She sat silent, waiting, expecting the final blow to be struck. The tears slid, unnoticed, down her face silently pooling on the highly polished wooden floors. She could smell the orange wood polish that every wooden surface held. She suddenly tensed, hearing movement outside the door. She waited, assuming it was him. So far as she knew it could be no one else. She knew he would not let her live, he had made that quite clear.

She watched the miniscule strip of light at what must be the bottom of the door. Waiting, pleading with whatever god there was to let it end, and soon. She could no longer wait. She had no idea of how long she had been there. Locked away inside the man's massive house hidden deep in the woods outside of the city. She had watched that strip of light for how long now? Days, weeks, months, she didn't know, and was afraid to guess. She wondered if anyone realized she was gone.

She began to think back to however long ago it was. She could recall in vivid detail every nuance of the man's face and body. After all she had stared at it for many days before she had finally spoken to him.

He was tall, at least six foot or more. His jet black hair, was longer than was tradition, it fell to just below his chin. It was ruler straight and thick. Oh, how she had longed to run her fingers through it! His eyes, they were the exact same shade of green as the tear drop emerald she always wore at her throat. His voice had enchanted her from the very first moment she had heard it. It was very deep, and he spoke with the Irish brogue that had always made her knees weak. His smile, oh god, she had become addicted to it. He had the sharp, pronounced fangs that made her wet imagining them sinking deep into the flesh at her throat.

That night he had been wearing an expensive, tailored suit. Double breasted, black with gray pin stripes. It accented his broad shoulders, and did nothing to hide the well formed muscles in his arms and thighs. She was simply in awe of his body and had on more than one occasion, imagined his body over hers, dominating her while she masturbated. She had known this man intimately, yet never even spoken to him.

As she lay on the highly polished wood floor, bound in nearly a mile of rope and gagged, she could almost laugh at his pick up line. It had been that original.

"Excuse me ma'am, would you like to dance or should I go fuck myself?" With the accent and the pure sex in his eyes, she could do nothing more than hold out her hand for him to lead her to the dance floor. They had danced and laughed all night, they drank too, perhaps too much. She was careful though, she always went with him to get the drinks and made sure not to leave it if she went to the bathroom. No matter how sexy he was, she had no intentions of being date raped. Besides, she fully intended to sleep with him, and damn it she wanted to remember it.

She let her mind skip passed the ride to his house, but paused to remember just how massive it was. At least 4 stories tall, and an acre wide. It had the look of an enormous gingerbread house, with almost the same colors she had thought of whenever she'd read the Hansel and Gretel stories as a child.

But what she had not seen was the part that would be her undoing. The basement floors. Yes, floors, there were catacombs underneath the house. Places that would never be found if you did not know the way. These were her unknown destination.

It did not take long for her to realize what a horrible mistake she had made. She was the fly stuck so neatly in the spider's web. She had only walked into the house when he came up behind her and covered her face and mouth with the rag covered in chloroform. Before she had the chance to understand what was happening to her, she was out.

Her mind slid back into the present, there were feet blocking out the light now. He'd finally come for her. The door opened slowly, and there he stood, dressed in a butcher's apron. It was white and pristine. As though it had never been used, she wondered if this was his first time or if it was simply a new apron. Oddly she hoped it was simply a new apron, she certainly did not want her murder to go wrong and take a long time.

"Hello my dear." He spoke with such a soft and loving tone it made her skin creep to hear it now. She wondered how she could have ever thought it sexy. "Are you ready, ready to become a work of art?" She could not speak with the gag in place, so she tried to put all her malice and hate for him into her eyes as she glared at him. "Oh, come now, don't be so angry with me. I must admit, I thought you'd be much more of a challenge than you were. You came so willingly to me, it's almost as though you were meant to be here with me." He spoke with such a tenderness that she almost vomited. What was he talking about. Please God, she thought, make it fast so I don't have to suffer.

He picked her up off the floor, using the strength she had once wanted to witness. He carried her into a bathroom, and began to slowly untie her and clean her. He washed her hair and body. Had he not been a lunatic, she could have easily enjoyed every second of this.

He thought, she was so perfect. Her skin was something that any southern belle would have killed for. A fresh creamy alabaster, with a smattering of freckles on the tops of her shoulders and the bridge of her nose. She was five foot and seven inches and most of it was leg. His first thought when he saw her, was that she would be the perfect porcelain doll. Flaming red, riotous curls, gentle sea-blue eyes. Her mouth was the same shape and shade of the dolls his mother had collected when he was a child. He knew he had to have her. And he also knew that it would be the easiest thing to do. He saw the looks in her eyes, the ones that said plain as day, "Fuck my brains out, I beg you!" Of course, that was not to happen though, he had plans for this most excellent gift.

He bathed her, watching the mixture of disgust at his touch, and herself. He knew as well as she did, that in the most perverse and atrocious way possible, she was loving every moment. He washed her hair, he felt every second of her apprehension. She knew her life was over, they both did. She did not know what she was to become though and he thought that it might be better that way.

He lifted her out of the tub, and lay her gently on the cold, hard embalming table. She gasped, and squeezed her eyes shut tight.

"Just kill me, do it fast and don't let it be painful." He smiled, put a warm blanket over her, and injected the needle.

Her body jerked, she twitched a few times and then she was gone to where ever that part of his dollies went. Then he began the process of creating his beautiful new dolly.

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