dolly

It starts when a dare goes wrong at a party I’m attending while we play truth-or-dare. Someone dares me to take off my clothes entirely, and then dares me to let them tie me up - and, stupidly, I oblige all of them, still in the lighthearted partying spirit as someone ties my arms behind my back.

When all of the other party attendees start exchanging smirks and knowing looks, I realize that something’s wrong.

“...So, we’re playing truth or dare, yeah?” one of them asks, and I nod, confused. “Well, it’s my turn to choose now, so I’m choosing truth - and the truth is that it was our plan to get you like this all along.” They grin at me, sharklike, before several party members all congregate upon me and pick me up, bustling me into the next room over where they bend me over a table that has a hole underneath my abdomen, tying my legs to the legs of the table so that I stay spread apart. I struggle to lift my head and look around slightly, and notice another table in front of me that’s crowded with bottles - mostly beer bottles, wine bottles, and other bottles filled with a suspiciously-yellow liquid.

“We invited you to this party a week in advance because we knew you’d be fun to play with,” one of the partygoers taunts me. They gesture to the table. “All of that is going inside of you, whether you like it or not.”

Before I can speak or protest, a gag is strapped onto my face, a small sphere resting in my mouth - one that quickly inflates to keep me from making any noise with my mouth at all. “Hey-o, he’s fuckin’ wet!” one of them crows from behind me, and I feel two fingers plunge into my exposed cunt. I let out a muffled moan, and everybody around me laughs.

“...So, you like that idea?” the person who told me where the bottles are going asks. Before they let me answer, someone interrupts -

“Alright, we’ve got him here now, he’s seen what he got himself into,” they say exasperatedly. “Can we please start torturing him?”

“Oh, for sure,” someone else says. “Here, help me turn the table.”

The fingers slide out of my pussy, and I feel the table I’m on being lifted and turned around so that my ass is facing the table filled with bottles. Without any ceremony, I feel the neck of what seems like a beer bottle get forced into my asshole, and I let out a strangled whimper as the cold alcohol starts sliding into my guts.

“Wow, he’s really soaking, huh?” a partygoer remarks, and I feel three fingers slide into me - it’s true. I don’t want to be, but I’m...incredibly turned on by all of this. “Wonder how much of it is being tied up, and how much of it is getting his ass filled.”

“Wonder how he’ll feel when I tell him a lot of those bottles are full of piss?” one of them asks aloud mockingly, and I can’t help but let out a breathless moan at that, closing me eyes when everybody around laughs at my reaction.

The alcohol in the bottle currently inside of me slows to a stop, and someone pulls it out of me. “Should I go with another beer, wine, vodka, or piss?” someone behind me asks, and a chorus of suggestions greets them before they decide to let vodka chug into my body next. I’m already starting to feel uncomfortable - one beer on its own was tolerable, but I’m getting more and more full by the second. There are still fingers exploring my cunt, and that full feeling isn’t helped when the number is increased from three to four.

“Hey, why don’t we see how much we can ruin his pussy while we’re getting him fucked up?” someone suggests. “I mean, we’re already back there, just put your whole hand in!”

A jolt of dread - and lust - goes through me at that, but I’m powerless to resist when the person fingering me obliges and just forces their entire hand into me, stirring the liquid already in my guts and stretching my pussy beyond what it’s ever taken before. I let out a loud, prolonged moan, unable to cry out around the gag, and everybody laughs.

“Fuckin’ slut, he really likes that,” the person fisting me says cunningly, moving their hand inside of me like they’re testing the waters. “Hey, what’s the status on that vodka?”

“About three-quarters empty.” There’s a moment’s pause, then I feel someone else running a hand over my bared midsection. “Aw, you can hardly see anything happening,” they complain. “Can’t we do two at once? Like wine and piss?”

“But the wine bottle is so much bigger than the piss, it’ll still be going by the time the other one’s empty.”

“Then just get another fuckin’ piss bottle, does it matter?! We want him to be full anyway.”

To my despair, there’s arousal pooling in my lower belly, and I’m struggling to suppress moans and whimpers as the person fisting me keeps experimenting with me, shifting their hand back and forth, side to side. When the vodka bottle is yanked from my ass, it’s quickly replaced with a wine bottle - and then the neck of another bottle alongside it, what I assume is piss.

“Fuuuuck yeah, look at this urinal,” one of them says, voice rougher with lust than it had been a second ago. “He’s takin’ it like a champ.”

“And he likes it, too - he’s wet as fuck.”

“Yo, just start fistfucking him already,” someone else encourages. “We wanna get this slut messed up, yeah?”

“Yeah, fair.” With that, the fist inside of me withdraws slightly - then pushes back forward, starting to pump in and out of me while there’s alcohol and piss still flooding my insides. I can’t help my whining, or the way my legs quiver in pleasure, or how my eyelashes flutter, and the people around me take notice, taunting me, laughing at me - and it only makes me get closer to cumming every time they call me a slut, a whore, a toy, a set of holes.

It continues like that for a while, alcohol and piss being poured into me relentlessly, and I can feel my belly hanging heavy beneath the table with it. A few people really seem to like that, so there’s not a moment that goes by that I don’t have someone’s hands all over it, playing with it, poking it, squeezing it while I can’t get anything out. The room has long since started spinning around me, the alcohol and the pleasure I’m getting from being fistfucked blending together to create a disconcerting set of sensations.

The person with their hand inside of me finally decides to mix it up at one point - they slide another finger into me, before quickly adding another, and another, and another until they have a fist and four fingers in my cunt. I’m shuddering and moaning, my eyes rolled back in my head while I feel the pain and pleasure of my pussy being stretched open like that - and my voice breaks with the muffled scream I let out when there’s suddenly another hand inside of me, two of them pumping in and out in an alternating pattern, my cervix getting punched repeatedly.

After hours and hours have gone by, my belly is impossibly heavy, and I’m barely conscious. “Yo, this thing is almost to the damn floor,” one of them says, pushing the hanging distension from side to side and making the fluids inside of me swirl uncomfortably. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“What’s his cunt like?” someone else asks, and I feel the person fisting me spread my pussy open with both hands, the cold air of the room easily caressing my cervix.

“Oh, it’s totally busted.”

“Hey, whaddaya say we keep him like this for a while?” someone says. “I dunno about you, but I could jack off to this for fuckin’ weeks.”

“I’m more interested in getting to use him as a urinal,” someone else comments. “I mean, he took the bottles of piss pretty damn good, so getting it directly from the source wouldn’t be much different, huh?”

The thought thrums through my veins like a drug, soothing every ragged edge of my obsession.

She tied delicately to the bed, wrists bound in silk scarves (no rough rope for my darling, never for her), her breath coming in shaky little gasps. Her eyes are wide, glistening with tears, but I know she’ll understand soon. I’ll make her understand.

"Shhh, sweetheart," I murmur, stroking her cheek. She flinches, but I don’t mind. She just needs time. "I’ve waited so long for this. You have no idea. But you’re finally here, finally mine. You have no idea how good I’m going to make you feel."

Her breathing is quick, panicked. “Stop, please—”

I grin, trailing a fingertip down her bare arm. Her skin prickles under my touch, and I shiver at the reaction. “Shh, sweetheart. I’ve got you now. You don’t have to be scared.”

She whimpers, twisting her hips, trying to pull away, even though the restraints won’t let her. It’s adorable. She’s so alive, so reactive, so present.

I lean in, pressing my lips to the delicate skin of her throat and I hum against her, satisfied. “You smell so good,” I murmur, dragging my teeth lightly over her pulse. “Like home.”

She’s perfect. Every slope, every curve—memorized in my mind a thousand times, now finally under my hands.

Her breath hitches when my hand slides down, fingertips brushing over her ribs. I know she’s ticklish here, I’ve seen her laugh when her friends accidentally graze her side. But right now, she’s not laughing. She’s trembling.

“Please, stop—”

I don’t. Instead, I press my palm flat against her stomach, feeling the rapid rise and fall of it. “You’re so soft,” I whisper, sliding my hand higher, cupping the swell of her breast. She whines, arching, whether to escape or press into my touch, I’m not sure.

But I don’t care.

She gasps when my fingers finally, finally brush over her bare nipple. “See?” I murmur, circling the stiff peak lazily. “You like this. You’re getting wet for me already, don’t lie, darling. I can smell it.”

She shakes her head, but her body betrays her. I pinch lightly, just to hear her breath catch again, and then trail my fingers down.

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers when I find her clit. I know how sensitive she is. I’ve watched her touch herself before, seen the way she bites her lip to keep quiet.

"There we go… that’s it. Just like that." Her clit is swollen already, so pretty, and when I flick it lightly, her back arches off the bed with a sob.

"Ah-ah, none of that," I chide, pinning her hips down. "You’re going to take it. You’re going to come for me, over and over, until you forget you ever resisted."

I rub faster, my fingers finding the perfect rhythm against her throbbing flesh. She moans, high and desperate, and I grin. "See? Your body adores me. It’s begging."

My thumb presses down in slow circles, relentless, and her legs jerk, trying to close, but I’m between them, holding her open. "No hiding, princess. I want to watch you fall apart."

I dip my fingers lower, gathering her slickness before dragging it back up, coating her clit in her own arousal. She shudders, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. I watch her face, how her lips part, how her lashes flutter. She’s fighting it. She doesn’t want to enjoy this. But I can see the truth in the way her thighs tremble, in the way her clit pulses under my touch.

Her breath catches, her back arching off the bed. "P-Please—" she gasps, and her desperate, ruined voice sends a thrill through me.

"Please what, my love?" I murmur, leaning in to lick a stripe up her neck. "Tell me. Do you want me to stop? Or do you want more?"

She doesn’t answer, biting her lip, but her body does, her hips rocking against my hand, chasing the pleasure she can’t resist. I chuckle darkly, increasing the pressure, rubbing faster now, relentless. "That’s it," I breathe. "Let go. I want to feel you come for me."

She sobs, her whole body tensing, and then she shatters. Her clit throbs under my fingers as she arches, her thighs trembling around my hand as waves of pleasure wrack her body. I don’t stop, dragging out every last pulse of her orgasm, whispering praise into her ear like a prayer.

When she finally collapses, limp and shuddering, I press a kiss to her forehead, stroking her hair.

"Oh, sweet thing," I sigh, watching her chest rise and fall in frantic little hiccups as she comes down from her first climax. "That was just a taste. You’ve never felt anything like me, have you? No one’s ever worshipped you like this."

My fingers glide through her slick, gathering it up, painting it back over her swollen clit. She whines, thighs trembling, but I don’t stop. Not when she’s this perfect. "Shh, don’t fight it. You’re beautiful like this, so wet, so desperate. I can feel how tight you are, how much your body aches for more."

I press two fingers inside her, crooking them just so, and her back arches off the bed with a sharp cry. "There it is," I murmur, kissing her trembling stomach. "That sweet spot no one else ever found. Bet you didn’t even know you could feel this good, did you?"

Her hips jerk, trying to escape the overwhelming pressure, but I hold her down, my thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on her clit. "No, no, you don’t get to run. You’re going to take every second of this. Look at me."

Tears spill down her cheeks, but her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted in a silent plea. "That’s right," I croon. "See? You want this. Maybe your mind hasn’t caught up yet, but your body, fuck, your body belongs to me."

I scissor my fingers, stretching her, relishing the way her walls flutter around me. "You’re so small here," I tease. "So tight and untouched. No one’s ever filled you up like this, have they? No one’s ever ruined you so perfectly."

Her breath comes in ragged gasps as I curl my fingers again, rubbing that spot inside her with merciless precision. "You’re going to squirt for me, princess. I can feel it, your body’s so close, just dripping for me."

She shakes her head, a weak sob escaping her, but I laugh, low and dark. "Yes, you are. You can’t stop it. I’ll make you do it over and over until you beg for it."

I press harder, faster, my thumb a relentless counterpoint to the thrust of my fingers. "Come on, darling, let go."

Her scream rings out as her hips buck, her body seizing. A rush of warmth floods my hand, her thighs trembling violently as she soaks the sheets beneath her. "Good girl," I breathe, watching in awe. "Look at you, fuck, you’re perfect. No one’s ever made you feel like this, have they? No one but me."

She’s limp now, boneless and dazed, but I don’t stop.

Her body is still shuddering from squirting when I press my palm flat against her soaked cunt, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. "Aw, so sensitive," I coo, watching her hips twitch away instinctively. "But we've only just begun, pretty girl. You have no idea how much more pleasure I can pull from this perfect little body."

The first drag of my tongue along her swollen folds makes her gasp, a high, startled sound that turns into a moan halfway through. I savor it, the way her thighs tense but can't close, the way her fingers clutch uselessly at the silk restraints. "Mmm, you taste divine," I murmur against her, breathing her in. "All mine. Every drop."

I don't give her time to adjust. My tongue flicks over her clit in quick, relentless circles, and her back arches off the bed with a broken cry. "There we go," I purr, slipping two fingers back inside her with obscene ease. "Your body wants this. Look how easily you take me."

She's so tight, so hot, clenching around me like she's trying to pull me deeper. I chuckle, curling my fingers just right.

Her breath hitches, her thighs trembling as I speed up, my tongue never leaving her clit. "Come on, sweet girl, give it to me," I urge, my free hand pinning her hips down. "I want to feel you lose control again."

And she does.

Her orgasm crashes into her with a sob, her entire body seizing, her cunt fluttering around my fingers in the most beautiful rhythm. But I don't stop.

"Sh, shh," I soothe, even as my tongue laps at her oversensitive clit, even as my fingers continue to pump into her, dragging out every last shuddering wave. "It's okay, baby, just feel it."

She's crying, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, but her hips are still rocking weakly against my mouth, chasing the pleasure even as it borders on pain. "That's it," I praise, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. "You're made for this. Made for me."

I slide a third finger into her, stretching her even further, and her breath stutters, her eyes rolling back. "You can take it," I murmur, watching her face intently. "I know you can. You're so good for me."

Her next climax hits her like a train, her whole body jerking, a strangled scream tearing from her throat as she squirts again, soaking my hand, the sheets, everything. "Fuck, look at you," I groan, fascinated. "So messy. So perfect."

I lean down, licking a stripe up her trembling stomach, tasting salt and sweat and her. "You're ruined now," I whisper against her skin. "No one will ever make you feel like this but me."

She’s perfect like this.

Boneless, whimpering, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of what I gave her. Her skin is flushed, her lashes damp with tears, her lips parted in exhausted little gasps. I stroke her cheek, humming softly as I untie the silk scarves from her wrists, rubbing the faint pink marks with my thumbs.

"There we go," I murmur, pressing a kiss to each wrist. "See how good I take care of you? No one else would be this gentle."

She shivers when I lift her into my arms, her head lolling against my shoulder. I carry her to the bathroom—our bathroom, the one I designed just for her, with the deep soaking tub and the lavender-scented oils she loves. I turn on the hot water and let her go limp into my arms while the tub fills.

"Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?" I lower her into the water, my hands skimming over her hips, her waist, her chest, washing away the sweat and slick with a soft cloth. She tenses when my fingers brush between her thighs, still oversensitive, but I just chuckle, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Shh, I’m not going to tease you again."

I massage the shampoo into her hair, working out the knots with careful fingers, my voice low and soothing. "You did so well for me. Took everything I gave you. You’re mine now, you know that, right?"

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. I already know.

After the bath, I wrap her in a towel, drying her off with slow, deliberate strokes before slipping one of my shirts over her head, oversized, smelling like me, like us. I carry her back to the bed. Fresh sheets. Fresh blankets. A glass of water with a straw, held to her lips until she drinks.

"I’ll cook for you soon," I whisper, tucking her under the covers, brushing her hair from her face. "Your favorite meal. And then, when you’re ready, I’ll make you feel good again."

She whimpers, curling into herself, but I just smile, stroking her back in slow circles.