The Dollhouse Society Ultimate Boxset: 21 Books & 5 Shorts in the Dollhouse Society Series

by Eden Myles

  Stewart drew himself up taller. “She’s mine. She’s going to be my wife!”

  “I don’t think so,” Tiberius said. “And I think it’s best if you leave now.”

  Stewart looked over Tiberius. Judging the other man bigger and stronger, he decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valor.

  ***

  The second time Tiberius and I visited the Dollhouse, I knew a little more about what to expect, and I was a great deal less nervous, though I quickly learned I should have been. Inside the foyer, the ushers took my cloak and Tiberius’s greatcoat. He then turned to me, took my hand, and tucked it properly into the crook of his arm.

  He had been very quiet during the carriage ride, though he’d insisted I sit on his lap. He knew I was still upset about the Sinterklaas celebration and Stuart finding me in such a compromising position. I kept expecting Stuart to return to my father’s house, to confront me about it. But I hadn’t seen him in days.

  During the ride, Tiberius spent a great deal of time exploring my curves and delving into the eager nooks under my skirts until I was soaking wet. Then he undid his trousers and slid me easily down upon his substantial erection and held me tight against the front of his body while he nibbled my ear and growled softly against my throat. Every bump in the road drove his cock a little deeper inside the seeping warmth of my body until I felt I might explode from the overfill of emotion—my love for Tiberius, my lust to be as close as possible to my lover. When the carriage finally stopped outside the Dollhouse, we tarried a few minutes longer while Tiberius let me ride his lap, my inner muscles clutching him so fiercely his growls quickly turned to soft cries in the dark. I rode him hard and milked him thoroughly and completely of spend, just the way he liked it. Then we went inside.

  “Are you all right, love?” he asked me now.

  “Yes, of course,” I answered, and he dropped his arm so he could encircle my waist and set his big hand on my backside as we moved from the anteroom into the great room where all the grand, erotic portraiture waited. In polite society, such a gesture would have been considered improper, a gesture to be used only on a prostitute, but I liked the possessive way he clutched me, the way he signaled to others that I was his. We’d arrived late at the Dollhouse, and the other courtesans and their gentlemen were already pairing up as they prepared to find a room to perform in for the night.

  Tiberius passed a few words with some gentleman he knew while I circled the room, studying the paintings on the walls. The courtesans in the pictures were painted pale white, like swans in human skins lying on divans and couches, nude or nearly so, wreathed in flowers or strips of cloth. But there were also pictures of courtesans and their gentleman. The courtesans sat on their gentlemen’s laps, or lay beneath them or upon their gentlemen’s faces in gestures so overt they left me giggling.

  Tiberius came up beside me and slid one hand around my waist. The other pushed my skirt up the back of my legs so the coolness of the room touched me, and soon his fingers were tracing my buttocks and crack. He rested his chin atop my head. “Have you found something funny?” he asked with interest.

  I wriggled against him in response. “More…inspirational.”

  “Ah…what do you find inspirational, Lucky?”

  “I like this one.” I pointed to the picture of a gentleman birching his courtesan, who was tied to a post of their bed. “But is he hurting her?”

  “I rather doubt it. Would you like to do that with me, Lucky?”

  “Only if you don’t hurt me. I mean…not really.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  I pushed against him, and one of his fingers found its way inside me briefly. I wanted him inside me anyway I could get him. “Yes.”

  His breath tickled my ear as he hugged me against the front of his body. “I won’t hurt you. You know that.”

  He told me the safe word for the night, then he took my hand and led me down a long corridor with various rooms to either side. We stopped to watch several gentlemen putting their courtesans through their paces. Some were very ingenious, like the gentleman who had suspended his courtesan in a rope swing through a number of intricate knots, and another courtesan who was crouching over an eton bench and submitting to a flogger while expertly balancing a stack of books and an apple on her head.

  When we came upon what looked like a sultan’s palace bedroom, full of columns, low, gold-painted furniture, and a huge, four-poster bed draped in royal red veils, I couldn’t resist leading Tiberius into the sumptuous room and glancing around. It was even more beautiful than woodcuts I had seen in books on the Far and Middle East, and the whole room smelled like roses and sandlewood incense. “It’s like being in Arabia,” I said with a shiver of delight. “Is this what it’s like, Tiberius?”

  He looked over the room approvingly. “I shall take you to the Far East someday, and you’ll discover it on your own,” he told me as he drew me back against the front of his body almost like a waltz. I could feel him stirring in the small of my back. His hand played over the front of my body, teasing my nipples into hard nubs through my dress, and then he led me to the bed.

  I sat down on the edge while he carefully unwrapped the layers of my clothing, licking and kissing and lathering each newly revealed inch of my skin with his tongue until I was wet and sleek from his attentions. I giggled when he licked under my arm and along the side of my body, his tongue tickling me. “How do you do that?” he asked with wonder.

  “What?”

  “You act like a little girl and a woman all at once.” He seized my face in his big, slim hands and kissed me softly, completely, biting at the open “O” of my mouth. He rubbed his calloused thumbs across my cheeks. “You let me do anything I want to you, you let me fill you again and again, but you’re incorruptible. It’s like your innocence cannot be breached.”

  “I think you breached my innocence just fine,” I laughed gaily against his mouth.

  He smiled at that. “No. I think not,” he argued. “You’re not like other women, are you?”

  I giggled at that too.

  He turned his head and bit the side of my neck, hard.

  “Ouch!” I said and jerked back a little. It was a harder kiss than I had expected from him.

  “I thought you liked being frightened,” he told me in an intimate whisper against his bite mark. “I saw an opera in Milan called I Vampiri a number of years ago about three virgin brides that were ritually sacrificed to a vampire on the witch’s eve.”

  I giggled at that against the roughness of his cheek while I ran my fingertips over the front of his body. “But I’m not a virgin.”

  “True,” he said and nuzzled my abused little throat. He kissed the little wound he had made. “If I can’t bite you, what can I do to you, my fine filly?”

  “Are you asking?”

  “I have to ask. You’re my partner. You’re a woman on top.”

  I looked into his eyes. I felt my heart beat a little harder and a little faster at his words. The fact that he not only desired me as a woman but respected me as his partner made me love him all the more. I told the truth. “Do whatever you like to me, sir.”

  He pushed me back onto the bed. He skinned the remaining petticoats and camisole from me, so I was dressed in only my stockings. Those he left on. He set his big hand on my belly to hold me down and pulled forth those dreaded clamps from the pocket of his tailcoat. I gasped at the sight and my chest heaved upward in anticipation.

  He squeezed my left breast so the tip was fully puckered like a bright red berry, then leaned down to flick his tongue over the aching little nub. I arched upward into the wet heat of his mouth…at least until he snapped the little clamp on, then I ouched and shuddered, but he held mercilessly onto the chain and attached the second clamp to my other nipple. The pressure immediately made me writhe against the bedclothes and grab at his shirt, but he ordered me still, so I did my best to obey him. He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a single clamp with a cha
in.

  “I don’t understand…” I began, but he leaned against me and scissored my legs wide apart, bending my knees, so I was fully open to him. It was an especially vulnerable position, and I never would have allowed it with anyone but him. He leaned down and nuzzled against all the wetness between my legs, making me whimper and grip handfuls of his lush, shining dark hair. His tongue teased against my seeping opening, and I could feel the pulse of my flitting heartbeat there, as if my heart had somehow been relocated to between my legs. I arched my back and bucked wildly against him, against the rough burn of his chin and cheeks, against his wicked mouth and quick, hot tongue, wanting him deep, wanting him as deep as I could get him. But instead of penetrating me as I expected, he thumbed back my clitoris hood, licked my swollen little exposed nub, then attached the third and final clip.

  The flare of pain made me cry out and claw at the bedclothes as I came in his mouth. He drank my wetness ravenously. He lapped at the shocking tenderness he had created, seeking more. He tugged the chain, then clipped it to the one between my breasts so my nipples were dragged down slightly and the pulsing nub of my clitoris was teased and aggravated upward into the chain harness he had created. The result made me cry like a kitten and writhe on the bed beneath him. He took up the chain and tugged it, tugged it some more, until I came again, convulsing and slamming my backside against the softness of the bed.

  “Tiberius, please…” I begged.

  “No,” he told me, and his voice had that steely, commanding quality it sometimes took on, as if he were directing a platoon of soldiers. He watched as a third orgasm fluttered through my stomach. I shuddered as I exhausted myself. I could do nothing but pant and endure his erotic torture. Finally, he ordered me onto my hands and knees on the bed, amidst all the plump pillows strewn everywhere.

  The pressure of the clamps became nearly unbearable and I cried out at the sensation. Tiberius gave my backside a sharp slap and told me to lie still. I tried but my body just would not obey. The pressure of the clamps pulsed through my belly and cunt like an orgasm that wouldn’t leave me. He ignored my pleas, rose from the bed, and moved to a sideboard where he opened a large, ornate chest and withdrew a number of scarves he then used to bind my wrists to the headboard, very tightly, so I would stop wriggling. Finally, he slid a pillow under my belly so my hips were elevated and I was in the most compromising position possible.

  By then, I was aware that the room was slowly filling with gentleman and their courtesans. Once more, we had an audience, but I concentrated on Tiberius, on what he was doing to me.

  “Does it hurt so very much?” he asked with concern as he ran his fingers down the sides of my body.

  “It hurts,” I told him. The clips were slowly driving me out of my mind.

  “Good.” He sounded satisfied, maybe even a little smug. I knew the safe word to make our play stop, and he knew I could use it anytime. He traced my spine with his tongue. He licked along my crack and down the backs of my legs, his tongue tickling the bend of my knees until I moaned. Then he rose from the edge of the bed once more to fetch something new. I clutched my binds and my heart started fluttering in anticipation. I tried to concentrate on not accidently spending myself in front of our audience.

  When he returned, I glanced over my shoulder to find he was standing at the foot of the bed, holding a riding crop in one hand. My heart immediately went from fluttering to galloping in my chest, and I had to concentrate on not crying out when he traced the firm piece of rawhide down my spine and up the incline of my bare bottom. He teased along my crack and said, “I mean to ride you tonight, my filly, but you’re not to come until I say. Do you understand?” He made swoops and circles against my prickling skin until I started to writhe. I moaned a response.

  “Do you understand, Lucky?” he prompted.

  “Yes,” I managed. I realized it was important to him that I give him permission, that I give him that power over me. He was always so sweet that way.

  “Good.” He unexpectedly brought the crop down harshly against my left buttock. The whip crack made me cry out long before the sharp but brief pain bloomed in that one cheek.

  I arched against the pain and cried out. He immediately followed it up with another, sharper, blow, on my opposite cheek. “Shhh…” he said, and I realized I had screamed, though I didn’t remember doing so.

  I lowered my head and bit at the pillow under my chin to keep from crying out as he rained a series of well calculated blows against my backside—not hard, but as sharp as a drawn sword, each impact rocking my hips and driving the biting clips deep into my flesh and making me shiver and convulse in response. Each impact made me work to contain myself, work to keep from screaming and begging and writhing in my bonds, so I was sweating through the seemingly endless waves of pleasure and pain by the time he was finished. Finally, he embraced me from behind, breathing roughly in my ear, his hands sliding over my sweating stomach as he mounted me. He pulled me back roughly, impaling me upon his perfectly stiff cock so quickly I arched my back and couldn’t help but come at the impact.

  “My good girl,” he said. “My Lucky.” He gripped my hips tight as I convulsed around him. He held me down as he sexed me rough and fast. He must have pulled his shirt and waistcoat open at some point, and now the slick, hard muscles of his chest moved over my back like damp satin. He had never been like this before. He’d always approached our lovemaking as something to be cherished and sweetly savored. But tonight he seemed to be in a frenzy of primal male lust. I found I didn’t mind exploring this side of Tiberius at all.

  The more I struggled, the harder he was on me, until, finally, he covered me completely, held me down, and bucked himself in and out of me so hard the sound of his flesh striking mine was nearly as vicious and loud as the crack of the crop on my body. He lowered his head and growled intimate words against the side of my neck as he worked himself in and out of me, worked me wider and wetter. He made me submit to his rampant lust, and again I had some fantasy of a great, bearish creature taking me, having its primal way with me. He smelled musky and male and faintly sweet, like a wild creature of the wood.

  I thought of us together in the woods surrounding my father’s house, lying naked and tangled on a bed of pine needles like two pagans. It was something we would need to explore one day. I groaned and arched against the force of his lust, reveling in his warmth and power and the dangerous trill coursing through my body and amplified by the low sounds of his grunts and growls of work.

  “Milk me, Lucky,” he told me, and I did, slowly and deeply. I worked his cock with my inner muscle until he groaned out his satisfaction. Caught up in our reverie, he said such things to me then. “I love watching you come. I love watching my spend leak from your cunny,” he said, clutching my aching, tortured breasts in his big hands. “It means you’re mine, Lucky. It means no other man has access to you.”

  I slammed back into him, gripping him tightly, the chains of the harness rattling and pulling at my throbbing flesh. I sent all that pain and pleasure into what I was doing to him. Tiberius grunted and finally cried out at the sensation and yanked me up onto my knees, ramming me at a new and different angle, the chains clinking together as he took them in his fingers and plucked them gently. I cried out at the sensation but that only seemed to feed his lust, and soon he was buried so deep within me I found it difficult to imagine where I ended and he began. A few moments later he bit the back of my neck and I felt the hot flood of Tiberius ejaculation inside me.

  He pulled out immediately, but his hand rested heavily on my backside. “Don’t move, love, I want to enjoy the sight of you for a little while longer.” He rested against a mound of pillows to observe me while he rested.

  I bit back a groan at the thought of being put on display this way, my gentleman’s sticky seed running down my legs. I shuddered with a delicious humiliation when I heard the sound of the other gentlemen and their courtesans commenting on how beautiful and spent I looked. I had never really tho
ught of myself as beautiful before.

  When Tiberius finally mounted me one last time, he also made a point of removing those cruel clips and massage the tingly feeling back into my nipples and into my swollen and pulsing clitoris. I poured my wetness and his all over his fingers. He entered me more gently this time, rocking in a comforting way to and fro inside me until the very end, when he lunged and finally spent himself, his warmth flooding me once more. Then he lay down on the bed, with me astride his hips, and just played with my hair. His eyes roved over me and it was a very male look. “Such a beautiful girl, Lucky. Such a very beautiful girl. And you’re all mine.”

  ***

  When we finally returned to my father’s house, I found I was famished. I went though into the kitchen, hoping to find some cold mutton or venison. I thought about collecting some meat, cheese and bread and taking it upstairs to Tiberius’s room, where we might enjoy it together, along with some wine. I thought about making love to him again in front of the hearth, our bellies full, and how delightful that would be.

  But I found Nellie waiting with me, along with a note. Something about her face made my heart flit deep inside me, and suddenly my appetite was gone. “This just came by courier,” she said, passing me the fine manila envelope. I immediately recognized Mr. Van Tassel’s corporate seal.

  I went into my father’s study to read it in private.

  My dear Miss Van der Meer:

  I have business of a most urgent nature to discuss with you. I request your presence at my offices on the morrow, no later than nine o’clock in the morning. I suggest you come alone, and that you tell no one of this rendezvous, otherwise the unique nature of your relationship with Mister Tiberius Sloan may become public knowledge.

  I promise you, Miss Van der Meer, that no matter your great financial contribution to the burg of Smithtown, the people here are still quite primitive, and they have no qualms with fingering a woman as a witch and a strumpet. I’ll expect your presence, I’m sure.