I was an enchanted wooden, lifesized female doll who used magic to disguise myself as a human. I worked and lived in a city that seemed medieval both in technology and culture. I was sociable at my work, which was something like a bakery, but kept to myself otherwise and lived alone. As a doll, I didn't have emotions, but faking them came naturally to me. Eventually an accident caused a brief slip in my disguise. I thought maybe it wasn't noticed, but I was pressured by an acquaintance to attend a slave auction, where I was apprehended, stripped, my disguise removed, and put up for auction myself. Nonhuman intelligences in this world were feared and hated, and required to be either enslaved or destroyed. People who had known and been friendly to me formerly now jeered at me. Some rich man bought me and the human women I was displayed with, as sex slaves. We were bound in a way that seemed more related to his desire to see us so than to prevent escape, and began a long journey to his city of origin. He inserted a crude dildo, plugged at the end, in what passed for my vagina and instructed me to keep it there as we walked, which wasn't difficult given that it wasn't lubricated. He was experienced with women, and seemed to expect that I would be aroused by him or my situation. Of course I wasn't, and I wasn't able to pretend to be, only managing formal and detached politeness and obedience. On our stops he groped, fondled, and teased the other women; he mostly ignored me, except to try teasing me the same way. I understood that I wasn't able to respond in the way he desired, and wondered why he had bought me, given that he knew I was made of wood, felt nothing, and likely wasn't pleasant to fuck; I thought his dick might get splinters if he tried to penetrate me. I thought that once he realized this completely, he would destroy me. I had no real thoughts of escaping. I had tried to live my life independently, but without feelings, it hadn't meant anything to myself, and it obviously hadn't meant anything to others in my life, so I didn't see a reason to avoid what was coming. What I was doing now seemed the same as what I had done before: pointless effort and pointless acting that would be unappreciated and result in my destruction all the same. I sometimes compared the women's situation to mine. They were upset about their fates, but were somewhat aroused and would try to make the best of their circumstances, which would entail denying their past suffering and any hope for a different life. Was that the same pointlessness I faced, or was it better if they could come to be satisfied eventually?
Starting to think too much, I woke up.