Damned Doll: Broken Doll Series Book Three Read online

  Damned Doll

  Broken Doll Series Book Three

  Zoe Blake

  Damned Doll

  God doesn’t listen to the pleas of the damned.

  I’ve been given a second chance.

  A chance to set things right.

  A chance for revenge.

  I will make them pay.

  They all will pay for every degradation, every humiliation, every moment they treated me like an object…like their property.

  God didn’t listen to my pleas for mercy…let’s see if he will listen to theirs.

  Copyright © 2019 by Zoe Blake

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Dark City Designs

  Edited by Maggie Ryan

  Why three short novellas instead of one long book?

  To be honest, this story is just too fucked up.

  It’s too intense, too strange… too wrong!

  It is startling in its brutality, and if I were to tell Jane’s entire story in one book, I fear it would lose its impact, like watching too many horror movies or playing too many violent video games in a row… they start to lose their sting… their humanity.

  Plus, in our instant gratification society, there is something deliciously and satisfyingly cruel in being forced to enjoy something one fucked up bite at a time.

  XOXO

  Zoe Blake

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About Zoe Blake

  BROKEN DOLL SERIES

  DANGEROUS DADDY SERIES

  DARK FANTASY

  One

  I should probably think of something profound at this moment.

  I mean… I did just kill someone.

  At the same time, she’s not my first and definitely won’t be my last… not with what I have planned.

  She is the first person I have killed without knowing their name.

  I should probably feel bad about that…

  I don’t.

  I’m sure she deserved it one way or another. Sitting here in her wood-paneled office judging people for their thoughts and impulses day after day. Yes, I’m sure she deserved it.

  Small pink-tinged bubbles foamed at the corner of her mouth. As each one popped, tiny flecks of blood splattered across her pale cheek.

  I stared into her wide sightless eyes till the wet gurgling sounds ebbed. The blood down the front of her white silk blouse had already started to dry along the edges, appearing tacky and brown.

  Whoever this woman was, she did not make an attractive corpse. Slung over the edge of the armchair, she looked like a discarded sack of meat and bone. That’s all she really was now.

  Meat and bone.

  I needed to move, to get out of there before I was discovered.

  Yet, all I wanted to do was sit and be still as I watched the final vestiges of life drain from this stranger’s body. After all my time trapped in hell, moving was no longer something which came naturally to me.

  Moving your body cut to the very core of our primal nature.

  Fight or flight.

  Movement.

  Yet, I was now something unnatural.

  I sat there and tried to feel the blood pumping through my veins, to feel the sensation of breath entering my lungs.

  The foundational signs of life.

  Life.

  Running my fingers up my arm, I could feel the pulse of life beneath my fingertips.

  Flesh and blood.

  Warmth

  No longer cold plastic.

  Meat and bone.

  I wiggled the fingers of my right hand. In awe at the ease of the motion, I watched as the caked blood across the thin skin on the back of my hand cracked and flecked off. Next, I stretched out my left leg, and pointing the toe, I began to trace circles in the pool of blood with the tip of my shoe.

  Every movement sent a spark of excitement up my spine.

  I was back in control of my body, well a body at least.

  I wonder where Helen went?

  I wonder if she is still trapped somewhere inside this body. Would she be screaming in horror as I stabbed her therapist to death or cheering me on? Perhaps she is now trapped inside a fucking fuck doll.

  Perhaps the same one I was in?

  Well that is her problem now, not mine.

  Maybe that is how this universe works.

  Our consciousness just hopping from one body to the next.

  Could that explain all the evil in the world, I wonder. Your husband didn’t cheat on you… the person invading his body did. Your co-worker didn’t suddenly start drinking and bad-mouthing you, the person who took over her mind did.

  Perhaps my being trapped inside that doll was a mistake.

  A hiccup in the universe.

  The kind of bullshit that happens to girls named Jane, not pretty girls like Heather or Tiffany or Lilah. Their souls probably jumped into a super model’s body or a bottle of perfume.

  Bitches.

  I’m glad they’re dead. I just wish I could remember killing them. Wish I could remember the moment the light flickered out in their pretty blue eyes like it did in the watery green eyes of the woman before me.

  Placing my palm on the armrests, I slowly rise.

  It feels strange because it doesn’t feel strange.

  My mind is expecting my legs to be weak, my muscles atrophied from lack of use but of course they are fine… Helen’s legs are fine. I take a hesitant step then another. I let out a bark of laughter then quickly cover my mouth. I have absolutely no idea if the ugly corpse has an assistant or another patient on the other side of the door. I’m guessing they are probably not used to hearing laughter come from this room. Rising up on my toes, I spin like a ballerina. The blood-soaked tip of my shoe allowing me to spin faster and faster along the polished wood floor.

  I realize I still don’t know what I look like. I hope I have blue eyes and lips like Angelina Jolie. With an excited smile, I search the corpse’s office and find a door which leads to a small bathroom. She would have her own private bathroom.

  It’s time to see what I look like.

  Flicking on the lights, I stare into the face of Helen. My face now.

  Not bad. She could be prettier but she’s far from ugly. The blonde highlights in the long wavy brown hair are a nice touch. Placing my palms on the marble sink top I lean in close.

  Fuck me. Brown eyes.

  Of course, she has brown eyes.

  At least hers are a warm mink brown unlike my old muddy brown eyes.

  At least they were her eyes… they’re mine now.

  Grabbing the faucet handle, I take my time turning the water on. I wonder when moving and grasping things will get old. Wiggling my fingers under the stream, I relish in the feel of warmth as the water rolls over my skin.

  Light pink liquid swirls around the basin and then disappears down the drain. Soaking the end of a hand towel, I wipe the flecks of blood from my cheek and throat. The t-shirt Helen was wearing is covered in blood. Wrenching it over my head, I toss it into the trash.

  Nice tits, I think before heading back into the office.

  The old woman’s corpse has slumped lower with her own dead weight. Her head is dangling at a comical angle as her sight
less eyes stare back at me, still holding their expression of shock and confusion.

  That will change.

  Soon the pupils will shrink, and the eyes will begin to cloud over, as if they were floating in milk.

  The old woman’s clothes are soaked in her own blood as well. Looking over the place, I find what must have been Helen’s computer bag. Inside is a cute zipper hoodie. I put it on, zippering it up only halfway to show off my new tits.

  I’m not sure how much time I have before the next appointment comes banging on the door. Since I don’t have to worry about fingerprints or DNA evidence – sorry not sorry, Helen – I put my time to good use by going through the old woman’s purse for any cash. I find a thousand dollars. What kind of person walks around with that kind of cash? Well, it’s not like she can spend it now anyway.

  Sitting behind her desk I start to rummage through her file drawer. There must be something sick and twisted I can use for my own benefit.

  Opening file after file, I catalogue the crazies.

  Guy who hates his mommy. Boring.

  Another guy who hates his mommy. Boring again.

  A mommy who hates her son. A little more interesting.

  I think of my own dear parents. The ones who didn’t give two shits when they found my body in that ravine. My dear father telling the media he had no daughter.

  Cross dressing CEO. Getting more interesting.

  Priest with a sex addiction. Bingo.

  Pressing the space bar on her desktop, I start the computer. The appointment calendar is already open on the desktop. I delete Helen’s appointment and all records of any other appointments. I then open her email and search for Helen’s name. I delete the email from the attorney asking the corpse to evaluate her.

  Grabbing the final two files and several other promising looking ones along with the one labeled Helen Bryan I shove them into my bag.

  Crossing the room, I rummage through the bag searching for car keys. Please tell me she isn’t the type to take the bus. After searching in several pockets, I finally find a pair. They are on a keyring with several cat charms. Christ.

  Urgh. A Prius? Cats?

  Going back to the old woman’s purse, I dump the contents onto the floor.

  A Lexus… much better.

  Plus, this will have the added benefit of looking like a robbery.

  Grabbing the window, I shove it up and open, taking a moment to appreciate the small movement. I straddle the sill before hopping down into the bushes below.

  And I walk away.

  I’m now the one in control.

  Two

  With no one else around, I stroll to the parking lot to look for a Lexus.

  Sliding behind the wheel, I take a moment to run my fingertips over the buttery soft leather seats. My old piece of shit Camry had coarse, stained fabric. This is much better. With a sigh of appreciation, I grab the cool polished wood steering wheel. It is a shame I will have to ditch this car soon. It won’t take long before the therapist’s body is discovered. Throwing the car into gear, I screech out of the parking lot. Immediately I recognize where I am.

  Fuck me, I’m still in Chicago.

  I guess there is some kind of karmic irony in my hell also being in a city I’ve always hated. I knew I was still in Chicago when I was trapped inside the fuck doll, but I am pleased to learn I haven’t popped into some bimbo’s body on the other side of the world.

  Not with what I have planned.

  Steering the car downtown, I head for the Drake hotel. It’s luxurious and I know it caters to lots of politicians and businessmen, which means they don’t ask a lot of questions. It will take some time before the cops find the car in their parking garage.

  * * *

  Entering the room, I immediately fall back onto the gold brocade covered bed.

  The guy at the front desk stared at my tits the whole time I was checking in.

  It was fucking fantastic.

  As Jane, the only time a guy stared at my tiny tits was to tell me I had pizza sauce on my shirt.

  Just for fun, I leaned in like I’ve seen pretty girls do in the movies. And it fucking worked. He actually bumped me up to a suite.

  I knew it. I just fucking knew it.

  Pretty girls really do get all the fucking advantages in life. Once more I think of those cheerleading bitches and get a thrill knowing they are dead because of me.

  I have lots of plans for this new body, but first I desperately want a shower and a burger.

  Shedding my jeans and hoodie, I cross the room in my panties and bra, sparing a glance for the large open window with a view of an office building across Michigan Avenue. Secretly I hope some fat businessman can see me.

  The white marble feels cold against my feet as I step into the spacious bathroom. Turning the large silver handle, water sputters then flows in a heavy stream. Turning my hand palm up, it stings slightly as the sharp drops of hot water hit it.

  The memory comes without volition.

  The awful memory. Of that man.

  Steve.

  “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.”

  The sound of rending fabric breaks the sick spell. I had grabbed the shower curtain so fiercely it tore near the metal ring.

  Steve was dead. Soon they all would be dead for what they did to me.

  Taking off my bra and panties, I step into the shower. Water strikes my face and soaks into my long hair. I can feel every drop as it skims over my body to my feet. Picking up the small bottle of body wash, I revel in the sweet apple scent as the pearlescent soap pools in my palm. Rubbing my hands together, I take solace in the rich white foam as it forms between my fingers. Tilting my head back, I swipe my right hand down the column of my neck and over my full breasts.

  It is the first tender touch I’ve experienced since my hell began.

  Slowly I run my hands over my arms and legs, learning the feel of my new body.

  Helen? Helen are you in there?

  Taking twisted pleasure at the thought, my fingertips graze my clit. Slowly I circle the nub as I apply more and more pressure. My hand explores lower, feeling for the entrance to my pussy. I test the folds but don’t force a finger in. I’m not ready for that yet, not ready for the feeling of having something enter my body, push its way in… not even my own finger. There are too many memories of being raped repeatedly with beer bottles, pool cue sticks and fists. Too many memories.

  Focusing, I return to rubbing my clit. Tilting my head back, I feel the sting of the hot water on my cheeks and tongue as I increase the pressure. My gasps are drowned out by the pounding of the water against the now warm marble tiles. Bracing my left hand against the shower wall, I cum.

  For the first time in I have no idea how long, I feel pleasure not pain at the touch of a hand on my body.

  The steam from the shower has warmed the white terry cloth robe on the back of the door. It feels heavenly as I wrap my still wet body in its soft folds. I will never again take for granted
the feel of cloth against my skin.

  Using the sleeve of my robe, I rub the mist off the mirror.

  And stare.

  I can’t see Jane.

  I stopped being her the moment my car crashed.

  But I still feel her.

  She’s there. Scratching and clawing to come to the surface.

  My memories are returning.

  The old hate and anger. The bitterness.

  They are fusing with my new source of anger and betrayal.

  Creating a dark void. A comforting blackness to wrap around myself like this robe.

  They will all pay for what they did to me.

  I’m starting to see her now.

  I’m still Jane.

  * * *

  There is a discreet knock at the door.

  Padding over to it in my bare feet, I don’t even bother to tighten my robe belt. I relish in the shocked gaze of the room service porter as he takes in the generous view of my tits.

  “I’ll take it on the bed.”

  The man clears his throat before nodding his head as he takes a hesitant step into the room. Using my forearms, I squeeze my breasts together as I sign off on the room service check. I’m certainly enjoying my newfound power.

  When I was trapped in the fuck doll, there was nothing to be gained from having perfect breasts and a tight cunt. The men could do with me as they pleased. Take me in whatever brutal fashion their sick and fucked up minds could come up with. All I was, my whole existence, came down to three holes.

  Now it was different. I could taunt and tease. I was the one in control. The true power came not with beauty, but in withholding the promise. The promise of being able to touch and possess that beauty. I see it now. The truth behind all the pretty girls’ dominance over men.