Page 6 of Dolly

I shake my head. A fog rolls in. My thoughts are disjointed.

“Now, dammit,” he growls low.

There’s a ding from the computer. Then another. And another.

“Ah, seems our dolly is being disobedient tonight,” he says, and I throw my body into action. I know that word. It comes with punishment, and that means unbearable pain.

I shove off the bed and whip around, pressing my face into the mattress. Gripping the hem of my dress in both hands, I pull it up until my bare ass faces the cameras.

More dings, faster.

His chuckle shoots ice through my bloodstream.

“Okay, okay. You win.” He moves to the closet again. “Demontail47 will be charged one-thousand-and-fifty-dollars tonight.”

No! No, no, no, no.

I look over my shoulder.

He has the rope.

Someone bid to have me hang.

I clench my teeth. Why didn’t I move faster? Hesitation doesn’t work! I know this!

He fists my hair and yanks me backward until I’m on my feet. “Don’t drop that dress. Keep it up nice and high so everyone can see your ass,” he hisses into my ear.

The burn in my scalp is nothing compared to what’s coming.

He shoves me backward until I’m in the right spot, then goes to work with his rope. Around my armpits, my waist, between my thighs. He tugs upward, making sure the coarse material rubs against my labia. I cry out as he pulls the rope back and forth, working it into the right spot. He’s making a swing of sorts, and as my body adjusts to the burn in my groin, he hoists me up.

I’m tethered to the hoops in the ceiling. One ankle, then the other, is knotted, and the line is thrown into another hook. Spread wide, my pussy, my ass, my breasts—everything is exposed and open to Bossman.

“There,” he says, out of breath from all the trouble of getting me trussed up like a prized pig. A little innocent dolly on her swing, like a child on a playground of horrors. My hands are wound in their own bondage and pulled over my head. Just to prove how big of an idiot I am, I tug. Useless.

The door opens.

“Ready for me?” Beardman's voice crawls over my skin.

“You want her mouth or her cunt?” Bossman asks, his jolly tone back in full force.

My body goes rigid.

“I’ll take her pussy. Is it nice and wet?”

Bossman laughs. “Doubt it.”

“Perfect.”

His belt jangles, and his zipper lowers.

I fist my hands and clench my eyes shut. It’s all I have.

Screaming will only make the bidding go higher for more punishment. At first, my body resists, not understanding it needs to stop fighting. It only makes it worse. He thrusts, but only pierces my sex for a brief moment before he stops and pulls back. It’s a momentary reprieve before Beardman plows harder. Bursting past my entrance, he lodges his cock inside me. Electric bolts of pain ricochet through me.

“Fuck,” he groans. It’s a sickening groan. The sort that paints a layer of filth over my skin.

Bossman stands behind me, pulling on the ropes. He’s made me into his own marionette. A puppet on strings. Pliable. He drags my legs open, until my muscles strain. A burn ripples through my thighs, and I cry out, but it doesn’t stop him. With another yank, he bends my legs at the knee until my feet are near my ass. I’m spread so wide, every muscle in my legs burn. He’s going to tear them out of the socket if he keeps it up.

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