Rose's Dolly Pt. 06

This story contains scenes of nonconsensual, painful sex, including nonconsensual bondage and some minor bleeding, as well as themes of questioning one's sexuality. Proceed with caution

*

It was funny, when Dylan looked back on it, to think that all the insane events around Rose's reentry into his life happened between one Thursday and the next. A very eventful eight days, proceeding a long stretch where nothing much happened to him.

For one thing, Kim ghosted on him Friday, just stopped returning his texts. He spent most of the day trying to get an answer out of her about when she'd be ready to go on a date, and as noon rolled into afternoon rolled into evening, he slowly got the hint that she wasn't coming. Through friends of friends, he found out that she'd been rushing a sorority, Gamma Gamma Gamma. Bad sign, he knew there were a few girls there who hated his guts, particularly Ashley, the sorority President, who had thrown a plate of macaroni at him last year in the dining hall after he'd gotten a bit aggressive with one of her friends.

"I just don't get it," Dylan mumbled to Bray one night. They were hanging out in Bray's room, just the two of them, drinking craft IPAs. "She sends me nudes for the first time, and that's literally the last I ever hear from her. Just fucking ghosted."

"Bitches, man," Bray slurred, "who can understand it?"

Dylan grunted in agreement.

"Like, I know you'll think I'm crazy," Bray said, "but that's kind of what I like about Rose, you know? Like she's very straightforward in her way, you know what you're getting."

Dylan looked down at his beer. "Don't talk about Rose."

"Sorry dude." Bray scratched the back of his head. "Hey, man, are you, like, traumatized by what happened with her?" Dylan said nothing, so Bray continued, "Cause I can see how it might mess with you, you know? She might be more than you can take if you're, you know, a pussy. No offense. I can handle her just fine though." He shook his head with this big wistful grin on his face. "God, she really is a lot of woman."

"I said don't talk about her."

So Dylan dragged himself to the gym every evening of that week to do his butt exercises, and every evening he trudged back home imagining what Rose might have in store for him this time around, feeling trapped, feeling hopeless, contemplating all sorts of horrible perversions he'd have to comply with.

Perhaps the only thing he didn't imagine was that he'd show up at Sodom House on Thursday and Rose wouldn't come for him. He walked up to the porch, texted her "Here" when he arrived, and just lingered there for ten minutes. No response. He sent her a "?" and kept waiting.

It obviously wasn't that he wanted her to come down and get started on whatever she was going to do to him. Obviously. But he hated waiting, hated having to stay in this uncertain state. After a few more minutes he started knocking on the door, loudly, continuously, until it swung open and Ganza was glaring down at him, with an irritated expression that transformed into an interested grin when she recognized him. "Hey blondie."

He huffed. "I'm here for Rose, any chance you can go get her?"

Ganza glanced inside. "I don't wanna interrupt her right now," she said, still grinning.

"Why not?"

She hesitated, and then, "She's got another boy she's focusing on."

"Oh. Okay." Dylan blinked a few times. "Like, focusing on him right now at this moment, or is that more of a... habitual thing?"

Ganza shrugged. "Well, he's been here for a couple days now. We've all had turns with him. Little squealer," and here a wicked grin sprang to her face, "especially when Skye and me both had our dicks up his ass at the same time."

"Ah. So, what, does that mean she doesn't... you know, want me anymore?"

"I dunno," Ganza shrugged again, "Like I said, I don't wanna interrupt her."

"Hrmf," Dylan looked off to the side.

"What, are you jealous?" She seemed very clearly amused.

"No," he said, a little more defensively than he would've preferred to sound, "just, you know, wish she'd told me, so I didn't waste a walk out here."

"Well hey," and here Ganza stepped out of the door frame to put a hand on Dylan's shoulder, "it doesn't have to be a waste. If Rose is done with you, there's nothing stopping you from riding my dick tonight."

Adrenaline hit, Dylan backed away from her, swatting her hand away. She looked down at him, menacing sort of irritation emanating from her. "I'm going home," he said firmly. She reached out to grab his arm, but he darted away down the street. Thankfully, she didn't follow him.

The next day Dylan sent Rose a message, "Hey, just to be clear, are you done with me?"

No reply.

The day after, "If we are done, I'd appreciate it if you deleted those videos."

No reply.

Ah well. Finals were coming, he could do without the distraction of dealing with Rose. So for the next several weeks, he went to classes, he studied, he sleep walked through the parties at his frat. Oh, and he kept going to the gym to do his butt exercises, every night. Early on, he told himself he was doing it for purely pragmatic reasons, he wanted to be doing what he was told in case Rose called on him again, didn't want to give her any reason to release the videos. But... by the end of the semester he was pretty certain she wasn't going to hear from her again, but he was still going. His butt was getting noticeably firmer, rounder; he'd even gotten good at doing the squats. Maybe his new ass would be attractive to, you know, non-dickgirls. That's surely why he kept doing it, right?

But then there was the fact, honestly pretty revealing when he thought about it, that he almost never jerked off to anything other than thoughts of Rose anymore. It was funny, ever since he was young, masturbation time had always been a self apart from himself; he'd never admit he was doing it, obviously, and so he'd never have to admit what he was doing it to. He would do things like deny that he could ever be into, say, eating ass, and mean it, and then remember a week later that he'd jerked off to the idea a dozen times. And so it crept up on him, the realization that Rose was all he was thinking about when his hand went down to play with his cock.

Once he was aware of it, he tried to make himself stop, tried to make himself jerk off to the thought of Kim or just any other girl who didn't have a dick. And sometimes he would succeed in squeezing a mediocre orgasm out to the thought of another girl. More often, he'd give up and think about Rose again, feel his cock get harder when he gave into thoughts of her brilliant green eyes, the scar running down her face, and her big hard cock. The crazy thing was, even though he could barely get it up to the thought of any other girl, he could reliably jack off to thoughts of Rose three or four times in a day if he had the time, weekend days usually. First one of the day, he'd usually be entertaining fantasies, fairly implausible he knew, of nice, gentle sex between him and Rose, maybe her letting him be the one fucking her, maybe, if he were feeling submissive, him riding her cock, or even letting her fuck him gently. As the day went on and his dick got sorer, the fantasies got rougher, more violent, more... well, more like what being with Rose was actually like.

Sometimes he'd get himself over the point of no return with thoughts of Rose and then make himself think about someone else while the cum sprayed out of him, just so he could tell himself he wasn't thinking about her during that cum.

So the spring semester wound into summer break and he went home, started up at his old summer job again, grunt work for the municipal government, lot of filling cracks in the roads, lot of trash pickup. His mother was disappointed that he hadn't gotten an internship for the summer. In truth he hadn't even applied to any. That would've been a good idea, huh?

So he worked, he slept, and when he wasn't doing either of those he spent as much time as possible away from his parents' house. He lied and said he was hanging out with friends, but mostly he was driving around, or hanging out in parks, or loitering at the mall, or at the gym, doing the butt building exercises Rose had assigned him. Interacting with humans as little as possible, because at some point he'd stopped being Dylan, the old Dylan that everyone around here knew, and he didn't want them to notice.

He eventually just gave into the thoughts of Rose, accepted that she was all he could think about. He'd walk around the park imagining that she was walking him on a leash, go to the mall and linger by the women's clothes, imagine Rose forcing him to wear this skirt or that dress. Some days he thought he might be in love with her. Some days he was certain of it. Most days he knew better than that, but always she was on his mind.

The damn futa cum. He would often think, bitterly, that they only ended up having two of the threatened weekly sessions, and yet because of his fumbling attempts to get out of it he ended up receiving six total loads of futa cum, right into his rectum. Should've left well enough alone, he'd for sure be craving cock less if he hadn't bothered. But she'd emphasized so often that he was trapped, that he'd have to keep doing her bidding. Based on the information he had at the time, it made sense to try to escape... but why bother trying to defend his actions? It was a series of embarrassing failures that had gotten him fucked over and over. His manhood was doomed now.

Ah well, if his manhood was doomed, if he wasn't the old Dylan anymore... well, there were worse things. This summer he noticed, for the first time, that everyone else he worked with at the city seemed to hate his guts. Initially, he was confused by how that could've happened, but as the summer went on he kept having little flashbacks, remembering times he'd been condescending or rude to the others. It was funny, it seemed so alien to him now, but he really did used to think of himself as a superior being to these guys, because he was going to college while they mostly hadn't, because he was thoughtful and introspective and concocted grand theories of human nature while they were more focused on the day to day grind. How silly. The past year had been a crash course in exactly how much of a moron he was.

He'd occasionally run into people from high school, most of whom didn't seem to like him either. The girl he'd made cry by shit-talking her debate team performance was working at the Rally's on Vine, staring at him with angry eyes as she handed him his food. The brother of a girl who's titties he'd liked to grab was walking in the park with his girlfriend; he stared right at Dylan and began whispering to her, he watched the girl's face turn to contempt as he walked by.

Was it a feminized tendency, caring about these things? The old Dylan certainly would've thought so. The old Dylan thought so highly of himself, and if people had a problem with him, well, they were just losers. He didn't want to be like that anymore. He didn't know how to get all these people who disliked him to like him better, but he was determined to stop giving them new reasons.

He did as Rose said, and let his hair grow out. By the end of summer, his hair was long enough to tie into a stumpy ponytail. His mother complained about it at least once a day. Ah well. He'd be back at school soon enough. Staring in the mirror at it, he would often contemplate that even now that it was longer, it didn't look particularly like girl hair, just overgrown boy hair.

Did he want it to look like girl hair? Maybe.

The new semester started, and quickly it was a running joke among his brothers that he'd become a hippy. Whenever they would say that he'd just affect a nasally stoner voice and say, "Yeah maaaaan," and shoot them a peace sign. Usually got a chuckle. Besides that, he was still pretty distant from these meatheads, repulsed by the salacious predatory way they'd talk about girls.

There was a party at the frat house the first Friday after the semester began, but Dylan didn't want to be there. He was walking up into town, hoping he could meet some kind of person to talk to. Not even a girl necessarily, just... a friend, someone human. Main St. was choked with people, so he was going up a side street when he heard her voice:

"Hey boyyyys! Any of you wanna fuck my friend here?"

It was Rose, he knew that immediately. He glanced in the direction her voice was coming from; by now, he could see a group of boys start to scatter, could hear comments like, "What the fuck?" and "Get this freakshow away from me." And there she was, in the middle of the sidewalk, standing there with another boy, who was dressed in a black tank top and fishnets and a little black skirt, on the end of a leash.

So, there's the new boy, Dylan thought. He felt a stab of some emotion, couldn't define what it was but it was definitely a stab.

"Hey, fuck you too!" Rose shouted after the boys, then turned to the boy on her leash to talk to him more quietly. Dylan watched them in the darkness for a few moments, before he saw Rose's eyes lock on to him and light up with recognition.

He ran in the opposite direction. From behind him he heard her voice calling out, "Heyyyy boy! Whatcha doin' out so late after dark?"

He kept running back until he reached the frat house, made his way through the throng of people upstairs to his room, headphones in to blot out the noise of the party, and whatever thoughts his head might fill with after seeing Rose again.

Of course it didn't change anything, he knew she had a new boy, no prizes for guessing she was putting him in girly clothes. And yet having a face for his replacement, seeing the two of them together... He hadn't felt jealous before, but every time he thought about the sight of those two he wanted to smash the other boy's face into the concrete, see how quick Rose dropped him once he wasn't pretty anymore. It was genuinely interfering with his ability to jerk off, every time he thought about Rose now he'd start thinking about her with the boy and got mad again.

It was a Friday two weeks later that he found himself walking down 4th Street again, and he saw Rose sitting out on the porch of Sodom House, feet hanging over the edge, smoking a cigarette. She seemed glum. He stopped in his tracks and stood there looking at her for a while; it was some time before she glanced up and noticed him.

"Hey," she said, in a low energy tone of voice.

"Hey," he said back, and then, "haven't heard from you in a while."

"Yeah, you're welcome," she muttered. She looked down, then a moment later glanced back at him. "What, are you just gonna stand there staring at me? Fuck off. Or... come over?"

Obviously, Dylan told himself, he should fuck off. And yet when his legs started moving, they were taking him up the walkway to the porch, and then up the stairs to sit down beside her. Not even looking up at him, she reached her hand out and pinched his nipple hard through his shirt.

"Ow! Fucking, stop," he protested.

"Heh heh," she said, no trace of amusement, no hint of a smile. After a second she released him.

"You want me to just leave you alone then?" Dylan said, quietly furious. Of course, the first thing she'd do upon seeing him was hurt him, of course that was her, he knew it and yet somehow he'd forgotten.

"Never said I wanted you to come over," she mumbled, staring at her cigarette in her hand.

He looked at her with a bewildered frustration. "Alright, bye then." He started standing up when she grabbed his hand and yanked him back down onto his ass beside her. She wrapped a tight arm around his body, fingertips running up and down over the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"I like your shirt," she muttered, still not looking at him. "It's soft."

He sighed. "So, why... you know, why did you stop having me over?"

"Why?" She seemed to come to life slightly at the question. "Didja miss me?"

"No." He hoped that his tone sounded convincing. "Just... I don't know. You said I was gonna be your little bitch forever." Crap, he should not have said that.

She had one of her classic smug little grins now. "Yeah, you fucking missed me."

He rolled his eyes. "Just... it was unexpected. I dunno. Kim ghosted me right around the same time you did. Made me feel... undesirable, I guess."

"Awww, poor baby," in this mocking tone. "And here I thought I was doing you a favor, letting you off the hook."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "You in the habit of doing people favors?"

"Well," Rose seemed to be thinking what to say next, "I found another little bitch boy. You saw me taking him for his walkies, yeah?"

"I remember," Dylan said icily.

"Hmm," Rose had this wistful look in her eye. "I'd wanted him for some time. He belonged to one of my friends, who was trying to go straight, be a decent person. I sucked him in, gave him things she couldn't provide. Kept him as my little pet. She was heartbroken. Now she does boys like I do again." Proud, shameless, wicked grin on her face, but her expression softened slightly before she said, "And, I dunno, since I had a new little boytoy, it seemed greedy to keep pestering you. Since you weren't into me at all," she shot a knowing grin at him, "allegedly."

"Yeah yeah." Dylan sat there for a moment, then, "So, he's like your personal bottom, then?"

"Well," Rose said, "I have to share him with the other girls."

"Have to?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, then opened it to say, "Interpersonal politics of my little posse. Not worth getting into."

Dylan nodded. "And so... what's got you so down then?"

"Down? I'm feeling peachy. Got a cute boy on my arm," and here she leaned down to give him a nibble on the cheek. Despite himself, he broke out into a big stupid grin at that.

She pulled her mouth away from his cheek and looked down at his smiling face. Cute. Real cute. She considered telling him what a nice smile he had, but... nah. Didn't wanna build him up too much.

After a moment, Dylan prodded her again. "You looked down when I walked up."

She shrugged. "Just a hangover, that's all."

He nodded at that. "So, the new boy... everything you want?"

"Eh. It's complicated. He's... he's great, just... willful. I thought I'd be able to break him to my will, but he's good at getting under my skin."

"Oh, poor Rose," now Dylan was adopting the mock-sympathetic tone that he'd heard Rose use so many times, "having to deal with someone else like they're an actual human. Her worst nightmare."

"Heh. Tell me 'bout it." Rose stared ahead into the street.

Dylan could tell he was getting under her skin a little, and wanted to keep pushing. In as nonchalant a voice as he could manage, "And, uh, how do the other girls like him?"

Rose grunted. "Oh, he's very popular with the girls. He, uh," she did a scoffing noise and twisted her lips into a grin that was more like a grimace, "so Valerie, that's the girl I stole him from, was over earlier today, they were going at it, her and Nicky. And she was, you know, tugging on his hair, smacking his ass, saying, 'Who do you love?' And Nicky was just like, "You Mistress!' Which is funny, cause, you know, I'm his mistress. Then she's like, 'Say it again!' and he says, 'I love you Mistress!' Valerie shot me this smug look at that point, as if she thought it would bother me. Heh. Like I care." She took a deep suck on the cigarette and exhaled. "Real funny thing is that since I broke her heart, Valerie's been going around saying she doesn't believe in love anymore. But I know she's lying. Heh. He's never actually gonna be hers again, she's never actually gonna be his. These dumb little boys and girls and their dumb feelings. Not me though." The cigarette was out now; she flicked the butt onto the grass. "It is really hot when they tell you they love you though. I get it."