The doll had to be positioned perfectly, the lighting just so in order to capture the dead look in its wide gaze. It was an ordinary doll purchased at a local thrift store, a slight crack in the left cheek the only thing marring the perfection of its porcelain face. The soft deceased gray eyes were the drawing point, eyes so like hers.
Beautiful eyes, forever locked in that perfect guileless wide stare of death.
It was only fitting it be used to set up the first profile picture for Facebook. One by one the collection would be made. Perfect works of art to sit next to each other; she would never be forgotten and that sublime shared moment of death and pain could be experienced over and over again.
The little doll was set in a chair alone, a few feet away from the larger doll with the rheumy gray eyes. The wide gray orbs seemed to be swimming in a strange viscous fluid. It had taken some time to come up with a way to preserve the eyes so they could be showcased in the doll’s head. The little cups of hand-blown glass painstakingly made so the eye would fit inside with a bit of formaldehyde, then another cup slipped over it and sealed to it to form the eye ready to be inserted into the doll, the eyes forever preserved in a perfect memory.
The picture would show only the small doll with eyes so like hers; no need to show her eyes inside the big doll or the row of dolls lined up next to her with their empty eye sockets waiting to be filled.
Excerpt from Under His Hands, by Mona Hyatt:
His hands ran across her body firmly, knowledgeably stroking over the sensitive flesh of her bottom and making her shiver. She waited, her breath caught in her throat, then his hand fell in that exquisite first slap; stinging heat filled her backside in its wake and a matching sting was delivered to the other side.
She couldn’t bite back the moans as his hand began to descend in no discernible pattern, again and again all over her bottom before gliding over the heated skin with a teasing caress and then dropping again. Each time he caressed her it came closer to her aching center until her legs fell open of almost their own accord, her need was so great.
“Please…” came her breathless plea.
In response his hand plunged ever harder and faster than before. “This is a punishment. Do naughty girls get to come?”
The rough tones of his voice rolled through her, stroking her from the inside out as his hand continued to fall, her backside hot and tender but the real ache was centered in her wet core; when a firm swat fell at the base of her bottom dead center over the place she needed his touch so badly, everything in her tightened in response.
Each deliberate swat brought her closer and closer to that pinnacle until she stiffened over his lap with a scream then convulsed in delicate shudders as her orgasm overtook her.
He began running his hands soothingly over her lower back and bottom as she calmed. “Good girl.”
I blinked as the annoying sound came over my computer, indicating someone had sent a message on Facebook. I’d been working on the revisions for my new book, trying to get them finished and sent back to my editor before the end of the day.
If I let myself get pulled into Facebook I’d never get them done, but still, what if it was Gregor? Or Tom?
The need to know was just too great. I opened messenger to see who was talking to me, and a new face greeted me; it was a doll, a very creepy china doll with slanted gray eyes staring into me.
I shuddered as I studied the profile pic. It said his name was Deacon… What kind of man picked a creepy china doll as his profile pic?
The screen blinked at me rather innocuously but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. It was the creepy gray eyes, oddly a lot like my own.
I shook my head firmly and deleted the message. I had no desire to talk to creepy doll guy. After all I had edits due, I told myself when I felt a little twinge of guilt for deleting the guy’s message without answering him.
As an author I prided myself on being responsive to my readers and every message was a potential new reader if they weren’t already following me. I didn’t generally take such an instant dislike to anyone on messenger; usually I waited until they sent me something inappropriate.
I ignored the tiny twinge of guilt I felt for dismissing Deacon out of hand and went back to edits. Only a few minutes passed before the little ding sounded again but this time it was Gregor.
A shiver of anticipation ran through my body.
I knew I should ignore his summons but the temptation to experience a taste of what I wrote about… what I fantasized about was too great to ignore.
Gregor: “Hello, little girl.”
I felt wetness spring forth between my thighs as the words rolled over me, like a virtual caress.
Mona216: “Hello, Sir.”
Gregor: “Since we last spoke, did you do as I instructed you?”
I hadn’t touched myself, just as Gregor wished. I sighed as his dominance washed over me; I rubbed my legs together, conscious of the way my panties brushed sensuously against the newly bare skin of my mound. It was a delicious and intensely sexual feeling. I was already wet just from the slide of my panties against my most intimate area.
Mona216: “Yes, Sir.”
Gregor: “Are you wet?”
I almost moaned out loud at his words, embarrassed to answer but knowing I would.
Mona216: “Yes, Sir.”
Gregor: “Take off your panties.”
Mona216: “But I’m still writing and I—”
Gregor: “I didn’t ask what you were still doing. Take off your panties.”
The implicit command was not something I could ignore; it was as if I heard him in my head even though we’d never actually spoken. I felt compelled to obey him.
Mona216: “Yes, Sir.” I told him before reaching beneath my gown and slipping my panties off my body and down my legs. It felt decadently naughty to be sitting at my computer desk bare from the waist down. Another gush of fluid coated the tops of my thighs as I waited with bated breath for another instruction.
Gregor: “Good girl. Scoot your bottom to the edge of the chair and spread your legs open.”
I gasped as I followed his instructions, my bottom resting at the edge of the chair, my legs spread wide. The cool air caressed my sensitive folds, magnifying my need.
Mona216: “Please, Sir.” Whimpering the words out loud as a persistent throb settled into my clit, I actually ached with the need to come.
Gregor: “Please what, little girl?” I moaned awkwardly, squirming at the combination of embarrassment and need that filled me at his question.
Mona216: “Please, may I touch myself?”
Mona216: “But Sir… I need to come.”
Gregor: “Are you in charge of your orgasms?”
I couldn’t help the pout that came over my face, though I knew he couldn’t see it. I hated it when one of the online dominants I played with denied my pleasure. Granted, I could make myself come and he would never know the difference but part of me craved the control he was providing and I knew the orgasm resulting from his dominance would eclipse anything I could achieve on my own. The independent part of me hated my need but my carnal self told Miss Independence to shut up.
Mona216: “No, Sir.” In my mind it was said in a sulky tone that was totally wasted on Gregor.
Gregor: “That’s right. I decide when and if you come and if you get to touch that naughty little clit of yours.”
The clit in question began to thrum double time in response to his words and I was so wet there was sure to be a stain on my executive office chair.
Mona216: “Yes, Sir.”
Gregor: “Good girl. Put one finger along the edge of your labia and tell me how wet you are.”
I ran one finger down my belly and slid it along my needy slit, gasping at the moisture that quickly coated it. I was soaking wet; I groaned as the evidence of my need coated my fingers.
Mona216: “I’m extremely wet, Sir.”
Gregor: “Taste yourself.”
My stomach dropped to my knees at his command; never had I imagined tasting myself but my finger was already headed to my mouth almost of its own accord. I opened my mouth wide and sucked and licked every trace of my arousal from my finger.
I smacked my lips before responding, finding my arousal at the act a little alarming.
Mona216: “Yes, Sir.”
Gregor: “How do you taste?”
Mona216: “Salty… a little tangy.” I told him as I thought about the not unpleasant taste.
Gregor: “You’re being such a good girl. Take two fingers of one hand and drive them into your tight little pussy.”
I did as he told me with a moan of appreciation as I sank two fingers deep. My body spasmed around my questing fingers as they slid inside me.
Mona216: “Oh, Sir… that feels so good.”
Gregor: “Fuck yourself hard with your fingers. Ride those fingers hard and then rub your clit with the base of your thumb while you mount your hand.”
I braced my feet on the edge of the desk in front of me as I began to work my fingers in and out of my aching center hard and fast, making sure to rub my clit with the base of my thumb with every stroke.
My whole body began to shake as I built toward orgasm. I switched to my cell phone to respond with one hand more easily.
Mona216: “Oooh… please, Sir… may I come… please…”
Gregor: “Not yet, my greedy little girl but you keep fucking that pussy.”
I panted, trying to hold back my orgasm as I worked my sex hard. It was a losing battle and suddenly everything in me tightened and I gave a cry of pleasure as I came passionately.
Mona216: “I’m sorry, Sir, I came.”
Gregor: “Naughty girl. Keep working those fingers… don’t you dare stop, you already have a punishment coming and you owe me an orgasm.”
I whimpered as I continued to work my wet slit, my fingers slamming in and out harder and harder as I built toward another peak.
Mona216: “Sir… Sir… ohhh please, Sir… I can’t.”
Gregor: “You can! Add a third finger and really slam your fingers in.”
Mona216: “Oooh, yes, Sir!”
“Ooooh hoooo,” I cried out as I added in the third finger, stretching my canal around the three fingers working it hard. The pleasure was indescribable as my back began to bow.
Gregor: “Are you close?”
Mona216: “Yes, Sir!!!”
Gregor: “Come for me now!”
I exploded around my fingers, another gush of wetness springing forth to coat my entire hand as my orgasm seemed to go on and on.