The Dollhouse Society: Isabelle (New Adult BDSM Erotica)

by Eden Myles

  “I came, but you weren’t there,” Myles said. “It wasn’t the same, so I left early and went back to my car. Now I’m just sitting here, and I can’t move, and I’m shaking. How ridiculous is that?”

  “Myles, calm down, I said. “Just calm down.”

  “I keep thinking about that sonofabitch, what he did, and I just can’t stop crying, Iz…”

  “You’re only having a panic attack. It’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s nothing to be afraid of anymore,” I told him, hoping to talk him down from his meltdown. “Take a few deep breaths and try to relax…”

  “I’m trying, Iz, I’m really trying…”

  “I want you to go back inside and talk to Christa…”

  “Christa’s gone. They’re all gone, Iz, and I can’t stop crying and shaking.”

  I sighed. “Don’t drive, all right, hon? Just don’t drive. I’ll come get you.”

  “Oh, god, Iz…oh, god…”

  “Stay right there, Myles. I’m coming to get you.”

  The first thing I did was call Stefan, hoping he’d drive out with me to the other side of the campus to pick up Myles, but after seven rings, it went to his voicemail, and I realized Stef had probably turned off his phone, maybe because he was with his boyfriend. I thought about going to the west wing where his dorm was and pounding on his door, but that would take too long. What if Myles blew off my advice and tried to drive, or hurt himself while he waited for me?

  “Stef, it’s me. If you get this, I’m letting you know that Myles is in trouble and I’m picking him up outside the cafeteria. Call me back ASAP. Thanks.”

  I jumped out of bed and threw on my early-morning jogging clothes and a pair of running shoes, then went downstairs to the student parking lot and jumped in my car. It was a quick five minute drive to the other side of the campus where the cafeteria was located, the place where we held our weekly support group meeting.

  I drove through the cafeteria parking lot, but didn’t immediately spot Myles’s car. On the second turn, I finally noticed his battered old truck parked under a burned out sodium lamp in a dark corner of the lot. It looked empty, and I realized Myles had likely gone back inside. Sighing, I pulled alongside his truck and cut the engine. When I stepped out into the lot, I immediately regretted not throwing on a jacket before I left my dorm; it was early November, but it definitely felt like snow tonight.

  Huddled down in my hoodie, I raced inside the cafeteria. “Myles?” I called as the door shut pneumatically behind me. My voice echoed back to me. The halls were dim and unoccupied. There was a serving cart in the hallway that someone had forgotten, and the big corkboard where students hung notices about new groups and clubs, but I saw no trace of Myles.

  “Myles!” I called louder. A part of me started to panic. I thought about calling his sister and telling her that Myles was likely in trouble, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to involve her just yet. I’d likely be waking her up, panicking her, and I had no idea if there was anything to be panicked about.

  I checked the cafeteria, saw it was empty, then let the swinging doors fall shut. I started down the corridor toward the north wing of the college that eventually led to the gymnasium and shop and automotive classrooms. I desperately hoped Myles hadn’t gone down to shop to maybe find a tool to commit self-harm with, and the thought frightened me. I knew how desperate someone like Myles could feel, how helpless and out of control.

  The corridors were dim and empty. Most nights, there was security guard walking the grounds and you could see him right outside the windows as he paroled the student parking lot. But tonight I didn’t see anyone. I stopped and called, “Myles?” but received no answer, so I kept going until I reached the gym.

  I stopped to peek inside. I saw the shadowy outlines of the horses and balancing beams the gymnasts used during the day, but no Myles. I kept going until I reached Shop and Automotive. The corridor was longer and even darker here, with fewer lights and doors on both sides, some leading to the shop and woodworking classes, some leading to the outside automotive garages. I opened the ones that were unlocked, called into them.

  “Myles, where are you?” I called much louder, growing both irritated and concerned.

  An outside door slammed in the long corridor behind me and I automatically whirled around. “Myles? Are you there? Myles!”

  I could hear footsteps echoing from just around the last bend. I started that way, wondering what kind of sick joke this was, and why Myles wasn’t answering me, but as I closed in on the footsteps, Clark suddenly stepped out into the corridor to face me.

  I stopped and looked at him, told myself this couldn’t be, even as a wave of nausea overwhelmed me for a moment.

  “Just couldn’t stay away, could you, bitch?” he said.

  “Are you following me?” I cried, surprised by the rage in my voice. I was scared and alone, but, finally, mad as hell. I was tired of being afraid of Clark. Tired of Clark running my life this way.

  “I had to make certain you and Christa weren’t running your big, fat mouths!”

  “I’m not here for Christa! You go home and leave me alone!”

  “You talking to her, cow?”

  “Fuck you!”

  His face blanked like the good little psychopath he was. He started toward me, and I saw the flash of the orange box cutter in his hand. I thought about screaming, but I was pretty sure there was no one in the building to hear. It would be a waste of energy.

  Instead, I turned on my heels and raced back down the corridor, even as I heard the pounding of Clark’s footsteps closing in behind me. I grabbed at the doorknob of the first door I came to but it was locked, I tried the second and third. Locked! I abandoned the rest of the shop classes and ran full tilt, heart slamming around my chest like a windblown bird, to the automotive garage. That, at least, was open.

  The campus taught restoration classes on the weekends, and there were several classical cars up on lifts. I spotted an emergency fire exit, but I knew if I hit the crash bar, sirens would go off, and then Clark would know I was out in the parking lot. Could I outrun him before fire trucks or police cars arrived? I doubted it. But it did give me an idea.

  I hit the crash bar and the alarms started singing, but then turned on my heels and slipped behind a vintage Mustang on a lift. I pressed my back flat to the dented panel of the car, hoping the darkness would shield me and the sirens would frighten or deter Clark.

  No such luck. He pounded into the garage moments later, despite the alarms going off, then headed for the exit.

  Please, I thought, peeking out from behind the Mustang. Please, please, please go out into the parking lot. Response times for campus fires were usually very quick—ten minutes, at most. I only had to hold out that long before half the police force arrived.

  I held my breath and waited. Clark, looking pissed and gripping the knife like he meant business, kicked the door fully open, then stepped out into the night.

  Thank god! I thought, though I stayed exactly where I was for the next few minutes. Very distantly, I could hear the first whine of an approaching fire truck. I took that as a good sign that help was on its way and slipped out from behind the Mustang, hoping to make a beeline for the corridor.

  But as I started that way, someone grabbed me around the shoulders and pulled me back against his body. Clark. I tried to fight and kick, but I was just too small to do much damage.

  “You fucking bitch! Did you think you could outwit me?”

  The box cutter flashed across the side of my face. The blade caught me at the top of my cheekbone and slashed my skin at a diagonal, peeling back a good flap of flesh. I didn’t feel pain, just a sickening numbness as my blood painted the side of the Mustang. I screamed through blood and panic, so loud that Clark actually let me go. I fell down onto my knees, then scrambled up and made for the exit into the corridor. Clark swore and I heard the pounding of his feet as he pursued me.

  I was now running on pure adrenaline. Desperate, I covered the l
ong, dark corridor in seconds, turned the bend…and nearly ran straight into Dorian, who was standing there in a long, dark grey raincoat, a dangerous expression on his face. I marveled but did not question this miracle. I ran straight into his arm and he looped one long arm around me even as Clark pounded around the corner toward us.

  He suddenly stopped, and as I turned around, I saw he wore a deer-in-the-headlights expression. He hadn’t expected to see someone like Dorian in the college corridors in the middle of the night.

  “You!” Dorian boomed, and his striking blue eyes held a peculiar kind of dangerous fire. He stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body.

  Clark stopped, dropped the knife, and immediately turned and headed back down the corridor, only to stop once more. Damian was stepping out of the Automotive Garage, dressed exactly like his brother, in a similar coat that managed to hide all his tattoos so they were identical. Clark stuttered at the sight of two men who looked exactly alike. He couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of his situation.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Damian asked with a cruel, lopsided smile on his face. He was carrying a tire iron from the garage, slapping the heavy piece of iron against his open palm.

  Clark turned, looking for an escape, but then immediately stopped as Dorian closed the distance between them, forcing Clark to back up closer to Damian. To anyone else looking on, the men were completely alike, but after spending so much time with them both, I could tell them easily apart.

  Dorian didn’t have a weapon, but both big fists were clenched, and he looked capable of murder. If I were Clark, I would have taken my chances with Damian, tire iron or no tire iron. But the sight of Damian’s predatory smirk made him back up until he was practically within reach of Dorian. Bad move on his part.

  Clark raised his hands. “My dad’s rich. He owns the police.”

  Damian quirked an eyebrow. “Hey, bro, we put a couple of cops’ faces back together pro bono after that accident last year, didn’t we?”

  “We did indeed,” Dorian drawled. “You might even say the police owe us one.” Dorian reached out one long arm and clenched the back of Clark’s neck, sending the smaller man to his knees with a scream. He nodded to Damian, and Damian lifted the tired iron.

  Both brothers laid into him at once.

  ***

  I was sitting up in one of the big, comfy beds in the Michaels brothers’ convalescence hall, watching an old movie on the TV in the corner of the room, when Stef peeked in the half-open door. “Iz?” he said.

  I switched off the TV with the remote and said, “Stef!”

  He came over and gave me a huge, tight hug, then set the bouquet of yellow roses he’d brought me on the bedside table. “How are you feeling, Izzy Pop?”

  “A little woozy,” I admitted. “But Damian said the anesthetic might do that. I was under a long time while Dorian fixed this.” I indicated the bandaged right side of my face.

  After the police and EMT’s had arrived to pick up the battered and broken Clark, one of the First Responders had insisted I go back to the hospital to have my wound assessed and dressed, but Dorian and Damian had stepped in and insisted I go back with them so Dorian could fix my face.

  At first, I was a little worried that the police would insist on normal procedure, but apparently the Michaels brothers wielded far more power than even I was aware of, and with just a single, brief call to the Police Commissioner I was suddenly being ushered into my lovers’ limo and being whiskered back to the house so Dorian could perform midnight surgery.

  It had taken half the night, but he’d promised me the surgery was so successful, I wouldn’t even have a scar when the bandages came off in a few days.

  “I get that the Michaels brothers are connected to the police. The only thing I don’t understand, and that they won’t tell me, is how they knew I’d be at the college at that hour,” I told him.

  Stef blushed. “They don’t want to tell you because they’re afraid you’ll get pissed at me.” He cleared his throat. “After I heard on voicemail that you’d gone to pick up Myles—who, by the way, had already been picked up by his sister—I got so mad at you for putting yourself in danger, I called them and told them everything about what happened to you. I told them I didn’t feel good about you being out there alone on campus with that shithead Clark still on the loose. I was hoping they’d talk some sense into you, because I sure knew you wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “But how did you know about Clark in the first place? That he’d come back?”

  Stef pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was the note that Clark had written, threatening me and my grandmother, the one I’d thought I’d thrown out weeks ago. “I found this in your trash when we had that pizza night a few weeks back. You should hang onto it. It’s police evidence now.”

  “You went through my trash?” My voice rose three octaves.

  Stef shrugged. “I know you, Izzy Pop. When you started acting all weird, I knew something was up. I knew it probably had to do with Clark, so yeah.” He leaned down to kiss my forehead carefully. “But only because I care about you, you idiot, and you never open up, so I gotta be all sneaky around you all the time.”

  It was too much. I burst into tears.

  Stef let me cry on his shoulder. A few moments later, Damian and Dorian stepped into the room, looking concerned by the scene I was making. I waved to let them know I wasn’t in any pain. The morphine drip was more than doing its job. “I’m fine. Stef’s just been filling me in.”

  They Michaels brothers came and sat on both sides of my bed. Both brothers took one of my hands. Dorian kissed my knuckles while Damian squeezed my fingers reassuringly. I felt like I had two guardian angels looking over me.

  “You know you should have told us about Clark,” Damian reprimanded me. “We could have protected you from the start, Belle.”

  “I didn’t want to endanger either one of you,” I sniffed. “And besides…I was so ashamed. I was so afraid.”

  Stef, sensing there was much to discuss, kissed me one last time, then quietly exited so I could be alone with my two lovers. Dorian and Damian squeezed my hands. It felt good. I felt safe at last, protected. Clark was going away for life, the evidence against him staggering. Even his rich father wasn’t going to be able to bail his sorry ass out this time.

  “Still, you should have come to us,” Dorian leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “And you have absolutely no reason to be ashamed, my dear. What happened wasn’t your fault. It was never, ever, your fault.”

  Finally, finally, I was starting to believe that. I was starting to feel worthy.

  “I wasn’t really a virgin when we were together that first time,” I confessed through my sniffles, then realized they probably already knew that, had figured that out.

  “Your first time wasn’t consensual, Belle,” Dorian said.

  “And you were a virgin,” Damian finished.

  I smiled at that.

  ***

  I looked in the full-length mirror at the costume dress the Michaels brothers had dressed me in. It was a black, diaphanous little maid’s dress that was stretched tight over my rosy-tipped breasts and hips and the dark thatch of hair at the juncture of my thighs. It left nothing to the imagination. It was trimmed at the bustline and hem with white lace, and had a cute little white apron and a white lace choker. I wore black fishnet thigh-high stockings and feathered mules with four-inch heels.

  Dorian and Damian came up behind me in their pressed black tuxedos and stood like a wall of elegant muscle at my back. Dorian looped an arm protectively around my waist. Damian squeezed my left ass cheek in a friendly, protective and possessive manner. Dorian leaned down to kiss my ear and the black pearl and diamond chandelier earring there. He bit gently at my earlobe, making me shiver, and said, “You look gorgeous. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Belle.”

  I giggled nervously at his ridiculous compliment.

  “Nervous?”r />
  “No,” I said. It was the truth. “I’m excited to play with both of you.”

  “You’ll be the Belle of the ball,” Damian quipped and the three of us laughed at that.

  In the limo, on the way over to the Dollhouse, I wore a silk raincoat over my scandalous outfit and sat in Dorian’s lap with my legs in Damian’s lap, snugly secure between my two gentlemen. My protectors. My angels. My world. Damian raced his fingers up my stockinged leg and then between my legs, testing my wetness. I squirmed a little. In the close confines of the limo, I could smell my own arousal already.

  “Are you sure you aren’t in any pain, my dear?” Dorian asked with concern, his voice muffled against my hair.

  “I’ve been fine for weeks, Dorian. I’m fine now.” I couldn’t be angry with how concerned they were for me, but I was growing frustrated with how they babied me sometimes. “I’m your partner in the business,” I reminded him. “And I want to be your courtesan in full as well.”

  Ahead, we were coming upon the Dollhouse. It was a huge, palatial house, almost like something you’d expect to see in the Deep South, a rambling stone colonial manor that sat on acres of manicured green lawn on the southernmost tip of Staten Island. Beyond it, I could hear the distant roar of Raritan Bay. According to Dorian and Damian, it was one of the oldest houses in New York, and one of its best-kept secrets.

  My gentlemen escorted me up the steep stone path to the front door, and then we were past the doorman and I sucked in a breath at the Old World charm of the Dollhouse, the rustic wood, huge, old portraiture, vast black and white floors, and amazingly detailed erotica on all the walls.

  Felix and her gentleman Alex immediately spotted us. Felix waved, then bounced over to hug me as if we were long-lost sisters. “I’m so glad to see you here, Belle! I just know we’ll be bestest friends ever!”

  Felix’s bubbly personality was infectious and I found myself giggling with her.

  “Let me show you around,” she said, dragging me all over the mansion for the next half hour while the gentlemen talked among themselves.