Chapter 2: Building Tension
"No I can't, Dallas." Kendall said to himself as he drove away from the ranch and into town. He stopped for a coffee, feeling it would help calm the overwhelming feelings in his body and brain. "I'm not a little kid anymore."
He got out of his car and got that coffee. Coming out with the drink he spied an oddities shop. It was a good place to get his mind off the embarrassing thought that he'd just visited Dallas out of the blue like that. It was humiliating. He went inside.
He stood in the shop, surrounded by a myriad of peculiar items. The air was thick with the scent of old books, the dust hanging heavy in the air. Nothing caught his eye until finally, he found a little cowboy doll. It was a voodoo doll that had a small cowboy hat, dust scarf around the neck, and definitely a leather belt around the middle. Kendall's hand shop out and scooped up the doll.
Dallas was always the one with all the luck, all the charm, all the fucking everything. And now, even his goddamn voodoo dolls were laughing at him. Kendall stared at the lifeless chunk of wood and wool in his hands, his fingers still damp from the sweat beading on his forehead. The doll stared back at him. A silent, mocking reminder of his failure. Reminded him that he was the one in a small apartment, making quadruple what Dallas probably made but he still went to bed sad, alone, and fucking his hand as a nightcap.
He bought the doll.
He drove home.
He went into his apartment with the doll in his hand. His mind was full of his jealous rage.
Fucking Dallas and his fucking perfect life.
Kendall slammed the door behind him, the doll still clutched tightly in his hand. He stormed into his bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest like a fucking drum. He was going to show Dallas. He was going to make him feel what it was like to be on the other side. To be the one left behind, the one forgotten.
He threw the doll onto the bed, his eyes never leaving it. It mocked him, its lifeless form taunting him with its indifference. Kendall's breathing grew ragged, his cock tents his pants as he imagined Dallas's face, contorted in pain and humiliation. He unbuckled his belt, the metal clanking against the wooden bedpost as he yanked it free from its loops. He tossed it onto the bed beside the doll, his eyes never leaving the lifeless figure.
Grabbing the doll, he turned it over, exposing its rounded, wooden ass. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface, tracing the curve of its buttocks. His heart pounded in his chest, his cock throbbing in his pants. He wanted to fuck this doll, to fuck Dallas through it, to make him feel the same degradation Kendall felt every time he saw his friend's perfect life.
He unbuttoned his pants, his fingers fumbling with the buttons in his haste. His cock sprang free, hard and aching, the tip already glistening with precome. He stroked it once, twice, his grip tight, his movements rough. He was beyond gentle, beyond caring. He needed this, needed to fuck something, to hurt something, to make Dallas fucking hurt.
He grabbed the doll, positioning it on its hands and knees, its wooden ass facing him. He spat on his fingers, rubbing the saliva into the doll's asshole, stretching it slightly.
To his surprise, the wood gave when stretched. Like rubber. wood didn't normal do that.
Kendall was too driven by anger to care.
The wood was smooth, unyielding, a fucking tease. Kendall growled, his cock twitching in his hand. He needed to fucking dominate, to hurt, to take. He spat again, this time on his cock, coating it in his saliva. He lined himself up with the doll's ass, his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, his body taut with anticipation. He pushed forward, the head of his cock breaching the doll's asshole.
The wood stretched, accommodating his size, but it was fucking tight. Kendall gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the doll's hips as he pushed forward again, inch by inch, burying himself balls deep in the lifeless toy. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt—smooth, unyielding, yet giving just enough to grip his cock like a fucking vice.
"Fuck, yes," Kendall hissed, his movements becoming more aggressive. He pulled back, almost all the way out, before slamming back in, his hips smacking against the doll's ass.
The sound of flesh—well, wood—meeting flesh filled the room, a crude, primal rhythm that matched the pounding of Kendall's heart. He grunted with each thrust, his grip on the doll's hips tightening, his fingers digging into the smooth wood. He wanted to leave marks, to mar the perfect surface, to make it as fucked up as he felt.
"Take it, you fucking piece of shit," Kendall growled, his voice ragged, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
He was fucking the doll with a vengeance, his hips slapping against its wooden ass, each thrust accompanied by a guttural grunt. Sweat trickled down his spine, his body taut with exertion and anger. He wanted to fuck it so hard it would remember who it belonged to. Who it was made for. "You like that, don't you, you fucking whore?
You like taking my cock like this, don't you?" Kendall snarled, his strokes growing faster, his grip tighter. The doll's crotch, slick with his saliva and precome, made a wet, squelching sound as he fucked it with his hand in time with his thrusts. The sound only served to fuel his anger, his jealousy, his need to dominate.
He leaned over the doll, his chest pressing against its back, his breath hot on its ear. "Say it, you fucking piece of shit. Tell me you like it," he demanded, his voice a low growl.
The doll, of course, remained silent, its wooden face expressionless. But Kendall didn't care. He wanted to hear those words, needed to hear them. He wanted to believe that Dallas was the one on the receiving end, that he was the one being fucked senseless, that he was the one begging for more.
"Say it, you fucking whore," Kendall hissed, his hips slamming against the doll's ass with renewed vigor.
He wanted to hear those words, needed to hear them to feed his fantasy. The doll remained silent, its wooden face impassive, but Kendall didn't care. He could see Dallas' face in his mind's eye, imagined the humiliation, the pain, the pleasure. He fucked the doll harder, his cock sliding in and out of its slick, yielding ass.
"Tell me you love it, Dallas," Kendall growled, his voice ragged.
He could feel the familiar tingle at the base of his spine, the tightening of his balls. He was close, so fucking close. He wanted to hear those words, needed to hear them before he came. He wanted to believe that Dallas was the one being fucked, the one being used, the one begging for more.
"Say it, you fucking whore," Kendall hissed, his hips slamming against the doll's ass with renewed vigor.
Kendall came hard, filling the doll and it all flowed out the opening. It made a mess.
The doll's asshole was filled with Kendall's cum, overflowing and dripping down its wooden legs. Kendall looked at the doll, panting, his cock still half-hard, dripping with saliva and cum. He felt a sick satisfaction, a twisted pleasure in the sight of the defiled toy. He reached out, running a finger through the cum on the doll's leg, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it clean. The taste of his own cum, mixed with the faint taste of wood, sent a shiver down his spine.
He wasn't done yet. He couldn't be.
Not again. Not already. But his cock was hardening, his body responding to the memory of the doll's tight, yielding ass. He wanted more, needed more. He wanted to fuck it again, to make it take his cock, to make it scream his name. He wanted to make it Dallas, to make it beg for him, to make it submit to him.
He turned the doll over, his hands shaking as he grabbed its legs and spread them wide. He needed to see it, to see the doll's asshole, slick with his cum, ready to take him again.