praise drags a shudder out of him but he relaxes. He can’t hide under layers of bravado and poorly understood misogyny gained from library books when he’s at your mercy like this. You set up a steady rhythm, punching noises out of him. He’s getting loud, too loud. If he doesn’t shut up he’s going to show the entirety of Barbieland how much of a slut he is. The Barbies were aware that you would be paying Ken a special visit tonight for some training, but you had neglected to inform them of what exactly that training would entail. Ken’s rehabilitation was taking a more intimate hand than they would have presumed and you would like to keep them in the dark about precisely what your method is. You needed to get him quiet.
Struck by a realization, you abruptly pull out, leaving Ken reeling and empty. You briskly dig the gag you had brought as an emergency measure out of the bag still resting on the bed. You should have known he would be as much of a loudmouth while getting fucked as he is in day to day life.
“Why did you stop? Are we gonna flip things around now?” He questions with a confused look on his face, sitting up slightly to watch what you’re doing. There’s no disguising the suggestive roll of his words. How he could still think he could end up on top at this point is a mystery. You have given him nothing to indicate that he would be at all dominant tonight.
He follows up his questions with another inquiry upon seeing the pink, silicone bone secured on its leather strap. “What’s that?”
“You’ll see,” you tell him, already trying to get it into position. Ken immediately sees where this is going. He doesn’t take it as easily as he’s taken everything else you’ve thrown at him tonight. He keeps his mouth tightly shut until you work a finger into the corner of it like you had earlier. He relents and allows you to slip the pink bone between his teeth and to buckle the strap around his head. Always desperate to please anyone who takes even a passing interest in him.
You trail a hand down his spine, grab his harness at the hip and guide yourself back into the tight heat of him. You resume thrusting into him like you had never left in the first place. It’s all he can do brace himself as best as he can while you fuck into him. He meets you thrust for thrust, chasing his own pleasure. You wonder if he will end up coming from this, untouched, glittery ropes splattering over his belly and over his coat. It would not surprise you.
Over the muffled and choked off gasps of the doll you’re playing with, you hear a scuffle and a sharp intake of breath. Your eyes scan the dreamhouse before you turn your searching gaze to the street below just to make direct eye contact with a horrified looking Allan. He’s staring comically wide-eyed at the scene unfolding in front of him. He hadn’t been a part of President Barbie’s meeting about tonight, and must have not heard from anyone to stay clear of the dreamhouse cul-de-sac. His face screams that he has seen too much. Mattel, if only he had been able to get out of Barbieland when he had had the chance.
He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak but thinks better of it, and to your own growing horror, he raises a hand and awkwardly waves to you. You weakly think that there are some occasions when neighborly courtesies can be skipped. To your own dismay, you take one of your own hands off Ken’s hip and wave back to Allan. You both wear matching grimaces. He breaks eye contact with a dazed shake of his head and recedes off into the darkness to do whatever it is he does at night. He must not be part of the Ken huddle if he’s wandering around near the dreamhouses this late. For his part, Ken is utterly oblivious during the exchange, too busy getting lost in forcing himself back onto your strap.
With a smothered shout, he finally cums, proving you right about falling over the brink completely untouched. He soaks the faux fur below him with an obscene amount of glittery semen. He shudders and clenches around the strap still seated in him. You fuck him through the aftershocks, wringing him dry. You think you can hear him sobbing around the gag from his face down position on the floor.
You slip free of his ass for the final time this evening and take off the strap-on harness in order to toss it onto the floor. It misses the coat. He doesn’t look at you when you kneel down at his side.
“Ken,” you say, voice soft. He jerks in acknowledgement but doesn’t turn. You reach over and undo the clips for the wrist restraints. He makes no effort to keep his arms from falling to his sides, leaden. You unbuckle the gag, working carefully to avoid snagging his hair in the process. Slipping a hand under his jaw to force his face off the coat, you pull the silicone bone from between his teeth. You tip his head towards you, but he refuses to make eye contact. His face is flushed and wet with tears and saliva. Despite yourself, you feel a small pang of sympathy at his state. It was deserved after the stunt he pulled, but he looks so fucked out and spent.
“Look at me.”
He does, obedient despite everything he’s been through. His blue eyes are teary and red-rimmed. His throat moves like he’s trying to speak but nothing comes out. Poor dog.
You grab hold of his arm, encouraging him to his feet. He stands unsteadily, almost swaying on his feet. While you undo his restraint system, you can’t help but notice that his coat is matted in wet patches. It won’t be coming clean, not with the glitter matting the fur. It’s just as well though, it was a symbol of Ken’s insecurities. You steer him the short distance to the bed after the pink straps of the harness fall at his feet. He sits down heavily on the edge of the mattress. You join him, getting comfortable before you guide him onto his side to let him rest his head on your lap. Remembering Ken’s earlier treat, you pull some pecans out of your pants pocket and offer them to him. He eats them right out of your hand.
“What did you learn?” You question, petting him while he chews.
“I think I like being a good dog. Will… will you visit again?” His voice falters, meek. He’s back to being the more docile version of himself that he was before the ill-fated trip to the real world, however, now he has enough experience to be more aware of his actions and the actions of others.
You continue petting him. “I suppose I could come by to pay my dog a visit if he keeps being a good boy.”