I Was the Adult Store's New Human Doll novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: The Pleasure Bed
I woke up with my arms stretched over my head and a metallic click around my wrists.
I opened my eyes.
Above me, on the ceiling, a mirror reflected my own scared face back at me, surrounded by pink neon lights.
I was lying on a satin mattress, my arms held to the headboard by two padded cuffs.
I pulled at my hands. They didn't budge.
Then I remembered everything.
My mom, Nelida Huaman, owned an adult store in Magdalena del Mar.
It was called Sensaciones Nelida and it was turning fifteen on Saturday.
To celebrate, my mom had come up with "The Living Doll."
I was supposed to stand in the display window for three hours, still as a doll, and the neighbors had to guess if I was real.
That night I'd climbed onto the display bed to practice being still, after a nursing exam that left me dead tired.
I closed my eyes for a minute. I fell asleep.
And the bed, which had a timer lock to prevent theft, had locked the cuffs around my wrists all by itself.
It was eleven at night. My mom was in Arequipa at a supplier fair.
I was wearing a pink spaghetti-strap top, short denim shorts, white knee-high socks, and my hair was a mess.
And there was a sign stuck to the wall above my head that my mom had written with a marker:
"Test model. Can be touched."
Then I heard the key in the store's door.
My blood ran cold.
I turned my head.
Someone was coming in through the dark with a flashlight and a can of cat food.
A very tall man, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a blue work shirt.
Maximo Huertas.
The owner of the hardware store next door.
He fed the store cat when my mom traveled.
And he was also the man I'd been watching from my window for two years.
My body went stiff.
I could have screamed. I could have said his name.
But an impulse shut my mouth.
Instead of speaking, I let my body go limp, like they'd taught me in rehearsals.
Still. Completely still.
His footsteps crossed the store, and the cat meowed somewhere in the corner.
The light from his flashlight swept over the shelves, the costumes, the display cases, and stopped on the bed.
There was a very long silence.
"Doña Nelida," Maximo murmured, to no one. "Another new thing."
He came closer.
I heard him set the can of food on the floor and stop right next to my head.
I opened one eye just a crack. He was looking at me with the flashlight low.
He read the sign out loud, slowly.
"Test model. Can be touched."
I breathed as slowly as I could.
"She looks just like the daughter," he said, in a low voice. "Holy shit."
My heart started racing. I thought he'd hear it.
Maximo turned off the flashlight and set it on the nightstand.
The pink neon light lit up his jaw, the scar on his eyebrow, the gray in his beard.
He reached out a huge hand and brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers.
I almost shuddered. Almost.
"Must be good silicone," he whispered. "So soft."
He ran his finger over my lower lip.
He ran his hand over my neck, my shoulder, my outstretched arm all the way to the padded cuff.
Each touch shot through my skin like a spark.
"I shouldn't," he told himself. "I'm a dirty old man."
But he didn't pull his hand away.
He moved down my side, over my waist, and stopped at the edge of my denim shorts.
Two of his fingers hooked into the waistband.
He pulled down, an inch.
Two.
I felt the cool air on my hip.
That's when I opened my eyes.
"Maximo," I said.
He froze.
He let go of my shorts like they'd burned him.
He jumped back, crashed into a mannequin dressed as a nurse, and they both fell to the floor with a plastic crash.
"Fuck!"
"Maximo, it's me."
"Milagros!"
He got up in a rush, the mannequin still tangled around one leg.
He was red all the way to his ears, and he wouldn't look at me.
"I'm sorry. My God, I'm sorry. I thought you were... I thought..."
"I know what you thought."
"It won't happen again. I'm leaving. This never happened."
"Maximo, I'm trapped."
He stopped.
"What?"
I lifted my arms as far as I could, making the cuffs rattle.
"The bed lock closed by itself. I fell asleep practicing for Saturday."
He looked at my wrists, and his face went from shame to worry.
He came closer, touched the lock, tried a lever, looked for a slot.
"I'll go to the hardware store for some pliers."
"No. Those cost four hundred soles, and my mom will kill me."
"They'll hurt your wrists."
"It has a timer. It opens by itself in the morning."
"What time?"
"I don't know. My mom knows."
He pulled out his phone.
"I don't have your mom's number," he said. "We always talk through the wall."
I recited it from memory.
He dialed, it rang and rang, and went to voicemail.
"She must be asleep," I said.
He left a short message and stood there, staring at the floor.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "What I did..."
"You did it to a doll."
"To a doll that looked like you."
I kept looking at him.
"Two years," I said.
"What?"
"I've been watching you from the warehouse window for two years."
The color drained from his face.
"And you walk past this door every night, and you look at the display window, and you never come in."
"Milagros..."
"I want you to touch me. I've wanted it since you opened the hardware store."
My voice came out steady, steadier than I felt.
Maximo closed his eyes.
"I'm sixteen years older than you."
"I know."
"I'm a widower. I'm grumpy. I'm your mom's boring neighbor."
"I know. Tell me if I'm wrong about anything."
He smiled, barely, with a crooked mouth.
"Not a thing."
He took a step toward the bed.
"Finish what you started," I told him. "With the doll."
He took a deep breath, and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
He put a big hand on my belly, and I felt it tremble.
"This is crazy," he said.
"Maximo."
"Tell me."
"It bothers me that you talk so much."
This time the smile was full.
He lowered his hand to my waist and hooked his two fingers into the shorts again.
He pulled down, slowly, over my hips, my thighs, my knees, until the fabric was tangled around my white stockings.
I was naked from the waist down, with my wrists tied, under a pink light and a mirror.
I had never felt so exposed.
I had never liked it so much.
His big hands caressed my thighs, from the knee upward, slowly.
"What skin," he murmured. "What delicious skin."
He opened my knees, and knelt between them on the satin mattress.
I watched him lower his head.
His hot breath touched my center.
Then his tongue.
I screamed so loud the cat ran out.
Maximo lifted his head for a second, his eyes bright.
"Lower," he said, with a smile. "There are neighbors."
"You're the neighbor."
"And the only one who can hear you."
He buried his face between my thighs again.
He licked me slowly, from bottom to top, with his tongue flat, tasting me.
I pulled at the rings, but I couldn't touch him, couldn't grab his head, couldn't do anything.
I could only feel.
And I felt everything.
His beard brushed the inside of my thighs, rough and soft at the same time.
His enormous hands held my hips, and his thumbs spread me open.
His tongue found my clit and circled it with the tip, and I arched my back on the satin.
"Maximo, please."
"Please what?"
"Don't stop."
"I had no intention of stopping."
He sucked, with his lips, gently, and the whole world shrank to that one point.
I brought my knees up and rested them on his shoulders.
In the mirror on the ceiling I saw myself: hair mussed, mouth open, wrists stretched out, and a huge man between my legs.
I looked at myself and got even more turned on.
He slid a finger inside me, very slowly.
Then another.
He crooked them upward, and found a spot that made me scream.
"There," I panted. "There."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"Because you clench."
My face went red all at once, and he laughed softly against my skin.
He kept moving his fingers, and his tongue at the same rhythm, and I felt something big rising up my back.
"Maximo..."
"Do it."
"I can't move."
"You don't need to move, doll."
That word undid me.
I came with a long cry, against the pink ceiling, my legs trembling on his shoulders and my fists clenched inside the rings.
He didn't stop until I was done.
He kept licking me, soft, slower, drawing out the waves, and I cried from pleasure, unable to hide it.
When he lifted his face, his beard was wet and his eyes were dark.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Forgive me," he said, laughing, "but you're the tastiest thing I've ever had."
"Don't apologize."
"I'm not apologizing."
He crawled up my body, kissing my belly, my ribs, the edge of my top.
And then, on the nightstand, Maximo's phone vibrated.
He reached over to look at the screen.
It was a message from my mom, from Arequipa:
"Milagros, honey, you left me a weird message with the neighbor. Remember: the bed lock lasts eight hours and can't be opened with any code. Kisses. Don't get into trouble."
Maximo and I looked at each other.
It was eleven thirty at night.
And there were six and a half hours left.
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