There is no cathartic release without expression.

Fear, agony despair. These emotions are too strong, too overwhelming to be contained inside your own head. They need a release. Tears, thrashing arms, screams. After being shoved into the dark closet, I thought I wanted to cry but I was wrong. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to feel my own tears. I didn’t want to scream. I wanted to open my mouth wide and hear the power of my own voice. I wanted to feel the bite of my nails as they dug into my palms when I formed my hands into angry fists. I wanted to pace and thrash my arms about.

I wanted to move.

I wanted to be heard.

But there was nothing. Worse than silence… there was stillness. No matter how I may have screamed and thrashed about, all inside the closet remained quiet. It was all inside my head.

A person could go mad with only their own tormented thoughts for company.

My thoughts spun in circles till they became a twisted, gnarled mess.

Was I still trapped in the car and this was my mind playing tricks on me? Some macabre nightmare playing in my mind as I waited in the darkness for help to arrive?

Was I in the hospital? Caught inside a coma?

Was I dead?

As the hours and days ticked by with only my scattered, torturous thoughts for company, I realized that I could not possibly be in my car or a hospital. What was happening to me was too bizarre, too insane for my mind to have conjured even under a drug haze. Defying all logic and religion, my mind was trapped inside this plastic prison. A cruel hell, to be able to think and feel but not move.

Still, I never gave up trying. First it was my body. Then I tried focusing on my arm. Then a finger. Nothing.

The smell of the closet became as familiar as breath once was to me. The musky scent of old clothes and dust. The sour smell of gym sneakers. A slight hint of perfume clinging to a long-forgotten sweater. The curved edge of a hanger dug into the back of my neck. It hurt yet I could do nothing. Not even the simplest of movements to dislodge it.

I started to use the rumble and hiss of what sounded like an air conditioning unit turning on to count the days. Having no idea if I was right, it at least gave me some semblance of control, a false sense to be true, but if I could look forward to hearing that noise, if I treated it like a task to be accomplished, it gave a small measure of sanity as the relentless days passed trapped in my plastic cage.

One day. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Caught in the hell of my own mind.

Six. Seven.

I began to long for the return of Steve. At least it was some kind of human interaction. Even if he brought pain, at least it was pain laced with the most treacherous of all drugs… hope. Maybe he would see a spark behind my vacant eyes and know… know there was someone in here. Maybe if I wasn’t confined to this small space, maybe I could start to move again. At the very least, I wanted another look in the mirror, to confirm what my startled eyes had seen, even though the reality of my situation had already more than branded the twisted truth on my mind.

* * *

Having already heard the air conditioner turn over for the day, my mind was floating from one inconsequential thing to another when I heard it.

Footsteps.

The sound of a key scraping in a lock.

The turn of a door handle.

Then the loud slamming of the door.

Steve had returned.

My heart leapt. Fear and anticipation warred with one another, giving way to panic.

Unlike the last time when he went directly to the closet to free me, I could hear his heavy footfalls cross the room. He was muttering something. I couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded harsh and short, as if in anger. The refrigerator door opened and, like the room’s door, was slammed shut.

“Fuck you, Gary. You worthless dick. Steal my client, will you? We’ll just see what happens on Monday when I get back in the office.”

He was mad.

Jesus fuck. What did that mean for me?

A bottle crashed against another. The sound of the refrigerator door opening again.

A second beer.

After all those days begging for him to return, I now found myself desperate to stay inside the dark and safe cocoon of my prison.

The closet door flew open, the door knob banging against the adjacent wall.

The bright light pierced my unblinking eyes.

He pulled me out by my arm.

“All right, slut. Daddy’s home and he’s pissed and needs to fuck something,” ground out Steve as he flung me on the sofa.

He towered over me, dressed sharply in a suit and tie, which somehow gave him an even more ominous appearance of power and authority. I watched as he shrugged out of his jacket while kicking off his shoes. Pulling off his tie, he said, “You want it don’t you? You want my cock. You want to be fucked hard.”

I knew better than to protest. I wondered would he care if I could? If I did protest and he could hear me… would he stop? By the look in his eye, I thought not.

Leaning over my prone body, he tore at the knot which secured the school uniform shirt.

“Get this fucking stupid uniform off. I want you naked.”

Next, he tore at the skirt.

Humiliation swept over me.

Looking down I could see the large lush swells of breasts, far larger than mine had been in real life. Hard looking pink nipples poked upward. I saw a flat stomach and an unnaturally narrow waist. My legs were bent at an odd angle…spread open to expose a smooth, plastic vagina. Was there a hole there? For his… his cock? Like there was a hole where my mouth should be?

Jesus fuck.

It was my body… but it wasn’t.

Still, being exposed before the hard gaze of a stranger, my legs open as if I were willing… it was too much.

I started to scream. I didn’t care if no one could hear me. I could hear me, for now that was enough… it had to be enough… it was all I had.

Steve grabbed both my ankles and wrenched them up and back. Pushing till they were behind my head. I could feel the silk of his tie as he wrapped it around my legs and secured it tightly.

Oh God! It hurt. My human body would never have bent this way. The pain was unbelievable. As if I were being pulled and crushed at the same time.

“That’s it. Ankles behind your head, like a good whore. What should we call you tonight? I need a good stripper name. How about Trixie? Yeah, Trixie the whore.”

He undid his black leather belt. Grasping the end with the buckle, he swatted the leather strap across my exposed ass and pussy. The contact felt like a brand. Burning my skin and leaving it feeling bruised.

“How’d you like that? Damn I wish these things came with some kind of speaker. It would be a lot more fun if I could hear your screams.”

‘I am screaming,’ I thought pitifully.

His pants and boxers lowered to the ground. I watched as he tore at his shirt with anxious fingers. The bulbous head of his cock bobbed under the shirttails. Its mottled purple flesh in stark relief against the starched white of the cotton shirt.

Lying on the sofa, all I could see was his broad, hair covered chest through my stretched legs as he positioned himself over me. With one full thrust, he impaled me on his cock.

He thought he was just fucking a sex doll.

I knew he had just taken my virginity.

My head bumped against the sofa armrest as he plowed into my unresisting body. Each movement of his cock sent a fresh wave of clenching, grasping pain up my spine. It felt as if he were fucking me raw. If I had been human, at least the blood from my maidenhead would have provided some slick comfort. I was denied even that as his hard sweaty flesh slid against my smooth plastic insides.

Steve groaned and, as if on impulse, he leaned down and bit my nipple. Making a growling sound, he pulled hard on it with his teeth.

No! Oh God! No! You’re tearing it! Stop! Stop!

Looking down in horror, I could see his teeth marks forever cut into the molded plastic breast.

He continued to relentlessly pound into my body.

“That’s it, Trixie. You whore. Take it. Take my cock,” he groaned.

My name is Jane.

My name is Jane.

I’m Jane.

Jane.

I held onto the mantra in my head. With each thrust, each guttural groan, every disgusting utterance of his… I held on to the only thing that was still mine. My name.

My name is Jane.