Page 82 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“Very dirty,” Macy agrees, her voice but a whisper.

“Shall I clean her up?”

Macy whimpers. “I want to go back to my bedroom.”

Bedroom?

“Why, Dolly?” he asks, humor in his dark voice.

“Her room is dirty and scary.”

“Do you hear that, dirty little doll?” he questions, his warm palm snaking up my naked thigh. “She doesn’t like your room.”

These are not rooms!

“Please, Benjamin,” Macy pleads.

He chuckles. “Not just yet, Dolly. Tell your sister why your room is better.”

Macy, with a hint of pride in her voice, explains, “The walls are pink, my favorite color. And there are so many beautiful dolls. I have a nice bedspread too.”

Benny’s thumb caresses the inside of my thigh. “That bedspread belonged to my sister, Bethany, but our mother never let her use it. Bethany was very pretty. Like Jade.”

I freeze at his words.

“Am I pretty like them?” Macy questions, her voice sounding sad.

“No, Dolly. That scar is ugly. I’m sorry, but you’re not like them. And that’s your own fault, but you learned by your mistake. Your sister sadly refuses to, so she has to have many lessons and punishments.” His reply is cold and empty.

She sniffles. “I think she’s ugly right now. And dirty. She stinks.” The contempt in her voice hurts my heart. Macy.

“Take it back,” he chides, much like a father would his child.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, Jade,” she whimpers, and my heart cracks open.

“That’s not her name!” he roars. “Sit over there in the corner, Dolly. You’ve both been naughty and should be punished.”

I can hear her footsteps and then shuffling as she sits. She’s whimpering, but he ignores her.

“Don’t,” I beg around the material filling my mouth, but he ignores my pleas.

“Dirty little doll,” he says, his fingers creeping higher up my thigh. “That’s her name. She’s dirty. Aren’t you?”

“No!” I scream into the gag and shake my head.

“Really? So, if I touch you here, where you are covered in your own fucking piss, will you not enjoy it?” His thumb presses against my clit and I jolt in shock. So often he’s cruel, so the moments he’s gentle, I don’t know how to deal with him.

“Listen, Dolly,” he clips as he massages me in a way that has me squirming. My body can’t defend against his attacks when it’s a reaction to an action. It’s not lovers feeling pleasure; it’s someone knowing how to make your own body—your own soul—betray you until you can’t even stand to be you any longer. You’d rather be anyone else, and slowly, the you who lived in the carcass he abuses fades and becomes hollow.

“Listen to your sister, Dolly. She claims to hate me, but she lies. Her body shows me how much she loves me.”

I hate you…I hate you…I hate you.

“Look how pretty she is right now.” He pushes my legs to part and when I try to close them, he pries them wider and digs his elbows into the soft flesh of my thighs. “She loves me. Look at her cunt twitching, begging me to love it.”

Bile creeps up my throat and I almost force the sick to come up so I can choke to death on it behind the gag.

“Do you love me?” I hear Macy ask. My heart crumbles. This is how he reunites her with me? I can’t see her, but she has to witness this?

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