She tossed the cock aside—it hit something with athwack—and grabbed my hand, leading me over to thefootboard, and I was honestly too stunned to do anything but let her. She gestured to the doll, still grinning (Jules, not the doll; it was more ambivalent than anything else) and I followed her line of sight down to a pair of rubber pussy lips. Peach colored instead of pink, but other than that, pretty damn realistic looking.
As far as sex dolls went, the thing must have been top of the line.
“It’s universal,” Jules said, and this time I was the one left speechless and blinking. “Dr. Reagan urged me to be more experimental.”
“I can see that.” I nodded, reaching out a hand and slowly inserting a finger inside the doll’s newly-altered cunt. It wasn’t warm but it didn’t feel terrible either. Add a little lube and it might actually feel pretty nice. “A for effort, but it still ain’t really my type, Jules.” I turned to look at her and watched her face drop.
“Maybe I can dress him up? Put some makeup on him?” she asked.
Maybe you could stop calling it ahim. That might really help.But I didn’t say that part aloud. “Look, I just don’t think…”
“Can you try?” she begged, and I groaned.
I mean, it wasn’t like it would hurt anyone. And when did I give a fuck if it did? Now, apparently.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Was I really considering fucking a sex doll just to make this chick happy?
I was, and it was doing my head in. Worse than anything else ever had.
I cracked my neck, my glare bouncing from Jules tothe inanimate doll taking up the middle of her queen-sized bed. “You got a blue marker?” I sighed, and she nodded before sprinting back out the door just like she had the first time. “And maybe a wig?” I called after her.
“Okay!” she called back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HER
Idragged my desk chair across the room and positioned it in the opposite corner. Pausing to take in the view before realizing my error and switching it to the other side, while Cain climbed on to the bed with an exasperated sigh. He appeared hesitant—not self-conscious, not shy—when he grabbed each of the doll’s legs, spread them wide, and smacked a glob of Vaseline against the rubber vagina with a loud slapping sound.
I knew he was being dramatic on purpose, like how I used to slam my door extra hard after my stepmom had finished berating me for not wearing makeup. Or wearing too much. Or not applying it right. Only I could somehow pull off both looking like a tomboyanda whore. The point was, dramatic or not, he was still going through with it.
I cocked my head to the side to peer around the shadow his elbow created as he twirled a finger along the rubber flaps, using his free hand to stroke his penis untilit was erect, and then slowly inserted himself. An inch at a time. As though he were unsure how deep to go at first. That made two of us. I hadn’t thought to test it out.
He let out a low groan when his pelvic bone finally met the outer rim, glancing over a shoulder to look at me when he thrusted forward a second time. Rough and quick. I knew better than to speak, but there were so many questions running through my mind. Questions like…
How did it feel? How much different was it from the real thing? If I acted just like that doll, would he do it to me? Could he do that to me? Would I enjoy it as much as I enjoyed what he’d done to me up until now? Would he? Or would it not be enough? Would he need to finish me to finish himself?
And why did I like watching him so much?
I didn’t make a sound but I did slip off the chair and creep around the other side of the bed. Kneeling next to the nightstand and staring at the way sweat started to form between the little creases in his brow, how his gluteal muscles contracted each time he drove forward, the grunts he made—just like the ones I remembered hearing him make in the shower. Except they were deeper now, lower, more animalistic. Both louder and softer, without a door and a wall of glass separating us.
He turned to look at me again, his eyes searing into mine. I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Even when I started to feel lightheaded. Then he was pulling me up off the floor by the wrist, still thrusting as he guided me onto the bed in front of him. The doll between us, my back pressed against the headboard, my legs tucked under me. He held my chin in place with the palm of his hand,the other arm keeping his balance. Never breaking contact, eyes or otherwise, as his rhythm grew more frantic. More frenzied. Until the doll’s head was beating against my bent knees, the wig sliding and tangling in the sheets. While his movements only got harder and harder. Faster and faster. Leaving little red welts along my skin.
I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, but I didn’t gulp it down. I kept my respirations shallow, nearly indiscernible. My chest barely moving and my blinking in sync with his, so that every time he opened his eyes, mine were already there. Staring back at him. An optical illusion that had him entranced and the sheets beneath me damp. A mix of sweat and bodily fluids that left my thighs slick.
I was aroused. Almost as aroused as he seemed to be, as aroused as the stress lines on his forehead told me that he was.
It didn’t hurt that I liked looking at him. I liked seeing myself the way he saw me. What he saw I couldn’t tell you but it was enough to have him fighting his urges while giving into them at the same time. Proving that if you were patient, you could have your cake and eat it too.
His fingers pressed harder against my jaw, bruisingly hard, his teeth clenched and his nostrils flared. I’d recognized that look, the moments before a man ejaculated, the few fleeting moments that were somehow worth everything it took them to get there. And I never understood it. What was so great about it. Never cared to.
Now, I couldn’t imagine anything more enthralling,anything more hypnotizing than witnessing the waythis mangave himself over to pleasure. How he wanted me there with him, experiencing it both as an outsider and an equal participant.
Yes, it was sex, a release of endorphins. But it was something else too. It was him sharing the darkest part of himself. Indulging and trusting me.
I didn’t care how messed up it was, just like he didn’t seem to notice how messed upIwas. And I wanted him. I wanted to keep him. To keep this feeling.
His thrusts had slowed, long and languid, as he drove up into the doll. Just as fiercely as when the headboard was banging against the wall, without the same desperation, though. Almost as if he’d been worried he wouldn’t get there if he didn’t do it quick.
