“Breathe, Doll,” Master orders, sounding amused again. “I take it you’ve never had anal sex before. No toys, either?”
Toys? I have a feeling he’s not talking about my teddy bears. “N-no?” I can’t imagine how my parents would react if I owned any sexual toys, let alone ones that gothere.
Another sharp slap on my pussy has me crying out. “Are you asking me or answering the question, Doll?”
“I’m sorry, Master. I-I was answering the question. No, I’ve never done anything…anal.” Even saying the word out loud makes me cringe.
He snorts. “Well, that’s about to change. Your new Master is very much into everythinganal,” he mocks, “and you’ll need to train thoroughly if you want to survive without injury.”
My foggy brain conjures an image of lifting weights, then realizes he means a different kind of training. Like, stretching? The thought makes me shudder.
“Yes, Doll, exactly like stretching,” he says, laughing again.
Did I say that out loud again? What’s wrong with me? It’s rhetorical. I know I’m too exhausted to think straight, which is exactly what this man needs to control me. I can’t help it, though. I need rest. An orgasm. A warm blanket. My favorite teddy bear. And… Normal people would probably say they want their mother, but I very much don’t want my mother. I just want to get out of here. My shoulders twitch with suppressed sobs, and more tears soak into the already wet blindfold. ThenI remember that crying is against the rules. “I-I’m s-sorry, Master,” I get out between hiccuping sobs.
“What for, Doll?” He doesn’t sound angry, but that means nothing. He’s probably giving me a chance to correct myself, but the more I try to stop, the worse it gets.
“For crying,” I reply. “L-ladies don’t c-cry,” I echo my mother’s words mindlessly.
A warm, calloused hand cups my cheek, the thumb sliding under the blindfold to wipe away the tears. “That’s bullshit. Also, you’re not a lady. You’re a Doll. At this stage of training, you’re allowed to cry. All Dolls do. Your life changed drastically, and it’s difficult to come to terms with it, but the sooner you do, the better for you, trust me. I’m here to help guide you through that change and help you acclimate to it.”
The computer said something similar, but hearing it from a real person feels different. He speaks with conviction, with empathy even, like he cares about me. It’s probably not true, but for now I’m content with the illusion that someone cares. “T-thank you, Master.”
He pats my knee. “You’re welcome, Doll. Now, let’s get rid of this.” I gasp as he removes the vibrator, my already flushed cheeks burning hotter. The toy clatters as the trainer puts it away before his fingers return to rub around my asshole. “Any pain?”
“Uh, no? I mean, no,” I correct myself quickly. “No pain, Master.” Just a strange tenderness.
“You learn fast, that’s good. Now, let’s see if you can sit up.”
I’m probably smiling like an idiot after just a few words of praise, but I can’t help it. He’s so nice.
Hooking one arm under my knees and the other under my shoulders, the trainer turns me so my legs dangle uselessly from the flat surface I’ve been lying on. He helps me sit up slowly, the plastic beneath me crinkling as I shift. Dizziness hits, and I grip the table’s edge while he steadies my shoulders. “Good girl,” hepraises, even though I haven’t done anything. If he hadn’t been holding me, I would have collapsed. “I’ll take that blindfold off now. The lights are low, but you still want to take it slow.”
I hold my breath as he unties the straps behind my head. Finally, I’m about to see where I am. I’m about to seehim.
Chapter 7
Grace
My grip on the edge of the table tightens as light stabs at my eyes. I squeeze them shut, then open them more carefully, squinting against the light.
The space around me is large. I don’t see any windows or doors. Maybe they’re behind me? What I see is a small kitchen connected to an open-plan living room. Behind it, a doorway leads to a tiled room that must be the bathroom. A bathroom with no door? Then I remember. Dolls have no right to privacy. But what about him? Does the trainer not have the right to privacy, either?
He’s close. Not touching me, but I can feel his presence. When I turn my head, I’m met with a black T-shirt stretched across a muscular chest. Black sweatpants and bare feet. As my eyesadjust, I tilt my head to look up at his face and nearly fall off the table when a wave of vertigo hits.
The trainer grabs my shoulders, saving me from falling off the table. A broken face would probably make me a poor investment. I’m not sure why I find that funny. Maybe it’s the exhaustion.
Tattoos coil up the trainer’s arms, vanishing beneath his sleeves. Climbing roses circle his right arm, beautifully and vividly rendered. Blood drips from their thorns, rivulets running down his arm to gather in a scarlet pool on the inside of his wrist. His left forearm bears Cyrillic writing I can’t read, and on his upper arm… a doll? At first, I thought it was a child, but it’s a vintage porcelain doll with long black hair, a red dress, and a straw hat. A crack runs across her face, and a single tear rolls down her damaged cheek. It’s a true work of art, if a little creepy.
I draw a shaky breath and let my gaze travel over his broad shoulder and strong neck. His beard is short, black, and natural, not one of those overly groomed ones. One corner of his mouth is curled up into a smirk. His nose is slightly crooked, as if it was broken and never set right. His black hair is messy in that effortlessly sexy way women seem to like. It’s short, with a few stray strands falling to his brows. And his eyes…
Black. So deep it feels like I could fall into them and never stop. His stare sends shivers up my spine. It’s predatory, charged with primal hunger. I freeze, forgetting I’m supposed to keep my head down.
His smirk grows. “Like what you see, Doll?”
“Oh.” Hastily, I lower my head, which isn’t much better because now I’m looking at his crotch and the definite bulge in his sweatpants I missed earlier. Oh god. “I’m sorry, Master.”
“I asked you a question.”
