She didn’t fight. Didn’t curse or threaten me. Didn’t beg or scream for help like the ones before her. She did exactly what a perfect Doll is supposed to do. Submitted.
I should be happy. She’ll be my best creation, the most obedient Doll ever to leave this cellar. Except I’m not happy. I’m furious. The asshole that Vasilij Morozov is selling her to won’t be able to truly appreciate her. No one will. No one but me and I can’t have her.
Dolls are not for you, Mikhail.
I can never have her, but fuck, I want her so much.
I push the blasphemous thought aside and set up the training supplies on the coffee table before checking on the Doll. Even though she took the caning well, she’s still unsteady on her feet, and I’d hate for her to fall and break something. The Morozovs wouldn’t put her down but as damaged goods, she wouldn’t be able to serve as a Doll anymore. They’d chain her to a wall in one of their low-cost brothels and let the filthiest, cheapest customers use her until she died. A fucking waste, if you ask me, but no one ever asks me. Considering how rigid Bratva families are, it’s a miracle I convinced the Morozovs to create the luxury Doll line at all.
Doll is standing in front of the sink, trying to squeeze toothpaste onto her toothbrush, but her trembling fingers refuse to cooperate. Still wet from her abrupt morning alarm, she’s shaking, her lips turning blue. Her being cold works well for me, especially if it makes her come to me for warmth, but hypothermia serves no purpose, so I grab a towel and start drying her off. I undo her braid and run my fingers through her damp hair. “Bend over,” I instruct her when she finally manages to put some toothpaste on the toothbrush. I wonder how she’ll manage to brush her chattering teeth without biting the plastic in half.
The look she casts at me is a little wary but she obeys without protest, and I twist her hair into another towel. Once that’s done, I resume drying her, rubbing the towel roughly over her skin to warm her up. She winces and whimpers as I get to her ass, a single tear trailing down her cheek, but she doesn’t say a word. “So fucking perfect,” I whisper as I kiss that tear away.
Some color bleeds into her cheeks as she looks at me through her eyelashes, her deep brown eyes seemingly too large for her face. “Thank you, Master,” she whispers, the words stabbing straight through my chest with how genuine they are.
“Brush your teeth,” I order gruffly, forcing myself to step away before I do something stupid like actually kiss her or wrap her in my arms and refuse to let her go.
I watch her brush her teeth. She does it methodically, tooth by tooth, in a way I’m sure every dentist would approve of. Her small breasts jiggle as she moves her arm, but she doesn’t try to cover herself, calmly enduring my gaze without fidgeting, darting looks, or the thinly veiled glares other Dolls often give me.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, trying to steer my thoughts away from dangerous direction.
“No, Master,” she replies, lowering her eyes under the weight of my inquisitive stare.
Since she’s only slept a little over three hours, I don’t push it. “You will eat later, then.”
She nods, bending over to spit out the toothpaste, and I can’t help but run my hands down her ass, admiring my handiwork. The cane marks are straight and perfectly even, my best work yet. Then again, that’s as much Doll’s doing as mine. It’s much easier to mark someone evenly when they’re holding still than when they’re squirming and screaming profanities.
Doll shudders as I trail the welts on her skin but continues rinsing her mouth, only wincing when my fingers dig deeper. “You’re beautiful like this,” I tell her, my eyes widening at her shy smile. A fucking smile. And the feeling shining in her eyes? That’s satisfaction. Jesus fucking Christ. She doesn’t need any training, she’s a ready-made Doll already. Her mind, anyway, I think, remembering that tight asshole that will definitely bleed when someone rams a cock inside without any prep.
Her body will need training, but her mindset makes it a pleasure to teach her rather than the usual chore of breaking willful Dolls. No hardcore torture, just training and pleasure. A bit of pain, of course, both to help her get used to it and because Ienjoy watching her cry, but no fighting or constant punishments. Cuddling and taking care of my sweet toy. Fuck. How am I supposed to let her go after a week? She’s only been here a day, and I already know her leaving will wreck me completely.
Having finished washing her face, Doll reaches for the towel but I snatch it out of her hand and gently dab it over her skin. She holds still, eyes closed, trusting me not to hurt her. I don’t deserve that trust; all I want right now is to hurt her. I want to see her cry again because watching her tears is easier than watching her smiles. I’m used to tears. Easy, genuine smiles are new territory, one too dangerous to navigate.
“Follow,” I snap at her, rougher than I intended, but that’s okay. She needs to learn that her Master won’t be nice to her all the time. Hell, he won’t be nice to her at all. I should stop coddling her but I can’t. Caring for Dolls is what I live for, the only thing that makes sense in my life. Playing with their soft, warm bodies, washing them, feeding them, playing with their hair. Hurting them. It makes me feel like my life has a purpose. It doesn’t, but it’s a nice fantasy.
Doll’s posture relaxes as we pass by the bondage equipment and enter the living room part of the apartment. I make myself comfortable on the couch and point to the floor between my knees. Doll kneels in front of me without me even issuing the command out loud. Her smooth, elegant motion as she drops to her knees is marred by a wince as the position reignites the pain on her abused ass. Fucking perfect.
“Good,” I praise her, bracing myself for another smile. It still takes my breath away when it comes.
A part of me is tempted to torment her more and harder, just to make sure I never have to deal with such a smile again, but a larger part is horrified by that thought. I want to hurt her, yes, but I can’t imagine waterboarding her or drowning her in an ice-filled bath. The jury is still out on electrotorture. She handledlower voltages well enough during orientation. The shocks might also be helpful during anal training to get her to clench down on the bigger dildos and stretch her tight hole properly. I need to prepare her before we get to that part, though.
“You have a high pain tolerance,” I say as I tilt her chin to force her to look at me. She’s following the rules, keeping her head lowered, but I want her eyes on me. “That will work to your advantage. However, you’re also too skinny to have proper padding, so spanking will hurt you more than it hurts others. Fortunately for you, your future Master isn’t known to be a fan of whips and canes. He’s more likely to just slap you around than straight out torture you for his amusement.” Relatively speaking, Alfredo Franco is not the worst Master Doll could end up with. There are much worse ones around, and I despise sending Dolls to them when I know they’ll be dead within a fortnight, tortured to death. Such a fucking waste.
Doll swallows hard, her fingers tensing where her palms rest on her spread thighs. Watching me with those doe-like eyes, she waits patiently for me to continue, and I’m fucked because I have no idea what I was going to say.
“Invisible,” I rasp out, trying to remember my usual speech. “You will remain invisible unless your Master calls for you. A pleasant demeanor, soft smile, and excitement to serve your Master in any way he sees fit might win you favor. It doesn’t mean you won’t experience pain and suffering, but it should mitigate the consequences and help you survive longer. Master Franco favors anal sex, and no man will balk at a well-performed oral, so we will focus on those two things first.”
Doll’s expression, which had fallen the moment I mentioned her future Master, brightens as I palm the aching bulge in my pants. She leans a little closer, her eyes following the movement of my hand. Is she excited? Curious? Or just eager to get it over with? She mentioned having sex once, which means she’spractically a virgin. Normally, I’d detest breaking in someone with no experience but I quite enjoy taking this Doll’s firsts.
I palm my cock again, slowly and deliberately. It jerks in my hand as Doll’s lips part on a shaky inhale. Fuck, she’s so adorable. “Have you ever sucked a cock, Doll?”
Chapter 14
Grace
The question makes me sputter. Have I ever…? God, I’ve never even seen a cock before. Terry and I didn’t exactly have time to undress during that unplanned tryst under the bleachers. I touched him, and he was hot and hard in my palm, but all I remember is the uncomfortable feeling as he pushed himself inside me. Putting someone’s cock in my mouth was never something I thought about.
“No, Master,” I reply hastily when I realize I’m taking too long to answer the trainer’s direct question. Another spanking is the last thing I need when my entire backside throbs and even kneeling hurts enough to make me want to cry. Hopefully, he’ll give me direct instructions I can follow. I’m good at following instructions, and I want to please him, so I hope I don’t suck atit. Suck at sucking. I barely bite back a snort of laughter; years of keeping a straight face while my parents yelled at me come in handy as I smooth my expression.
