"Aaahh, you must be Emma..." The man's voice is just as I imagined it would sound, "I've always had a thing for petite girls, and you were the smallest one at the store."
I began to question if he knew I could hear him, or if he treated every doll he rented this way. I also began to wonder what his house would smell like. Then I realized that maybe it's best if I didn't have a sense of smell sometimes. The man lifted me out of my box, and brought me to his bedroom. Or rather, the doll-room. This room was obviously not where he slept. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted another doll, one as realistic as me, sitting in a chair in the corner. She was dressed in lolita, and looked like she hadn't been moved or used in months.
He laid me down on the frilly bed, and went over to a drawer. He grabbed a pair of translucent white thigh-highs with bows on the tops, an a matching pair of panties and bustier, which had its own garters. It took him about fifteen minutes to get me dressed up, and another fifteen to get me posed how he wanted. He grabbed a nearby camera I didn't see, and snapped a few pictures of me.
The rest of the day was spent with him dressing me up and posing me. Finally, he was done, and left me sitting in the room all alone. I could hear him masturbating, probably to my photos, in the next room over. The week went by, and he undressed me, and shipped me back.