I don’t need a watch to know that she’s only slept for three hours. Enough to let her body recover but not enough to truly rest her mind. When she wakes, she’ll be disoriented, desperate, and easy to mold, the ideal state to begin training.
Bucket of cold water in hand, I’m ready to wake her, yet I hesitate. My gaze follows the curve of her thigh and ass, my heart skipping a beat when she rolls over and her legs drop open, baring her beautiful pussy to my view. My semi hardens so quickly it’s painful, and I long for nothing more than to sink myself into her tight heat, but I can’t. She might be mine for a week but then she’ll leave. They always leave, taking a piece of me with them as I pack them into their boxes and send them to their Masters. Bit by bit, they wear me down, leaving me hollow.
I have loved each and every one of my Dolls. The obedient and the fiery, the men and women, the big and the small. They were mine for only a few days, but during that time, I loved them completely. Every time they leave, it devastates me, but this time feels worse, because this Doll is different. I don’t know what it is about her, but our connection is different somehow, deeper than any I experienced before.
Maybe it’s her resemblance to the doll I loved as a child, alive and breathing before me now.
Maybe it’s the way she submits, so sweetly and easily, her smile brightening this underground space more than sunlight ever could.
Maybe it’s her high pain tolerance. I can push her far, and she won’t break.
Or maybe it’s all of it combined. I don’t know, and it hardly matters. She’s special, and when she leaves, it will break me. There’s no other choice, though.
By habit, my eyes drop to my forearm.“Dolls are not for you, Mikhail,” reads the tattoo on my inner forearm, a constant reminder of the one truth in my life. If only my bitch of a mother had said it, I’d have ignored it, but Uncle Anton repeated it word for word, and then the Morozovs said it too. If they all say it, it must be true, right? Dolls are not for me. It seems cruel but then, the world is cruel. My current Doll is about to be remindedof that truth. Not just yet, though. She can have a few more minutes.Ican have a few more minutes watching her.
Absentmindedly, I pull out my painfully hard cock, stroking myself as I watch her. Too lost in thought to finish, I just keep touching myself while I plan the next steps. A brutal wake-up and a dose of pain to remind Doll of her place. Then breakfast. Maybe pancakes. I bet she’d probably like them, and after what I’ll put her through, she’ll need the sugar.
Thinking back to how easily she let me feed her at dinner, I wonder if she truly couldn’t eat more, or if it was quiet defiance. I wasn’t joking when I said I have no problem feeding her through a tube if she refuses to eat. It’s enjoyable, though the Dolls never share that sentiment. Even inserting the feeding tube is enough to break their resistance. Most of the time.
There was one Doll who never cracked. A feisty redhead with huge tits and the most fuckable mouth ever. No matter what I put her through, she always bounced back, as ferocious as ever. Smirking, I touch the scar along my ribs, one she gave me during her last escape attempt. She was strong and resilient. Would have made an excellent enforcer if the Morozovs had had the brains to reconsider her placement. Since they didn’t, and we couldn’t send a feral cunt to a client expecting a perfectly trained Doll, Vasilij Morozov had to find a way to recover the money lost on her and on the replacement we sent to the disgruntled client.
He found a placement for the redhead Doll eventually, one where her feistiness actually worked in our favor. An eccentric South American billionaire was looking for unique additions to his collection, and unique was exactly what Vasilij Morozov offered him. A supple body, hooked up to machines that keep her alive almost indefinitely, while the woman trapped inside, awake and perfectly aware of what was happening to her, slowly lost her mind. The sick fuck couldn’t agree fast enough.
A doctor came over to get the Doll ready. After hooking her up to an IV, he administered a paralytic that rendered her immobile without lowering her sensitivity. She could feel everything as the doctor inserted all the tubes that would keep her alive from then on. One for breathing, one for feeding, the needle in her arm supplying her with fluids and a steady dose of the paralytic. A catheter to gather urine. Since a colostomy bag would be unsightly, the doctor opted for a thick tube in her ass connected to a machine that would periodically flush her insides and take care of the waste. The tube was easily removable in case someone wanted to have fun with that part of her body.
The look in that Doll’s eyes when she realized she’d lost all control of her body, unable even to hyperventilate from fear, was priceless. A lot of people fucked her before we sealed her into a box and shipped her off, including the doctor who worked on her. I didn’t, although I stood by to watch. I remember thinking what a shame it was. She could have been a great Doll if she’d just listened to me. Sometimes I wish I could have her displayed here, tubes and machines and all, to show the Dolls in training that resistance leads nowhere, and that there are worse fates than serving their Master.
The scar she gave me with a sharpened toothbrush wasn’t the only one I gained from that experience, but the Morozovs’ punishment didn’t matter. It’s that scar on my ribs I carry with me as a reminder never to show leniency, for the Dolls’ own good.
My trip down memory lane did nothing to kill my arousal. Imagining how, in just a few minutes, my little Doll will cry for me makes my cock throb in my hand and my balls tighten. She won’t fight me. There’s no reason to worry that she might end up like the redhead Doll. My current Doll is already primed to please me, an attitude that might falter after I put her through her paces, but she’ll recover quickly because she’s one of thoserare Dolls who genuinely want to serve. A truly submissive little thing. Alfredo Franco doesn’t deserve her, but there’s jack shit I can do about that. If I could…
Squeezing my cock tighter, I let myself imagine what I’d do if she were mine, truly mine, not just for a few days. How I’d fuck her over and over until my cum would seep from all of her holes. How I’d spend the nights with her in my arms, cuddling her like the toy she is, and then in the morning, I’d feast on her cunt like a starving man. How I’d care for her, day and night, like for the treasure she is. How I’d make her cry, not because it would be a part of her training but because I wanted to kiss her tears away. She would be mine, my perfect Doll.
Fuck.
Groaning, I come, my cock kicking in my hand as I shoot cum all over Doll’s legs and stomach. She murmurs in her sleep, too exhausted to care that I just marked her with my release as if I had a right to do so.
As I grab the bucket, my eyes fall on my forearm again, the warning etched in my skin unchanged.
Dolls are not for you, Mikhail.
Chapter 12
Grace
An ear-splitting shriek escapes me as icy cold water splashes over my body, jolting me from uneasy sleep. While I struggle to get my bearings, a second wave of water hits me, drenching me from my head to my toes. I sputter and cough as I inhale some of it, my thoughts scattered. Where am I? What’s happening?
When a rough hand grabs my ankle, I kick out on instinct, but the grip is too tight. Looking at the person holding me, a flood of memories hits me as hard as the water did. Right. I’ve been kidnapped, and the scary, shirtless man currently unlocking the chain from my ankle is supposed to train me to be a sex slave. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t a dream.
Shaking my head, I try to sort my thoughts, but it feels like my brain is stuffed with cotton wool. Though I’m painfully awake, courtesy of the icy cold water, my mind isn’t functioning properly, and not just because of the abrupt wake-up. How long did I sleep? It couldn’t have been more than a few hours, not nearly enough to rest properly. I should be thinking about escape, but it’s impossible to focus on anything other than the exhaustion and how cold I am.
Escape.Escape attempts will be harshly punished.The pain from yesterday flashes through my mind, but it’s not very distinct anymore. If I fail, I can handle it again, can’t I? But I won’t fail. I will get out of here.
“Get up.” The trainer’s cold demeanor contrasts so sharply with his gentleness from yesterday that I wonder if he has an evil twin. When I don’t comply quickly enough, the trainer grabs my arm, yanking me off the soaked cot onto the cold tiles underneath. I tremble and slip as I try to right myself, taking a few seconds to look around. For what, I don’t know. A weapon, perhaps? I need to keep my head straight this time. Focus on esc—then, all too familiar, hot pain blooms on my cheek.
“I said get up,” the trainer repeats, raising his hand to slap me again.
All thoughts of escape scatter in the fear of being hit again, and I scramble onto my feet. He packs a much bigger punch than my mother, whose slaps are usually more humiliating than painful. I’d better do what he says unless I want to end up with a cracked cheekbone. “S-sorry, M-Master,” I push through my chattering teeth as I stand in front of him with my head lowered and my hands joined behind my back, exactly like the computer instructed me yesterday.
