Fortunately for my current Doll, cold showers are a punishment or a tool to snap someone out of hysterics, neither of which will be necessary tonight. I hope. The little thing is so skittish I can only guess how she will react to me washing her, but she seems to trust me at the moment. How that trust will fare when I whip her or make her choke on my cock is a problem tomorrow me can deal with. Right now, I just want to enjoy having a sweet, obedient doll to play with, to touch any way I want.
Turning on the water so that it’s nice and warm for my Doll, I pull my T-shirt over my head. Doll’s eyes widen as she takes in my ink and the scars marring my skin, but when I reach for the hem of my pants, she quickly looks away, her cheeks darkening. How fucking adorable. Dammit. She won’t last a day out there with what her future Master has planned for her. I’ll have to cure her of this innocence if she’s to survive. That’s tomorrow’s task, though. Tonight, she gets to blush and avoid looking at my cockbecause she’s been an exceptionally good girl and I don’t want to push her too far, too fast. That doesn’t mean I won’t touch her, though.
I’ve already run my hands over every part of her body while preparing her for orientation, but she was unconscious then. With her awake, touching her will be a much more exhilarating experience, one she shouldn’t be opposed to since she must still be desperate to come. I haven’t decided whether I will grant her an orgasm, but I will certainly push her to that edge again, if only to hear her delicious whimpers.
When the water’s warm enough, I guide Doll under the stream. She raises her hands, as if intending to wash her face, but I quickly grab her wrists. “Don’t move.” Didn’t I tell her that I would be washing her? Why does none of the Dolls ever understand that?
She blinks, surprised, but lets her hands fall to her sides.
“Good girl,” I say, noting how she lights up at such simple praise. It makes me wonder what kind of life she led before becoming a Doll, but that’s a slippery slope I don’t want to go down, so I focus on her body instead. Her perfect body, all available to me.
I start with her hair because it needs washing. Undoing her braid, I run my fingers through the long, dark strands before tipping her head back into the stream of water. I like that she’s short, it makes it easy to rub shampoo into her hair without her needing to kneel on the tiled floor. The sounds she makes as my fingertips massage her scalp make my already hard cock jerk and it slaps against her ass. Doll’s breath catches and she balls her hands into fists by her sides, but she wisely says nothing, nor does she try to pull away.
“You’re doing great,” I say to reinforce her good behavior.
Her lips twitch as if she’s suppressing a smile. I want to yell at her to stop hiding her emotions from me, but that would hardlymake her smile more, so I keep my mouth shut. It’s a sign of unhealthy attachment on my part, but I can handle it. I always handle it. I’ve never been this fixated on a Doll before, but it doesn’t matter. She’s not for me, and I can’t afford to forget that.
“Close your eyes,” I instruct her as I grab the handheld shower and rinse her hair, careful not to let any shampoo get into her face. I may want to see her cry, but not for something so trivial. Once the stinging suds are rinsed away, I work conditioner through her hair. It’s the best brand available. Even if I don’t keep the Dolls, I want them to have the best while they’re mine.
Keeping the shower running to keep the bathroom warm, I lather shower gel on my hands and start washing my Doll. She doesn’t protest, letting me position her body the way I want, like the perfect toy she is. I wash her arms, hands, and fingers before moving to her chest and paying great attention to her breasts. When I rub and twist Doll’s nipples, her eyes flutter closed and the plaintive moan she lets out goes straight into my cock. Avoiding her pussy and ass for now, I move down her legs. I kneel in front of her, instructing her to grab my shoulder for balance before washing her feet and the little spaces between her toes.
Doll watches me with an adorable mix of confusion and wonder, which, to be fair, is warranted. She’s been tortured and told again and again that she doesn’t matter, that her body isn’t hers, that she exists only to serve. That kind of introduction wouldn’t make her expect her captor to get on his knees for her. In truth, the roles should be reversed. She should be the one washing me and kneeling in front of me, and she will be. Tomorrow.
This is for me, not her, and it’s still part of her training. It’s teaching her that her body isn’t hers; it’s mine, and I get to do whatever I want with it. If I want to torture her just to see her cry, I will torture her. If I want to watch her choke on my cock,she’ll be on her knees taking it into her throat. If I want to wash her body like she’s nothing but a toy for me to play with, then I’ll fucking wash her.
Once her legs are done, I finally move to the main area of my interest. Bringing Doll’s back against my front, I let her lean into me as I run my hand between her legs. She’s barely breathing, her body frozen as I wash her pussy, careful not to get any soap inside. “You better not be biting on that lip, Doll,” I warn her, knowing without looking that’s exactly what she’s been doing.
She sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, Master.”
I love how easily the word Master spills from her lips. So many Dolls have trouble saying it at all and if they do, there’s so much sarcasm dripping from those two simple syllables they have to get punished over and over to learn to say it properly, but from this Doll, it sounds natural and earnest, like she’s been born to be someone’s toy.
My toy.
No, not mine. She’ll be gone in a few days. I can never forget that.
“You’re so tense.” I cup her tit in my free hand and pinch her nipple. Enough to sting but not to truly hurt. This isn’t about hurting her but about reinforcing the positive emotions she harbors for me.
The human mind is a strange thing. Logically, she must know I’m the one who hurt her, yet the comfort I offered earlier has her relaxing into my touch. If she were well rested and on top of her game, she’d likely be able to resist the simple mind game, which is why I keep the Dolls in a constant state of near exhaustion for the duration of their training. When I play it right, Dolls still seek comfort from me after I’ve hurt them, and that’s the greatest rush there is.
Most men here, the syndicate’s enforcers and grunts, get their rush from kills and torture, but those things are simple. Anyidiot can pull the trigger and splash someone’s brains on the wall. God knows I’ve done it more times than I can count. Anyone can cut someone up or pull out their fingernails. That part’s easy.
The hard part is making the person you’ve hurt crawl into your arms to seek comfort. That’s what true power feels like, and it’s the game I play with every Doll who ends up in my basement. I succeed with most, and I feel this one will be no different. If anything, her need for praise makes her too easy a target. That won’t stop me, though.
By the time I’m done with her, I’ll be able to make her scream in pain in one minute, and in the next, she’ll be curled up in my arms. Willingly, begging me to hold her, to let her suck my cock. The fact that she’s so perfect will only make it that much sweeter.
Chapter 9
Grace
Saying I’m confused doesn’t begin to cover it. When the trainer said he was going to wash me, I expected being hosed off by freezing water, prison-style, not having someone gently wash my hair like I’m in a hair salon. And when he actually got to his knees to wash my feet? Is it just my exhaustion talking, or is that not a normal thing when being sex trafficked?
With no real choice, I go along and let him wash me like a child. Or a doll. Oh, right. That’s what this is, isn’t it? The trainer likes playing with dolls, except instead of the porcelain ones like the one on his tattoo, he prefers living, breathing ones. It’s unsettling with a hint of something almost tender, though the creepiness wins out. I think? Exhaustion dulls everything, sowhen I get the chance, I lean against him, close my eyes, and stop thinking.
His hand is on my pussy, washing me thoroughly, reigniting all of that pent-up arousal. When I moan and squirm, he chuckles into my hair. “Enjoying yourself, Doll?”
I shouldn’t be, even my tired mind knows that. I should be freaking out and looking for a way out of here. “Yes, Master. Thank you for granting me so much pleasure.” Even though without being allowed to come, the pleasure feels more like torture.
“Hmm, you’re a polite one. I like that. I’d hate having to beat manners into you.”
