Dolls Don't Do That.

He put ruby slippers on my feet before he sat me down against the hard wood. My back perfectly straight and my legs perfectly still. He left me there for a few hours. Or maybe it was a few minutes. It doesn't matter. Time is not a concept I'm privy to anymore. I just watched the ruby slippers and thought about Dorothy. These things he did to me, these silly things like ruby slippers and auburn hair, make me wonder why a part of him is stuck in a child's world. It doesn't matter what I think, of course, I will never say it to him. He will never hear me wonder about his vulnerabilities so I just watched the slippers. They were beautiful but only as slippers, on my feet they looked like a cheap fantasy.

I froze in place when the door handle turned. That is how he liked me to be. Frozen in place until he chose to move me.

"Come in," he said entering the room, "I have it laid out and ready for you."

Another man followed him inside. My eyes were lowered so I couldn't see him completely. I only saw fading brown leather on his feet as they shuffled towards me. He stopped in front of me and just stood there. I couldn't see his face but I image it displayed lust. I didn't used to think I was hot or beautiful but after everything he did to me I would get a hard on seeing myself if I were a man. Especially dressed like that. He decorated me in childish things like ruby slippers but he wasn't a child in what he wanted from my body. Perhaps the kind of clothes he had me wear would look good on a certain kind of doll, but it definitely wasn't the doll he wanted me to be. I don't think it matters to him whether I am childlike doll or a whorish doll, not really. Ultimately what matters to him is that I be a doll. It's so strange what we do with objects of childhood when we grow up.

"It's beautiful," he said running his fingers over my thighs, "I can't wait to play with it."

I didn't move. I didn't look up at him. I remember days when I would have but not anymore. I have learnt not to respond because dolls don't respond. I'm never going to forget those words, they're seared into my skin. Most people who know him wouldn't believe him capable of something like that, but I can't see him any other way. I didn't respond. Not as his strange friend who smelled like tobacco lifted my little skirt, not as he peeked inside my shirt, not as he squeezed me just a little. The truth is he is nice when he plays with me, his doll. It's when I show signs of sentience that he's cruel. He's nice when he plays with me.

They lifted me and put me on the bed. I left my legs and arms in the same airborne position. I would never have thought of that, he taught me. Because dolls don't move. Now I'd never forget it. So I left my legs bent at the knee and waited. He let me wait. He's like a child with power. He doesn't wield it with foresight, only to instigate and please himself. He's petty.

"We should straighten her out," he said to his friend who was then stripping out of his coat and shoes, "That way it's easier to play with her."

He laid me out like he always did. His friend was so similar to him. I wondered where they had met. They even looked alike, not in the way that family looks like but in the way kindred spirits look alike. They had similar hair. There was a time when we did speak to each other. Back then I used to tell him he has hair like Einstein but now I don't tell him that anymore. Now I don't tell him anything.

"How do you open its mouth?" His friend asked while he ran his fingers over my blouse.
I used to be very ticklish. Used to be. His friend's touch is very similar to his. It's almost distant in a manner that is full of awe. I stayed still because I didn't want to know if this friend's touch changes like his too. He walked over to my face and pinched my jaw. That's how he opens my mouth. He explained to me that dolls don't understand what they are told, they have buttons. I could not fathom the insanity. He tells me things I am expected to understand all the time but my mouth opens with an imaginary button on my jaw.

His friend unzipped his pants and put his cock on my face. He was uncircumcised, it was different from what I'm used to. I'm tempted to stick my tongue out everytime there's a cock on my face, but I know I must not. I just keep my mouth open. I keep it open as he tried to angle it into my mouth. I used to find it hard to stay still but my owner explained to me that it was only because I wasn't afraid enough of moving. I'm afraid enough now. So I stayed still as he lifted my skirt like he often does.

He giggled.

He always giggles as he climbs under my clothes. He never put any panties on me. I feel like that dolls from my childhood wore underwear but for the life of me I cannot remember for sure. I don't wear any panties. He pulled my skirt off and repositioned my legs, and then he called his friend over to his side. They sat side-by-side and touched me with shy fingers. I tried to focus on the smell of the cum his friend had left on my face. I don't like the smell of cum and it helps to be disgusting when he's trying so hard to get me to show pleasure.

"You can put it inside here," I heard him telling his friend when I came out of the sick reverie the smell of cum had sunk me into, "It's a doll, it's not wrong."

I don't understand these things he says. These insane things. I just stared at the ceiling and hope I don't wince as he fucks me. I heard the drawer open and I heard the lid of the bottle of lube open up. I felt his fingers loosen me up and I felt myself get just a little wet. My wetness was masked by the lube his friend's cock thrust into my hole. It felt good. I like being fucked and i can't help myself. But I stayed still as he fucked me. It never lasts long and i reassured myself into stillness until it was over. He wiped me with a tissue when he was done. I lay there with my legs positioned awkwardly as he got dressed and left.

"My friend enjoyed playing with you, I think," he said straightening my legs and spreading them, "But he doesn't know you messed up, does he?"

I trembled as his fingers pushed themselves into my hole and stretched me open. His grip around my insides tightened as his face changed from a happy child to a threatening monster.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice that stench?" He asked as he pinched the softest parts of me.

I tried not to scream. It took everything in me not scream.

"How many times have i told you?" He said as he slapped me between my legs, "Dolls. Don't. Get. Wet."

I try.
I try so hard.
But no matter what he does to me, I always get wet.