Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
My thumbs freeze over the little letters on my phone screen. I’m overthinking this. I already know what to do. I just have to go ahead and do it.
PuppetMaster: Good girl
PuppetMaster: What took you so long?
RealLifeDoll: That was the fastest I could get it, Sir
RealLifeDoll: I’m sorry for making you wait
I know it must’ve taken Dr. Norman a few days to give her the test results, which must mean that Sarah probably got tested right away after I told her to.
My pants start to feel tight as my cock stirs.
My last client purposely bent down a lot to give me more than an eyeful of her ass and tits, but nothing happened down there. With just a few words from Sarah, though, I’m raring to go.
She’s so eager to please, so desperate for my approval. She’s not usually like that in person. I never would’ve guessed she had this side to her personality.
She’s normally so strong—no, stubborn. She’d do the thing you told her not to do, just because you told her not to do it. That’s what Peter always said about her.
Hell, even knowing for sure this is Sarah, I still can’t fully picture her saying all those things—and I tried. Believe me, if I could, I already would by now.
So, yes, things will irreversibly change after we meet up, but hey, they say change is the only constant that exists, right?
I take a deep breath. I’m really doing this.
PuppetMaster: Clear your schedule tomorrow afternoon, doll
PuppetMaster: And follow these instructions
Sarah
Love is like pissing in a swimming pool.
At first, it’s good. It’s the best thing in the world. It feels like you can finally stop fighting against nature and just give in. It’s warm, too.
Then, it gradually cools . . . and cools.
If you stay long enough, you end up exactly the same as you were before, except now you’re also neck-deep in pee-water.
I’ve seen it play out with my parents.
My dad wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. He died young at thirty-seven, which was tragic . . . but it was also because he’d drunk so much he’d destroyed his own liver.
That said, he was a decent guy to everybody. He kept to himself, but he was adept enough at social interactions to always have a ton of acquaintances around him.
In fact, the only person he was a dick to was my mom. I can’t say I blame him, though, because my mom’s a dick herself. Until the moment of his death, my dad never managed to completely break free of his personal prison: my mom.
Unfortunately for my dad, he wasn’t very good at managing his finances either. He was too damn nice.
He used to treat sick animals regardless of whether they had insurance, and whether their owners had money. The result was the clinic lost so much money he had no choice but to sell it to his ex-wife and suffer the indignity of having to pay her rent every month.
What I’m trying to say is, at some point, they must’ve liked each other enough to share a bed. Evidently. The hatred came later, when they were already living together, with kids.
It’s crystal clear. Familiarity breeds contempt—see? There’s even a proverb about it. People just don’t learn from the mistakes of others who have come before them, and they end up making the same mistakes over and over again.
But not me. I’ve figured out a way to win at this game.
It’s seems simple. I don’t need a relationship, and I only rarely need sex. So on the occasion that life gets me so down that sex is the only distraction that works, I’ll just find some guy to have a one-night stand with.
My one-time rule is my weapon against a future of mutual hatred and forced co-existence with a partner I can’t dispose of. There’s no time for hatred to grow if you only meet once to bang and part ways right away. It’s the perfect system.
Right now, though, as I dress up to meet the mysterious PuppetMaster, I’m wishing I could make an exception just this time. He just seems to know exactly what to say to get me all hot and bothered . . . But, I also know that seeing him again after tonight would be a slippery slope that could lead me to ruin.
I scan my living room. Lace and leather strewn everywhere, most of them in black. A structured bustier hangs off the top of the table lamp. A see-through thong lays on the arm of the lone two-seater couch.
It feels weird to stand out here with my unmentionables all over the place. If Dad or Peter were still alive, I never would’ve done this.
My chest fills with rocks, and I have to gulp down air with both my mouth and my nose to fill my lungs as quickly as I can, before grief pulls me down to drown in its inky depths.