When the Dark Wins

by Addison Cain

  Laughing Steve grabbed my hair. “You like that don’t you, Darla.”

  My. Name. Is. Jane. JANE!

  My vision went black for a moment then cleared. Before me I saw the startled gaze of Steve turn to horror.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!”

  Steve flung me off his lap. I fell to the floor, limp and lifeless, the bottle still thrust painfully inside of me.

  “The doll blinked!”

  “What?”

  “The doll fucking blinked!”

  “Dude, you’re high and drunk.”

  “I’m telling you, man, it blinked!”

  John picked me up by my hair. Shaking my body this way and that, he shouted at Steve. “It’s just a sex doll, man. It’s not real!”

  Steve was pacing back and forth in the small room. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his hair before rubbing his hand down his face. “You’re right. You’re right! I’m just fucking tripping out.”

  John dropped me to the ground.

  “Look, just throw it in the closet. I’m done with it tonight.”

  John snickered. “You’re such a fucking pussy.”

  “Just do it!”

  John picked my limp body off the ground. Opening the closet, he thrust me inside, head first. My body lay in a crumpled heap. Just as he was about to close the door, he said, “Wait. Can’t forget this.”

  With cold callousness, he wrenched the bottle out of my ass. Leaving the small hole gaping.

  The closet door closed.

  I was thrust into the quiet darkness once more, but this time was different. I was different.

  I had blinked.

  Chapter 7

  I no longer counted the days. No longer heard the whir of the air conditioner.

  I didn’t care.

  I had blinked.

  I had fucking blinked.

  Nursing my anger as if it were a newborn babe, I held it close to my chest. I fed it and coddled it. Glorying in how it grew. It heated me when I was chilled. It comforted me when I was lonely. My anger shone bright in the darkness.

  First it was my eyelids. Then a finger. Then the whole hand. Then an arm. My lips.

  Eventually, I was able to push myself up to a seated position inside the closet. I wanted to cry and laugh and sing when I was able to turn my head. It was a small thing, but it was mine. At least I could control something again. The old me. My life. My identity. All the memories I clung to so desperately started to recede. There was no room for sentimentality. I only had room in my thoughts for my anger. It was mine. Mine.

  After several weeks, Steve returned.

  This time I was ready for him.

  “Fuck. You’re filthy,” he said with disgust as he lifted me out of the closet. This time I had to will myself to stay limp and pliable.

  “Dammit. Carol’s home so I can’t hose you off in the shower. Fuck John and his stupid coke.”

  Steve carried me over to the sofa. Placing me on the floor between his knees, he poked at my glass eyes. Pulled out several of my eyelashes. Then pulled on the lids.

  “I’m an ass. Of course, you probably blinked. The stupid fucking lids move.”

  Leaning back, he began to unbuckle his belt. I watched with interest as he pulled his cock free.

  “Your snatch is filthy with my dried up cum, so I’ll just have to fuck your mouth,” he threatened with a sneer. First, he flipped me over his knee. I felt his finger probe my asshole.

  “Fuck John and his stupid ideas. Your fucking asshole is all stretched out from the fucking bottle. Great. Just great.”

  He flipped me back onto the floor.

  “I’m probably better off getting a new fuck doll. You’re all used and dirty anyway,” he grumbled as he fisted his cock and shifted his hips forward.

  The wide bulbous head slipped past my lips.

  Wait.

  I could feel the thick shaft as it slid into the cavity which was my mouth.

  Wait.

  The head bumped against the back of my throat before thrusting further.

  Wait.

  The musky scent of him assailed my nose as it was crushed against his stomach. His balls rested against my chin.

  The length of his entire, thick, disgusting cock was in my mouth.

  Concentrating all my rage, I closed my lips. Clamping down.

  For once, Steve was the one screaming in agony. He stood up and swung his hips around as he tried to dislodge me. If only I had teeth, I wished. Using his fingers, he pried my mouth open.

  Slipping his now flaccid and scarred cock from my mouth cavity, he raised me up by the throat. “You stupid fucking cunt doll,” he raged.

  But his rage could not match mine. It would never match mine.

  Raising my arm, I wrapped my fingers around his throat. And squeezed.

  This time he would not dislodge me.

  Desperately, Steve grabbed at my hand as he fell to his knees.

  That’s it, slut. You like this don’t you. You like being on your knees before me. Choking.

  His eyes bulged grotesquely as his grasp on my hard plastic arm weakened.

  What a whore you are. You like it when I make it hurt, don’t you, Steve? Or should I call you by some stripper name. How about this time you be Trixie?

  Lifting my other arm, I shoved my fingers into his gaping mouth.

  What a tight mouth you have, Trixie. Let’s see if I can make a fist!

  His skin turned a mottled purple as I slowly willed my fingers to claw along his tongue into a fist. I reveled in his garbled screams as he gasped and gagged for breath. I punched my fist further down his throat.

  Too soon it was over.

  Steve lay limp on the floor. A crumpled heap. Used and abused.

  His eyes open but vacant. Lifeless.

  Chapter 8

  “Why do I always have to get the freaky perverts,” grumbled the detective as he stepped over Steve’s body.

  “Just lucky I guess,” quipped the police officer standing next to him.

  “Shut up and tell me what we’ve got.”

  “Wife found him this way. Figure he died from some auto-erotic, fucked up sex game.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  The police officer picked me up from where I rested on the sofa. “It’s one of those sex dolls. A nice one too. It practically looks real!”

  “Cover her up! She’s naked.”

  “It’s just a doll.”

  “I don’t care. Cover her up,” ground out the detective.

  It was the first time anyone had shown me the slightest kindness since my accident. As if I were a real woman with feelings.

  Too bad that was no longer true.

  The police officer draped Steve’s discarded suit jacket over my shoulders.

  The detective shook his head. “Put her in the closet. We don’t need the wife seeing her.”

  “The wife already saw it. She’s the one who found the body,” protested the police officer.

  “I don’t care. Just put her in the closet. Have a little fucking respect.”

  Grumbling about arrogant detectives, the police officer placed me in my dark safe cocoon.

  At least this time I was placed sitting up on the floor. I still hadn’t gotten the use of my legs, so I did appreciate not being face down or on my knees for once.

  For the next several days I listened to the sound of life outside my little cocoon.

  Then everything became quiet.

  Dark and quiet.

  Months or perhaps years later, I heard someone coming down my stairs. They opened the door to my closet. Forcing myself to not react or blink from the sudden flash of bright light, I schooled my features to remain calm and vacant.

  I was lifted out of the closet and held high.

  Finally, I was able to look the person who disturbed my rest in the eye.

  It was John.

  His mouth twisted into a self-satisfied smile. “I was hoping you would still be here. Had to wait till afte
r the cops and the funeral. Then fucking Carol wouldn’t let me back into the house. Took months of brown-nosing but it was worth it. You’re mine now.”

  I stared back at him with vacant, lifeless eyes.

  Laying me on the sofa, John wrapped me in a blanket. Hefting me over his shoulder, he said out loud. “Thanks, Steve old buddy, wherever you are! I’ll make sure to fuck her good!” He slapped me on the ass.

  My pink plastic lips twisted into a smile.

  I wonder how I will kill this one.

  Chapter 9

  I can’t tell if my eyes are open.

  What the fuck is happening to me? I can’t move my arms. Where am I?

  “Open up the box, they’ll be here soon.” The words are excited, but I don’t recognize the voice.

  The flash of light hurts my eyes, but I can’t close them or blink. I try to turn my head away, but it won’t move.

  What the fuck is happening?

  Several faces leaned over me. All men. Were they doctors? A fuzzy, indistinct memory of me choking on something floated across my addled mind. I must have choked and now I’m at the hospital. Where is Carol?

  “Damn! This looks almost real!” exclaimed one of the men.

  “Check out that cock!”

  I could feel someone fist my cock and yank on it.

  What the fuck! That fucking hurts, you dick!

  I’m saying the words, but they are not reacting. It’s as if they can’t hear me.

  “Jason and Tom are going to flip out when they see their present.”

  “Does it have a hole for its asshole too?”

  “You are so sick. I love you for it. It should. Let’s see.”

  My body is flipped over. I can feel a finger at my ass. I tried to shout out or flip around to punch him, but my body won’t move.

  “This is going to be the best bachelors’ party ever. Let’s prop it up so it’s the first thing they see when they walk through the door.”

  I’m lifted and carried around the room. It looks like a regular house. This is fucked up. This is not a hospital.

  I’m placed on a chair. Across from me is a mirror. I see my reflection but it’s not real. It’s not me. It’s the reflection of a male sex doll.

  What the fuck is happening?

  “I get dibs on his mouth,” shouts out someone.

  “I want to try out that tight asshole,” said another, eliciting a round of laughter.

  No one can hear me scream.

  The End

  About Zoe Blake

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author in Dark Romance

  We are all attracted to the forbidden. Addicted to the rush we get from reading something naughty...something kinky. We love to lose ourselves in the fantasy. The powerful lord who sweeps the lady away to his remote estate to ravish her. The cowboy who takes the sassy city girl over his knee to teach her a lesson. The devilishly charming pirate who seduces his beautiful captive.

  I write those dark fantasies.

  Find Zoe Online

  Check out Zoe’s website

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  Books by Zoe Blake

  My Wantonly Wicked Reads

  Papa’s Prey

  Trapped in a world of dark decadence, the innocent Corinne is now bound

  to obey her new husband’s every depraved desire.

  Daddy’s Home

  He will make her pay for her past mistakes.

  Dark Deception

  He will have her on her knees, begging for forgiveness.

  It's time she learned why they call him, Paine.

  Defying Him

  The harder Phoebe fights him, the more determined Michael becomes to bend her to his will.

  For more of my books check out my Amazon Page!

  http://amzn.to/2FEpFsn

  III

  Catacombs

  Catacombs

  Addison Cain

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 2018 Addison Cain

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  The whole city of New York stank.

  Boulevards, vacant due to poor weather, crusted with a slush of mud and garbage. But it was the living crammed inside tightly packed houses, drinking coffee by their radios, snoring in their beds, that stung Pearl’s nostrils.

  She could hear them, their scratching and breaths. Worse she could smell them.

  Every last one reeked under cheap perfume and lack of washing.

  Patchy fur collar hitched up to cover cold ears, cloche hat doing little to keep the snow off her face, she kept her arms tight around her middle and plodded onward through the night streets. Under the threadbare coat, a fringed dress too short for common decency did nothing to keep out the winter chill. Each draft up her hem set her teeth chattering, stronger gusts earning a hiss.

  Even with the smell, no matter the icy cold, she wasn’t complaining.

  So far, life in the big city was grand.

  She’d had a busy night in the smoke-filled supper club, Palace Delight. Her neck may have been sore from supporting the weight of her cigarette box’s strap, but she’d made two dollars. Added to the cash she’d earned the night before, and the night before that, Pearl was set to have a little extra for New Year’s.

  Maybe she’d get a new dress, or a nice lamp to spruce up her apartment. Better yet, some ruffled lace curtains for the room’s single window—something pretty that would frame the view of the street below but keep the sun bright on her body when she slept beneath it.

  She’d never had so fine a place to sleep. The walls were papered in fading floral ribbons, linoleum floors showed previous tenants’ wear, but the one room abode was all hers. If she was lucky and kept to the night hours, it would be many years before neighbors even noticed she lived there. She might continue to enjoy her view of the busy street, remain sheltered, while decades crept by.

  Small town life had been much more complicated. Everyone asked questions, everyone watched. Big cities, no matter how bad the inhabitants inside their borders reeked, were a boon.

  If she played her cards right, no one would know that... that there was something deeply wrong with her.

  All Pearl had to do was stay out of trouble.

  “Hey, girly.”

  She’d heard him, but she knew better than to so much as raise her chin to a stranger on the street, daylight or midnight.

  The Roaring Twenties offered much for a girl... but it had not changed the hardline manner of men. They were as much trouble as they’d ever been.

  This one, in his pricy coat and polished wingtips, had no place wandering her working class neighborhood at 3:00 a.m. This one, huddled under the corner drug store’s awning, didn’t smell of bootleg whiskey; he didn’t sway from too much drink. He had not come from one of the speakeasies and just gotten lost. Even from across the street, Pearl could smell that there was no lingering wash of women’s perfume telling the tale of a late night dalliance with a mistress to explain his midnight stroll in foul weather.

  Cocky by half, he was lurking with a purpose and by the growing beat of his heart, he’d found it: prey.

  Poor women made easy targets.

  Two more blocks and she’d have a locked door between herself and everyone else in Manhattan. Two more blocks and there would be nothing to worry about.

  The would-be Casanova pushed from the building, cutting across the slushy street in a beeline for her. “Isn’t it a little late for a strol
l?”

  Pearl took a sharp left, hoping he’d be wiser than to follow.

  He was not.

  She’d stolen a sidelong glance at his face, but did not recognize the man. It wasn’t her habit to catalogue each patron she’d served. After all, they came and went night after night. Hell, she rarely spoke more than one word during her shifts unless she had to. “Cigarette?” A quick nod and an exchange of funds and Pearl would slip to the next table. “Cigarette?”

  Her job wasn’t to be memorable. It was to be pretty while making correct change. That’s what they paid her for.

  Pearl could afford her little room on the fifth floor of the Madison Building. She didn’t have to make small talk or flirt. Beyond the occasional pat on the rump, patrons left her alone. No one really wanted to gab with a cigarette girl. She was part of the scenery—an ornament that made underground supper clubs like Palace Delight swanky. It was the female patrons who earned all the attention. Pearl’s hair wasn’t sparkling bottle blonde like theirs, it wasn’t finger waved and bedecked with feathers. Hers was sleek and dark, heavy bangs across her brow, bob tight and simple.

  Men didn’t follow her home...

  But then again, it seemed this one had been waiting for her.

  “I’m talkin to you!” The stranger grabbed her elbow, yanking Pearl back so hard her heel broke on the ice. A dumpster hit her back... and everything went wrong.

  Everything always went wrong.

  Frantic, Pearl scrubbed her hands together under the tap. She couldn’t get the blood off fast enough. Icy water sloshed, her hands shaking so hard little drops of pink water splattered the cracked sink, leaving a macabre mess on the porcelain.