Page 21 of Broken Doll

It’s working.

When they’re done, I rise slowly, heels like stilts beneath me. I expect to wobble. I don’t. My body knows how to move now—fluid, poised, engineered for allure.

I step toward the mirror. The woman staring back is not some bored housewife in a cardigan wondering if her husband will ever learn where her clit is. No. She’s a designer drug—crafted in silence, dosed in precision, engineered to make men forget everything except how good it feels to fall.

And tonight, Victor Reese is going to overdose.

I turn to Sienna, expecting final notes, a last checklist.

But instead, she gestures toward the adjoining suite. “One more lesson.”

A man and woman are already inside. Strangers, both devastatingly attractive in that curated, cinematic way—like they were picked from a catalog based on Victor’s known preferences. The woman is sultry and dark-eyed, body lush but toned. The man is lean and sharp, a silver fox with the kind of controlled energy that screams predator.

They don’t speak. Don’t need to.

Sienna’s voice is low as she steps beside me. “Victor doesn’t just want sex. He wants control disguised as surrender. He wants to think he’s broken you, even as you make him feel like a god.”

The man touches the woman’s jaw, tipping her face up. His fingers are gentle, but possessive—just a hair shy of rough. Her lips part. No hesitation.

He slides two fingers into her mouth. Slow. Deep. She moans around them, eyes fluttering shut as she sucks, her throat working like it’s instinct. Wet sounds fill the room—slick, obscene, rhythmic. His fingers glide in and out, coated in spit that strings between her lips when he pulls back.

“He likes noise,” Sienna murmurs. “Wants to hear the slick slide of wet flesh, hear the breath hitch. He doesn’t trust silence. Thinks it means boredom —and he’s secretly terrified of being judged.”

The man drags his fingers down the woman’s throat, over her breasts, until she’s arching for him like she’s begging—though she never says a word. He cups her pussy through the thin silk of her panties and rubs slow, watching her writhe. Her moans are soft, but constant, like a song she can’t stop humming.

I can feel it building in me. The heat. The tight, hollow ache between my thighs. But I don’t move. Don’t look away. I focus harder.

“He favors oral first,” Sienna adds, voice clinical now. “He likes to be teased. Light licks, shallow suction. Don’t deep throat him right away—it’s too eager. He wants you desperate, not in control.”

The woman sinks to her knees.

Her tongue flicks out, tracing the underside of the man’s cock, which is already heavy and flushed. She circles the tip, slow and languid, her spit catching the light as it glistens across the shaft. When she finally takes him in, it’s inch by inch—savoring, not serving.

The sound is filthy. Wet and deliberate.

The man groans, a rough, hungry sound. He fists her hair, not tight, but guiding. She hums around him, eyes wet, mascara beginning to smear. It’s not just performance. She’s in it. She’sfeelingit. And I watch her hips shift, subtly grinding against nothing, chasing friction she’s not allowed to have yet.

It’s perfect.

“This is the choreography,” Sienna says. “Every move. Every sound. Victor doesn’t want real sex. He wantsthe ideaof it. Fantasy draped in obedience with just enough defiance to make him feel like he earned it.”

I swallow, pulse hammering in my throat. My panties are soaked. My hands clench at my sides. I want to touch myself, to lean into the arousal winding tighter by the second. But I don’t.

Not because I’m not dying for it.

But because I’m learning.

And every flick of the woman’s tongue, every grunt from the man’s throat, every moan and sigh and tremble?—

It’s alldata.

This is a language. A code. And I’m memorizing every fucking syllable.

“Your job,” Sienna says, “is to make him think you werebuiltto fuck him. That you were made for his mouth, his hands, his cock. You’ll match his pace, mirror his rhythm. You’ll moan when he wants it, whimper when he needs it. And just when he thinks he’s broken you…”

Her smile is razor-thin.

“You’ll break him.”

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