He finished by spewing his sticky thick seed onto my stomach.

“That fuck hole of yours is a real bitch to clean out,” Steve said with a laugh as he pulled on his boxers and rose to get himself another beer.

As he turned on the TV and started up a video game, I was forced to lie there, with my body in its crippled position. I had lost all feeling in my legs. My pussy felt bruised and raw.

As his cum cooled and dried on my stomach, it began to itch.

“Steve. Steve? You down there? I brought dinner home,” the female voice called out from somewhere above.

“Be right up, dear,” responded Steve.

With a sigh, he rose and pulled on his slacks and shirt as he pushed his feet back into his shoes.

Oh God! Was he going to leave me here? The prospect of spending countless days with my legs behind my head and his cum drying on my stomach filled me with a horrified dread. It would be worse than the darkness of the closet. He began to turn away.

No! No!

“Oops, can’t forget this!”

He returned and unwound the tie about my ankles. My legs flopped down onto the sofa.

“I’ll be back to clean you up later.”

With that he left.

* * *

I thought being locked in the dark closet was hell, but this was somehow worse. At least in the closet, I could trick my mind into thinking this all wasn’t real. In the darkness, you can make your own world, your own rules. Out here, I was forced to endure reality. The sound of the TV, the feel of the sofa, even the smell of the beer… it was all so terribly… normal. Even Steve, monster that he was… was he really any different than most men? Drinking beer, playing video games, complaining about his day. Instead of masturbating, he fucked a sex doll… he fucked me.

Surrounded by mirrors, I was too low on the sofa to capture a glimpse of my reflection. Being unable to confirm with my eyes what I already knew in my mind was its own special torture.

What felt like hours later, Steve returned. Dressed in pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt, he quickly passed a warm washcloth over my stomach, cleaning up his mess before grabbing me around the waist and lifting me off the sofa. I was bent in half, facing downward. My hair draped over my face. For the first time, I saw its color. Bleach blonde.

‘I used to be a brunette,’ I thought.

‘I still am a brunette,’ I ruthlessly corrected in my mind. This body may have blonde hair, but Jane… Jane has brown hair.

“Steve! Where the hell are you? Are you coming to bed?”

“Yes! I left the TV on down here. I’m coming.”

He opened the closet and tossed me in before slamming the door shut. I could hear him lock the door and the sound of his hurried footsteps up the stairs.

Instead of being placed standing or leaning against the clothes. I had been tossed naked onto the floor. My nose was buried inside an old sneaker. Something hard and sharp poked the back of my left thigh. My stomach still itched from the remnants of his cum not fully wiped away.

* * *

A thunk then a soft whirring noise. The air conditioner had just turned on.

Twenty-one days of captivity and two weeks since Steve had taken my virginity.

Two weeks of lying naked on the floor of this closet.

I don’t know how long since my accident.

It was becoming harder and harder to remember who I am… or was.

My name is Jane.

Like my body, my mind is starting to become still. Numb. Motionless. Worn out from the constant spin of my thoughts, I now think of nothing. I don’t wonder how or why I got here. I don’t think of my family. I don’t even have random songs or scenes from old television shows pop into my head anymore. Like this closet, my mind is dark.

The only thing I still cling to is my task of counting the days by the whir of the air conditioner. I wonder when I will stop doing that? At one hundred? One thousand? At what point will my mind finally join with my new body and become nothing more than an empty vessel?

* * *

This time I didn’t even hear his footsteps or the turn of the lock.

I wasn’t listening.

The door opened, and my little cocoon was flooded with bright, harsh light.

“Fuck! Dammit. I forgot this is how I left you.”

Reaching down, he pulled me out of the closet by my feet, dragging me along the dirt of the floor.

Flinging me over his shoulder, I was carried out of the room and up the stairs.

Unable to lift my head to truly look around, all I could see were the patterns of Persian throw rugs and polished hardwood floors. I could smell the clean scent of furniture polish. I couldn’t be certain, but it felt like I was in a rich home. He carried me up a second flight of stairs and into a large, cold room. Leaning down, I was placed on a toilet. Looking around I could see I was in a bathroom. It was extremely sleek with white marble floors and counters. Steve leaned over and started the shower.

“Let’s get this wig off you. I have a new one anyway.”

I could feel him prodding at the back of my neck. Then the sensation of having a Band-Aid torn off my skin. He stepped back, and my tangled bleach blonde hair hung limp and loose from his grasp.

“Crap. Thank god I got a new one. Looks like I got jizz all over this one. Have to make sure to bury it in the trash outside so the wife doesn’t see.” Steve chuckled at his own conniving.

All I could focus on was the sound of the water streaming behind him. A shower. A shower! The feeling of water caressing my skin. To at least feel clean again. For the first time in countless days, I started to feel something again. It was as if the prospect of doing something so mundanely human made me feel human again.

His brow wrinkled in displeasure. “Christ. You’re all dusty and what the fuck is that smudge on your stomach? Thank god these things can be submerged in water.”

Steve lifted me high and carried me to the shower stall. I could feel the rush of steam hit my face as he opened the glass door. The scalding hot water hit me the moment I was pushed inside. It burned and seared my skin. I silently cried out in pain.

“Almost as good as boiling water, I figure. Need to get all that cum off you.”

The pain. It was everywhere. My skin was on fire.

Steve grabbed me by the jaw and tilted my head back. Blistering hot water poured into my perpetually open mouth. Steve finally leaned me against the tiles. They felt cool in comparison. I watched as he spun a bar of soap between his palms. Lifting me by the shoulder he shoved four fingers into my mouth. I started to gag and cough. Twisting around and around he coated my mouth with bitter foam. I could feel the suds drip down the back of my throat. Pulling his fingers free, he shoved all four painfully into my pussy.

“Let’s see if you can take a fist.”

Oh God! No! Please! Please, why can’t you hear me! Please don’t do this to me! Please!

Forcing his four fingers into my tight passage, he twisted and turned them. The nubs of his knuckles bruised my insides. Pushing further in, there was the scrape of his thumb nail as he thrust it alongside his fingers.

This was too cruel. Unbearably so. To trap me in plastic yet force me to feel as if it were flesh.

With his thumb stretching me painfully wide, he twisted his hand again till he was fully seated inside me to the wrist.

My arms hung uselessly at my sides, unable to defend myself as I suffered through the indignity of having his whole hand shoved deep inside my body.

“It’s pretty fucking tight in your snatch. Let’s see if I can make a fist, huh, Darla?”

So now I was Darla I thought with a rueful laugh.

His fingers wriggled inside of me, every movement sending a shock of pain between my legs as my thigh muscles cramped. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist. My whole reality was nothing but agony. The blinding pain. It felt like a bowling ball was being forced inside me, crushing my organs.

Stop! Stop! God! Fuck! Stop!

Steve finally pulled free, wrenching his fist from my body. If I could, I would have crumpled to the floor of the shower and cried for days.

The hot water still seared my skin, though I was numb from the pain between my legs, I barely noticed when he spun me around. His soapy hand moved over my bald head and down my back. Such a touch from another human being would have been a divine comfort under any other circumstance. His hand moved over my ass, giving one cheek a slap. The sound reverberated around the tiny tiled shower.

“Let’s clean this asshole of yours. Want to make sure it’s ready for tonight,” he said with another mocking laugh.

What?

With no further warning, he jammed two fingers into my ass.

Oh God! There is a hole there too! Jesus fuck.

How many more indignities must I suffer through? For the thousandth time, I wished I could close my eyes. To shut out all that was happening to me.

His fingers prodded and probed my backside before pulling free.

Yanking me out of the shower stall, he rubbed my already raw skin with a rough towel before once more hefting me over his shoulder and carrying me back down to his man cave.

For the next hour, I tried to close my mind off as he pushed and pulled me. Raised my arms. Lowered my legs. Turned me over and back. Smeared something on my face across my mouth. Then finally placed a new wig on me.

“Got to get you looking all pretty for tonight. My friend can’t wait to meet you.” Steve had lifted me up and held me before a mirror.

I stared into my own vacant eyes.

He had placed me in a hot pink sequined gown which barely reached the top of my thighs. The scooped neck was so low, my breasts popped out of the top. My obscenely open lips were smeared with glossy, pink lipstick.

But the worst… the absolute worst… was he had put me in a brunette wig. The glossy brown curls fell softly just above my shoulders.

Just how Jane used to wear her hair. Dammit, how I used to wear my hair.

I started to sob.

The doll in the mirror just stared back at me… expressionless… empty.