KENDOLL
I gulp in a deep breath as my eyes flash open.
Where am I?
Movement is answered with failure. I’m bound again, upright. Not to the pulleys, to a post. I drag in more air, clearing out whatever shit they pumped into me with those muffins. They were so moist, so delicious, I’d inhaled them.
“Finally,” a deep voice says, and I squint against the lights to see the Beardman standing across the room.
The fucker. They drugged us to get us out of the cells easier.
Dolly!
A sweep of the room with my eyes, and I find her. She’s standing in the corner, her back to me.
“Dolly.”
“She’ll be with you in a minute,” Beardman says, walking over to the camera set up. He fiddles with the computer and lenses.
Bossman walks into the room, a shit-eating grin plastered on his fat face. “Just about ready?” he asks, rubbing his hands together like he’s about to sit down to his daily feast.
“Yeah, the feed’s ready to go live. Did you bring them?” Beardman clicks a few more buttons.
“They chickened out, the little shits.” Disgust drips from Bossman’s words. If the special request bidders didn’t show, will they still get to see what they paid for?
I focus on Dolly. Her shoulders move up and down in a gentle rhythm. She’s resigned to let these things happen to her. She’s not up for fighting them anymore. But she won’t give up. She promised me, and she won’t let me down. I’ll just have to be strong enough for us both until she’s able to face all this head on.
“They still paid, so the show goes on, they just don’t get front row seats.” His laugh, a dry cackle, rolls into a deep cough.
“Okay, Dolly. Showtime,” Beardman tells her, and her back stiffens. “Come stand here in front of the camera.” She turns slowly, and I get a good look at her face.
They’ve painted her more than usual. White powder covers her face. Deep ruby lipstick is centered on her lips, giving her a puckered appearance. Dark pink circles color her cheekbones.
“Dolly.” I need her attention on me, but she’s lost to their demands while we’re in this room. Because in here, they’ll hurt her for fun, and even more so for punishment.
I wriggle my wrists in the binds and find them looser than usual. If I twist them enough, I might be able to yank out of the straps.
“And we’re live.” Beardman steps to the side, and the light on the camera directly in front of Dolly lights up.
“Welcome back to Dolly for Hire!” Bossman speaks into a microphone off camera. “Tonight, we have a special request from Queenhearts and Dragonmate for both Dolly and Ken. It’s going to be a fun night, and we’ll be taking bids for activities as we get closer to the end of the evening. Remember, if you want to have full control over an evening with Dolly or Ken, put in your request and your bid. You’ll be brought on set to watch right here in studio as our dolls play for us.”
Cowards hide behind their computers, commenting and bidding. I can’t see the words on the chat screen, but each ping tells me plenty of viewers have arrived, anxiously awaiting whatever torment Queenhearts requested.
“Let’s begin. Dolly, if you’ll take your pretty dress off,” Bossman orders, and Dolly’s fingers curl into a fist. “Dolly, your dress.”
Her hands disappear in front of her while she works the buttons open, and the dress falls to her feet in a pool of lace and tulle. She steps out of the skirt, completely naked to the viewers staring at her through the lens.
Her legs and back are healed from her last special requests, but the markings are left behind. She’ll bear them for months before they fade…if they fade.
“Look at these titties. So pretty.” Beardman steps to her side and reaches toward her, groping her breast.
“Don’t touch her,” I growl. I haven’t gotten my wrists out yet.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Bossman laughs. “They like his jealousy.”
Ping.
Ping.
“Keep going,” he orders, and Beardman continues. She releases a small yelp, and Beardman’s lips crack into a wicked grin. His fat, dirty fingers twist her nipples, pulling them toward him. Dolly cries out again when he lets go. Her breasts bounce back, and his slimy tongue roams over his lips as he reaches for her again.
“Stop it. Fucking stop.” I tug harder on my binds. Bossman is too busy reading the comments to pay attention to me, and Beardman turns Dolly so I can see her profile.
Beardman bends, taking Dolly’s nipple into his mouth. He pulls his lips back, giving me a clear view of her nipple between his teeth.
Dolly whines, her hands shaking at her sides. He’s hurting her—and smiling while he does it.
“That’s a good dolly,” Bossman coos, pushing a metal cart over to my side. I tear my focus from Dolly, and my stomach drops—freefalls straight to my feet.
Blades. Knives and scapula, all different lengths, sizes, shapes.
There’s a thick metal hook laying on the tray. A fishhook large enough to hang a man from.
I swallow.
“That’s enough fun. Dolly, come here,” Bossman chastises her for having her nipples bitten by the fucking savage. Beardman releases her, and tiny drop of blood forms just below her areola. He broke fucking skin!
My pulse bangs in my ears, blocking out Bossman’s voice as he addresses the camera. Something about Queenhearts has put in her final orders. Beardman throws a sadistic grin my way as he pulls Dolly toward the metal cart.
“This is going to be our highest viewed session ever,” he mutters, positioning her in front of me.
“Dolly. Look at me, Dolly.” But she doesn’t. Her eyes cast downward, and she tilts her head to focus on what Beardman is saying into her ear.
“Ken!” Bossman’s voice snaps. “Your cock isn’t ready for the show.” He stomps over to us and smacks my flaccid dick. I grimace, but keep my groan inside. I’m not playing into this fucking shitshow.
“Let Dolly help him this time,” Beardman says, bringing his gaze to meet mine. “She’s so good at sucking cock. Let’s show the audience how good she is at sucking him off.”
Bossman narrows his eyes for a split second, but the computer pings so fast, they blend into one long electric sound. He leaves us to check the monitor.
“That’s a big yes from the gallery. Dolly, get down on your knees.”
My gaze darts to Dolly. She tilts her head up to see me, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. Time drags to a near stop as she moves down to one knee, then the other. Before I can suck in a breath, she’s kneeling before me.
“See, just being near him is getting his cock working.”
I’m not sure which dead man says this, because I’m focused on Dolly, focused on my traitorous dick, steel hard in front of her face. I can’t let her do this. The first time she touches me will not be at the orders of those assholes.
“No,” I command in the hardest tone I’ve ever used with her. Her wide eyes snap up to mine, startled and unsure of what to do next.
I wiggle my left hand, folding it inward as much as possible, and yank.
“Suck his dick, Dolly. Or do I need to encourage you?”
My hand is free of the restraint, but they haven’t caught on to it yet.
Dolly frowns.
“No,” I tell her again, keeping my voice low and hard. She needs to know who to listen to—and it’s me. Fucking hell, she will obey me.
My right hand is harder to work loose, but with a hard enough yank, I get it out.
“Dolly. Now!” Bossman yells, moving toward us, the electric prod in his hands.
Adrenaline and rage fuel my muscles as I lunge forward, knocking Dolly to the ground before the prod can touch her. Grabbing it with both hands, I wrench it free from Bossman, who is too stunned to react.
“What the—?” Bossman’s face flushes red. I flip around and shove the prod toward him, pressing
it against his fat, fuzzy face. The stench of burning hair and flesh fills the room, second only to his scream.
“Bossman.” Beardman finally catches up to what’s happening. I kick Bossman in his round belly, knocking him to the ground, his agony voiced in strangled howls.
Switching the electricity to the highest point the prod can manage, I jab Bossman’s stomach over and over again. He rolls from side to side, crying out for mercy.
“Stop! Stop! Help! Stop!” he screams, clutching his middle and rolling to his side away from me. He’s gasping for air when Beardman grabs my shoulders. His dirty nails dig into my skin and pull me back.
With Bossman down for at least another minute, I spin on my heel and point the prod at Beardman.
“Couldn’t wait your turn?” I ask, aiming for his face as the other fat fuck whimpers behind me.
“You hurt me.” Dolly’s voice slips over Bossman’s whines.
I kick Beardman’s feet out from beneath him. With the prod fully charged and aimed at his chest, I keep him down on his back. A quick look around, I find a coil of rope and snag it.
“Get on your belly!” I kick Beardman in his side. He cries out, but manages to flip over to his stomach after another hard kick to his ribs.
“So many times, you hurt me!” Dolly screams. I jam my knees into Beardman’s back and work the rope around his wrists.
“Get off me!” Beardman wiggles beneath me. I take the prod from where I tucked it beneath my arm and jam it into his neck. He screams, jolting from the electricity running through him.
“Shut the fuck up.” I shove my knee into his back again and stand up.
I keep the prod aimed at Beardman in case he wants to try to get up, but all he does is roll onto his back.
Dolly picks up a long knife from the tray and stands over Bossman. “You hurt me so bad.” She’s not crying or shaking. No, she’s steady in her resolve, her eyes focused on her prey.
Bossman stares up at her, his eyes wide with shock.
“You wanted me on my knees so many times.” She lowers herself to kneel at his side. “Here. I’m on my knees for you! I’m on my fucking knees for you! This is what you wanted, right?” She lowers her face over his and bellows, “Right!”
“N-No. No, don’t do this. Don’t—” Bossman shakes his head.
With both hands wrapped around the thick wooden handle, she raises it over her head.
“Now, I’m on my knees—just for you.” She plunges the knife into his oversized belly, relishing in the shrill of his screams before pulling it out and thrusting it back in, over and over.
Bossman buckles up at first, bending forward to protect his belly, but she’s on a mission. The knife plows into his chest, and his face bursts into a frozen projection of pain. When she pulls it back out, he collapses to the floor. His hands grope for his stomach. A gurgled cry escapes as Dolly shoves the blade into his stomach again and again.
“Dolly! Stop!” Beardman rolls toward her, and I jam the prod between his shoulder blades. A shout falls from his lips as his body seizes.
Blood spurts from the wounds as Dolly continues to stab and withdraw, stab and withdraw, turning him into her personal pin cushion.
Dolly stabs the knife into Bossman’s neck and releases it, falling back on her heels. Her shoulders slump, and her hands fall to her sides, all the adrenaline and fight fleeing from her at once.
Bossman’s eyes stare vacant toward the ceiling, his lifeforce pooling around him like a sacrificial bath. Beardman whimpers on the floor at my feet, blood streaming toward him. With his hands tied, he tries to scoot away, but I jam my foot onto his chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I jab the prod into his chest and hold down the button, shocking him until his eyes roll into the back of his head as he passes out.
I ease myself onto my knees beside her, giving her a moment to get her breathing under control.
“Dolly?” I say softly.
She turns to face me, blood splattered over her face, sitting in a pool of red. A drop of it rolls down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb as I cradle her face in my hands. She’s so warm, so electric. Smearing the blood over her already painted lips, I study her expression. Calm. She’s not panicked or fearful.
“Dolly, baby, you did so good.” I inch closer to her face. Thoughts of how she feels, smells, tastes, have invaded my mind since the moment I first saw her. Finally, I won’t have to wonder anymore.
“You’re not mad? I didn’t wait for you.”
I grin. She’s so sweet, so innocent. “I’m not mad at all.” Her gaze flickers to my mouth, and it’s the only signal I need from my girl.
Leaning down, I brush my lips over hers, taking on the sweet metallic taste of the warm blood coating them. Her hands grip my shoulders, pulling me closer, wanting more—needing more. I deepen our kiss, plunging my tongue forward, dancing with hers in a tangle of beats and melodies only our bodies understand.
So many days and nights, she was close, but not enough to touch, to really feel her skin against mine. But now, I have her in my hands, her lips pressed against mine, her tongue tasting me.
When I break the kiss, she touches her fingers to her lips. Concern wrinkles her brow.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. She can’t be afraid what we’re doing is wrong. Nothing has been so right.
“Beardman,” she whispers, and I’m drawn out of the luxury Dolly’s touch. “He hurt you too. You should do it.” She pulls the knife from Bossman’s throat and presses it into my hand.
“He hurt us both.” I wrap her fingers around mine on the handle. “We’ll do it together. From now on, we do everything together.”
She stares at me for a long beat, hope entering her bright eyes. Her lips tug into a smile. “Together.” She nods, and we turn to Beardman, who’s starting to come back around.
“Look who’s back. Just in time.” I grab his arm and pull him closer to us. He snaps his eyes open and turns to us, his gaze landing on the knife. Panic erupts. His lips move faster than sound can come out.
“No! No! Please!” He attempts to scramble to his feet.
In one motion, we plunge the knife into his throat, and then his chest, and his stomach. Fresh droplets of blood splatter over Dolly’s cheeks and chest. Red blotches cover her arms, her knees still steeped in a thick pool of blood. We work as one, and all too soon, he stops crying and wiggling.
He’s dead.
Lying on the floor, blood pouring out of his wounds.
We drop the knife, letting it clamber to the ground as Dolly leans into my chest, and I wrap my bloody arms around her. Covered in the filth of those two degenerate fucks, we get to our feet.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
The sounds rapid fire from the computer.
“Stay here,” I direct Abigail before making my way to the camera. The viewers have typed in cheers and congratulations and requests for better ways to end Bossman and Beardman.
“Queenhearts, I hope you enjoyed your special request this evening. I promise you, you’ll enjoy it much better live. We’ll be seeing you real soon.”
The ellipses dances in the chat box as my thumb finds the power button on the camera.
“Bye, bye.”
Thirteen
DOLLY
“Let’s find you something to wear.” Ken wraps his hand around mine and helps me to my feet. The room is chilled. Blood runs cold over my feet as I stand in the pools we created, but his touch warms me. I follow the trail from our joined hands, fingers braided, up his arm to his chin.
“You need to shave.” I reach up to touch the thick stubble covering his strong jaw. It’s coarse and dirty. I run my fingers over it, feeling him, touching him after so long of being out of reach.
He laughs lightly.
“We can both get cleaned up, but first, we have to get out of here.”
“What about…them?” I wave my hand over the bodies without breaking eye contact
with him. There’s no need to look at them. I know what I’ll see. Blood, flesh torn open, eyes locked in despair staring up at me.
“I’ll deal with that later.” He glances at the laptop. Even with the cameras off, people still blow up the chatroom.
He tugs on my hand and leads me out of the room. Bossman never suspected he’d need to keep us locked in the playroom, so it’s open when Ken turns the knob.
Forced heat wraps around our naked bodies as we step into a plush carpeted hallway.
“We’re not in the warehouse.” He lets go of my hand and surveys our surroundings. There are three other doors in the short hallway.
“That’s the bathroom.” I point to the last room on the left. “The stairs are around the corner.”
His brow wrinkles.
“You were always asleep when they brought you up here,” I explain. “They didn’t need to drug me. I came up—” Pain wraps around my heart, squeezing gently. “I came willingly.” Tears flood my eyes and fall before I can force them back. Even my tears aren’t mine to control.
“Dolly.” His hands grip my shoulders. “Nothing they did to you is your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I hear his words and they make sense. They’re in the right order, and I understand them, but my brain won’t let them soak in.
“I didn’t fight them. Not like you.” I lower my gaze. Not for one minute did Ken stop pushing toward escape. He didn’t accept his lot in life the way I had. He was strong. So much stronger than I could ever be.
“You did everything you could to survive.” His voice dips, the bossy part of him starting to invade. “We have to get cleaned up and get you into something warm. We’ve been cold for too fucking long.” He pushes open the door to the bathroom. It’s no different than any other. Shower, toilet, sink. It’s all here. Normal.
“What’s in the other rooms?” He reaches into the shower to turn on the water. Steam builds immediately, and I can’t wait to get under the water.
“Two bedrooms. Not playrooms. Just regular rooms,” I tell him as he searches beneath the sink. Finding a new bar of soap, he tears into the package and hands it to me. “Okay, get in.” He gestures to the water.
DOLLY Page 6