“Okay.” Getting to see him smile and hear more of his laugh is worth whatever punishment they come up with.
I drink down the last of my second bottle of water and lean back against the cold cinderblock wall, taking a deep breath. I can’t remember the last time I felt so full.
And sleepy.
I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“I should get dressed.” I push up from the ground and scoop up the dress. Beardman could be down in ten minutes or three hours, but if I’m not dressed, he’ll take the prod to my ass before we start the show. And the cuts and welts from the last request have finally stopping itching.
“Dolly? Dolly.” Ken’s voice pulls my attention away from fumbling with the sash. “Are you feeling okay?” His brow is wrinkled, and he’s lying on the ground, staring up at me. The empty bottles are lined up neatly outside his cell door, the muffin wrappers too.
“I’m just sleepy. I’m fine,” I say as my mind swirls. I blink a few times and steady myself as best as I can to finish tying the bow
I reach down to pick up the slippers, but my head takes another turn, and I stumble to the floor. The room spins, taking my stomach with it.
“Ken?” I try to twist so I can see him, but the little movement sends my head into a tailspin again. “I’m going to close my eyes for a minute,” I tell him, but he doesn’t respond. “Ken?” My lids weigh down. I’m a weak dolly.
I don’t hear if he answers before the darkness embraces me.
Twelve
KENDOLL
I gulp in a deep breath as my eyes flash open.
Where am I?
Movement is answered with failure. I’m bound again, upright. Not to the pulleys, to a post. I drag in more air, clearing out whatever shit they pumped into me with those muffins. They were so moist, so delicious, I’d inhaled them.
“Finally,” a deep voice says, and I squint against the lights to see the Beardman standing across the room.
The fucker. They drugged us to get us out of the cells easier.
Dolly!
A sweep of the room with my eyes, and I find her. She’s standing in the corner, her back to me.
“Dolly.”
“She’ll be with you in a minute,” Beardman says, walking over to the camera set up. He fiddles with the computer and lenses.
Bossman walks into the room, a shit-eating grin plastered on his fat face. “Just about ready?” he asks, rubbing his hands together like he’s about to sit down to his daily feast.
“Yeah, the feed’s ready to go live. Did you bring them?” Beardman clicks a few more buttons.
“They chickened out, the little shits.” Disgust drips from Bossman’s words. If the special request bidders didn’t show, will they still get to see what they paid for?
I focus on Dolly. Her shoulders move up and down in a gentle rhythm. She’s resigned to let these things happen to her. She’s not up for fighting them anymore. But she won’t give up. She promised me, and she won’t let me down. I’ll just have to be strong enough for us both until she’s able to face all this head on.
“They still paid, so the show goes on, they just don’t get front row seats.” His laugh, a dry cackle, rolls into a deep cough.
“Okay, Dolly. Showtime,” Beardman tells her, and her back stiffens. “Come stand here in front of the camera.” She turns slowly, and I get a good look at her face.
They’ve painted her more than usual. White powder covers her face. Deep ruby lipstick is centered on her lips, giving her a puckered appearance. Dark pink circles color her cheekbones.
“Dolly.” I need her attention on me, but she’s lost to their demands while we’re in this room. Because in here, they’ll hurt her for fun, and even more so for punishment.
I wriggle my wrists in the binds and find them looser than usual. If I twist them enough, I might be able to yank out of the straps.
“And we’re live.” Beardman steps to the side, and the light on the camera directly in front of Dolly lights up.
“Welcome back to Dolly for Hire!” Bossman speaks into a microphone off camera. “Tonight, we have a special request from Queenhearts and Dragonmate for both Dolly and Ken. It’s going to be a fun night, and we’ll be taking bids for activities as we get closer to the end of the evening. Remember, if you want to have full control over an evening with Dolly or Ken, put in your request and your bid. You’ll be brought on set to watch right here in studio as our dolls play for us.”
Cowards hide behind their computers, commenting and bidding. I can’t see the words on the chat screen, but each ping tells me plenty of viewers have arrived, anxiously awaiting whatever torment Queenhearts requested.
“Let’s begin. Dolly, if you’ll take your pretty dress off,” Bossman orders, and Dolly’s fingers curl into a fist. “Dolly, your dress.”
Her hands disappear in front of her while she works the buttons open, and the dress falls to her feet in a pool of lace and tulle. She steps out of the skirt, completely naked to the viewers staring at her through the lens.
Her legs and back are healed from her last special requests, but the markings are left behind. She’ll bear them for months before they fade…if they fade.
“Look at these titties. So pretty.” Beardman steps to her side and reaches toward her, groping her breast.
“Don’t touch her,” I growl. I haven’t gotten my wrists out yet.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Bossman laughs. “They like his jealousy.”
Ping.
Ping.
“Keep going,” he orders, and Beardman continues. She releases a small yelp, and Beardman’s lips crack into a wicked grin. His fat, dirty fingers twist her nipples, pulling them toward him. Dolly cries out again when he lets go. Her breasts bounce back, and his slimy tongue roams over his lips as he reaches for her again.
“Stop it. Fucking stop.” I tug harder on my binds. Bossman is too busy reading the comments to pay attention to me, and Beardman turns Dolly so I can see her profile.
Beardman bends, taking Dolly’s nipple into his mouth. He pulls his lips back, giving me a clear view of her nipple between his teeth.
Dolly whines, her hands shaking at her sides. He’s hurting her—and smiling while he does it.
“That’s a good dolly,” Bossman coos, pushing a metal cart over to my side. I tear my focus from Dolly, and my stomach drops—freefalls straight to my feet.
Blades. Knives and scapula, all different lengths, sizes, shapes.
There’s a thick metal hook laying on the tray. A fishhook large enough to hang a man from.
I swallow.
“That’s enough fun. Dolly, come here,” Bossman chastises her for having her nipples bitten by the fucking savage. Beardman releases her, and tiny drop of blood forms just below her areola. He broke fucking skin!
My pulse bangs in my ears, blocking out Bossman’s voice as he addresses the camera. Something about Queenhearts has put in her final orders. Beardman throws a sadistic grin my way as he pulls Dolly toward the metal cart.
“This is going to be our highest viewed session ever,” he mutters, positioning her in front of me.