Damned Doll: Broken Doll Series Book Three

by Blake, Zoe

  Curling up my legs, I sit in the center of the bed and lift the cloche lid. The scent of charred meat, oil and salt fills the room. Licking my lips, I take a moment to appreciate the massive burger and plate filled with fries. Lifting the burger up with two hands I take my first bite… and groan with pleasure.

  Juice drips down my chin as I savor the salty tang of the bacon, the creamy smoothness of the mayo and melted cheese combined with the earthy taste of the beef. If I had known that part of hell would include never being able to enjoy the simple pleasure of eating again, I never would have lost one day to dieting. When I think of all those days of deprivation, of surviving on celery sticks and cottage cheese, all so I could look like one of the pretty girls, I could scream.

  After taking a few more decadent bites, I slide Helen’s laptop over to me.

  Password protected. It figures.

  Rummaging through her bag, I find a wallet. The only photo is of a large gray cat. On the back in pen it says, Mr. Whiskers.

  Seriously, Helen? I ask as if she can hear me from somewhere deep inside this body. If this is all there is to your life, then I am the best thing to ever happen to it. I smirk.

  I type in MrWhiskers and her birth year from her license. The desktop screen appears.

  Opening up a search engine, I typed in Chicago Properties Limited.

  Scrolling through the slick website, I clicked on the employee directory.

  And find exactly what I was looking for.

  Yes. I was going to make him pay for betraying me.

  But first, I have a little unfinished business. I could only risk staying in the hotel for one night, but if all went according to plan, I would be enjoying the hospitality of one particular man again.

  Except this time, it would be on my terms.

  Not his.

  Three

  “Hello, there.”

  “Hi.”

  “So, what can I do to you—I mean—for you?”

  I cringe at the crass comment as I see his eyes slip up and down my body. So typical.

  “I just moved into the building and I saw you the other day… and well, I thought you might like to share a pizza with me.”

  I deliberately make my voice soft and breathless as I shyly look down at the pizza box I hold in my hand.

  He looks over his shoulder and hesitates.

  I wait.

  “Give me one second. Don’t go anywhere.”

  The door shuts in my face. I can hear the sound of moving furniture and a small scuffle before the door swings violently open.

  “Come on in, honey.”

  I give him another shy smile as I cross the threshold.

  “Nice place.”

  “Thanks. You want a beer?”

  I shudder. “Sure. Love one.”

  He hands me the cold bottle.

  My hand begins to shake. I can’t bring myself to raise the cold glass nozzle to my lips.

  I close my eyes against the horrid memory.

  My mouth was stretched around an empty beer bottle. He had shoved it in last night when he was finished fucking me. The neck of the bottle pressed down on my tongue, the rim pushing against the back of my throat. The muscles in my throat controlling my gag reflex had weakened and stilled hours ago. Now it was simply something I had to endure.

  I could only imagine what I looked like. Propped up on his sofa, as if it were a normal Sunday at my boyfriend’s, the word whore written across my forehead with a beer bottle thrust into my mouth.

  “Thanks,” I murmur before turning to hide the fact I didn’t take a sip. I sit down on the sofa.

  Without looking, I know what lies beneath the cushions.

  He joins me with a small stack of paper plates and the pizza box. No napkins. Neanderthal.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” he says as he lifts the box lid.

  The spicy scent of pepperoni and greasy cheese mixes with the musky odor of stale beer and Axe body spray. I feel sick but I am determined.

  “Jane. My name is Jane.”

  “Pleasure to meet you Jane. I’m John.”

  He clinks his mostly empty beer bottle against my still full one.

  I smile.

  Four

  “I’ve never let a chick tie me up before.”

  “I have a feeling you’re about to experience a lot of things you’ve never done before, John.”

  I looked down at him on the bed. I kept thinking about this t-shirt I once owned, which said boys are stupid, throw rocks at them.

  Boys are stupid.

  A strange female shows up at his door with a pizza and he doesn’t even question it. Almost accepts it as his due. The vestal virgin come to bring her body as a sacrifice to his manly altar… oh and bonus—she brought a pizza.

  Boys are so fucking stupid.

  In the time it took him to drink three beers, he believed she had become so infatuated that she actually wanted to fuck him.

  The whole time he sat there on that sofa talking about his fantasy football team and guzzling beers, not even noticing the pizza sauce stain on his shirt, all I could think about was what was under the sofa.

  At one point I slipped off my shoes and tilted my toes under. They brushed cool plastic skin.

  My resolve hardened.

  With a yank, I pulled on knotted silk at his right ankle.

  “Ouch! Not too tight!”

  My only response was a quick smirk.

  “What’s the matter, Johnny? Can’t take a little pain?”

  “I can take whatever you dish out, baby.”

  Gag.

  Walking slowly around the bed, I check that each silk tie is tight and fastened around his wrists and ankles.

  “Get naked,” he commands.

  The mating ritual of the Neanderthal summed up in two words: get naked.

  Swallowing the bile burning in the back of my throat, I force a seductive smile and pull my light pink sweater over my head. I place it gently on a chair near the bed. I had only just got these pretty clothes, and I didn’t want to toss them on a floor I knew from personal experience to be filthy and stained with cum and beer.

  Next, I slipped off my jeans.

  “Damn, you got great tits.” He licked his lips.

  “I know.” I smile. He wasn’t wrong. Helen did have great tits. Better than mine had been. Whatever penance I had paid while trapped in my hell, I had at least earned some great tits.

  Turning, I played with the hip strap of my thong, leaning over slightly to present my ass to him.

  “Get on this bed and fuck me.”

  I glance over my shoulder and pointedly look at his hard cock, jutting out between his legs.

  The cock which had caused me so much pain and humiliation.

  Daily degradations.

  “Swallow me whole, whore.”

  His thick shaft was pushed into my mouth. The skin of his cock felt hot against the cool plastic of my lips. He tasted like salt and sweat. The bulbous head was shoved in deep in one thrust. It is hard to imagine how I could have forgotten the desperate brutality of this act. The feeling of helplessness.

  My inner body gagged and struggled to breathe as my outward body placidly knelt between his thighs and took the abuse. He groaned as his cock filled my unwilling mouth.

  “Fuck this would be better if I could hear you choking,” he rasped as he adjusted his grip on my head.

  I shake off the brutal memory.

  Without a backward glance, I stroll out of the room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get a beer. I’ll be right back.”

  I don’t hear his response as I walk into the living room. Kneeling down, I pull the sex doll free from under the sofa.

  She’s still bald but the word “whore” is no longer across her forehead. I sit her up and stare into her sightless blue eyes.

  Searching.

  I want to see if at least I could see the pain and desperation in their glassy depths.

  Eve
n if no one else could.

  If I could hear her screams.

  Even if no one else could.

  I am greeted only with the silence of a vacant gaze.

  Helen?

  Helen? Are you in there now?

  Would it matter if she was?

  Her therapist file told me nothing. I wonder if she deserved her fate.

  Would it matter if she did?

  Did I deserve mine?

  Sure, I killed some vapid bitches whose only contribution to the world was the carbon they expelled and their bleached blonde hair. Was there really any loss?

  “What the fuck are you doing in there?” came a shout from the bedroom.

  “Coming, baby!”

  Taking my coat, I wrap it around the doll.

  I stop in the kitchen to grab two beers before walking back to the bedroom.

  “What the fuck?” he shouts as he pulls on his tied wrists.

  I don’t respond.

  Padding barefoot to the bed, I climb onto the mattress and straddle his hips. His cock presses against my cunt and belly.

  “Wanna sip?” I ask coyly. “Open your mouth.”

  He obeys… like the stupid boy he is.

  I dump the contents into his mouth.

  He begins to choke and sputter as foamy beer suds pool under his neck and liquid soaks the pillow.

  Placing my warm hand on the center of his chest, I press down slightly. Feeling the fragile bones of his ribcage, I press harder, preventing his lungs from fully expanding.

  His shoulders jerk as he wretches up beer foam.

  “You fucking bitch,” he chokes out.

  I lean in close. “But this is so much better when I can hear you choking.”

  I grasp his cock and his eyes go wide with fear.

  Now he’s getting it.

  “Listen, you crazy bitch. Get the fuck off me.”

  John tries to buck his hips, but I squeeze my thighs and stay seated. As punishment, I dig my nails into the soft underside of his cock.

  “Fuck! Jesus Christ!”

  “Better be a good boy,” I taunt. “Now open your mouth again.”

  John immediately clamps his mouth shut. His lips disappear as he pulls them between his teeth.

  I dig my nails into his cock as I twist my wrist.

  He howls in pain.

  “I said open your mouth, whore.”

  “Please. Please. Why are you doing this? Do you want money? Take my wallet.”

  I twist the stick of meat in my hand again.

  He screams in pain.

  “I said open your mouth, whore.”

  With tears escaping the corner of his eyes, John opens his mouth.

  I dump the rest of the beer.

  As he begins to choke and close his mouth, I shove the neck of the bottle between his teeth. I hear a satisfying crack as the hard glass shoulder of the bottle connects with his perfect white teeth. His whole body begins to buck and struggle as his choking intensifies.

  Not wanting him to die on me just yet, I pull back the bottle so he can breathe past the beer suds clogging his throat.

  “Ask me to shove this bottle down your throat.”

  ‘Please. Please don’t do this to me. I’ll give you anything you want.”

  “I want you to ask me to shove this bottle down your throat. Say it. Say I’m a whore who swallows.”

  “Please.”

  “Say it!” Raising my arm, I crack him on the side of the head with the beer bottle.

  Crimson blood rolls down the side of his face, only to turn pink as it mixes with the beer along his cheek and neck.

  Sobbing, John obeys. “I’m a whore who…who…”

  “Swallows.”

  “I’m a whore who swallows.”

  “Go on.”

  “Please put the beer bottle in my mouth.”

  “Oh, not put, John. Put implies I’ll do it nicely. Whores don’t deserve to be treated nicely. Isn’t that right, John? They need things shoved into their bodies.” I bite each word out as I lean in close to his face. “Now say it.”

  “Shove the bottle into my mouth! Shove the bottle into my mouth, bitch!” he screams. His face mottled red and purple from the exertion.

  Without hesitation, I grip the bottom half of the beer bottle and raise my arm to shove it into his mouth. At the last moment, he closes it. The tip of the bottle splits his lip as the glass smashes his flesh against the sharp edges of his teeth. I raise my arm and try again. His own scream of horror opens his mouth. I force the bottle in. Fucking his face with the hard glass. Breaking his teeth.

  “That’s it, whore. Choke on it. That’s what you like to say, don’t you, John?”

  His mouth is stretched obscenely wide around the base of the bottle. I can feel the press of the back of his throat as I push on the bottom. The only sound in the room is the harsh rush of air as he desperately tries to breathe through his nose. His face is covered in beer and blood and snot.

  After taking a moment to enjoy his pain, I reach over to the nightstand for the second beer bottle. Twisting off the cap, I place the thin, scalloped metal edge against his skin in the center of his chest. Using two fingers, I press hard, as I scrape it down his flesh.

  It leaves a red scratch.

  I stop to trace the scratch with my fingernail. Despite not being able to defend myself, one of the worst things about my hell was there was no evidence of my pain. No lingering screams. No tears. No scratches. No blood. No outward sign that my pain was even real.

  I pour beer on the scratch and John’s hips buck from the sting.

  Using the lip of the bottle to kiss a path down his body, I stop at his cock. I trace the length with the bottle before pouring most of the beer over his balls.

  “Now what should I do with this other bottle, I wonder?”

  His eyes grow wide as he tries to talk around the bottle lodged in his mouth. Desperately he is shaking his head no.

  “Relax, John. The beer is just as good as lube. Didn’t you say that once?”

  His only response was a muffled scream as he tried to close his outstretched legs.

  “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” I admonished as I crawled between his legs. Kneeling, I grasped his cock with my left hand and pulled it up, tight and taut. John’s hips lifted off the bed.

  “Relax,” I teased as I pushed the tip of the bottle against his tightened asshole.

  The small hole resisted, in ways I was never able.

  I pushed harder. The puckered skin gave way and a portion of the neck of the bottle slipped inside his ass.

  A tightened grip on his cock stopped his bucking hips.

  “This is a hole that needs to be filled, whore.”

  I pushed harder till the entire neck was buried in his ass.

  I could only hear the faint gurgling of a scream.

  “You know. I think you may be right. This would be better if I could hear you scream.”

  Climbing up his body, I straddled his chest. Using both hands, I yanked the bottle free. After spitting out blood and the broken pieces of a few teeth he belted out a cry.

  “Help! Help!”

  “That won’t do you any good. It’s the middle of the day. Everyone is at work.”

  I leaned in close. “I planned this very carefully. We have hours before your neighbors return.”

  “Help! Help!”

  Shrugging my shoulders, I shimmied down his body to once more kneel between his legs. Using the palm of my right hand, I gave the bottle a hard push.

  John screamed in agony as his hips twisted.

  Fascinated, I watched as the bottle slowly forced its way inside his unwilling hole. The skin appeared white and taut as it was stretched thin around the wide curve of the bottle.

  Using both hands, I applied even more pressure. His body tried to resist, but I was stronger. The entire bottle disappeared up his ass.

  John howled himself hoarse.

  It was music to hear. The whole time I was trapped, I’d scre
amed and screamed, but it was all in my head. All I ever heard was silence. To hear the screams of another was almost cathartic.

  I straddled his hips. By now his entire body had begun to shake and quake from shock. Sliding my knees open wider, I rubbed my clit on his now flaccid cock. The vibrations of his body sent a hum through my own. Fisting his cock, I used the soft head like a fingertip, rubbing it in circles around and around my nub.

  Till I came.

  Too bad girls don’t cum like boys do. At this moment I would have loved to jizz over his stomach and cock. To force him to lie there as it died on his skin. To force him to feel it itch and cling to his body like a stain.

  Grabbing his jaw, I pushed my fingers into his cheeks to pry his mouth open.

  “Open wide.”

  I fucked his face one more time with the bottle before shoving it in deep, watching as his lips split and cracked as they stretched around the base.

  “That was fun, whore, but I have a yoga class I need to catch.”

  There was only silence in response.

  Five

  I watch from the parking lot as one woman after another walks into the studio. Finally, a petite woman with strawberry blonde hair approaches the studio.

  Thank you Facebook check-ins.

  The internet really is a marvelous tool for stalking people. It almost makes it too easy. Not only can you find out where someone is, you can quickly learn if their neighbors are home or at work as well. With a few strokes of the keyboard, you can learn everything about a person. Their job. Their pet’s name. Their hobbies. Everything.

  Even their favorite yoga class.

  Turning off the ignition, I get out of John’s car and follow her in.

  My eyes adjust to the dim lighting. It takes a moment to find her in the sea of black yoga pants and bright pink tops.

  Once I spot her, I make it a point to look as if I’m searching for a place to put down my mat. Lowering my shoulders and casting my eyes downward, I appear to hesitate and then quietly ask.

  “Would it be okay if I put my mat here?”

  The woman looks up at me with a smile. “Sure.”

  I roll out my mat and sit with my legs tucked under me. Keeping my eyes down, I play with a curl at the end of my ponytail.