Porcelain

"My name's not Doll!" I seethed. Immense anger coursed through me, How dare he? This asshole grabbed me off the street and demands respect. I stared at him head-on. "You're my Doll." He smiled evilly at me, his gapped teeth revealing. "My perfect porcelain Doll." He ran his knuckles over my cheek, a lofty smile lifting his lips. I pulled away as far as possible with my restraints, "Fuck you."

An obsession sprouted from childhood, Porcelain Dolls. What happens when the desire for dolls turns into an obsession to make human dolls?

-This story contains graphic themes, such as abuse, explicit language, and triggering topics. Read at your own discretion.-