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Oh, fuck.
Marcus’s fingers bite into my waist, his hot breath tickling my ear. “You see it now?”
How can I not?
Two pink-haired lifelike dolls stand in a row against the wall to our right. They’re my height. Their blue eyes have the same dark rims as mine do. The rest of their features look like mine too.
Their curves are identical to mine as well, but from two different stages of my life. The slimmer, pre-college version of me, and me now. Wider hips, fuller breasts, my stomach beautiful and soft.
And they’re naked. They have holes in them. Real holes. Their mouths are gaped, and their vaginas…
They can fit a man’s cock in them.
“Explain this,” I demand, holding back a tremor.
“You don’t get an explanation.” His cold voice curls around my lungs, snuffing the air out of them. “All you get is this. All you get is the worst of me.”
“No!” Panic settles in, and I scream, shutting my eyes.
“Yes.” Marcus pushes me farther inside this chamber of horrors. Forces me in there. “What did you see?”
“No!” I’m locked in his vicious grip, unable to wriggle an inch. “Let me go!”
“This isn’t a request.” His hand is in my hair, pulling on it. “Tell. Me.”
I saw a psycho. I saw a madman who’d been fucking these dolls when he couldn’t fuck me.
But I don’t tell him that. Can’t tell him. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
This is worse than him coming on my lips in my sleep. I feel violated and used. If my suspicions are correct, the man I love is far sicker than I could’ve ever imagined.
“You need help.” I squeeze my eyes tighter. Push against him, doing my best to get away. It gets me nowhere. He’s strong. Sick and determined and strong. “You’re a freaking psycho. I hate you. I hate that I love you. Make it stop. Make me stop loving you.”
“I bet you’d like that.”
His response freaks me out just as much as my replicas do. Where before he’s been scolding me for calling him a psycho, he’s suddenly okay with it.
He agrees with me. He…he’s finally snapped.
“Let go of me.” I try to elbow him. His large body blocks my efforts. Caging me in. “This isn’t funny anymore. I want to go. I want to go! Let. Me. Go.”
One of his strong arms curls around my middle, pinning me harder to his front. I’m still fighting when he plasters his free hand on my forehead, fingers facing down. Pulling on my eyelids until my eyes are forced open.
“Never.” His lips are on my cheek as he forces me to stare at the naked dolls. “What if I told you you’re not wrong? That the depravity you’re imagining is the truth? That I took turns on each doll, repeatedly?”
Marcus slithers his hand from my navel to the area between my legs.
“No,” I cry out, panic clutching at my chest. “Stop.”
“I have, you know.” He hikes the skirt of my dress up, his fingers teasing my entrance. “Fucked the hole I’ve designed for their pussy.”
“Please.” I squeeze my thighs, keeping him from touching me. Keeping him from seeing how wet I am. “No more.”
“Had my fingers down their plastic throats.” Marcus’s hard cock pokes my back, his fingers nudging inside of me. They feel so much bigger with the butt plug in my ass. Like he’s everywhere. “Choked them while I took the cunt I couldn’t have in real life.”
One of my arms isn’t bound in Marcus’s punishing grip. I use it, reaching to scratch his hand, breaking his skin. It doesn’t deter him. He doesn’t stop, sliding his hand lower between my legs and twisting my butt plug.
I’m not stupid to believe he’s doing it from the kindness of his heart. He’s not relieving me.
