The Dollhouse

by Stacia Stone

  “Complete ownership, of course.”

  I looked between them, my confusion slowly turning to horror. “What are you talking about?”

  The Procurer turned to me with a gentle smile, one that I would have called fatherly under literally any other circumstances. “In exchange for accepting any future financial responsibility, Mr. Berkmore-Hathaway is offering you an exclusive contract.”

  My voice was small. “What does that mean?”

  Julian turned to me for the first time, his eyes dark and swirling with emotions that I didn’t understand. “It means you would be mine.”

  I tried to ignore the quiver of awareness that shot through me at his words. “Last I heard, slavery is illegal.”

  “You’d be free to go at anytime,” the Procurer said, in a voice that he obviously thought was reassuring. “If you’re willing to accept the consequences. Your consent is, of course, still required.”

  I glared at them both. “There’s a pretty thin line between consent and coercion.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And if I say yes?” I balled my fists to keep my voice from quavering. “What about my family? What would I tell them?”

  “You’ve been awarded a fantastic opportunity abroad with Berkmore and are unable to return for some time — but it’s the job of your dreams.” Julian’s voice was mild. I couldn’t fight the feeling that he should be more upset by all of this. “They will want for nothing, of course.”

  “If we cannot come to terms,” the Procurer said, his voice careful. “The two of you will never see each other again.”

  Julian turned to me, moving closer but carefully not touching. “The choice is yours.”

  “It’s not really much of a choice, is it?”

  “There’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere.” His fingers grazed my cheek. I wanted to pull away but couldn’t. “Tell me you want to be mine, Dalea. Say yes.”

  Everything inside of me resisted the idea of being owned — of being property. But the dark voice in my head, the one that whispered Julian’s name on an endless loop, was desperate to be his.

  The money didn’t really matter. There was nothing the Dollhouse could do to me that life hadn’t already done. If it wasn’t the Dollhouse, it would be my mother’s medical bills or my brother’s legal fees or whatever new pile of shit that the universe decided to dump onto my life.

  But there was only one Julian.

  I wanted to scream, or run. I wanted to go back to being the girl who didn’t have to make these kinds of decisions — the girl who’d never stepped foot inside of the Dollhouse.

  “Say yes,” Julian whispered. It wasn’t an order, but more of a plea.

  No! I screamed inside of my own head, bucking at the loss of freedom. I was a person, not a possession. My lips formed the negative, tongue moving to tell them both exactly where their offer could go. Instead, I found myself saying the words that would seal my fate.

  “Yes.”

  The Procurer slid our new contract across the desk. The stack of paper was as thick as my wrist. I was sure that trying to actually read it would send my head spinning off into outer space.

  "This contract is significantly more...restrictive, than our normal boilerplate." The Procurer produced a pen from the pocket of his coat and laid it gently on the table next to the contract. "Would you like to review the terms before you sign?"

  "Yes, please," I said, even though we had already gone over each clause — in exhausting detail — at least a dozen times.

  I was stalling and we all knew it.

  "The non-disclosure agreement remains in force, much as it always has. The majority of the additional clauses are in regards to the nature of your sexual relationship — and the restrictions on your freedom."

  I sucked in a harsh breath. "That's a fancy way of putting it."

  "We've taken into account your sexual boundaries — hard limits, as they're termed here — the acts in which you are unwilling to engage. Would you like me to list those for you?"

  "No," I said, still embarrassed that I was going to be putting my name on a contract with the word scat in it. "That's okay."

  "We have also stipulated that no permanent damage may be done to you. Play is limited to injuries that will heal."

  I shivered at his words, fighting the curl of desire that settled in my belly. "How very kind of you."

  The Procurer ignored my sarcastic tone. "The initial contract length has been designated at sixty days, at which time contract terms may be renegotiated."

  "And what about my family?"

  "Financial arrangements are outlined here in sub-clause five, paragraph two." The Procurer flipped to the appropriate page and indicated the place with a sweep of his hand. "Your family is to be awarded bimonthly payments through wire transfer equivalent to the current salary that you receive at Berkmore Global.”

  "Payments will continue for the duration of contract length on the condition that you abide by the clause dictating limited contact. No more than one phone call per week, to be supervised by Mr. Berkmore-Hathaway, and absolutely no in-person interactions."

  I turned to Julian, who had not spoken since the Procurer had presented the final version of the contract. He sat in the corner with a glass of wine hanging loosely from his hand, sunk into the shadows.

  "Why does it matter to you if I see my family?"

  Julian didn't answer. I couldn't make out his face in the darkness, but I felt his gaze on me.

  "The time for negotiation has passed," the Procurer said, breaking the silence. "Now is the time to sign."

  Julian rose from the chair and moved up beside me, still silent. He bent over my shoulder where I sat at the desk. The feel of him so close to me caused my heart to speed up with stuttering beats.

  He didn't touch me, merely picked up the pen and signed his name with looping strokes at the bottom of the contract.

  The Procurer slid the contract over to me. "Ms. Moreno."

  I waited for the crash of lightning and thunder — something to indicate the importance of what I was about to do. But the only sound in the room was the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the corner and my harsh breathing.

  My fingers trembled as I picked up the pen.

  I had a sudden flashback to the first time that I sat at this desk, pen poised to sign a contract that I didn't really understand. That impulsive decision had brought me to this place, where I was once again trapped by forces I couldn’t control.

  Was I really stupid enough to make the same mistake twice?

  Julian did touch me then, the back of his hand stroking lightly down my cheek. Even that slight contact was enough to set a fire burning inside of me that only he could extinguish.

  With a sigh, I scratched the pen quickly across the paper before I had chance to talk myself out of it.

  "What now?" I asked, cursing the breathy quality of my voice.

  Julian spoke then and his voice was hard and smooth, like steel dipped in dark chocolate.

  "Now, you're mine."

  Julian was silent as the same car that had brought us to the Dollhouse whisked us towards the airport. Even as I waited for him to give me some indication of what he was thinking or of what he wanted. I watched his profile as he stared out the window into the night, brooding.

  The painful tension finally became too much for me to bear. "Where are we going?"

  He glanced at me with a look of slight surprise as if he'd forgotten that I was even there. "I suppose you'll find out when we get there."

  "You seem upset." I shifted in the seat until I was facing him. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

  "I do not like having my hand forced."

  I was out of patience for his dramatic changes in mood. “So you should be the only one to do the forcing? That doesn't seem fair."

  The gaze that he turned on me was dark as a storm cloud. "Don't test me, Dalea. You won't like what happens."

  Perhaps he was more like me than I thought, ca
ught between being controlled by his desires and his desire to be in control.

  The idea that I had any power over him at all thrilled me. "All of that chasing and you finally caught me. I thought you'd be happier."

  He turned back to the window and made a low grunting sound in his throat, but didn't respond.

  "Or maybe you're afraid--"

  Julian moved so quickly that I didn't have a chance to react. I blinked and he was on top of me, pressing me down into the leather seat.

  "I would be happy," he bit out. "If that pretty mouth of yours was doing something besides talking."

  The kiss he forced on me was deep and all-consuming. His mouth took mine possessively, lips and tongue roving over me like he knew it all belonged to him.

  I couldn't stop my knees from falling open and he took advantage of the opportunity, sliding our bodies fully together so I was forced to bear the full weight of him. His hands caught at mine and raised them above my head, in a move that I was quickly starting to recognize as a signature of his. He used one hand to pinion my wrists against the side of the door in a hold that was impossible to fight.

  He broke the kiss and pressed his mouth to my neck, nipping and biting at the skin. He found a a sensitive spot just under the bend of my jaw and sucked hard. I moaned.

  "That's good," he murmured against my overheated skin. "But I think we can do better."

  Julian rained kisses on my throat and neck, alternatively sucking, licking and pressing his teeth hard into my flesh with enough force that it was just this side of biting. He took advantage of the fact that the blouse I wore wasn’t completely buttoned and his lips grazed the soft curve of one breast.

  My body arched into him, or tried to given the small distance between us. He held me trapped against the seat and I had no way to escape his attentions, even if I had wanted to.

  His free hand yanked down my blouse, revealing my breast. He lowered his head and wrapped his lips around an exposed nipple, sucking the hardened peak forcefully into his mouth.

  I writhed against him, my body desperate for relief from the fire he stoked within me.

  "Please—“

  "Be quiet," he ordered, his mouth momentarily ceasing its attention. "You'll take what I give you and thank me for it."

  But I couldn't stop the mewling cries that issued unbidden from my throat as he continued his onslaught. I wanted — no needed! — more.

  My hips rocked against him, the movement erratic and uncontrolled. I could feel him nestled against me, his erection growing larger with each thrust of my body. I intentionally ground myself into him, hoping to goad him into some sort of action. If he even noticed the movement, he paid it no attention.

  It was as if the more desperate I became, the more controlled and still it made him, raising my frustration to new heights.

  When Julian pulled away, it left me cold and wanting. He returned to his side of the seat as his hands rose to adjust the front of his rumpled suit jacket.

  I lay there and glared at him, coming down slowly from the dizzying heights, still desperate and unsatisfied. The unfulfilled need that I felt was so great that it was almost a type of physical pain.

  "That's it?" I huffed the question.

  He glanced over at me, expression unconcerned, as if he hadn't just been suckling my breasts while I dry-humped him into oblivion. The calmness of his manner only infuriated me more.

  "That's lesson one." He watched me gather myself together, still shaking from anger and frustrated desire. "You don't always get what you want."

  15

  It wasn't until town car pulled off the highway at the exit for O'Hare airport that it truly dawned on me what I had signed up for.

  "We're flying!?" It was more of an involuntary outburst than a question.

  "Yes," Julian said, his voice clipped.

  "How is that going to work exactly?" I asked sarcastically. It was embarrassing how angry my frustrating lack of an orgasm made me, but the emotion was there all the same. "You don't think airport security will think it's a little suspicious that I don't have any baggage?"

  "We're not flying commercial."

  "Oh, of course not," I muttered sarcastically.

  In any other situation, the thought of flying on a private jet would have been beyond exciting. I'd only flown on an airplane once to visit my grandmother when I was a kid and the experience had not been particularly grand. Between the stale peanuts, turbulence-induced nausea and multiple crying babies, I hadn't considered the trip to be particularly memorable.

  But private jets were something that only existed for the rich and famous, people who could afford to take their decadent lifestyle 10,000 feet into the air. I almost wished my family could be here to see it, of course that would require explaining what we were doing there in the first place. I frowned at the thought.

  Julian watched the play of emotions cross my face and something he saw must have amused him. "Everything you think shows up on your face."

  Our eyes met and despite my frustration, I felt a rekindling of the desire that had just so recently faded. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

  "It does make things easier." He reached out and stroked the back of his hand down my cheek. I shuddered in response. "Are you still angry with me?"

  "I don't know," I said honestly, the war of emotions inside of me too close to call a winner. "Will you tell me where we're going?"

  "Away," he said simply. "To a place without distractions or interference."

  The significance that his voice placed on the last word sent a shiver shooting down my spine. "Is it far away?"

  "Far enough."

  The thought of being alone with him and completely under his control nearly undid me. There would be no limits imposed on the length of time, like in the Dollhouse, practically no limit on what he could do to me and no chance of being discovered.

  Or saved.

  A wave of desire washed over me at the thought.

  I swayed towards him but his hand fell away, leaving me cold. "Please, I can’t—“

  "You can," he said simply. "Because you have to."

  "Why are you doing this to me?" My voice was plaintive.

  "I haven't even begun. I'm going to tease you to heights higher than you’ve ever climbed and just when you are on the brink of release, I'm going to stop." Julian's voice was whisper-soft. He closed the distance between us and his fingers stroked down the side of my neck. "I'm going to torture you."

  "Why?" I asked, near tears.

  "To teach you about unfulfilled desire." The set of his mouth was grim. “Maybe to punish you."

  Whatever I would have said — assuming I would have thought of anything to say at all — died in my throat when a loud knock came on the divider between the front and back seat. I realized blearily that the car had stopped.

  "We're here," he whispered against the delicate shell of my ear before pulling away and getting out of the car.

  I was frozen in place. The driver came around to my side of the car and opened the door. I forced myself to climb out on legs that had gone as rubbery as overcooked spaghetti.

  We were parked in a small lot that was nearly empty, doubtless because it was so late in the evening. But we weren't at the main terminal. Instead, a small building lay in front of us that was about the size of a restaurant. I could see the blinking lights of the runway stretching out into the distance.

  Julian came up beside me and gripped my arm to propel me forward.

  "Is this the airport?” I asked confused.

  "It's an FBO. Private planes don't fly out of the main airport, but they use the same runways."

  "Fancy."

  "Back in the good old days, they used to let you drive right up to the plane and board. Of course, security is much tighter these days. Still, it's more convenient this way — no airport security, no baggage claim, no crying babies."

  We easily slipped into a rhythm as we walked. It was like I was in tune with him even now. "I cou
ld definitely do without the crying babies."

  "Really," he said, arching an eyebrow. "No plans to be a mother yourself someday."

  "Maybe in a hundred years." I tamped down on the rebellious image of what it would be like to have his baby. That couldn't possibly be what he meant. "I have to figure out how to take care of myself first."

  His hand moved to touch the small of my back. "I suppose that is the safer option."

  The dark promise in his voice made me shiver.

  I stopped at the doors, suddenly unable to take another step forward as the full import of what I was about to do settled over me. "I don't know if I can do this."

  Julian stopped too and turned to face me. I expected him to be cruel, to threaten me over the contract that I had signed and force me to go with him.

  Instead, his hands came up to delicately cup my face. He leaned in close enough that I thought he was going to kiss me, but he paused close enough that our lips just barely touched as he spoke.

  "If you want to go, I won't stop you. You always have a choice." He did kiss me then, a chaste press of his lips on my forehead that shouldn't have been as arousing as it was. "You're here because you want to be, because you would go anywhere for me."

  The truth of it struck my heart like a poisoned arrow. The ache in my chest was akin to physical pain.

  I loved him — loved him more than it was possible to bear, because I knew he didn't feel the same way. And I couldn't ever tell him.

  He already had enough power over me.

  His thumb moved to catch the tear that fell down my cheek. "Just say yes."

  "Yes."

  The pilot met us in the lobby of the FOB. I expected him to at least ask me for identification. I knew how I must have looked in my rumpled clothes with my purse hanging limply from my shoulder — like a reject from the office version of the Hunger Games.

  But it only took a few murmured words from Julian before we were waved forward to the Gulfstream waiting on the tarmac. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I should be running in the opposite direction. But I walked forward, his hand at my back urging me onward.