by Fawn Bailey
The man cackled as he watched me fuck her, and soon, the girl stopped begging. For a long time, she was quiet under me, her eyes vacant and her lips open in a soft, surprised O-shape. I hated myself for what I was doing, and as I fucked my cum inside her, I felt my spirit leave my body, linger above us, and leave forever.
I fucked her relentlessly until her silence turned into whimpers and moans. I drove her to madness with my cock and didn't stop until she was begging for more and for me to stop interchangeably. And as I fucked the stranger below me, I felt myself changing slowly but surely.
I had a feeling I was going to spend a long time in those dungeons, but I knew I would escape eventually. In fact, it wasn't too soon to start plotting my escape. Because I was going to get out of there, and I was going to come to the bottom of what had happened at Ophelia's eighteenth.
It was all that bastard's fault, the guy who now had her as a prisoner. I would kill him first, I decided, and I would let him suffer.
I dumped my spendings into the unmoving girl and watched the old man drag her out of my cell. My hatred festered, my mind went to dark places I didn't know existed.
I cleaned my dirty knife, then sat down in the corner of my cell and closed my eyes tightly. It was time to prepare for whatever they were going to throw at me next.
Chapter 4
Ophelia
Slowly, I settled into a routine at my new home.
My captor was a troubled man, but he wasn't always unkind. Sometimes he showed me small, tender mercies, and I lived for those moments. Lived for the seconds of tenderness he let me see, after weeks and weeks of rough cruelty.
But I knew deep down he wasn't a monster. I knew something had happened to him, and I made it my mission to find out what that was.
He wasn't open with me, barely trusting me enough to speak to me at the beginning. It must've weirded him out that I didn't speak, as it did me, too. But it was the only way I knew how to cope. In a way, I saw it as mourning. Enveloping myself in a cloak of dark silence so I could get over the deaths of my family in peace.
I would never forget the sight of those bodies piled one on top of the other. Mamochka, papa, my sister, and brothers. I realized I was the only remaining member of the immediate Sokolov family. But why had Kain left me alive? I knew he must've had a different purpose for me, but it seemed like he wasn't in any hurry to tell me what it was.
We settled into a routine, and as a few weeks passed, we were left in the house by ourselves. It was a strange feeling of absolute loneliness and utter desperation for any kind of human contact that finally pushed me into Kain's arms. It happened in the middle of the night, while I was sleeping in the cage he'd given me. I had nightmares almost every night, but the one that day was especially brutal.
My sister was begging me to save her, her small hands stretching out to meet mine, begging, praying, asking me to help her in Russian. I woke up crying, big fat tears rolling down my swollen cheeks. And suddenly it was all too much. I had held the pain, the anguish, under wraps for so long I thought I would explode from keeping it all locked under the surface.
I started to cry. Sob. Bawl. I started to scream.
The cage was locked just like it was every night. I couldn't leave my prison until Kain unlocked it, and suddenly I was claustrophobic, banging my little fists on the bars and screaming his name, forgetting that I didn't speak, forgetting it all.
He rushed into the room moments later. He was only wearing boxers, and his cock stood out against the black fabric. I turned my bloodshot eyes to him and called out.
"Help me," I begged. "I can't take it, I can't stay in here, you need to take me out, you need to help me."
He came closer, his face serious and for once devoid of that smirk he always seemed to wear. Usually, when he was around, I burned with absolute, utter hatred for him, but that night seemed to be different. Perhaps it was because there was some vulnerability in his eyes mirroring my own.
"It's okay," he said gently, taking my hand through the bars. "It's okay, dolly, I know you're scared."
I sobbed as he held my hand, forcing my fingers to fan out and intertwining them with his. He tipped my chin back and stared into my eyes and my heart pounded as I saw a new side to him. A side that actually cared about me.
The sounds of me crying died down and soon I was just whimpering, muttering soft little pleases and repeating his name as if it were a mantra.
"It's okay," he kept saying over and over again. "You're going to be alright, dolly. I'm going to take care of you, I promise."
I clung to his hand and he stroked my fingers thoughtfully.
"Please let me out," I begged him. "Please, I feel so constricted, I can't take it, I can't stay in this cage."
"Take your clothes off," he said calmly, and I cried out loud. "Relax. I won't hurt you. Take your clothes off. You'll feel less constricted."
Slowly, I started peeling my dress off, followed by the panties I was wearing. It wasn't as if it was anything new for him. He'd seen me naked before.
He stared at me with hungry eyes as I stripped, then moved closer to the bars, clinging to him.
"I'm scared," I whispered. "Please, just let me out. I can't take it. Let me out, Master. Let me out."
"So many words," he muttered. "So many words for a little girl who didn't speak until now. Are you going to speak again tomorrow?"
He cocked his head to the side and looked into my eyes, but I refused to answer. We both knew this night was a one-off.
"The cage," he said. "It's not a punishment."
"Of course it is," I mumbled.
"No," he argued. "It never has been. It's here to keep you safe, dolly."
"How can I be safe here?" I cried out. "Locked between these bars. I don't feel safe, I feel fucking scared. Let me go!"
"Breathe," he said calmly. "That's the solution to everything. Deep, slow breaths, dolly. Breathe."
I tried to do as he said even though I didn't want to obey him, but as I drew in breath after calming breath, I realized he was right. It was helping, and my heart rate slowed down as I breathed in and out.
"That's a good girl," he muttered. "Such a good girl. You'll feel better right away, I promise."
I nodded and kept breathing like he was showing me to. On an impulse, I grabbed his other hand too, and we sat on the floor, touching one another through the bars of my cage. I wanted to hate him for making me need the comfort of his touch, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Even back then, I felt a connection to Kain, something telling me he wasn't the bad man he wanted me to believe he was. There was a mystery about him and I was determined to come to the bottom of it.
"Come in," I said softly, surprising myself by what I was saying.
"Where?" he asked.
"In here. If I can't leave the cage," I went on. "Then come in with me."
There was that smirk again. Lopsided and boyish and somehow just as broken as I was. He let go of my fingers and unlocked the door of the cage. My breath hitched as he opened the door and crawled inside with me. He shut the door behind him but didn't lock it. The cage wasn't small, but it wasn't big enough to stand in. You could only sit or lie down. He pulled me against his body and held me in place with his hand over my heart.
"I can feel it beating," he muttered into my ear, and I turned my head to the side to try and look at him. "Don't, dolly. I don't want you looking at me."
"Why not?" I wanted to know.
He stroked my hair with slow, passionate motions, and I settled into his embrace.
"I don't deserve it," he said in a whisper.
I turned around in his arms, my eyes glued to his and searching for answers I knew I wouldn't find. He still held onto me though, as if he needed me even more than I needed him.
"You're beautiful, dolly," he said, and I blushed, looking away. "Don't. Look at me. Always at me."
I looked back into his eyes.
"Why did you do it?" I asked him, tears blurring my vision.
"Why did you kill them? Why did you take me? Why?"
"One day," he said gently. "One day maybe you'll understand. One day I'll be able to explain. But not yet, dolly. Soon."
I settled into the crook of his arm and he held me close, inhaling the scent of my hair.
He had a thing for grapefruit. He'd stocked my bathroom with products that weren't just grapefruit scented but tasted like the sweet-and-bitter fruit as well. I'd grown to like it over the short period of time I'd spent with him, and now the familiar scent lulled me into a sense of security.
"My beautiful dolly," he said again. "I'll never have enough of you. I'll never be able to let you go."
"Why?" I asked.
"I had a family too," he said softly. "Once upon a time."
It was the most I'd ever gotten out of him, and I was too afraid to say more in case he stopped speaking.
"My mother collected dolls," he went on. "Pretty porcelain things with soft curls and painted cheeks. She'd get so mad at me when I touched them."
I nodded and stared up at him, waiting for him to go on.
"She had one just like you," he admitted. "Porcelain skin, white as ivory. Pale like you. Not a blemish in sight."
"Did she let you play with it?" I asked.
"Never," he laughed. "I didn't like dolls, and they were collector's items. She had so many, but that one was my favorite. She was so pretty. Hair just like yours, too."
"And my face?" I wanted to know.
"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "Red cheeks and pink lips. She was so pretty. So perfect until she broke."
"Who broke her?" I asked, my heart beating faster again.
He smoothed down my hair, and I realized just how strange this was. Lying in an embrace with my captor... my cruel Master who wanted nothing but pain for me. But at that moment the pain nor the memories mattered. We were just two broken children trying to piece our lives back together.
"The men," he said. "I was little. Seven years old. They broke all her dolls. Smashed their faces, just like they did to my mom."
I stroked his cheek as he turned his face away from me. He made a move to leave, but I held onto him tightly.
"Don't," I begged him. "Stay here with me."
"I don't belong in a cage," he said gently. "You do. Because pretty little dollies need to be protected so nobody breaks them."
He sounded like a boy and it hurt my head and my heart.
"Stay," I begged again. "Stay."
He hesitated, but after a moment, pulled me into his arms again.
"You smell so good," he muttered into my hair. "Like grapefruit."
The question was on the tip of my tongue, and I decided I was brave enough to ask in this near dream-like state.
"Why the grapefruit, Master?" I asked.
He smelled my hair. Played with my nipples. Pulled me closer to him.
"Tell me," I begged, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, taking a page out of his own advice book.
"My family owned orchards," he went on. "Mostly apples and cherries, some oranges too. There was just one grapefruit tree on the property."
I settled into his arms, my eyelids heavy, starting to shut.
"That's where they hung my father," he said. "On the grapefruit tree. I stared at his body dangling from the branch as they drove me away."
"I..." I whispered, but he pressed a finger against my lips.
"I've told you enough," he said, his voice suddenly rough and unkind. "Sleep now, before I change my mind."
"But-" I started, but he held on tighter, nearly cutting off my breath.
"Sleep," he commanded again.
I slept.
Chapter 5
Kain
As time passed, my dolly bent to my will more and more. I molded her to fit my body and my personality. Trained her to respond to my quirks and to want the same things I did. I taught her to crave pain and flourish under my care. And she was such a good girl.
Sometimes she even spoke to me, though she was mostly quiet. But those moments when she slipped, when I was making her come, or making her submit and she professed her body and soul to me, those moments were my favorite.
We were alone in the house most of the time. I was in hiding, there was nowhere for me to go. My men ensured we were safe, but also made sure my dolly never so much as laid her eyes on them. She was all mine. I wanted to be her world because she had been mine from the very beginning when I first saw her.
Still, she made me think of my mother's dolls. The pretty broken doll who had shattered so easily. She may have looked like the dolly, but Ophelia was far from the broken toy I remembered. She surprised me by coming back from everything I did to her, fighting back with everything she had in her small body every time I tried to break her. She was resilient, alright.
Two years into her kidnapping was the first time I had to leave the house. My plans were finally being set into motion, but it meant I had to leave dolly behind. I gave her strict instructions before I left.
"I'll only be gone a couple of hours," I said. "There are men watching you, so don't do anything dumb. Will you be a good girl for me?"
She nodded and rubbed her face against my palm. I stroked her cheek thoughtfully. She looked so pretty naked at my feet, with the custom collar I'd gotten her. It was a simple leather and silver band with an O-ring, and I'd attached a leash to it. Now, I clipped it off and stroked her silky hair.
"Be a good girl for me while I'm gone," I ordered her. "I want you waiting on your knees when I get back. Behind the front door. You understand?"
Another nod and another sad little look.
I left her a couple of minutes later. It felt strange to be back in the real world. A world where things were moving forward, where people were still living their lives as if nothing had happened. I realized how hidden away from the world we were. We only had one another. Of course, that had been my plan from the beginning. I wanted her attached to me, needing me with every breath she took. And I knew I'd already succeeded.
I ran my errand and was eager to return home a couple hours later than I had planned on.
I turned my key in the lock and opened the front door, my eyes going to the floor to find my dolly writhing in pleasure as she rode her own hand.
"Dolly," I said roughly, and her eyes snapped to mine guiltily.
She looked guilty as fuck. I knelt down next to her, the door shutting behind me as I took her chin between my fingers.
"Did I say you could touch yourself?" I asked her roughly, and she swallowed, looking anywhere but at my eyes. "Did I say you could make that pretty little cunt come?"
She shook her head, and I gripped her harder.
"Words, dolly," I demanded.
"N..." she tried.
"Words!" I exclaimed.
"No," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
"Louder. Did I tell you to make my pussy come?"
"No."
"Louder. Did I tell you to play?"
"No."
"No what?"
"No, Master."
"And what else?"
"I'm sorry."
I grabbed her by her throat and lifted her into the air. She squirmed under my hands as I walked her backward, her body hitting the wall.
"I don't like you touching what's mine without permission, dolly," I told her coolly. "I'm going to have to punish you now."
"Yes," she whispered, and I cocked my head to the side.
"Yes?" I repeated while she looked away guiltily. "So you wanted me to catch you."
She closed her eyes tightly and my cock twitched when her lips parted and that sweet little pink tongue darted out to wet her mouth.
"Say it," I taunted her. "Tell me you did it on purpose."
"I..." she started, swallowing hard. "I did it on purpose, Master."
"Why?" I demanded.
"So you would..." her eyes flickered to mine. "So you would punish me, Master."
"You like it," I said roughly, my fing
ers tightening around her throat. "You like the pain, don't you, dolly?"
"Yes," she whispered. "I need it."
"Little fuckdoll," I muttered against her throat. "Remember you asked for this."
She cried out when I let her down, grabbing her hands by the wrists and crossing them behind her back. She wasn't fighting it though, finally succumbing, knowing she needed this just as badly as I did. I wasn't sure whether I'd trained her to love it or whether she'd been just as broken as me from the beginning, but I also didn't particularly give a shit. All I wanted was my dolly sprawled open for me so I could abuse her.
I grabbed her leash from my pocket and clipped it to her collar, then forced her to her knees and made her crawl behind me into the playroom. Once in there, I traced my fingers over the various equipment thoughtfully while she watched me with immense fear in her eyes.
"Please," she whispered, and I turned to her angrily.
"You've said enough," I told her. "Quiet from now on."
I picked a whip from my collection, watching her eyes water as I brought it over. I strapped her into a contraption that made her stand spreadeagled, and positioned myself behind her.
"Count them for me," I told her. "Ten lashings."
"Master!" she cried out.
"No," I roared. "Count them!"
She counted.
I hit her hard, too hard. But fuck it felt damn good.
She yelped at the pain, her whimpers dissolving into moans as she counted out the lashings. I hit the same spot, not being merciful in the slightest. I couldn't bring myself to show her kindness, not after she'd admitted she was just as fucked up as me.
"Take it," I told her darkly. "Take every fucking hit."
She counted until her voice broke and then she just whispered the numbers. I gave her two extra for that, and by the time I was done, she was crying openly.
I let her out of the restraints and she collapsed in my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Her body was shaking, her ass bleeding from the spots where I'd hit too hard. Her thighs were already bruising from where the whip had wrapped around them.