My face is shoved into the sofa cushions. I cannot see what is happening around me. I can hear them moving about, drinking beer, playing video games. They have each fucked me once more. Steve calls it filling my holes up. As I lay here, naked and abused, I am starting to feel something I had not before.

Rage.

All this time I have been confused, depressed, desperate and sad, but I haven’t gotten mad. It was probably some remnant of religious training creeping into my fast numbing brain. The pious will be redeemed. Suffering is God’s will. Endure and there will always be hope for salvation.

Fuck God.

I want nothing more to do with God. What has happened to me is unnatural and unholy. From now on, the devil will be my God.

“I’m bored. What else can we do to it?” asked John as he flopped down on the sofa beside me. Picking up my head he poked at my open, glass eyes.

Steve had just finished his beer. Looking at the bottle, he said, “Let’s shove this up her ass.”

“Sonofabitch, you’re a fucking genius!” cried out John as he grabbed me by the hips and slung my body over the sofa armrest. My upper half hung limply over the side, the sofa crushing my stomach and making it hard to breathe. My ass was propped up high.

You mother fucking pieces of shit! You will pay for this! I will make you pay! I will find a way and make you pay!

I ranted and railed at each of them as I felt the cold press of the glass bottle against my ass. This felt better. No more begging. No more pleading. No more vain hope that Steve would somehow see a glimmer of life behind my vacant stare. I was pissed. Angry at God. Angry at the world. Angry at these two assholes who think they had the right to treat me this way.

“Not that way,” objected John. “You shove it in bottom first, not by the neck.”

“Then grab me the baby oil from under the bathroom sink.”

After a long pause, there was a hand on my ass, spreading my cheeks open. Then the cold drizzle of something slimy. Once more I felt the chill from the beer bottle as it pressed between my cheeks. There was a bruising pressure against my asshole. I could feel the bottle press into my pelvic bone.

“Fuck. I don’t think it will go in.”

“Push harder.”

I could feel the sofa dip as Steve must have gotten onto his knees behind me. Once more the bottle was pressed between my cheeks. This time he pushed harder. Much harder.

I cried out in agony as the delicate ring of muscle protecting my asshole weakened and the bottle popped in. This was far worse than Steve’s fist. It was hard and unrelenting. Once past the outer ring, Steve was able to push the bottle in by several inches, the cold glass chilling my insides as it forced me open. My stomach twisted and cramped. There was a burning sensation in the back of my throat as if real vomit were about to spew forth. The muscles along my lower back spasmed as the bottle was pushed in deeper. Inch by inch, he stretched me open and forced me to accept his cruel torture.

“Man, I wish these things came with speakers so we could hear her scream,” observed John as he videotaped my frozen face.

“I said the exact same thing,” said Steve as he gave the bottle another push.

Use the pain. Use the pain. Use the pain. Turn the pain into anger. Hold on to your anger.

“That’s it, bitch. Fuck that beer bottle like the whore you are!” yelled out Steve as he pumped the bottle in and out of my ass.

Steve lifted me high and forced me to once again straddle his legs. Reaching around my hip, he grabbed the neck of the bottle as it protruded obscenely from my asshole.

“John! John! Grab a photo of this!”

There were several bright flashes in the darkened room.

Use the pain. Use the pain. Hold on to your rage.

Hot burning rage replaced the pain. I focused on the bitter heat coiling within my breast.

Laughing Steve grabbed my hair. “You like that don’t you, Darla.”

My. Name. Is. Jane. JANE!

My vision went black for a moment then cleared. Before me I saw the startled gaze of Steve turn to horror.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Steve flung me off his lap. I fell to the floor, limp and lifeless, the bottle still thrust painfully inside of me.

“The doll blinked!”

“What?”

“The doll fucking blinked!”

“Dude, you’re high and drunk.”

“I’m telling you, man, it blinked!”

John picked me up by my hair. Shaking my body this way and that, he shouted at Steve. “It’s just a sex doll, man. It’s not real!”

Steve was pacing back and forth in the small room. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his hair before rubbing his hand down his face. “You’re right. You’re right! I’m just fucking tripping out.”

John dropped me to the ground.

“Look, just throw it in the closet. I’m done with it tonight.”

John snickered. “You’re such a fucking pussy.”

“Just do it!”

John picked my limp body off the ground. Opening the closet, he thrust me inside, head first. My body lay in a crumpled heap. Just as he was about to close the door, he said, “Wait. Can’t forget this.”

With cold callousness, he wrenched the bottle out of my ass. Leaving the small hole gaping.

The closet door closed.

I was thrust into the quiet darkness once more, but this time was different. I was different.

I had blinked.