Doll

by Juniper Bell

  “Me…too,” she breathed.

  “Are you sure? So far, we’ve used only our mouths. We don’t have to go any further than that. Putting my tongue on your sweet lips isn’t exactly a hardship.”

  His thumb circled and pressed. It was hot, that thumb, especially compared to the chilly air wafting through the opening of the cabin. Her clitoris swelled against him. She felt hot and ready to burst. For a moment, she imagined him kneeling on the boat deck and licking her until she screamed. But she wanted more. Inside, she felt empty and itchy. She wanted to be filled up. She wanted to take that thick, purple-headed pole of flesh inside her body. Hot and primitive, it would banish the ghosts like nothing else could.

  “I want you inside, Dustin.” She reached for his cock and pulled him toward her.

  “Hold on.” He rummaged in a side pocket made of netting, through papers, pencil stubs, and, lo and behold, a condom. Once it was on, he put his strong hands on her ass and pulled her body against his. A slight shift of his muscular thighs, and suddenly he was inside her, his enormous erection filling her up. She felt the impact all the way up to her throat. Waves of warmth sent tingles to her fingers and toes.

  For a moment, they paused there, testing the feeling of this new connection, awed by the rightness of it. And then he thrust into her, pressing her back against the wheel. She had no room to maneuver. All she could do was corkscrew her hips, which she did, following the path of the pleasure that built inside her. The intensity of that pleasure made her eyes fall shut. In the darkness, the rocking of the boat, and the rocking of his cock inside her, made her lose all equilibrium. The animal scent of their excitement mingled with the salt air and the hint of diesel. She was lost in a world of buffeting sensation. Up and down had no more meaning.

  But it didn’t matter, because her body was anchored by his, by his hands on her ass, by his penis piercing her against the console, his mouth latched to her nipples. There was only one way she could go—toward the mind-blowing storm gathering inside her. It was coming, it was coming. She babbled the words out loud as she held onto his broad shoulders and twisted her hips against that maddening pole of hard flesh. Coming, coming, don’t stop, please, fuck me, fuck me… And then it was there, and the thunder burst through her, shaking her body in unstoppable waves. Yes, she sobbed, yes, yes. And he was shouting something too. She had no idea what the words were, but she knew what he meant. How could anything on this earth feel so incredibly good?

  That evening, Chloe danced alone in the cottage living room as the fairies looked on, smiling and silent. She called her girls, and even they heard something different in her voice.

  “Is it nice there, Mom?” Halley asked.

  “Very nice. We’ll have to come out here sometime, maybe this summer.”

  “And we can see where you grew up? The little house with the fairies?”

  “You’ll love it here…” She remembered she was selling the cottage. “But all the houses here are wonderful. We’ll find a nice little cabin to rent.”

  After she hung up, she wandered around the little cottage, wondering who would buy it, and if they would get rid of the crocheted throw rugs, and choose a color scheme other than pink and green. If she owned it, that’s what she would do. She’d paint the walls a cheerful lemony cream, with bright blue trim. She’d knock down the wall that closed in the tiny kitchen. Let the light flood in. Suddenly it occurred to her that she did own it. But never before had she thought about changing any part of it.

  Lost in her ideas for redecorating, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of a knock on the door. A happy smile spread over her face. It could only be Dustin, hungry for more. As, incredibly, was she. She flew to open the door. And felt the blood leave her face.

  Burt.

  At first the sight of him didn’t even make sense. He still wore his driver’s uniform. Who would need a driver on Bellhaven? She didn’t move when he pushed the door open and walked in. His mirrored sunglasses were gone, replaced by tinted aviator glasses. She’d never seen his eyes before, they were as blank as a dead fish. He scanned the cottage like a secret service agent looking for hidden assassins.

  “You alone here?” he asked in that flat voice of his.

  “What are you doing here, Burt?”

  He shut the door behind him and turned the lock. “I asked you a question.”

  “Did Andrew send you?” She could play the same game he could.

  With that security guard swagger of his, he went to the kitchen, peered around, then returned to the living room. “Is your boyfriend here?”

  She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You think you can take off and nail another guy behind the boss’s back, and he ain’t gonna find out about it?” He flicked a look of contempt down her body.

  “But how…” The words escaped in a whimper.

  “His workshop. The boat. The attic, for Chrissake. You been a busy little whore.”

  Chloe’s heart stopped. Someone must have seen her and Dustin. But how could anyone have seen them in all three places? It was impossible. And the attic—the attic was totally private.

  Dustin. He’d betrayed her. Played her for a fool.

  “Fishermen,” said Burt. “Don’t know how to keep their mouths shut. Cheapest squeals on the block.”

  Her cell phone rang. Chloe gave Burt a panicked look. He nodded for her to take the call, and she flipped open her phone, feeling disgusted with herself. How quickly she’d returned to her old habits. Obedient, passive.

  It was Dustin. “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Hi.” It took all her strength to answer without the primal scream that wanted to come out.

  “I thought I might mosey over there and take those oilskins off your hands.”

  “You need them?”

  “Yes, I can’t survive the night without them.” His voice was playful, but she couldn’t bring herself to play along.

  “I’ll leave them hanging on the front door.”

  “I put that wrong. I meant, I can’t survive the night without seeing you.” The lying beast, he actually sounded sincere.

  “Goodbye. Don’t call again,” she said, clicking off the phone. She turned back to the beefy man who’d been her driver and Andrew’s enforcer for all the years of her marriage. “What do you want, Burt? Or should I say, what does Andrew want?”

  “You know good and well. Sign the papers, Chloe.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or, thanks to you and your lover boy, he’ll make you look like a tramp in front of the judge. You’ll lose anyway.”

  God, she was stupid. How had she let this happen? She’d thrown away her only piece of leverage against Andrew. Once she signed the confidentiality agreement, she would have nothing to hold over him. He could do whatever he wanted, and she would have to accept it. It didn’t matter how many houses she sold, how many divorce lawyers she hired. He would always have more. He would always win.

  Andrew held all the cards. Again. Always.

  Slowly, she walked to her tote bag and withdrew the document. When Andrew had presented it to her, a tiny flame of hope had sparked within her. It meant he was afraid of her, afraid of what she could reveal. She’d delayed signing it, hoping to get herself into the best possible bargaining position first. But now, that plan was ruined. By her own insane behavior.

  The document was in formal legal language that had taken her a while to decipher. But she knew what it really meant. It meant that all her suffering, all her humiliation, all her silent submission, never existed. She couldn’t complain about it, she couldn’t commiserate, she couldn’t tell a friend, or even a therapist. By signing her name, she would be agreeing with Andrew that it had never happened. And she would be throwing herself on his mercy with respect to the kids. She would be saying, I have no cards left, but please be nice anyway and let me see my girls.

  But if she didn’t sign it, he would dirty her reputation so badly, she might never see her daught
ers again.

  She dug a pen out of her purse. Her hand shaking, she held it over the signature line on the document.

  A meaty hand dropped onto her arm. “Hold on. I can help you.”

  Oh God. Burt didn’t have an altruistic bone in his bruiser body. Dread seeped through her. She snatched her arm away. “Don’t touch me. I’ll call Andrew and tell him I’ll sign, but only if you leave me alone.”

  “You don’t wanna do that.”

  “Yes, I really do.”

  “Then I’ll start spreading these around. What do you think your boyfriend will think of this?” He dug in his pocket and flipped a Polaroid toward her. “Rest of the island might like a peek too.”

  In the Polaroid, Chloe sat tied to a chair, arms behind the back, legs spread apart. She wore a black leather bustier, and nothing else. The bustier was cinched tight around her waist and cupped the undersides of her breasts so they sat high on her chest, nipples protruding. Below the bustier, her clean-shaven sex was exposed. Her face was clearly visible, staring at the camera with a glazed look. No one else in the photo could be identified, but there were plenty of other body parts. One hand pinched her right nipple between thumb and forefinger. At the other nipple, a pierced tongue lapped. A mask covered the face that the tongue belonged to. Someone was standing behind her. The face couldn’t be seen, but Chloe knew it was Burt. He held a whip, and the handle was at her crotch, pulling her lower lips apart. Chloe also knew who was taking the photo. It was Andrew, who had enjoyed directing the scene.

  “Barb, get that tongue on her nipple. Tilt your head so we can see your piercing. Flick it against her nipple. That’s hot. Bite her nipple if you have to, that always works. Oh yeah, that’s good. Burt, get that whip handle right in there, I can’t see anything. We have to show off the goods. Chloe, don’t move, or I’ll let him fuck you with it. Barb, get her bustier tighter, I want her boobs to really pop. And get those nipples big and juicy, suck ’em hard, yeah, like that. Yeah, baby. That’s it, doll.”

  The Polaroid had been a test shot. After that, she’d been given a mask, and they had done a more professional photo shoot for a website. And, at the end, after everyone had gone, it was Andrew who had fucked her with the whip handle. The whip had gotten him so turned on, he had to use it somehow, without getting any marks on her skin.

  She flipped the Polaroid back at Burt. “So?”

  “So I got more of these, so if you don’t want them to get out, you’ll do what I want. And ’cuz I’m a nice guy, I’ll still help you.”

  She gave him a skeptical look.

  “After I get what I want, of course.” And he hungrily rubbed his crotch.

  Chapter Seven

  It doesn’t matter, Chloe repeated to herself, as the old numbness turned her body to lead. It’s only a body. Skin, covering flesh, covering bone. They couldn’t touch the essential part of her. But as the sick tears gathered in the back of her throat, she knew that Dustin had touched that deepest part of her, and she would never be the same. Now she knew what it was like to give herself freely. How could she go back?

  But Dustin had betrayed her. He was just another man who’d used her.

  Drawing her spine straight, she told herself she couldn’t think about that now. Her girls were all that mattered any more. “How will you help me?”

  “Don’t put the cart before the horse. You do what I want, then we talk.”

  She gritted her teeth. “No. First you tell me how you’re going to help me. Then I’ll decide if it’s worth it.”

  She thought she saw a flicker of respect in Burt’s dead-fish eyes. “I’ll give you the big picture. Details, you leave to me. Fact is, the boss don’t really want the brats. He’s just trying to get you to shut up. But if I go back to him with that piece of paper, and tell him I got you good and scared, and make him see the best way to keep you quiet is to hand over the girlies, you got a good chance.”

  “A good chance? That’s all you’re offering?”

  Burt shrugged. “You know the boss. About as predictable as dynamite. But I know him as good as anyone.”

  Chloe was silent. What Burt said rang true. Of course Andrew didn’t really want the kids, and of course that had never occurred to her. He put on a loving front with the girls most of the time, because most of the time there were other people around. But he barely noticed the girls when they were alone. They were part of the pretty picture he wanted to present to the world. Divorce wasn’t part of that picture, but it wasn’t fatal. If he already had a mistress, maybe the two of them would get married and have more kids. She and Merry and Halley could simply fade out of his life. They would become a footnote in the brilliant career of Senator Andrew Garwood. Which was exactly how she wanted it.

  But to get there, apparently she would have to go through Burt. “Deal.”

  “Smart girl. You’ll do whatever I want?”

  “Unless it’s going to cause permanent harm.”

  He looked offended. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want some of the action. I spent enough time on the sidelines.”

  That was some relief. “Whatever you want then.”

  A smirk of satisfaction twisted his face. “One other thing.”

  What else could he want, besides unrestricted access to her body?

  “This never gets back to the boss. Or anyone else.”

  Apparently anyone could do anything they wanted to her, and no one would ever hear about it. With a sense of sinking despair, she nodded.

  Unzipping his pants, he brought out his long, flaccid penis and sat back on the pale green couch. “This is going to take a while, so I’m gonna make myself comfortable. I got myself a front row seat here. Now I want my money’s worth. You’re gonna start with a striptease, and I mean the real raunchy kind, I want you twisting all over the floor, shaking those tits, spreading that ass. I want you to end up right in front of me, on your hands and knees, that sweet little hole of yours ready for action. I got some other ideas after that, but that’ll do for starters. Got it?”

  The sight of beefy, uniformed Burt sitting on the couch her mother had upholstered, fingering his limp cock, was so surreal it took a moment for Chloe to answer. Her eyes drifted to the white fairy statuettes, and she imagined them turning their eyes away in horror. You don’t understand, she wanted to tell them. Life isn’t a fairy tale. Life is doing what you have to do, no matter how degrading. Is there another way?

  But the silent statues had no alternatives to offer. Chloe raised her shaking hands.

  “Lift your top up. I want a sneak preview.” Burt was starting to get hard from his fondling. Chloe lifted her pink cardigan to expose the bra underneath. “Pull down your bra.”

  She did what he said, and her breasts bounced free from the restraint of her bra. He let out a long sigh, and his hand moved faster on his cock. “I gotta tell you, I missed those babies. I like how that looks, with your nipples sticking out between your top and your bra. Now put your hands behind your head and stick your tits out. Sweet.” He pumped harder on his erection. “Now dance.”

  Of all times for Gary to go on a bender. Dustin wanted to get drunk all by himself. He wanted to curse his luck with women, curse himself for falling for an unattainable fairy princess. He wanted to get sloppy drunk and howl at the moon and torture himself with the memory of sweet, passionate Chloe. Instead, he realized as he opened the door of his fish house to the bleary-eyed Gary, he was going to have to baby-sit his drunk stern man.

  “Go away,” he told him.

  But since this was his standard greeting, Gary ignored it. “C’mon, lemme in. I got something impor’nt t’ say.”

  “Oh, Jesus. Out of all the fish houses on all the islands in Maine, why do you have to pick mine?” But he held open the door, and Gary staggered in.

  “Got any rum?”

  “No.”

  Ignoring him, Gary went straight to the stash of Captain Morgan’s Dustin kept in his toolbox. He took a long swig straight from the bottle. �
��I’m here ’cuz I love you, man. And it’s eating me alive.”

  “What is?” Dustin took a step back. Was Gary confessing to some secret homosexual crush? What the hell was he talking about?

  “The guilt, man, the guilt. You’re my friend, I’d do just ’bout anything for you, but I needed the cash.” Gary gave a dramatic sob. “Turns out, it ain’t worth it. If I could give it back, I would, but I drank it all up.”

  The slight buzz Dustin had been enjoying before Gary showed up vanished. This sounded serious. “What are you talking about?”

  “Barbie. Her hubby wanted her followed. How was I to know she’d go fer you?” Gary raised the bottle for another swig, but before it could reach his lips, Dustin was in his face. He swatted the bottle aside, and it crashed to the floor. Dark liquid seeped into the floorboards.

  Dustin shook Gary by the shoulders so hard the man’s teeth rattled against each other. “What’d you do? You tell me everything, exactly as it happened, or I swear I’ll beat you bloody.”

  “You wouldn’t. You’re my friend. Gimme that.” Gary stretched a hand toward the bottle.

  Dustin kicked it further out of reach. “You talk, you can have it back.”

  “But that’s what I’m tryin’ to do! Clear my conscience, man.” He gave a slobbery sob.

  Dustin felt revolted. “Who came to you?”

  “Some bodyguard type named Burt. Said he worked for Barbie’s husband, and he wanted to know what she was doing. He wanted pictures too. Tol’ him I didn’t have a camera. He gave me one, said I could keep it, like an extra bonus. Wanted me to call him every coupla hours with a report.”

  Dustin remembered the flash outside his house, that first night with Chloe, and felt sick. “What’d you tell him? In your reports.”

  “Whaddya think? Why d’you think I feel so rotten? Even climbed a tree to see into her attic.”

  By now, Dustin couldn’t care less about Gary’s feelings. The sense that Chloe was in danger, and that he’d unwittingly put her there, was growing stronger. Not to mention his outrage that Gary had taken pictures of his private moments with Chloe. “When was your last report?”