Dolls Eyes

Author's Note: This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

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Timmy O'Neil called out to Peggy as he entered the house through the garage. Humming 'Stand Back' by Stevie Nicks, he climbed the steps two at a time. There was no smell of cooking; he had not expected there to be any aromas from the kitchen. They were going out to eat tonight; it was Peggy's mother's fifty fifth birthday.

Timmy had to admit, Yvonne McCall looked pretty good for a fifty five year old broad. Her 36D boobs did sag just a little, her dark cap of curls were obviously touched up and her makeup was slathered on just a little thick.

"Hey, I'd fuck her," Timmy smiled as he entered their bedroom.

Timmy averted his eyes as he entered their bedroom; he genuinely hated the sight of Peggy's porcelain doll. The doll had been a gift from her maternal grandmother when she'd been seven or eight years old and Peggy intended to pass the fragile doll down to her first girl. But to Timmy, the doll looked creepy. Her eyes stared, unblinking at Timmy. At one time, her eyes had closed whenever the doll was reclined but with age, the eyes now tayed permanently open, staring, staring at Timmy. Her permanent smile seemed sinister; the lips were just a little too pursed, painted just a little too red. Her pallor was ghostly, unsettling, especially with her copper red hair, so Timmy didn't look at his wife's treasured possession.

Even knowing her husband's dislike of the doll, Peggy would labor to make their bed every morning; her three pillows on her side of the bed, his two pillows on his side, the two decorative pillows in their matching shams, then her doll would be positioned, leaning casually against Peggy's pillows. Timmy had once asked her to put the damned figurine into the guest bedroom. Peggy had actually stared at him, horrified that he would suggest such a thing. Then she grabbed her doll and hugged it to her pudgy breasts.

"Don't worry," Peggy crooned to the inanimate object. "Mommy would never ever leave you all alone in a big old room all by yourself."

Timmy entered his closet, pulling the hanger for his suit from the end of the rod. He slipped his jacket off and draped the jacket onto the wooden hanger. His tie was looped onto the tie rack. Then, unbuttoning his top and second button on his dress shirt, Timmy Wiggled into his light gray tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and leather buttons.

Looking at the deep rich black leather buttons, Timmy could not help but think of Dawn Waterson. More specifically, he could not help but think of her large dark areolae and thick nipples. Her chest was impressive; 32D breasts, a slim 26 inch waist and thirty three inch hips. Her light brown skin was the color of rich caramel.

"And just as tasty, Timmy smiled, thinking of Dawn's hairless pubic mound.

"And, damn! That sweet ass," Timmy groaned, feeling his cock harden just from thinking of the biracial woman.

Dawn had called him just that afternoon at his St. Elizabeth Public Utilities office; Timothy O'Neil, Jr. was in charge of Services & Scheduling. Whispering seductively into his ear, she let him know she had a nine hour wait before flying to the Avignon Islands.

Timmy had met the attractive biracial flight attendant as he and Peggy had flown Cavalier Airlines to Tutite for their honeymoon. He had fallen for the flight attendant's rich caramel skin, tightly coiled Afro hairstyle and sultry smile. Getting up to go to the bathroom, Timmy had pinned Dawn Against the door of the rear restroom, pressing his business card into the waistband of her mid-thigh length uniform skirt.

From the Tutite Airfield, Timmy and Peggy had wandered down to the marina where a large cabin cruiser waited to ferry them and other passengers to Nyrsol Island. Timmy had reveled in the sight of his short, pleasantly plump red headed wife attempting to be brave and attempting to cover her nude body at the same time as the two of them frolicked on the 'clothing-optional' resort island. He was sure the eighteen year old cutie became pregnant as they bathed in the hot springs together.

Dawn was not on their return flight from the North Sea paradise. Although the three flight attendants on the return flight were all very attractive, none of them piqued Timmy's interest. Even as the Asian-American flight attendant smiled at him as he made his way to the rear restroom, Timmy did not give her his business card.

The first time Beth had patched Dawn's call through to Timmy's desk, Timmy had a hard time placing the soft, sensuous voice, until she mentioned Cavalier Airlines. Citing a last-minute meeting, Timmy left the office. He was sure Beth did not believe him, but Timmy did not much care what the behemoth believed or didn't believe.

Being a native of DeGarde, Louisiana, Dawn had an apartment in a gated complex of DeGarde, rather than living in Norwill, Tennessee, the home base of Cavalier Airlines. She buzzed him into the Arrow Court complex and told him where to park. He smiled as she ushered him into her two bedroom unit; she answered the door dressed in a very short terry cloth robe.

"I share the apartment with Ally; she's also a flight attendant with Cavalier," Dawn admitted, flinging the robe onto the arm of her leather couch.

Timmy heard no other words as he drank in the sight of her heavy breasts, narrow waist and plump pubic mound. He loved the sight of a bald pussy; his wife kept balking at shaving her slump of carrot orange hair from her fat little pussy because she heard somewhere that it would itch.

As Dawn sat on her leather couch, Timmy proved that he knew how to appreciate a hairless mound. After her third orgasm from his talented tongue and fingers, Dawn suggested they go into her bedroom.

"Ooh, nice," Dawn cooed when Timmy's fat six inches came out to play.

They did sixty nine; her straddling his face. She squealed in surprise when he gave her dark anus a vigorous tongue lashing and groaned her approval when he fingered her anus while sucking on her fairly large clitoris.

She confessed she did not care for the taste of semen so allowed him to coat her face and breasts with his ejaculation. Then, after cleaning his semen from her flesh, she straddled him and bounced happily on his cock.

Timmy did not return to work that afternoon. He was forty eight minutes late coming home, citing a massive pile-up on Fifty Four. Peggy wrinkled her face at his scent and suggested he might go shower; she'd keep his dinner warm for him.

Timmy met Ally Choo the next time Dawn called. The Asian-American woman smiled, recognizing him as the handsome passenger on the return flight from Tutite. After a moment, Timmy remembered the attractive Asian-American flight attendant. After they'd exchanged a few pleasantries, Dawn hustled her afternoon's fun into her bedroom. With a smirk, she informed Timmy that Ally played for the other team; she was a notorious flirt with men but never delivered.

"And, no, we don't ever play," Dawn had smiled before Timmy could ask if the roommates ever kept one another company.

Today had been the sixth time they'd been together since that first exciting, lustful, draining afternoon in her apartment. On their third time together, Dawn had produced a tube of lubricant and posed on her mattress, shoulders to her bed, hands spreading her luscious buttocks wide. Since that afternoon, anal had become her preferred way of making love. Timmy felt his already quite hard cock give a lurch as he saw in his mind's eye her tight brown ring, shiny with lubricant, his white fingers plunging in and out. Then the sight of his fat knob ressing against the greasy starfish, pressing, pressing, finally gaining entry into her squirming, resisting rectum.

Giving his reflection in the mirror on the back of the large closet a glance, Timmy nodded his approval. The charcoal black trousers looked good with the light gray twee coat.

"Okay, so, when are we supposed to meet them at Benito's?" Timmy called out, leaving the closet.

He had bought a bottle of the body wash that Peggy normally bought for them. The body wash sat in the vanity of the Arrow Court Apartment. After all, Peggy wasn't going to buy his same excuse every time. That first time, Timmy had told Peggy he'd spilled toner onto his hand; the stench was from the very strong industrial cleaner he'd used to remove the ink. He'd even showed her his hands as proof of how good the cleaner had been. So, after he and Dawn fucked, Timmy would shower, using his body wash.

"Peggy?" Timmy called out, trotting down the stairs. "I didn't hear you; when are we meeting up?"

The sun was beginning to set; the days were getting shorter now. Timmy looked around at the dark living room. He slid the bi-fold door back and peered into the family room. She was not at the kitchen table, nor was she in the laundry room.

"Coming, coming," Timmy called out when the doorbell chimed.

"Yes?" he asked, seeing a smiling man standing on the front step of the front door.

"Man, you believe it's almost dark already? My wife says she hates it when it gets so dark so early," Richard Boudreaux commented. "I mean, it isn't even six o'clock yet and look at this."

"Yeah, I, I was just thinking that," Timmy agreed, also looking at the sun hanging very low on the horizon.

"That, is that a Barragona jacket? Bernie found me one at that Ministry of Faith thrift shop; didn't have those leather patches though," Richard asked. "Oh! Damn! Rude of me; you, you are Timmy O'Neil, right?"

"I uh, yeah, yeah, it is a Barragona," Timmy agreed, even pulling the left side open so Richard could see the tag on the inside of the jacket. "I'm Timmy. I'm sorry; do I know you?"

"And you've been served," Richard said, handing Timmy a large envelope he'd pulled from behind his back.

"I, I've been, I've been served? I've been served what?" Timmy asked, looking at the envelope.

"I don't know," Richard admitted, snapping a digital photograph of Timmy holding the envelope in his hand. "They don't tell me what's in them. My Barragona jacket? It's this kind of beige pattern; Bernie said it's a hounds tooth, whatever that means. It's nice. Not as nice as yours, but still..."

Timmy stepped back into the house as Richard walked away, still talking about his Barragona jacket. Closing and locking the door, Timmy again called out for his wife.

"Hey, Sweetheart; you got any idea what this is about?" Timmy asked, holding the large manila envelope up.

"Peggy?" he called out again, looking around the living room and kitchen.

Sticking his head into their garage, Timmy saw that his wife's glossy black Volkswagen Atlas was not in its customary parking space. He stared at the empty space, wondering if her vehicle had been there when he'd pulled into the garage. He shook his head; surely he would have noticed whether it had been gone or not.

Sitting in his recliner, Timmy reached over and clicked the brass lamp on. He cursed Peggy's decision to swap out the normal light bulbs for the energy-efficient LED bulbs, squinting to make sense of the envelope's contents. The thirty two year old man was loathe to admit it, but his eyesight was starting to diminish.

Getting up and entering the kitchen, Timmy flipped the harsh overhead light on. He grabbed a can of St. Elizabeth's Lager from the refrigerator and sat in his chair at their kitchen table.

He did not open the can as he read the petition for the dissolution of the marriage between himself and his wife. Patting his pockets, he could not find his cell phone. Trotting up the stairs, he entered his closet and felt around in the pockets of the suit jacket.

"Aw shit, I better not have left it at..." Timmy thought, trotting down the stairs again.

Dawn was most likely already on her way to the Atlanta airport, preparing to fly to the Avignon Islands. Ally was on a jump flight to Bergeron, Idaho; it jumped from airport to airport before finally landing in Bergeron. If his cell phone was in Dawn's apartment, it would be days before he'd be able to retrieve the device.

With a sigh of relief, Timmy saw the phone on the seat of his car. Grabbing the phone, he hit his wife's number. He found out he'd been blocked.

Calling his mother in law's phone produced the same results. He did not bother calling his brother in law's phone; he genuinely hated Brian McCall. Brian was an arrogant and smug little prick that believed he knew everything and was so much smarter than anyone else that had the misfortune to be in conversation with him.

"Benito's" he said, getting into his car.

He slammed on the brakes millimeters before driving the car through the closed garage door. He had never noticed just how slowly the garage door went up but finally, it was up. He then left the garage at a high rate of speed.

"Shit!" he yelled, threw the car into reverse and backed down the street.

He watched the garage door slowly, ever so slowly creep down again. Then, throwing the car into drive again, Timmy jammed his foot on the accelerator. Pulling onto Highway 52, Timmy incurred his fourth speeding ticket in his adult life. Sgt. Elise Richards was unmoved by Timmy's tale of woe as she gave him the ticket.

"Bitch," Timmy snarled as he drove away at a slower rate of speed.

Storming into the foyer of the small, quaint restaurant, Timmy demanded to know where the McCall party was. The attractive young hostess looked at her book, checked again, then informed Timmy that there was no McCall party scheduled for this evening. A quick look around the restaurant's dining area confirmed the hostess's claims; Timmy could not see Peggy, Yvonne or the other two McCall brood.

"Then where..." Timmy wondered out loud as he got back into his car.

On instinct, he tried Peggy's number again. Then he tried his mother in law's phone number. Gritting his teeth, he tried Brian McCall's number. He was slightly surprised when it rang twice.

"Yell-low," Brian answered.

Timmy bit back the retort; to him, Brian's way of answering his phone had always sounded so juvenile. In the background, he could hear chattering, glasses clinking. He wasn't sure, but he could swear he heard his wife's voice asking Brian who he was talking to.

"Hey Brother in law," Timmy forced himself to sound cheerful.

"Hey," Brian agreed and waited.

"So, uh, where are y'all?" Timmy asked.

"We're at the restaurant; it's Mom's birthday," Brian said.

"Uh huh; Peggy forgot to tell me which restaurant," Timmy said, hoping to ferret the information from the dullard.

"Huh? What? We're at Side By Side," Brian said.

"On my way," Timmy said, throwing his car in reverse.

He nearly t-boned a 1965 glossy red Mustang. The beautiful blonde driving the classic automobile screamed insults at him as she drove away.

At Side By Side Steakhouse, Timmy was told there was no McCall party. Trying Brian's cell phone again, Timmy found that he'd been blocked.

Suddenly, he remembered he and Peggy had downloaded the 'Find My Phone' App on their phones. Of course, Timmy had removed the app from his own phone when Peggy wasn't watching. The last thing he needed was for her to trace him to the Arrow Court Apartments, or to 1211 Cross Circle in Pinoaks, Louisiana. Even as he scrolled through, trying to find the app on his phone, Timmy smiled, thinking of Ruth Newsbaum, nee Eissenbach. The very wealthy widow of one Aaron Newsbaum, the woman did love to fuck.

The 'Find My Phone' was blank; apparently Peggy had removed the app from her phone. For a split second, Timmy was angered by this; how dare she want to avoid him finding her. Then he remembered he had removed his 'Find My Phone' app from his own phone for that very reason.

Dejected, Timmy drove home. The smells of both Benito's and Side By Side had fueled his appetite, but none of the fast food restaurants in the area appealed to him. So, safely in his home again, Timmy threw one of Peggy's Lean Cuisine meals into the microwave. Cold can of beer in hand, Timmy began to read the petition for the dissolution of his marriage to the cute, bubbly little chubby red head.

"Should have never married her," Timmy mumbled, reading the legal mumbo-jumbo.

"Should have just fucked her and..." he thought bitterly.

To date, he had seven children that he knew about. Of course, only three of those mothers knew for certain that he was the father. Four if he counted Peggy.

When Timmy had worked at the family business, O'Neil's Furniture & Appliances, he rotated between delivery truck and sales floor. Young women smiled and flirted with the delivery crew, often with their boyfriends or husbands not even three feet away. Timmy could ferret out which ones were serious, which ones were just flirting to make their significant other jealous.

On the sales floor, some women flirted, hoping to get better deals on the furniture, appliances, televisions. Some flirted because they wanted dick. Again, Timmy was good at differentiating between the two groups.

Some would come in a few months later, DNA test kits in hand. Timmy would take the kits into the back and get Jerome, the driver of the delivery crew to do the swab. Or, he would get Bobby Fitzgerald, a fellow salesman to do the swab. The girls would leave and be none the wiser why there was no match for the bun in their oven.

That came to a crashing end for Bobby Fitzgerald, though. Apparently, Timmy had not been the only O'Neil's employee to fuck the cute little blonde. A few days after Corrine, Carol, Carlotta, whatever her name was had left the store, she came back with her father and some very young looking attorney and cornered Bobby. Together, Bobby, the girl's father, and Robbie Patterson, the attorney hammered out a payment plan.

"Next time, mother fucker? Get someone else do your fucking DNA swabs," Bobby had muttered darkly after the somber trio left the store.

Included in the paperwork was a note from Dr. Ellen Sweetman on her official letterhead. Timmy's head hurt from reading the legalese and now trying to decipher the medical jargon. The microwave chirped loudly again, alerting Timmy that his forgotten meal was ready.

Timmy understood 'chlamydia' in the doctor's note. He also understood that he was being instructed to make an appointment with his primary care physician to have the sexually transmitted disease treated. His insurance provider had assigned him to Dr. Mark Furbisher; Timmy did not care for the man; he seemed too jovial, too friendly.

"And fuck. I'm going have give them the names... All right! All right! I'm coming, miserable fucking microwave," Timmy sighed then yelled as the oven gave another chirp.

Timmy ate, wondering how Peggy could stomach these meals. Even in the goo the box called a 'delicious sauce,' the chicken was too dry and the vegetables had an odd taste to them. He ate sullenly and went through the list of sexual partners since his last checkup.

"Dawn, Ruth, fuck, what, what was that fat little bitch's name; come on, come on. Had that big juicy ass; Emily! Emily Childs, no, no, Childress. And damn, that little cheerleader, um..." Timmy mused.

His cell phone chimed, indicating he had a text message. Timmy quickly grabbed his phone, smearing some of the 'delicious sauce' onto the screen. But the message was from his nineteen year old sister, not his wife.

'Way to go, loser,' Aine had texted.

"Aine!" Timmy said, remembering how he had met Peggy.