When the Dark Wins Read online

  All I could focus on was the sound of the water streaming behind him. A shower. A shower! The feeling of water caressing my skin. To at least feel clean again. For the first time in countless days, I started to feel something again. It was as if the prospect of doing something so mundanely human made me feel human again.

  His brow wrinkled in displeasure. “Christ. You’re all dusty and what the fuck is that smudge on your stomach? Thank god these things can be submerged in water.”

  Steve lifted me high and carried me to the shower stall. I could feel the rush of steam hit my face as he opened the glass door. The scalding hot water hit me the moment I was pushed inside. It burned and seared my skin. I silently cried out in pain.

  “Almost as good as boiling water, I figure. Need to get all that cum off you.”

  The pain. It was everywhere. My skin was on fire.

  Steve grabbed me by the jaw and tilted my head back. Blistering hot water poured into my perpetually open mouth. Steve finally leaned me against the tiles. They felt cool in comparison. I watched as he spun a bar of soap between his palms. Lifting me by the shoulder he shoved four fingers into my mouth. I started to gag and cough. Twisting around and around he coated my mouth with bitter foam. I could feel the suds drip down the back of my throat. Pulling his fingers free, he shoved all four painfully into my pussy.

  “Let’s see if you can take a fist.”

  Oh God! No! Please! Please, why can’t you hear me! Please don’t do this to me! Please!

  Forcing his four fingers into my tight passage, he twisted and turned them. The nubs of his knuckles bruised my insides. Pushing further in, there was the scrape of his thumb nail as he thrust it alongside his fingers.

  This was too cruel. Unbearably so. To trap me in plastic yet force me to feel as if it were flesh.

  With his thumb stretching me painfully wide, he twisted his hand again till he was fully seated inside me to the wrist.

  My arms hung uselessly at my sides, unable to defend myself as I suffered through the indignity of having his whole hand shoved deep inside my body.

  “It’s pretty fucking tight in your snatch. Let’s see if I can make a fist, huh, Darla?”

  So now I was Darla I thought with a rueful laugh.

  His fingers wriggled inside of me, every movement sending a shock of pain between my legs as my thigh muscles cramped. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist. My whole reality was nothing but agony. The blinding pain. It felt like a bowling ball was being forced inside me, crushing my organs.

  Stop! Stop! God! Fuck! Stop!

  Steve finally pulled free, wrenching his fist from my body. If I could, I would have crumpled to the floor of the shower and cried for days.

  The hot water still seared my skin, though I was numb from the pain between my legs, I barely noticed when he spun me around. His soapy hand moved over my bald head and down my back. Such a touch from another human being would have been a divine comfort under any other circumstance. His hand moved over my ass, giving one cheek a slap. The sound reverberated around the tiny tiled shower.

  “Let’s clean this asshole of yours. Want to make sure it’s ready for tonight,” he said with another mocking laugh.

  What?

  With no further warning, he jammed two fingers into my ass.

  Oh God! There is a hole there too! Jesus fuck.

  How many more indignities must I suffer through? For the thousandth time, I wished I could close my eyes. To shut out all that was happening to me.

  His fingers prodded and probed my backside before pulling free.

  Yanking me out of the shower stall, he rubbed my already raw skin with a rough towel before once more hefting me over his shoulder and carrying me back down to his man cave.

  For the next hour, I tried to close my mind off as he pushed and pulled me. Raised my arms. Lowered my legs. Turned me over and back. Smeared something on my face across my mouth. Then finally placed a new wig on me.

  “Got to get you looking all pretty for tonight. My friend can’t wait to meet you.” Steve had lifted me up and held me before a mirror.

  I stared into my own vacant eyes.

  He had placed me in a hot pink sequined gown which barely reached the top of my thighs. The scooped neck was so low, my breasts popped out of the top. My obscenely open lips were smeared with glossy, pink lipstick.

  But the worst… the absolute worst… was he had put me in a brunette wig. The glossy brown curls fell softly just above my shoulders.

  Just how Jane used to wear her hair. Dammit, how I used to wear my hair.

  I started to sob.

  The doll in the mirror just stared back at me… expressionless… empty.

  Chapter 5

  “You sonofabitch, did you really get one of them?”

  “Yeah, I told you I did.”

  “You’re not fucking with me?”

  “See for yourself.”

  I could hear their conversation as they walked down the stairs. Steve had left me propped up on the sofa. Thinking it would be funny, he’d wedged an empty bottle of beer in my hand. As the door opened, I recognized the tall form of Steve; with him was a slightly short yet stockier stranger.

  The man walked right up to me and stared.

  “You sonofabitch! You did get one.”

  “John, would I lie to you?” asked Steve with a smirk as he walked behind me. I could hear the clink of beer bottles.

  Still, the man named John just stared.

  Steve returned and handed him a bottle, taking a swig, he said, “Hot, right?”

  John just shook his head. “You are one lucky sonofabitch. How do you even make it into work? I’d just sit around all day fucking it.”

  It.

  That was me.

  I was an it now.

  A thing.

  An object.

  An object to be fucked.

  Used.

  Steve just laughed.

  “Does Carol know?” asked John. The sofa dipped as he sat beside me, forcing my arm over his shoulder. His hand was pressed between my legs.

  “Fuck no. She’d pitch a fit. I hide it in the closet whenever I’m finished just in case she ever comes down here.”

  Carol, that must be Steve’s wife’s name. Carol. My stomach twisted when I thought of all he had done to me when he had a wife one floor up.

  I grimaced as John fondled my left breast. His large hand squeezed me tight while his fingers dug in deep.

  “Her tits feel real,” he said, astonished.

  Steve just nodded his head.

  John continued to grope and grab me. Putting down his beer, he pinched both my nipples between his finger and thumbs and twisted them.

  Stop! That hurts!

  “Hey! Knock it the fuck off. You want to tear her nipples off?”

  Confused, I felt a strange sense of appreciation as Steve came to my rescue.

  John shifted over to the other side of the sofa. “What does it feel like to fuck one of these?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Steve said, “The same, except you don’t have to give a shit if it comes and you can fuck it as hard as you want without it complaining.”

  It.

  It again.

  “And you don’t have to buy it jewelry or dinner afterwards,” offered John, smiling wide at his own joke.

  “Or marry the bitch!”

  Steve and John high-fived one another.

  John tilted his head in my direction. “You going to let me try it out?”

  “Let’s get high first. You will almost think she’s real when you’re fucked up.”

  Watching as if from afar, Steve took one of the hated mirrors down and dumped some fine white powder onto its surface. As if I were watching some bad 80s movie, I sat there as the two men snorted and coughed the better portion of it up their noses. At one point, Steve smeared some under my own nose. I waited to see if my plastic body would react. I’m not sure if I was grateful or not that it didn’t. Would the small escape f
rom reality the cocaine might have afforded me make what lay ahead any easier?

  A sense of dread began to creep over me.

  Both men began to undress.

  “What hole you want first?” asked Steve.

  “I want her mouth. Always wanted to just shove my cock down some chick’s mouth. You know. Really choke her with it.”

  Steve gestured wildly at me. “Have at it, bro!”

  Oh God. No. Not again.

  John climbed up on the sofa and placed his knees above my shoulders, his feet digging painfully into my ribs. Leaning down, he grasped my hair and wrenched my head up till my neck was tilted at a painful angle. Then he shoved his cock into my mouth. I gagged at the rancid sour taste as it pushed to the back of my throat. I could feel his balls as they swayed just below my chin.

  “Fuck! This is fucking awesome, man,” cried out John as he started to pump my head up and down on his cock.

  “Right? You don’t even miss the tongue,” agreed Steve.

  “Half the time a chick’s just using her tongue to try to push you out. Man, I’m in deep. Right down her fucking throat.” He punctuated that with a few hard thrusts.

  Even though I couldn’t move, I still struggled. Crying, gasping for breath, bucking my hips, twisting my head from side to side, screaming no. It all happened… in my mind.

  “Hey! Hey! Look up!”

  “You’re filming? Fucking awesome!”

  Steve circled us with his phone. Videotaping my assault.

  “Dude. She looks fucking real on camera. No one would ever know.”

  I am real! I’m here! I’m inside. I… am… real.

  My name is Jane.

  Jane.

  Please, help me.

  John started moving my head so quickly I thought my neck would snap. With each movement, his thick disgusting cock was thrust deep down my throat.

  “Wait! Wait. I’m going to change this up. Stop filming then start again,” said John as he pulled his flesh from my mouth.

  Hopping off the sofa, he twisted me around, so my head hung over the edge. He then placed my legs over the back. Open and wide.

  Please. Please don’t humiliate me this way. Please I’m begging you.

  Tilting my head all the way back, John lined his cock up with my mouth and waited. When he got the nod from Steve, he shoved it past my lips with a groan. This time he kept it lodged deep in my throat. His balls rubbed my open eyes. I could feel him press his whole body over my prone, helpless form. Then a burst of searing pain erupted between my outstretched legs.

  Oh God! Stop! Stop! It hurts!

  One slap after another. John was beating my pussy. The degrading slapping sounds of a hand hitting plastic echoed around the room, mixing with their laughter.

  “That’s it, bitch. Suck my cock while I slap your pussy!” yelled John as he began to rock his hips pushing his cock in and out of my unwilling mouth.

  As John leaned up, I could see Steve positioned with his phone camera directly between my legs.

  “Grab her tits!” Steve shouted out.

  Reaching down, John latched on to both of my breasts. Squeezing them so hard I thought he was going to tear them off. I could see his fingers on my breasts, but they weren’t my breasts, they were large and swollen and plastic… yet I felt every bruising finger of his dig into me as if it were my own flesh.

  “Fuck. I’m going to come.”

  “Don’t jizz in her mouth,” said Steve.

  “Come on man! Why not!”

  “Because only I get to jizz inside her, you prick.”

  I had to watch as thick streams of cum landed on my breasts, stomach and chin.

  “That was fucking awesome,” said John as he climbed off me.

  Both left me there. Dangling over the sofa, covered in cum. Used and forgotten as they did a few more lines of coke.

  Sometime later, they remembered their little fuck toy.

  “We have to clean her off. I’m not touching your fucking jizz,” said Steve as he took a swig from another beer.

  “No problem!”

  John tilted his full beer bottle over me. Dousing me in cold, sudsy liquid.

  Steve laughed. “You’re a prick.”

  “Hey! My first instinct was to use piss, so count yourself lucky, slut,” said John as he slapped my face.

  Both men laughed.

  “Oh man, can you imagine just pissing down some slut’s throat?”

  “What do you think you have her for?”

  I want to die. I’ve had enough. There is no more hope left in me. I want to die.

  Setting aside his beer, Steve stepped up to the sofa as he fisted his cock.

  No! No! You can’t! You can’t do this. I’m real. Please!

  “I think I’ll just fuck her snatch. This thing has the tightest fucking snatch. Seriously dude, you haven’t gotten pussy like this since high school.”

  John picked up the phone to film as Steve picked my whole body up.

  “Watch this,” he said to John.

  Steve sat on the sofa and positioned my legs, so I was straddling him. Lifting up my hips, he positioned his cock right at my pussy entrance. Then he put his hands around my impossibly narrow waist.

  “Are you ready? You filming?”

  “Yeah! Yeah! Fuck the bitch!”

  Steve shoved my body down onto his cock.

  I let out the silent scream of a wounded animal as his flesh tore into me. His damp cock sticking to my dry flesh as he pushed and pushed harder. If I truly were real, I would be bleeding. Lifting me high, he shoved me up and down his shaft over and over and over again.

  “Swing around front. Watch how her tits actually bounce!”

  “Fuck! They look so real!”

  Steve latched onto my right nipple and bit down. Growling like a dog, he shook his head from side to side. I prayed for the solace of true death. Anything was better than this pain. This humiliation. It was one thing to be used, it was another to be denied the dignity of fighting back. The peace of mind that you at least screamed and yelled and called out for him to stop.

  I was denied all that. I was forced to suffer inside this plastic cage.

  With a groan, he finished.

  I could feel my insides gunk up with his cum.

  Chapter 6

  My face is shoved into the sofa cushions. I cannot see what is happening around me. I can hear them moving about, drinking beer, playing video games. They have each fucked me once more. Steve calls it filling my holes up. As I lay here, naked and abused, I am starting to feel something I had not before.

  Rage.

  All this time I have been confused, depressed, desperate and sad, but I haven’t gotten mad. It was probably some remnant of religious training creeping into my fast numbing brain. The pious will be redeemed. Suffering is God’s will. Endure and there will always be hope for salvation.

  Fuck God.

  I want nothing more to do with God. What has happened to me is unnatural and unholy. From now on, the devil will be my God.

  “I’m bored. What else can we do to it?” asked John as he flopped down on the sofa beside me. Picking up my head he poked at my open, glass eyes.

  Steve had just finished his beer. Looking at the bottle, he said, “Let’s shove this up her ass.”

  “Sonofabitch, you’re a fucking genius!” cried out John as he grabbed me by the hips and slung my body over the sofa armrest. My upper half hung limply over the side, the sofa crushing my stomach and making it hard to breathe. My ass was propped up high.

  You mother fucking pieces of shit! You will pay for this! I will make you pay! I will find a way and make you pay!

  I ranted and railed at each of them as I felt the cold press of the glass bottle against my ass. This felt better. No more begging. No more pleading. No more vain hope that Steve would somehow see a glimmer of life behind my vacant stare. I was pissed. Angry at God. Angry at the world. Angry at these two assholes who think they had the right to treat me this way
.

  “Not that way,” objected John. “You shove it in bottom first, not by the neck.”

  “Then grab me the baby oil from under the bathroom sink.”

  After a long pause, there was a hand on my ass, spreading my cheeks open. Then the cold drizzle of something slimy. Once more I felt the chill from the beer bottle as it pressed between my cheeks. There was a bruising pressure against my asshole. I could feel the bottle press into my pelvic bone.

  “Fuck. I don’t think it will go in.”

  “Push harder.”

  I could feel the sofa dip as Steve must have gotten onto his knees behind me. Once more the bottle was pressed between my cheeks. This time he pushed harder. Much harder.

  I cried out in agony as the delicate ring of muscle protecting my asshole weakened and the bottle popped in. This was far worse than Steve’s fist. It was hard and unrelenting. Once past the outer ring, Steve was able to push the bottle in by several inches, the cold glass chilling my insides as it forced me open. My stomach twisted and cramped. There was a burning sensation in the back of my throat as if real vomit were about to spew forth. The muscles along my lower back spasmed as the bottle was pushed in deeper. Inch by inch, he stretched me open and forced me to accept his cruel torture.

  “Man, I wish these things came with speakers so we could hear her scream,” observed John as he videotaped my frozen face.

  “I said the exact same thing,” said Steve as he gave the bottle another push.

  Use the pain. Use the pain. Use the pain. Turn the pain into anger. Hold on to your anger.

  “That’s it, bitch. Fuck that beer bottle like the whore you are!” yelled out Steve as he pumped the bottle in and out of my ass.

  Steve lifted me high and forced me to once again straddle his legs. Reaching around my hip, he grabbed the neck of the bottle as it protruded obscenely from my asshole.

  “John! John! Grab a photo of this!”

  There were several bright flashes in the darkened room.

  Use the pain. Use the pain. Hold on to your rage.

  Hot burning rage replaced the pain. I focused on the bitter heat coiling within my breast.