Damaged Doll (Broken Doll Series Book 2) Read online

  Righting himself, John once more slapped my cheek, “Whore,” he said as he walked away laughing.

  Shortly afterwards, he left the apartment.

  My only occupation that day was feeling the soft plastic of my asshole slowly contract back to normal and gagging on the powdery flecks of cum which floated down my throat.

  Hours? Days? Later the door to the apartment opened and John and another man walked in.

  “Fuck. Is that really Steve’s fuck doll?”

  “Hell yeah. Snatched it out of the man cave before that bitch Carol had a chance to find it.”

  “Jesus Christ, John. You are one sick fuck to want to fuck another dude’s fuck doll,” said the visitor as he accepted a beer from John.

  “Hell, you know how many drunk chick’s Steve and I passed between each other in college? How is this any different” asked John as he shrugged.

  The visitor tugged on the dildo jammed into my mouth.

  “Damn, you really shoved this thing in deep.”

  “That’s how she likes it,” quipped John.

  I felt something hard along my hip before I was propelled forward. Somersaulting head over heels, I landed in a heap on the filthy floor.

  “Damn, you just literally kicked the bitch out of bed! Don’t you think she looks kind of creepy with no hair?”

  I could see him step over me as if I were just a piece of garbage as he took a seat next to John on the sofa.

  “Yeah, but I’m not dealing with that bullshit, Max. Steve was such a pussy about it. Did you know he had different outfits and shit?”

  “Seriously? Like what?”

  “The usual. Catholic school girl. Latex. I think the sick fuck even dressed it up in one of Carol’s bras and panties once.”

  “Man, I miss that sick fuck.”

  “Me too.”

  “Erotic asphyxiation. Who would have thought, right?” mused Max.

  “Yeah. I thought if anything did him in it would be Carol,” John joked as he rose and walked past my crumpled form to the small kitchen.

  An odd part of me was angered that the police had come to that conclusion. In some warped fucked up way, I wanted the credit for his murder. I wanted the world to know it was me, Jane—boring, invisible, probably-not-even-missed, Jane—who killed the bastard.

  A loud buzzer interrupted their conversation.

  “That’s the pizza. Max, you pay. I got the beer.”

  The visitor named Max, opened the door. I could only imagine how I looked to the teenage delivery boy. I wondered for a moment if he would think I was a real woman.

  Then I remembered my bald head. My skin still had tire and grease marks on my thighs and face. Although I had only caught a glimpse, I could not imagine any real woman being able to open her jaw wide enough to accept the dildo that was currently sticking out of my mouth.

  No. There was very little chance the delivery boy would think I was a real woman in need of rescue… because I was no longer real.

  As Max walked back toward the sofa, he called out to John in the kitchen.

  “I’ve got a great idea.”

  My momentary relief at being lifted off the dirty floor was short-lived.

  Max stretched me out on top of the coffee table. Because my ass did not have any soft give to the fake flesh, the prone position on such a hard surface caused my back to arch, pushing my chest up as if I were offering myself to them. My legs dangled over the side, open as if inviting them to fuck me.

  The pizza box was placed on my bare stomach. The comforting warmth quickly turned to searing heat. The greasy cardboard felt like a hot iron burning my flesh.

  John walked up. His only response was an approving nod to his head before handing Max a beer.

  Talking around the bite of pizza in his mouth, Max asked, “So what’s it like fucking it?”

  It.

  Would I ever get used to being an it?

  An object. A nothing.

  As I listened to John tell Max what it was like to fuck it—me—I tried to block out the throbbing burning pain radiating from my middle.

  After some time, the pizza cooled, and I was given a measure of relief.

  As the two men played video games, I tried to think back to my time with Steve. I may not know how I got here, but I do know how I started to crawl out of my hell… with anger. I remember nursing my bitter hatred toward Steve and my situation. I remember that was what finally enabled me to move… to save myself, in some small measure.

  My satisfaction over watching him die, over hoping that maybe, just maybe, if there was a god, he would wind up trapped in the same twisted afterlife had leached the anger from my body.

  I need to stop wondering why this happened.

  There is no why. There is no reason.

  Maybe I brought it on myself with my hatred of all those pretty, perfect girls.

  Maybe there was some fuck up in the universe, and I’m being punished for someone else’s sin.

  Maybe this is what the afterlife really is… a hellish existence inside the very materialistic objects we coveted in life.

  If I had to do if over again, would I think twice before cutting the head off that stuffed bear my ex-boyfriend gave me after learning he had cheated on me? Would I have cared more about the vase I accidentally knocked off the shelf and broke? Or tried to fix that broken stereo before just tossing it in the trash and ordering another one online?

  I don’t know.

  I needed to focus on what I did know.

  I knew that anger allowed me to move.

  White, blinding rage allowed me to move enough to commit murder.

  That is what I wanted now. If my fate was to be trapped inside this plastic prison, then at the very least I was going to see that others shared it.

  I wanted to be Jane the murderess, again.

  Five

  “Let’s do this!” called out Max before he tipped back his beer and swallowed the last few drops. “Which end do you want?”

  “Her ass. I’ve already fucked her mouth.”

  I don’t know if I can do this. I’m trying to find my anger, but all I feel is fear.

  The horrible pizza box is tossed off my stomach. John grabs me by my breasts to lift me high. It feels like my very own flesh is being torn from my body.

  Stop! Stop! Jesus, fuck! Stop!

  I’m positioned on my knees. The heavy weight of my now sore breasts pull against my unnaturally narrow ribcage, causing a pulsing ache.

  I can hear John undo his belt buckle.

  I hate that sound.

  “The best part about this is you don’t have to lube the whore up!”

  I can feel the blunt head of his cock press against my back entrance. I try with all my might to clench the hole, to protect it, but I don’t even have control over that small vulnerable part of my body. His damp cock scrapes against the dry plastic of my entrance. My body rocks forward as he tries to force it in deeper, but his damp flesh won’t slide into my smooth artificial hole.

  “Dammit. Hand me your beer.”

  John grabbed the bottle from Max’s hand and dumped the contents onto my lower back and then tipped me forward to pour it into my ass. The cold liquid was a shock. I could feel the carbonation inside me as it popped and fizzed.

  “Hey, I just opened that,” complained Max.

  “Get another from the fridge.”

  Once again, John placed his cock at my entrance. This time, he slid in easily. Straight to the hilt. It felt worse than the dildo. The pain was unbearable as my fated body stretched to accommodate his girth. In and out he thrust. His hips bumped against my ass as with each push in, he slid deeper and deeper.

  It hurts! Please. Don’t do this to me. I’m begging you!

  “Fuck, dude. You have to get a piece of this. It’s fucked up feeling the bubbles from the beer as I fuck her shit hole.”

  John pistoned faster and faster. His fingers dug into my hips for purchase as he tried to tear me in two with his cock.r />
  I could feel everything.

  The slap of his balls against my upper thighs. The ridge of the tip as it slid along my ass. How my hole stretched each time it reached the wide base of his cock only to contract when he pulled his hips out then to be forced open again on his next thrust.

  Stop! It’s too much! Stop!

  I was too lost in my own pain to notice Max until one jean-clad knee depressed the sofa cushion in front of me. I watched in horror as he reached for the dildo wedged in my mouth. The hard rubber shifted as he grasped the end. I felt a rising panic. To my deep and confused humiliation, I found myself not wanting him to remove it. At least with this wedged in my mouth, they couldn’t do anything else to me there. The things they did to my mouth were worse than my ass or pussy. I could see them violating my mouth, see the sadistic glint in their eye the moment before they forced my head all the way down on their cock. Force feeding their warm flesh down my cold throat.

  The dildo slid out of my throat with a disgusting pop. My lips stayed stretched painfully wide. Like before, I tried to will my body to move under my command, to close my mouth, but it stayed frozen, unresponsive.

  I tried to prepare myself for the coming horror of having both men’s cocks pushing themselves into me.

  “Fuck. Her mouth is disgusting. Is this dried jizz?” asked Max. His voice dark with annoyance.

  John didn’t answer. He continued to punish my ass. The beer had already dissipated and now every movement of his shaft burned and scraped my insides.

  I felt something close to hope. That maybe, just maybe, I would be saved from the humiliation of having Max’s cock pushed down my throat.

  His hands went to his zipper. Opening the flap, he pulled his semi-erect cock free.

  “You okay with me just pissing in her mouth?”

  “Fuck yeah,” groaned John.

  No!

  Helplessly, I watched as he fisted his cock and aimed it towards my still stretched open mouth. Stretched open as if I wanted… as if I were begging… for this degradation.

  I tried to scream as the first drop of salty hot piss hit my tongue.

  “Yes! Piss whore!” cried out John as he spanked my ass and increased the power of his thrusts.

  The sight of his friend pissing in my mouth spurred him to orgasm. I could feel his cock swell. Grabbing my hips, he pushed his pelvis against my ass and roared as his sticky cum coated my insides.

  Max was already zipping up his jeans when John gave me a shove, pushing me once more onto the floor.

  I lay there bent into a mock fetal position. Warm piss dripped from my open mouth as cum oozed out of my ass. I watched from the floor as they high-fived one another and walked into the kitchen to heat up the rest of the pizza.

  Six

  “You look beautiful tonight” murmured John. “The pink sweater really brings out the blue in your eyes. I thought dinner was great. I wasn’t sure I would like vegan food, but you were totally right. I didn’t even miss the meat. I have some wine, if you want.”

  His feet give a slight shuffle as he takes a few steps backwards and then faces forward toward the kitchen.

  He’s rambling. He sounds nervous, as if he’s not accustomed to having a woman in his apartment.

  The place is cleaner than I have seen it. Gone are the pizza boxes and the pyramid of empty beer bottles which once had a pride of position in the center of his small kitchen table. He even took down all the bikini posters and replaced them with typical art posters of Van Gogh’s Starry Night and Munch’s The Scream. They are tattered around the edges and creased. Probably because he had to fish them out of the back of a closet. The same with the strange Christmas blanket with the image of dogs singing carols which he turned inside out and spread over the sofa to hide the stains.

  Beer spills. Dorito cheese dust. Pizza grease and cum.

  Returning, he sets two wine glasses and a bottle of wine on the coffee table. The glasses have a dirty film on them, as if someone tried to wash them but then dried them with a dingy rag, leaving behind greasy streaks and bits of fuzz. The wine looks cheap.

  White wine.

  Red would have been classier for a date, more mature.

  The condensation from the overly chilled bottle drips down the curved surface to pool onto the scarred wooden surface.

  “I really think we have an amazing connection. I don’t want to rush you but I-I really could see myself entering into a committed relationship with you,” blurted out John as he fingered one of the glasses, trying to fill it. Even his voice sounded sweaty and agitated. It was too loud and brusque for the awkwardly still room.

  He was trying too hard.

  A beautiful pair of black suede stilettos shifted on the carpet. The long, sharp heels shifted till they almost slipped under the edge of the sofa… almost hitting me in the face.

  I wish I once more had the smallest amount of power over my limbs. I wonder what would happen if I reached out to grab that heel. Would she jump up in fright? Would John scramble to come up with some lame excuse as to why she felt a tug on her heel? I imagine her ignoring him and kneeling down to peer into the dark narrow depths under her seat.

  Would she scream when she saw the naked sex doll he had shoved under there?

  John had been worried if he put me in the closet, she may open it to put her coat away and find me. He didn’t want me in the bedroom either because he had every intention of getting “laid by a real bitch” tonight. He had briefly tried stashing me behind the shower curtain, but you could see my outline through the flimsy curtain.

  All day he dragged me about, shoving me in corners, covering me with coats. At one point he even tried to take off my limbs and shove me in a suitcase. I have a faint memory of dislocating my shoulder once. The pain felt like that except instead of jamming the shoulder back into the socket, someone had grabbed my arm and decided to twist it in a complete circle.

  If I still cared, I would have been alarmed at how detached I was to it all. Here John was trying to decide whether it was worth the trouble to hide me or to just throw me out like the dirty and used sex toy I had become… and I didn’t give a fucking damn. I didn’t even care enough to wonder what would happen to me if he tossed me in the garbage. Would I be found by someone even sicker? Used some more? Perhaps I’d be dumped in a landfill to spend eternity suffocated by the smell of rotting fruit and rat shit. Did it really matter? It’s not like I had any control over my fate any more.

  The woman had stood and started to pace in front of the sofa, in front of John… and me.

  I tried to focus all my energy on just flinging my arm out.

  Just to fuck with her… just to fuck with him and to fuck up his fuck date plans.

  I laid in my dusty cage and imagined her reaction.

  Her anger and disgust.

  I wonder if she’d be just a little jealous of me? Of my bigger tits and narrower waist?

  “Listen, Jack.”

  “John,” he corrected.

  “Right, John. The thing is… I only agreed to go out on a date with you to shut my mother up.”

  “I get that, but we still hit it off, didn’t we?” needled John. “You can’t deny there is a chemistry here.”

  I watched John’s shoes take a step toward her and the black stilettos take two steps back.

  “You’re… nice… and everything; it’s just that you’re not my type.”

  She must be pretty, I thought. Only pretty girls got to say such things to guys. The rest of us had to stick it out for a few more dates and try to convince ourselves that a steady job and halfway decent looks made up for things like chemistry and passion.

  “Come on, Lacey. Give me a chance.”

  Of course, she would have a pretty girl name like Lacey. I bet she wore lace panties and thought it was funny.

  “I don’t think so. I’m sorry, Ja… John.”

  “So that’s it? I drop a hundred bucks on dinner and you’re just gonna waltz out of here with an I’m s
orry?”

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to fucking blow you, asshole. This is what I get for trying to be nice,” she tossed back as stiletto-heeled Lacey stormed toward the door.

  Would this be the moment he grabs her by the neck? Will he push pretty girl Lacey with the lace panties to her knees and shove his fingers into her mouth to pry open her jaw as he unbuckles his jeans? Will he slap her a few times just for fun like he does with me? Will he push his cock down her throat too as he shouts at her to swallow and like it?

  I hope that he does.

  I hope he fucks her mouth so hard her jaw cracks. I want to hear a woman’s scream. It has been so long since I had a voice. I want to hear it by proxy. The piercing jarring sound of a high-pitched scream of terror. Maybe she will struggle for a while before he silences her shouts with his cock. Maybe I will have a chance to hear her plead and beg him to stop. Maybe she will ask why over and over again.

  Just like I have silently done.

  Why should she get to go on with her pretty little life in her pretty shoes with her pretty lace panties while I’m trapped here in this plastic prison?

  I want to hear her scream.

  I want to hear her express all the pain and fear and anguish I’ve been forced to endure.

  I want my voice back!

  Then I want him to fuck her asshole as she crawls on the filthy floor, fighting to get away from him, from the humiliation. I want him to grab her by the throat like he does to me and squeeze. If I’m lucky, he will be so used to abusing me he won’t know his own strength and wind up actually killing pretty girl Lacey with the pretty lace panties.

  Maybe when she collapses, she will be facing me. Will her last moments, her very last vision, be of me? The dirty sex doll hidden under the sofa?

  Will I get to watch the light dull in her eyes as life drains away?

  She won’t be so pretty then will she? No, she’ll be a used-up corpse.

  Like me.

  My excited imagination was halted by the decisive slam of the door.