by Eden Myles
“Tell me,” Malcolm said, as they moved together as one, and Malcolm realized they were taking up the thread of their conversation from five years earlier. “Tell me why you came here to America.”
“My father…” Devon managed between grunts of pleasure. “My father beat me. Why wouldn’t I come here?”
“You were a pickpocket and a whore, but you became a model,” Malcolm said, not without pride.
“You told me to. You told me to go to the shelter. I did. You told me to make something of myself. I did.”
Malcolm rocked him gently. “Do you always do what I tell you to do, Tweety Bird?”
Devon’s eyes widened at the realization, then they fell back to blissful slits as Malcolm increased his rhythm. “Yes…but only you, sir.”
Malcolm kissed him for that, kissed him sweetly and completely as they came together. He clutched Devon’s ass with both hands, held him against the shelter of his body. He realized he loved Devon. He wanted to protect Devon, take care of him. He had probably loved him from the first moment he’d lain eyes on him over a decade earlier, and perhaps something sentient in the universe had known that, had conspired to put Devon in his pathway again and again.
With one final, harsh, thrust, Malcolm came and Devon cried out, his fingers digging into the back of Malcolm’s neck as Malcolm collapsed upon him. “Then you must listen to me,” Malcolm told him, holding him down solidly against the table and tracing his cheek with one finger. “You must come with me. Be with me. Because I refuse to ever let you go again, my pet. From this day on, you’re mine.”
***
Several weeks passed before the Society approved Malcolm’s request to take Devon as his courtier. It was not that the Society was deliberately being homophobic. In fact, it tried desperately to emanate its founder, Jeremiah Hampton’s, libertine philosophy in that it harm none, do as thou wilt. It was only that the Society feared that Malcolm’s introduction of a courtier, the first in over a hundred years, might turn the other gentleman and their courtesans away.
In an effort to appease everyone, Malcolm agreed to bring Devon to his first Society meeting under a trial period. The rest of the Society would then decide if Devon could stay or not.
Naturally, they were both nervous that first night, though it turned out they had no reason to be. Almost from the moment they arrived, the other courtesans attached themselves to Devon. He was tall and beautiful, and they loved his accent and his biting, cynical wit. When it came time for the gentleman and their companions to pair up, the girls didn’t want to let him go—they were getting excellent fashion and grooming advice from Devon—and Malcolm had to all but pry his courtier loose from their iron grip.
“Are you enjoying the girls’ company?” Malcolm asked.
“They’re bloody amazing,” Devon said, leaning against Malcolm as they walked to the center of the Great Hall. “And these pictures are too.” He glanced around with awe at the erotic photography scattered around the hall. “They said you took some of them?”
“I dabble,” Malcolm admitted.
“Could you show me?” Devon said, sounding shy, which he almost never did anymore. “No one’s ever shown me how to do anything. I’ve always had to figure it out myself.”
Malcolm squeezed his arm in response.
They had reached the center of the room. A white, cane-backed chair sat there. Devon looked at it curiously.
“Do you know what’s expected of you tonight?” Malcolm asked.
“The girls told me.”
“Do you trust me, pet?”
Devon looked at his gentleman solemnly. “I trust you.”
Malcolm sat down in the chair. He held onto Devon’s hands, looked up at his courtier, and said, “Come sit in my lap, pet.”
Devon straddled his gentleman’s lap even as Malcolm captured his face and drew him close for a long, exploratory kiss. Devon set his hands on Malcolm’s shoulders and opened his mouth to that kiss. Malcolm’s tongue stealthily slid in and around his mouth, tickling him into a smile. He licked the roof of Devon’s mouth until he moaned and started writhing against the solid, muscular wall of Malcolm’s chest. Devon decided there was something vastly underrated and incredibly intimate about kissing. And with Malcolm there was an added feeling of warmth and security. With Malcolm, he felt safe, protected, for the first time in his life.
Malcolm kissed his jaw to his ear, his tongue wetting the shell even as the other members of the Society gathered around them, hemming them in together, watching them perform. Perhaps it bothered Malcolm. It didn’t bother Devon too much. Before he’d modeled, he’d sold himself to strangers, sometimes more than one at a time. And before that, he’d danced in the downtown leather clubs and in Times Square peepshows. Onlookers had bought or else stolen away every bit of his shame, his dignity, and his self-worth.
But then he reconsidered his situation. He liked the girls, the courtesans, the Society. He didn’t mind them watching. They were his friends now, his family. He minded even less that his job tonight was to bring Malcolm pleasure, to let Malcolm pleasure him for their entertainment.
He untangled himself and slid to his knees before Malcolm’s chair. He boldly undid Malcolm’s trousers with learned, dexterous fingers. He was fucking incredible, the biggest Devon had ever seen outside of professional porn. And hard. Like velvet over steel—which, in some ways, was just like Malcolm himself.
He licked the sweet length of Malcolm’s cock, all nine inches of him, then guided the swollen, meaty head into his mouth. There was no human way to deep throat him, but Devon did his best, taking most of him before he began to choke.
Malcolm grunted and tangled his fingers in Devon’s hair and guided him up and down his shaft. Then he bucked once, sharply, and Devon neatly swallowed him down. When he started to choke, Malcolm eased himself out of Devon’s mouth and let him lick and nibble the head until his saliva had frothed up. Devon dug his tongue into the little slit until Malcolm’s cock wept for him. Then Devon lovingly licked up the pearly drops of his gentleman’s pre-cum.
“Oh pet,” Malcolm said, and they were the sweetest words Devon had ever heard. He looked up into Malcolm’s soft but stormy grey eyes, his plain but strangely endearing face. Malcolm used both hands to seize him by the face and guide him up until he was straddling his gentleman’s lap once more, Malcolm’s incredible erection sandwiched between them. “You are so fucking perfect. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve waited for.”
“Such nonsense, gov,” Devon complained drolly, then closed his eyes in bliss when Malcolm jerked his chin up and fiercely attacked his throat with his lips and teeth. He sucked Devon’s Adam’s apple deep inside his mouth, drew circles over his skin with his tongue until Devon mewled in pleasure. “Christ, please fuck me already…you’re such a fucking tease.”
“Such a dirty mouth. I may have to punish you one day.”
Devon looked at him, wondering if he was being serious or not. Then it dawned on him that Malcolm was exploring his limits, trying to discover what he was comfortable with. “Yeah, gov, you may want to do that one day,” Devon answered as his hands moved slickly over Malcolm’s cock, which was stabbing him in the belly like a sword. “Just not with a belt,” he answered in an intimate little whisper meant only for Malcolm’s ears. “My dad hit me with a belt.”
“I’ll remember that, sweetheart,” he said, and started working Devon’s shirt open under his tuxedo jacket. Between the two of them, they got the rest of Devon’s suit off him so he was sitting naked in Malcolm’s lap. Malcolm licked and kissed the pulse in Devon’s throat. He took each of Devon’s nipples in his mouth and sucked hard until Devon hissed between his teeth and his fingernails all but pierced Malcolm’s back in anticipation.
“Jesus H. Christ. Bloody hurry up.”
“You know you’re terribly impatient,” Malcolm complained against his lips. “I may have to punish you for that, as well, my pet.”
“Punish me, fuc
k me, I don’t care, but hurry up.”
Malcolm laughed and Devon rested his ear against the wall of Malcolm’s chest to listen to the soft, comforting sound. He hadn’t heard much laughter in his short life.
Finally, after much anticipation and whispering among the Society, Malcolm withdrew a small vial of oil from his tuxedo pocket and worked it open. It smelled minty, and when Malcolm applied a little to Devon’s well-gnawed nipples they immediately began to burn coolly and Devon groaned at the promising little pain. “What is that?”
“A little tincture I pick up in Chinatown.”
“Will it hurt…I mean, really hurt?”
Malcolm kissed the shell of Devon’s ear and said, “Nothing I do will ever hurt you, pet. I promise you that.”
“I know, Malcolm, I know,” Devon answered and lifted his bottom a little as Malcolm began slicking his lower belly, perineum and then his opening with the minty oil. Within seconds it began to burn, but not unpleasantly. Malcolm slipped a finger inside him, then two. Devon arched his back against the burning and the stretching, and Malcolm immediately slid two more up his ass so Devon began making those mewling noises again and thrusting his pelvis against Malcolm’s body, inviting him to take him, and soon.
Malcolm licked his courtier’s lips and chin as he worked him wider. Devon’s swollen cock bumped him and he knew he was near to bursting. Lifting Devon easily, he worked his cock inside him, letting gravity and Devon’s weight pull him down upon his thick shaft. Devon grunted and his fingers clawed the front of his gentleman’s jacket as he took more of Malcolm than he ever had before. Malcolm seated himself slowly inside Devon’s slick, eager hole until Devon was fully sitting in his lap once more with his gentleman buried balls deep inside him.
Devon’s face had flushed. Malcolm began by saying, “Devon…” but his courtier cut him off mid-sentence.
“Just do me,” he said, gasping through the pleasure and the pain. “I can’t stand that you’re just sitting there, gov. Fuck me hard. Fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone in your life.”
Malcolm began to move inside him, slowly at first but with an increasing, grinding rhythm that soon had Devon groaning, crying out, and rocking against Malcolm’s body as Malcolm touched him deeper and deeper inside. He bucked sharply near the end, lost in a reverie of lust and emotion, and Devon screamed his release into Malcolm’s shirt as they came at the same moment, as one.
***
On that very special Christmas Day ten years later, Malcolm took Devon to the Royal, a favorite spot among the Society. It had good wine, better food, and it was owned by a pair of brothers who were also members of the Society, so they were able to get a private room off the main dining area.
Malcolm spared no expense. He ordered champagne, caviar, oysters, lobster for them both, and black pudding for Devon. In the nearly ten years of their relationship, he had been unsuccessful in breaking Devon of some of his more disturbing British culinary habits. For dessert they had bread pudding, crème brulee, and a chocolate rum cake, heavy on the rum.
Afterward, Malcolm slid his Christmas gift over to Devon, wrapped in a love letter he had hand-written on parchment with a quill. It was a two-week vacation in a Cuban resort that they would have all to themselves. Devon looked over their travel plans with great enthusiasm. He had wanted to see Cuba for some time. He read the letter that Malcolm had written, all the things Malcolm felt, and nearly wept. Then he slid his own modest, foil-wrapped box over to Malcolm.
Malcolm opened it carefully to reveal a new, fine leather wallet from Brooks Brothers. “To replace the one I stole,” Devon admitted sheepishly. That night, over ten years ago, Malcolm had recovered his most important things and his money, but Devon the teenaged pickpocket had thrown his wallet into the East River.
“Really, Devon,” Malcolm said and slid his big hand over Devon’s slim one. He brought Devon’s fingers to his lips to kiss.
“Open it, gov,” Devon said with a teasing smile.
Malcolm did, anticipating a gift card to a men’s boutique or maybe a health club. Devon was sweet but practical in his gifts. Four years ago, when Malcolm complained about gaining an unexpected ten pounds from having too little time to exercise, Devon had bought them two West Highland White terrier pups so they could walk the dogs in Central Park in the morning.
This time he found the ring, a thick gold band dotted with small diamonds and one large, flawless white diamond in the center. Malcolm looked at it blankly for a moment as he processed the information. Devon felt his spirits slowly sink. If Malcolm had to look at the engagement ring like that, then something was wrong, very wrong.
Had he moved too fast? But they had been together almost ten years. Surely ten years was enough to know if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with someone you loved? Maybe Malcolm didn’t want to marry. He never spoke of it, almost as though he feared he’d jinx their relationship if he did.
“Malcolm?” Devon felt his heart trip and then start thumping with disconcerting pressure against his ribs. He wondered if he was on the verge of having a panic attack. He knew he should say more, propose properly, maybe even get down on one knee or something, but he was at a loss as to what to do. Suddenly he felt like a fool, a damned fool for giving Malcolm the ring.
Malcolm continued to stare at the ring in his palm. Then he moved his other hand to his face and covered his eyes. It took Devon a moment to realize Malcolm was fighting back tears.
He had never seen Malcolm cry before. He wasn’t sure the man was even capable of it. “Malcolm?” Devon said, frightened now as he partially stood up.
And then Malcolm looked up and smiled. “Yes, Devon. I’ll marry you. Of course I will.”
Devon froze as he felt his heart lighten, bloom…fly away. There was no other way to describe it. He started reaching for his cell phone, to tell his girls, his family, the good news, but Malcolm stopped him. He took Devon by the wrist and guided him around the table. Devon climbed into his fiance’s lap and Malcolm palmed his cheek as they shared a quiet, passionate kiss. Then he tucked Devon’s head under his chin and just held him so fiercely that Devon could barely breathe.
“We need to visit Evelyn and Rachaela…oh, and I need to tell Daniel too. We need to tell everyone we know,” Devon insisted. For the first time in his life, he was really happy. “Or we can wait until tonight, until the Society meets up.”
“Just stay with me like this for a moment, Tweety Bird,” Malcolm said, holding him close. There were tears in his voice. “I have everything I want right here.”
***
THE DOLLHOUSE SOCIETY: MARGO
by Eden Myles
“You seem a little down this Monday morning, my pet,” my partner Robert Burkett said as he joined me in the employee lounge for a coffee—or, in his case, tea. Even having been in America for the past twenty years, I still couldn’t break him of his English habits.
“Well, it is Monday,” I argued as I poured a black cup of joe for myself, then added one Earl Grey tea bag and a cream to his mug of hot water before handing it over. The mug was his favorite; I’d given it to him for Christmas the year before and it read Trust Me, I’m a Lawyer and had a great white shark on it, dressed in a necktie and carrying a briefcase. Robert thought it was hilarious, but felt his public image required he keep it in the employee lounge rather than letting our high-profile clients in the entertainment business see it.
“Monday, bloody Monday,” Robert said as he used a spoon to stir his tea. Every Monday morning I gave him a cup of tea and every Monday morning he stood at the coffee counter and stirred it with great concentration. Sometimes he regaled me with stories of growing up in rural Wales, waiting for the milkman to arrive at the farmhouse where he and his mother, father, and seven siblings lived. After five years of working together, it had become our ritual. He told me detailed stories of his “smallholdings,” the tiny llama ranch his father owned in Snowdonia, and I would tell him what I’d been up to during the weeke
nd.
“I remember we had this stocking vendor who would come up the hill on Mondays. My mother used to send me down with a few shillings when she had the money…”
And just like that, he was off with one of his stories. I leaned against the counter, listening to and just admiring the man who had taken me onboard as an equal partner in his firm in what was normally the very competitive and male-oriented field of entertainment law. I wasn’t meeting with my first client of the day until ten o’clock. That gave me an hour to kill, and there was no better way of killing an hour than by listening to one of Robert’s stories in his deep, whispery soft voice and country Wenglish accent.
Robert was well into his fifties now, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. I’d seen pictures of him in college, back in his early twenties, a muscular giant of a man who’d been big on rugby but still graceful enough for cricket. He hadn’t changed much over the years. He was still big, well-chiseled but elegant, and his bright grey eyes had never lost their gleam. But the years and the loss of his wife of twenty-six years had left their mark on him as well. I saw it in the lines in his face and the way his thick dark hair had turned all silver almost overnight. He was still handsome as hell, and his mind was sharper than all the young, ambitious sharks at Burkett Associates combined, but sometimes I wondered what he’d been like in those younger years, if he’d always been this confident, wise and cynical, or if that was something he’d had to work up to.
I’d always gotten along better with men than with women, and I liked joking that we were soul mates. We were both very much at ease with one other, and more than one junior associate at the firm thought we were romantically involved, but that was marginalizing what we had between us. In many ways, Robert and I were best friend. I was there for him when Joanne had her stroke and slowly went downhill from there, and he’d taken me out drinking when my marriage to Brent fell apart.