Broken Doll

by Zoe Blake

  I knew better than to protest. I wondered would he care if I could? If I did protest and he could hear me…would he stop? By the look in his eye, I thought not.

  Leaning over my prone body, he tore at the knot which secured the school uniform shirt.

  “Get this fucking stupid uniform off. I want you naked.”

  Next, he tore at the skirt.

  Humiliation swept over me.

  Looking down I could see the large lush swells of breasts, far larger than mine had been in real life. Hard looking pink nipples poked upward. I saw a flat stomach and an unnaturally narrow waist. My legs were bent at an odd angle…spread open to expose a smooth, plastic vagina. Was there a hole there? For his…his cock? Like there was a hole where my mouth should be?

  Jesus fuck.

  It was my body…but it wasn’t.

  Still, being exposed before the hard gaze of a stranger, my legs open as if I were willing…it was too much.

  I started to scream. I didn’t care if no one could hear me. I could hear me, for now that was enough…it had to be enough…it was all I had.

  Steve grabbed both my ankles and wrenched them up and back. Pushing till they were behind my head. I could feel the silk of his tie as he wrapped it around my legs and secured it tightly.

  Oh god! It hurt. My human body would never have bent this way. The pain was unbelievable. As if I were being pulled and crushed at the same time.

  “That’s it. Ankles behind your head, like a good whore. What should we call you tonight? I need a good stripper name. How about Trixie? Yeah, Trixie the whore.”

  He undid his black leather belt. Grasping the end with the buckle, he swatted the leather strap across my exposed ass and pussy. The contact felt like a brand. Burning my skin and leaving it feeling bruised.

  “How’d you like that? Damn I wish these things came with some kind of speaker. It would be a lot more fun if I could hear your screams.”

  I am screaming, I thought pitifully.

  His pants and boxers lowered to the ground. I watched as he tore at his shirt with anxious fingers. The bulbous head of his cock bobbed under the shirttails. Its mottled purple flesh in stark relief against the starched white of the cotton shirt.

  Lying on the sofa, all I could see was his broad, hair covered chest through my stretched legs as he positioned himself over me. With one full thrust, he impaled me on his cock.

  He thought he was just fucking a sex doll.

  I knew he had just taken my virginity.

  My head bumped against the sofa armrest as he plowed into my unresisting body. Each movement of his cock sent a fresh wave of clenching, grasping pain up my spine. It felt as if he were fucking me raw. If I had been human, at least the blood from my maidenhead would have provided some slick comfort. I was denied even that as his hard sweaty flesh slid against my smooth plastic insides.

  Steve groaned and, as if on impulse, he leaned down and bit my nipple. Making a growling sound, he pulled hard on it with his teeth.

  No! Oh god! No! You’re tearing it! Stop! Stop!

  Looking down in horror, I could see his teeth marks forever cut into the molded plastic breast.

  He continued to relentlessly pound into my body.

  “That’s it, Trixie. You whore. Take it. Take my cock,” he groaned.

  My name is Jane.

  My name is Jane.

  I’m Jane.

  Jane.

  I held onto the mantra in my head. With each thrust, each guttural groan, every disgusting utterance of his…I held on to the only thing that was still mine. My name.

  My name is Jane.

  Four

  He finished by spewing his sticky thick seed onto my stomach.

  “That fuck hole of yours is a real bitch to clean out,” Steve said with a laugh as he pulled on his boxers and rose to get himself another beer.

  As he turned on the TV and started up a video game, I was forced to lie there, with my body in its crippled position. I had lost all feeling in my legs. My pussy felt bruised and raw.

  As his cum cooled and dried on my stomach, it began to itch.

  “Steve. Steve? You down there? I brought dinner home,” the female voice called out from somewhere above.

  “Be right up, dear,” responded Steve.

  With a sigh, he rose and pulled on his slacks and shirt as he pushed his feet back into his shoes.

  Oh god! Was he going to leave me here? The prospect of spending countless days with my legs behind my head and his cum drying on my stomach filled me with a horrified dread. It would be worse than the darkness of the closet. He began to turn away.

  No! No!

  “Oops, can’t forget this!”

  He returned and unwound the tie about my ankles. My legs flopped down onto the sofa.

  “I’ll be back to clean you up later.”

  With that he left.

  I thought being locked in the dark closet was hell, but this was somehow worse. At least in the closet, I could trick my mind into thinking this all wasn’t real. In the darkness, you can make your own world, your own rules. Out here, I was forced to endure reality. The sound of the TV, the feel of the sofa, even the smell of the beer…it was all so terribly…normal. Even Steve, monster that he was…was he really any different than most men? Drinking beer, playing video games, complaining about his day. Instead of masturbating, he fucked a sex doll…he fucked me.

  Surrounded by mirrors, I was too low on the sofa to capture a glimpse of my reflection. Being unable to confirm with my eyes what I already knew in my mind was its own special torture.

  What felt like hours later, Steve returned. Dressed in pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt, he quickly passed a warm washcloth over my stomach, cleaning up his mess before grabbing me around the waist and lifting me off the sofa. I was bent in half, facing downward. My hair draped over my face. For the first time, I saw its color. Bleach blonde. I used to be a brunette, I thought. I still am a brunette, I ruthlessly corrected in my mind. This body may have blonde hair, but Jane…Jane has brown hair.

  “Steve! Where the hell are you? Are you coming to bed?”

  “Yes! I left the TV on down here. I’m coming.”

  He opened the closet and tossed me in before slamming the door shut. I could hear him lock the door and the sound of his hurried footsteps up the stairs.

  Instead of being placed standing or leaning against the clothes. I had been tossed naked onto the floor. My nose was buried inside an old sneaker. Something hard and sharp poked the back of my left thigh. My stomach still itched from the remnants of his cum not fully wiped away.

  A thunk then a soft whirring noise. The air conditioner had just turned on.

  Twenty-one days of captivity and two weeks since Steve had taken my virginity.

  Two weeks of lying naked on the floor of this closet.

  I don’t know how long since my accident.

  It was becoming harder and harder to remember who I am…or was.

  My name is Jane.

  Like my body, my mind is starting to become still. Numb. Motionless. Worn out from the constant spin of my thoughts, I now think of nothing. I don’t wonder how or why I got here. I don’t think of my family. I don’t even have random songs or scenes from old television shows pop into my head anymore. Like this closet, my mind is dark.

  The only thing I still cling to is my task of counting the days by the whir of the air conditioner. I wonder when I will stop doing that? At one hundred? One thousand? At what point will my mind finally join with my new body and become nothing more than an empty vessel?

  This time I didn’t even hear his footsteps or the turn of the lock.

  I wasn’t listening.

  The door opened, and my little cocoon was flooded with bright, harsh light.

  “Fuck! Dammit. I forgot this is how I left you.”

  Reaching down, he pulled me out of the closet by my feet, dragging me along the dirt of the floor.

  Flinging me over his shoulder, I was ca
rried out of the room and up the stairs.

  Unable to lift my head to truly look around, all I could see were the patterns of Persian throw rugs and polished hardwood floors. I could smell the clean scent of furniture polish. I couldn’t be certain, but it felt like I was in a rich home. He carried me up a second flight of stairs and into a large, cold room. Leaning down, I was placed on a toilet. Looking around I could see I was in a bathroom. It was extremely sleek with white marble floors and counters. Steve leaned over and started the shower.

  “Let’s get this wig off you. I have a new one anyway.”

  I could feel him prodding at the back of my neck. Then the sensation of having a Band-Aid torn off my skin. He stepped back, and my tangled bleach blonde hair hung limp and loose from his grasp.

  “Crap. Thank god I got a new one. Looks like I got jizz all over this one. Have to make sure to bury it in the trash outside so the wife doesn’t see.” Steve chuckled at his own conniving.

  All I could focus on was the sound of the water streaming behind him. A shower. A shower! The feeling of water caressing my skin. To at least feel clean again. For the first time in countless days, I started to feel something again. It was as if the prospect of doing something so mundanely human made me feel human again.

  His brow wrinkled in displeasure. “Christ. You’re all dusty and what the fuck is that smudge on your stomach? Thank god these things can be submerged in water.”

  Steve lifted me high and carried me to the shower stall. I could feel the rush of steam hit my face as he opened the glass door. The scalding hot water hit me the moment I was pushed inside. It burned and seared my skin. I silently cried out in pain.

  “Almost as good as boiling water, I figure. Need to get all that cum off you.”

  The pain. It was everywhere. My skin was on fire.

  Steve grabbed me by the jaw and tilted my head back. Blistering hot water poured into my perpetually open mouth. Steve finally leaned me against the tiles. They felt cool in comparison. I watched as he spun a bar of soap between his palms. Lifting me by the shoulder he shoved four fingers into my mouth. I started to gag and cough. Twisting around and around he coated my mouth with bitter foam. I could feel the suds drip down the back of my throat. Pulling his fingers free, he shoved all four painfully into my pussy.

  “Let’s see if you can take a fist.”

  Oh god! No! Please! Please, why can’t you hear me! Please don’t do this to me! Please!

  Forcing his four fingers into my tight passage, he twisted and turned them. The nubs of his knuckles bruised my insides. Pushing further in, there was the scrape of his thumb nail as he thrust it alongside his fingers.

  This was too cruel. Unbearably so. To trap me in plastic yet force me to feel as if it were flesh.

  With his thumb stretching me painfully wide, he twisted his hand again till he was fully seated inside me to the wrist.

  My arms hung uselessly at my sides, unable to defend myself as I suffered through the indignity of having his whole hand shoved deep inside my body.

  “It’s pretty fucking tight in your snatch. Let’s see if I can make a fist, huh, Darla?”

  So now I was Darla I thought with a rueful laugh.

  His fingers wriggled inside of me, every movement sending a shock of pain between my legs as my thigh muscles cramped. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist. My whole reality was nothing but agony. The blinding pain. It felt like a bowling ball was being forced inside me, crushing my organs.

  Stop! Stop! God! Fuck! Stop!

  Steve finally pulled free, wrenching his fist from my body. If I could, I would have crumpled to the floor of the shower and cried for days.

  The hot water still seared my skin, though I was numb from the pain between my legs, I barely noticed when he spun me around. His soapy hand moved over my bald head and down my back. Such a touch from another human being would have been a divine comfort under any other circumstance. His hand moved over my ass, giving one cheek a slap. The sound reverberated around the tiny tiled shower.

  “Let’s clean this asshole of yours. Want to make sure it’s ready for tonight,” he said with another mocking laugh.

  What?

  With no further warning, he jammed two fingers into my ass.

  Oh god! There is a hole there too! Jesus fuck.

  How many more indignities must a I suffer through? For the thousandth time, I wished I could close my eyes. To shut out all that was happening to me.

  His fingers prodded and probed my backside before pulling free.

  Yanking me out of the shower stall, he rubbed my already raw skin with a rough towel before once more hefting me over his shoulder and carrying me back down to his man cave.

  For the next hour, I tried to close my mind off as he pushed and pulled me. Raised my arms. Lowered my legs. Turned me over and back. Smeared something on my face across my mouth. Then finally placed a new wig on me.

  “Got to get you looking all pretty for tonight. My friend can’t wait to meet you.” Steve had lifted me up and held me before a mirror.

  I stared into my own vacant eyes.

  He had placed me in a hot pink sequined gown which barely reached the top of my thighs. The scooped neck was so low, my breasts popped out of the top. My obscenely open lips were smeared with glossy, pink lipstick.

  But the worst…the absolute worst…was he had put me in a brunette wig. The glossy brown curls fell softly just above my shoulders.

  Just how Jane used to wear her hair. Dammit, how I used to wear my hair.

  I started to sob.

  The doll in the mirror just stared back at me…expressionless…empty.

  Five

  “You sonofabitch, did you really get one of them?”

  “Yeah, I told you I did.”

  “You’re not fucking with me?”

  “See for yourself.”

  I could hear their conversation as they walked down the stairs. Steve had left me propped up on the sofa. Thinking it would be funny, he’d wedged an empty bottle of beer in my hand. As the door opened, I recognized the tall form of Steve; with him was a slightly short yet stockier stranger.

  The man walked right up to me and stared.

  “You sonofabitch! You did get one.”

  “John, would I lie to you?” asked Steve with a smirk as he walked behind me. I could hear the clink of beer bottles.

  Still, the man named John just stared.

  Steve returned and handed him a bottle, taking a swig, he said, “Hot, right?”

  John just shook his head. “You are one lucky sonofabitch. How do you even make it into work? I’d just sit around all day fucking it.”

  It.

  That was me.

  I was an it now.

  A thing.

  An object.

  An object to be fucked.

  Used.

  Steve just laughed.

  “Does Carol know?” asked John. The sofa dipped as he sat beside me, forcing my arm over his shoulder. His hand was pressed between my legs.

  “Fuck no. She’d pitch a fit. I hide it in the closet whenever I’m finished just in case she ever comes down here.”

  Carol, that must be Steve’s wife’s name. Carol. My stomach twisted when I thought of all he had done to me when he had a wife one floor up.

  I grimaced as John fondled my left breast. His large hand squeezed me tight while his fingers dug in deep.

  “Her tits feel real,” he said, astonished.

  Steve just nodded his head.

  John continued to grope and grab me. Putting down his beer, he pinched both my nipples between his finger and thumbs and twisted them.

  Stop! That hurts!

  “Hey! Knock it the fuck off. You want to tear her nipples off?”

  Confused, I felt a strange sense of appreciation as Steve came to my rescue.

  John shifted over to the other side of the sofa. “What does it feel like to fuck one of these?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Steve said, �
��The same, except you don’t have to give a shit if it comes and you can fuck it as hard as you want without it complaining.”

  It.

  It again.

  “And you don’t have to buy it jewelry or dinner afterwards,” offered John, smiling wide at his own joke.

  “Or marry the bitch!”

  Steve and John high-fived one another.

  John tilted his head in my direction. “You going to let me try it out?”

  “Let’s get high first. You will almost think she’s real when you’re fucked up.”

  Watching as if from afar, Steve took one of the hated mirrors down and dumped some fine white powder onto its surface. As if I were watching some bad 80s movie, I sat there as the two men snorted and coughed the better portion of it up their noses. At one point, Steve smeared some under my own nose. I waited to see if my plastic body would react. I’m not sure if I was grateful or not that it didn’t. Would the small escape from reality the cocaine might have afforded me make what lay ahead any easier?

  A sense of dread began to creep over me.

  Both men began to undress.

  “What hole you want first?” asked Steve.

  “I want her mouth. Always wanted to just shove my cock down some chic’s mouth. You know. Really choke her with it.”

  Steve gestured wildly at me. “Have at it, bro!”

  Oh god. No. Not again.

  John climbed up on the sofa and placed his knees above my shoulders, his feet digging painfully into my ribs. Leaning down, he grasped my hair and wrenched my head up till my neck was tilted at a painful angle. Then he shoved his cock into my mouth. I gagged at the rancid sour taste as it pushed to the back of my throat. I could feel his balls as they swayed just below my chin.

  “Fuck! This is fucking awesome, man,” cried out John as he started to pump my head up and down on his cock.

  “Right? You don’t even miss the tongue,” agreed Steve.