Page 117 of Beneath Her Skin

In the video I hum, not answering him.

“Can you confirm with these fine gentlemen that you agree to this gathering tonight?”

I giggle in response. “Whatever you want, babe.”

Miles grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s sinister and the sight of it makes my stomach twist. Sourness rises in my throat as a lump forms.

“You want to get stuffed like a good turkey, don’t you?” he asks.

I nod and wiggle my body against the object I’m strapped to. Like a damned cat in heat.

I think I’m going to be sick, but I can’t look away.

“Good girl,” he purrs, dropping my head like a ragdoll.

A smalluftcan be heard, but none of the men respond to it.

Miles walks off screen again and begins directing the men into the scene.

The first man walks forward, stripped naked aside from the golden jewelry on his hands. It’s the strange man I had met at the club with Brooke the other night. He stands behind me, fisting his erection as his other hand slides over my bare skin. After a few more pumps, he lines up his dick with my backside and shoves into my limp body without any lube, preparation, or protection.

I go rigid on the table, but no one says a word. The only sound coming from the speakers is the sticky slap of skin on skin and the man’s gravely moans.

I slam the laptop shut, nearly cracking the screen with the force.

Goosebumps erupt over me as I imagine that vile human touching me without my consent. My body crawls with disgust. I want to wash myself clean with a wire brush until my skin bleeds. I can’t catch my breath. I gasp for air like a fish out of water. My throat burns as I hold back the scream building within.

My vision is hazy. I can’t focus on anything as tears threaten to spill over the emotional dam I’ve built up over the years.

This can’t be happening.

There’s no way this happened.

Miles would never do that to me.

He loves me.

This can’t be why he’s been distant recently.

No. No. No, I don’t believe that.

Frantically, I yank the laptop back open. The video remains on the screen, playing through my living nightmare.

The bottom of the page shows a link to the profile who posted the video.

Mr. Kowalski’s Poppet.

That was the name the man called me at the club.

Clicking the name, a new page appears. At the top of the page is a banner proudly displaying the nameMr. Kowalski’s Poppetwith the tagline,Let Mr. K direct your wildest puppet fantasies.

Below the banner is an extensive list of videos. I scroll through each one, noting the dates on each one.

Each thumbnail is similar. A group of men surrounding my drugged up, naked body, center screen. Miles is never shown in the thumbnail. And why would he? That’s just one more way to protect himself. If anyone ever points to him, he can play dumb, claiming it’s coincidence he looks like someone in a porno.

I scroll for an eternity, determined to get to the bottom of the page. After a few minutes, the cursor finally stops. The oldest video in the series is dated five years ago.

Five.

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