Total pages in book: 331
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
The rope around my ankles is cut and then someone grabs my leg, bends it at the knee, and removes my heel before it’s dropped.
My panic rises when I’m forced to stand on my tiptoes. The same is done to the other. I cry out when the rope tightens, forcing me to tilt my head to the side as it rubs against my neck and the side of my cheek, pulling on my sensitive skin.
He places both hands on my face, forcing me to meet his stare. “You love it when I play with you.”
“N-oo,” I choke out the single word. “Please…I’m begging you.” I’ve watched so many Lords beg for their lives during a confessional or offering, yet I never understood it until now. When you have nothing left other than your voice, you use it.
His once pretty blue eyes are dead. Now replaced with nothing more than soulless black holes. I’ve seen this before. Here at Dollhouse. There’s an evil that lives here and takes over your soul. No one can escape it. “It’s okay, Eve. Enjoy it. Think of it as my wedding gift to you.”
I shake my head, and the rope tears at my skin. It’s itchy, and the fact that I can’t use my hands because they’re tied behind my back makes it harder to stand.
He steps away, letting go of me, and removes a Sharpie from his hoodie. He writes on my chest and thighs before walking behind me to write on my ass.
Then he gives me his back while walking over to a chair that is a few feet from me. There’s a box on top of it. He pulls out a rag that seems to be soaked in something because he wrings it out over the concrete and the contents splash up onto my trembling legs.
Returning to me, he shoves the cloth between my lips, and a sour taste fills my mouth.
“Swallow it,” he demands, and there’s nothing else I can do.
I blink rapidly, swallowing, and it makes me choke. I try to open my mouth wider to breathe around the rag. He gives me a second and then shoves the loose ends back in.
“Good girl,” he praises me before ripping clear tape off a roll. He wraps it around my head, securing the soaked rag in my mouth.
He then writes something on it too. He tosses the Sharpie across the room, grips my tear-streaked face, and forces my head back.
“Your thighs say free use, your chest says Kashton’s whore, and your ass says rape me. The tape on your mouth says Kashton’s dolly.”
I sob into the rag, trying to get my balance. My legs are already burning and cramping from having to stretch.
“The Lords want me to prove you’re useless, Eve.” His cold eyes glare into mine. “So I’m letting Lords fuck you. Their cum will leak from your cunt. Run down your pretty legs.” His free hand drops between my thighs, and he runs his fingers over my pussy. I try to close them, but I’m forced to stand on my tiptoes.
He gives me a smile that makes my heart skip a beat with fear. “You’re wet, angel. See? It won’t be that hard for you after all.”
I shake my head, trying to deny it. I’m not wet. This isn’t a game we’re playing. Doesn’t he understand that no one leaves here? Not as the same person they arrived as anyway.
“One more thing.” He shoves my head back, letting go and stepping away. He picks up the box that sits on the chair and brings it over to me.
“Each Lord gets a souvenir.” He holds up a razor blade in front of my face and my wide eyes go to his. “They’re going to cut you. A tally for each cock that fucks you.”
I scream into the gag and fight the ropes as fresh tears blur my vision. I’m desperate to get free, silently hoping he’ll take pity on me and let me go.
“Line them up,” he commands. Grabbing a chair, he spins it around backward and crosses his arms over the top of it, settling into the best seat in the house to watch me get raped.
I’m his offering. He wants something, and this is how the Lords are going to give it to him. All he has to do is let them have me.
But why would he want me after this? Why does he want me broken and used? I thought he loved me. He’s supposed to protect me.
A set of rough hands touches my thighs, and I thrash in my restraints. The rope cuts off my air momentarily as my nose runs and my heart thunders so hard in my chest, I fear I’ll have a heart attack.
The blood rushes in my ears, and I begin to sob when I realize my ankles are kicked apart, forcing me to arch my neck back in order to get just a little air to breathe.