Chapter 5

I hold onto the wood where my puppet dangles, twisting it back and forth, and the strings on her hooks pull with each movement.

She’s afraid of the raw lust in her veins, I can tell. I have to admit I was surprised to see her up here. No other woman has left the confines of the bedroom.

I felt her presence like a fucking heatwave as I awoke, and I watched her study me like a problem she was trying to riddle out. The way her eyes raked over me and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip told me she was hungry for more than food.

“If you want me to feed you, little puppet, you must behave. I won’t tell you again. Suck my cock down like a good little darling.”

She licks her lips and leans forward, taking me into her hot mouth and sliding me down her slick throat .

She feels so good, and my eyes nearly cross as she bobs on my dick, swirling her hand behind her mouth.

Her piercings line the back of her arms from right above her elbows over her shoulders and upper back.

It took me three women to get it right, three times of trial and error. With its swivel technology and never-ending patterns where my girls can go, the track took five women to perfect. The bed height had to be optimal for them to sleep without me having to disconnect them, and that took four women to get right.

It seems to me now that all the work I’ve done over the years might’ve been for this moment.

For her.

My perfect little fuck doll.

“That’s a good girl, darling. Take me deeper,” I coax, letting one hand leave the plank of wood she dangles from, sliding it through her silky blonde hair.

When I fist it, she moans, and it vibrates across my dick sinfully.

She picks up her pace, fucking me with her mouth as I lose myself and thrust my hips in time.

“God, where the fuck did you come from?” I growl as she adds her other hand, creating a tightness I can’t fight against much longer.

I’m eager to give her something to eat. Something to swallow.

The idea of part of me inside her makes me moan, fisting her hair tighter as I try to hang on to reality.

Quickly, things change .

Her teeth skim my dick, and pain sears my flesh.

I tug out of her mouth and backhand her across the face. “No fucking teeth.”

As soon as it’s happened, regret wavers in me. It’s not something I’m used to, regret. I sit back a bit, my cock still throbbing, as I let go of her hair and lift her chin so she’s looking at me.

Beautiful tears rush down her face and spit dribbles over her chin.

“I hate reprimanding you, puppet, but you have to do things properly to be rewarded.”

I’m waiting for her response. I’m used to an irrational, wild woman who fights me tooth and fucking nail, so I know I’ve just ruined this amazing moment where I was closer to heaven than I’ve ever been.

“I’m sorry, master. I’ll do better,” she says in a soft voice.

Something inside me purrs at her reply.

Fucking purrs.

I want to curl up in her beauty and worship at her altar all night. But that’s not right.

She should worship me !

“See that you do,” I reply, turning my tone to something cold and unreadable, even with the war of heat wafting through my body towards her.

I pull back up to my knees, my cock still hard as steel for her as I present it to her.

She slides me right back into her mouth, and the frenzy once again takes me over .

It doesn’t matter what just happened. It doesn’t matter how angry or conflicted I was.

All that matters is her and how she feels locked around my cock, sucking like her life depends on it.

I’m once again thrusting with her, moving with her, this time more lost than I was only moments ago.

“Grace,” I all but whimper when I feel the head of my cock tingle, warning me I’m going to explode at any moment.

She hums on my dick, speeding as if she knows what’s coming.

“Don’t waste a drop of your master’s cum, or you won’t eat, puppet,” I manage, grabbing onto her head on both sides, riding out the orgasm as my cock pulses ropes of cum down her beautiful throat.

When I finally come back around, she’s still lapping at my cock, cleaning every last drop from it.

“Still hungry?” I ask her, my tone softer than I’ve ever let anyone hear before.

She nods, licking her lips.

There’s something in them I can’t quite get a read on, but I don’t care enough to prod and find out what it is.

I pull up my sweats and get off the bed, extending a hand to help her down the steps. “Come then, darling girl. Let your master feed you.”

I fry up bacon, scramble some eggs for her, and toast her a bagel while I do. After plating the food, I sit at the table and motion for her to do the same, forgetting that she’s connected to the ceiling too tightly in this area.

“Should I move to the bedroom?” she asks, her hazel eyes looking innocent and eager to please.

It feeds something in me that I didn’t know was starving before.

I shake my head, motioning for her to sit on the table, giving her enough room to let her arms go lax.

I sit between her thighs, forking up food and feeding her. She takes each bite willingly, the first few gaining me a moan of pleasure as she closes her eyes.

“Why did you take me?” she asks before I can put the bagel back into her mouth for her next bite.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I tug my brows together in genuine confusion. I sigh, setting down the bagel. “Every year, I take a girl. She’s mine for the week before Christmas until she meets her eventual end. It helps me get through the holiday.”

I don’t know why I’ve told her; I’ve never told anyone. It won’t matter, however; even the ones who were malleable in the beginning got themselves killed.

“You don’t like Christmas?” she asks me, motioning for a bite of eggs, and I oblige.

“No. I don’t.”

She nods, leaving it alone, likely because of my curt tone.

I feed her the rest of the eggs, and she’s quiet. My eyes can’t stop looking over the red mark where my hand slapped her earlier, itching to rub over it and feel the welt I left behind.

“You thought I was beautiful?” she asks me, and I halt the fork before her lips.

She leans forward and takes the food off it at my pause.

“Anyone who doesn’t think you’re beautiful is fucking blind,” I tell her.

She shifts on the table, arms trying to move downward, but they meet the string’s resistance. Almost as if she is going to cover her stomach that curls in soft rolls as she sits on the table.

I drop the fork and splay my fingers over it, my hand sinking into the soft, pliable flesh as she leans back.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you when I saw you at the pump.”

Her eyes light with recognition. “At the gas station?”

I nod. What’s the harm in her knowing?

Maybe this will be something new I add to my routine, getting to know them and telling them my motivations.

It almost makes me feel as if we’re growing closer.

Even though that’s an idiotic thought.

“Why are you in Florida?” I ask her, turning the tables on her as I remove my hand from her stomach and offer her a bite of bagel.

She takes it, chewing as she decides to tell me anything .

“To see my mom. She moved here a few years ago, and I had finally saved up enough to get out of the snow for Christmas and spend time with her.”

“Why did she leave you?” I ask her, cocking my head as I give her a sip of orange juice.

It’s four in the morning, so it felt fitting to feed her breakfast. Even if the bagel is soaking up all the cum I already fed her.

“She didn’t leave me,” she counters. “She moved down here because she met a man on the internet, and they fell in love. He runs a major company here and didn’t want to move north for her. So she moved here.”

I nod, taking in the information.

I’ve never known much about the women I kidnapped. It feels odd to know anything about her. I wonder if it’ll make it more challenging when the end of our time comes.

“Why do you hate Christmas?” she asks, and I’m nearly knocked breathless at the question.

But when she picks up her feet and rests them on my thighs, it’s as if she gives me the strength to answer unwittingly.

“I saw my parents murdered in cold blood on Christmas Eve. I was hiding in a closet.”

She gasps, sitting forward and reaching to comfort me, but her strings pull taut, and she hisses. “God, these things are fucking infernal.”

She realizes her misstep and eyes me. “I’m sorry.”

However, I don’t let myself get annoyed by the behavior because I’m too confused about why she would try to comfort me.

I give her another bite of bagel and silently riddle out the meaning behind her gesture.

“Did they catch their killer?” she asks, her eyes filled with caution.

“No. But I did. Years later. You can’t forget a face when something like that happens. It was like it was etched into my fucking brain.”

She nods. “I can understand that.”

“Can you?”

“Yes. While nothing bad has happened to me, I learned about it in one of the psychology classes I was required to take.”

“What are you studying?” I ask, knowing it’s a moot point to ask because she’ll never finish school.

“I wanted to work with kids. Ones who’ve been abused.”

The way she’d spoken in past tense means she’s accepted her fate here with me. It’s curious when no one else has ever done so.

“Admirable profession. We need more people who care,” I say, knowing I’ve said too much.

“I, too, took psychology, and I’ve also spent time on the leather couches of doctors who sought to evaluate the dark shit in my head, and yet, it hasn’t helped me. While I understand my urges, I don’t care to change my ways.”

“Why did you take psychology? ”

I weigh telling her who I am in the daytime. She could survive. She could make it out.

Though, none ever have.

“I’m a doctor. A surgeon.”

She swallows. “You took an oath to do no harm,” she says, confusion floating in her eyes.

I nod. “I did. And for the entire year, I do no harm when my badge is hooked to my scrubs. But for one week a year, I let every dark urge that I have out of my body and take the wheel. It’s how I survive the world.”

Goosebumps rise on her flesh, and I wonder what drives them.

Not enough to ask, however.

“Are you full?” I ask her, and she looks at her half-eaten plate and nods.

“I am. Thank you, master.”

Her behavior only strokes the dark fucker living beneath my skin, but when he answers with another purr, I begin to worry.

Ms. Wilcott might be the very thing that unravels me.