Page 2 of Dollhouse

Sebastian never gives them time to heal before adding a new one, so I always seem to have bruises somewhere on my body.

This time, it's my arms that have been permanently bruised for weeks, which is why he chose a floor-length long sleeve dress for me to wear tonight. The dress was beautiful—blending hues of powder pink and made of velvet. I hated pink, and I looked like a Barbie doll wearing it, but it matched my nails and made him happy. My fingernails and toenails were always painted a shade of pink, but I learned my lesson early on about what happens when I try to go against him. It's just not worth it to end up with broken fingers again. And honestly, I think he likes me wearing pink because it makes me seem even more like a Barbie doll living in his fucked-up dollhouse.

Tonight was the first night in months I'd felt beautiful, and my dress was too pretty to get blood on it, so all I had wanted was to keep him happy.

The night had been fine until his boss, Sean, decided to get handsy. Obviously, I didn't ask him to touch me or give him any sign that I was interested, but I knew by now that everything was my fault. Anything that angered Sebastian was my fault, even if I had nothing to do with it. In this case, his boss touching my ass when he hugged me was all my fault.

If I would've pushed Sean’s hand away, Sebastian would’ve been upset. So, I accepted the hug and smiled like a good wife, but it was never enough to appease him. It was a lose-lose situation. I look like a whore, and that's why his boss touched me. He'd told me himself that if I didn't look like temptation, then his boss would have never touched me. As I said, it's always my fault.

The closer we get to our house, the worse my nerves become. I should be used to his temper and my punishments by now, but I'm not. Can you ever really get used to being abused? I know what to expect, yet I still get nervous every time.

Will he take me by surprise, or will I see the first lash coming? He's unpredictable, and he never does the same thing multiple times in a row. Sometimes he'll lure me into a false sense of security until I let my guard down, and that's when he'll strike; other times, he'll jump me right away, and I'll see every blow coming. I prefer to watch his lashes that's coming at me. His element of surprise… I just hate it.

Our over-the-top, custom-built glasshouse comes into view. It’s situated in the suburbs of the city, devoid of any neighbors. Part of me often feels that's intentional. There was a time when I loved our place. I basked in the security it gave me, but now it feels like my own version of hell.

Pulling into the driveaway, Seb parks inside the garage right next to my car. He'd bought me a brand-new car for our fourth wedding anniversary a few weeks ago, and I know it's equipped with a tracker, even though it’s not necessary. He already keeps tabs on me, tracking my every move and even phone. But I guess tracking my car gives him further control over me; something that he seems to crave. I’ve tried leaving him before, escaping this hell, and that was the first time he’d beat me as severely as he could.

The night that changed everything for us. He’d warned me before that he'd beat our baby out of me if I ever left, and that was the first promise to me he'd ever kept. Clever bastard, this one. I was wheeled into the hospital even, where he claimed I was in a car accident, and that’s it. No further questions were asked. But who would question the loving man who feeds the homeless in his free time, buys toys for underprivileged children, and literally saves lives? Oh, and let's not forget that he's the son of the chief of police and the grandson of a senator. He could kill me and get away with it. One day, I’m sure that’s exactly what will become of me.

He could've cared for me in the privacy of our own home like he usually does since he’s adoctor, but he needed to have witnesses as he played the role of the perfect husband. When the ER doctor confirmed I'd suffered a miscarriage, the bastard even teared up, and the nurses swooned over the grieving father, who was excited for our first child. He was a good liar, I give him that. The moment I healed though? He'd seen to it I got an IUD to prevent any furthermistakesfrom happening. He'd made it clear that we weren't going to have children, and that was one thing we both agreed on. There was no way in hell I'd have the child of this monster.

Seb’s words are as good as gold. To the outside world, he walks on water and is damn near God himself. Everyone worships him and his family.

To me, he’s the devil. He's my tormentor, a sinner, and my husband.

Once he parks inside the garage, next to my car, he turns off the engine, climbing out of the car. I don't have permission to get out yet, so I remain in my seat. That was another lesson I'd learned early on. When I was with him, I wasn't allowed to open my door. Most women would think that's sweet, but not me. I still remember the first time I made that mistake, and I shudder at the memory. Something as simple as opening my car door set him off. Everything I do triggers him. I walk on eggshells around him daily, careful not to detonate the bomb that he is.

Sebastian opens my passenger door and holds his hand out to me. After removing my seatbelt, I place my hand in his, and he yanks me out of the car so roughly I could swear he pulled my arm out of its socket. Fuck. He's not even going to wait until we get inside.

In times like this, I hate living outside of the city and not having neighbors. He could do whatever he wanted to me; I'd scream until I coughed up blood, and no one would ever hear me. This has happened many times. I think that's the reason he chose this house. No witnesses.

There, in the dimly lit garage, he shoves me against the side of the car. With my front facing him, I’m able to anticipate his hand flying at me. He backhands me with his right hand, and even though I saw it coming, it still hurt like hell. My head snaps to the side, and instantly the taste of copper floods my mouth. I swallow the blood from my freshly cut lip. "Dammit, Lee! Why the fuck can't you listen?!" my beautiful monster screams in my face, and even when it’s asked as a question, he doesn’t expect an answer. In his depraved mind, he’s convinced I have done something wrong, and nothing I'd say or do would change his mind otherwise.

"Is it your goal to fucking embarrass me? That's my fucking boss you were throwing yourself at, Lee!" He grabs a fistful of my hair and brings my body flush to his. "You're a fucking whore. Do you want him to fuck you? Are you that fucking needy for a cock?" He drags me inside the house by my hair, and instantly I can feel the burn in my scalp and the sting from the strands that are being ripped out.

"You're so fucking desperate you couldn't even wait until we came back home. If you needed a cock so badly, all you had to do was ask." He throws me on the couch, and I watch as he works quickly to remove his belt and free himself from his black slacks. "Suck it, whore." Gripping my hair tight once again, Seb yanks me off the couch and throws me down to my knees, shoving his cock into my face. He’s already hard, and I can smell the perfume on him and see the remnants of red lipstick. My lips aren’t painted in red lipstick, and I haven’t sucked his dick tonight either.

Ironically, he calls me a whore, yet he had his dick sucked by someone else tonight. No doubt it was his assistant. I knew he'd been sleeping with her, likely since the first day she started working for him.

It was the night of my twenty-fourth birthday when I found out he was having an affair. I wanted to celebrate with him since he was working late that night, so I took dinner to his office. His office door was unlocked, and there on his desk, he was fucking her. Luckily for me, he didn't see me, and to this day, he still has no idea that I'm aware he's having an affair. Bastard.

Seb shoves himself in my mouth, and like the good whore he wants me to be, I take him down my throat. For a second, I contemplate biting his dick off but decide against it. He fucks my mouth ruthlessly and holds my head against his crotch, my nose touching his skin as his cock fills my throat. My eyes water as I gag and struggle for air, fighting against his tight grip on my head. He grabs my forearms roughly and yanks me up to my feet, then pushes me over the back of the couch so I'm bent at the waist. Lifting my dress, he pulls it over my head, trapping me in darkness with the thick velvet fabric over my head. My breathing quickens, and my other senses are now heightened. With rough fingers, he pushes my thong down my legs, spreads my ass cheeks, and I already know what's to come. He spits between my spread cheeks, his thumb spreading the saliva around my puckered hole, and then in an instant, he shoves his cock into my ass so roughly it knocks the air from my lungs. The stretch is painful, and my insides burn with the intrusion. It’s so fucking painful I want to weep, but why should I give him the pleasure to see my tears? I should've been used to it by now, but how could I be? Does anyone ever get used to this? He has no mercy for me as he fucks my ass. I'm whimpering, biting my bottom lip so hard I taste blood. I refuse to let him hear me cry and beg.

My asshole stings from being stretched so full. I can feel the wetness between my legs, but I don’t have to see to know that I am bleeding. Seb’s fingers circle around my ass, wetting them in my blood before they trail down to my pussy and then he shoves four fingers inside of my dry entrance without warning. "You can get wet for someone else, but not for me? Come on, whore. Get me wet." But how can I? This is pain, not pleasure. My pussy is drier than a fucking desert because I am not aroused. I loathe his touch. At least in the bedroom, he'd lube me up before he fucked me.

Even though my vision is dark from having my dress wrapped around my head, I still close my eyes.

Luckily for me, Seb can never last long. Three more pumps into my asshole then he pulls out, removes my dress from my body, and shoves me down to my knees. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times then shoots his load all over my face, adding to the whore aesthetic. Pulling his pants up, he spits on me and wipes his mouth with the back of his left hand, looking down at me with pure disgust. "Clean yourself up, fucking whore." He strides away, leaving me kneeling on the floor—burning, bruised, and battered. I remain kneeling until I hear the sound of his office door closing from down the hall, then I quickly run up the stairs toward our bedroom.

* * *

A mirror never lies,they say. As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I no longer recognize the person staring back at me. But did I ever truly recognize myself? I'm trying to remember a time in my life I truly felt like Lee but come up short. My black mascara is running down in streaks, my eyeliner is smudged, my mouth is bloody, my pink lipstick is smeared across my chin and cheeks, withhiscum dripping down my face. What a fucking sight I am to behold.

I remove my ruined clothing with slow and steady fingers and step inside our large, marble walk-in shower. I turn the water on, not flinching at the hot temperature.

I'd taken longer than usual in the shower. The hot water feels so good on my bruises. The bathroom is the one place where Sebastian never bothers me, and day by day, it has become my sanctuary, my safe place. I wash my face over and over again until I feel clean enough. I am pretty careful while washing my body, not wanting to disturb my already fragile skin.

After showering, it takes another twenty minutes for me to complete my nighttime routine of moisturizing my freshly exfoliated and shaved skin, brushing and braiding my long blonde hair. Seb likes me looking my best, and that takes time. He knows that once I step out of the bathroom, I'll be the perfect wife he wants.

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