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

by Eden Myles

  That night, Mr. Chase slept with both of us pressed into his sides, sticky but sated, and it was best damned sleep of my entire fucking life.

  ***

  “I’ll never be able to pull this off,” I complained as Jazzy Rose fixed my cufflinks.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” she answered with a grim as she finished buttoning me up, this woman who was a big sister to me, a mentor, a fairy godmother, a lover, and, most importantly, my best friend. She wore a stunning, royal blue evening gown and a double string of freshwater pearls around her neck, clipped at the front with an ivory cameo.

  I brushed a hand down the Brioni tuxedo I wore. “Is this where you give me a speech about how you knew all along that I’d be able to pull this off?”

  “Of course not, silly,” she grinned, standing on her tiptoe to kiss me on the nose, which had become our secret signal between us for when we wanted to tease each other. She brushed her hand through my professionally messy, spiky hairdo. “Without me, you’d be a mess, Ash, and you know it!”

  I laughed. She had a point.

  For the past six weeks, Jazzy Rose had been my guide, my teacher, my everything in the world of etiquette and high society. She had done more than just taught me the right utensils to use at the dinner table. She had taught me how to dress, to dance, to open a door for a woman and the way to be a proper gentleman. She had gone with me when I’d had my hair cut and styled, and she had shopped with me for the proper wardrobe ensembles, approving or dismissing all my choices. She had taught me to paint and had inspired me to design storyboards for the video games I had created but could not sell. Mr. Chase had done the rest, taking the two of us to plays, operas, and silent art films full of double entendres. He’d taught me about music and cuisine, history and politics. He’d taught me to love classical music when I used to think music was whatever was on the Top 40 Music Charts. He had taught me how to be attractive and to use charm to maneuver people, and he had schooled me well in the art of making love.

  For weeks, they had told me what was expected of me at tonight’s meeting of the Dollhouse Society, and they had assured me that my debutante ball would be a triumph, but I still felt a spike of nervousness as we finished my cufflinks. What if I said the wrong thing, broke the rules? Or, God help me, made a fool of myself?

  Jazzy Rose looked down at my stockinged feet and said, “Shoes?”

  “Mr. Chase is bringing them for us both, he said.”

  She rubbed at my arm and gave me her winning smile, sensing my nervousness. “You’ll be wonderful, so don’t worry!”

  “Sex in front of two hundred plus people, and she tells me not to worry,” I grumbled, and she swatted me and told me again that I’d be perfect.

  We primped and prepared for my big debutante ball, vying for space in front of the vast bathroom mirror, until our gentleman arrived a few minutes later, bearing two boxes. We went up to him and let him kiss us like dear lovers. “You look beautiful, my dears,” he told us and then handed us the shoes he had bought specifically for our big night.

  Jazzy Rose’s shoes were stiletto sandals with two bands of diamond-studded straps. He included what I first mistook for a diamond choker but then realized was actually a diamond-encrusted collar, which promptly replaced the necklace she was wearing.

  To me he gave what he said were a rare pair of Berluti shoes with a satiny finish, imported from Paris. I sat down on the settee in the dressing room and tried them on but quickly found they pinched horribly. I was bound to have blisters and calluses tomorrow as I went off to work. The fact that I would need to dance tonight made the whole thing even more terrible. What seemed to be an exciting debutante ball was quickly shaping up to be an ordeal.

  “Is something wrong, Ash?” Mr. Chase asked as he brought me a matching diamond collar.

  I thought about telling him the truth, but he’d been so kind to both of us, I just couldn’t find it in me. In return for our services as his companions, he had given us these wonderful outfits, jewelry, culture, and even fat paychecks. It was the paychecks that kept me from falling for him completely. As long as they reminded me that I was his employee, both at work as well as in his bed, I wouldn’t take any of this too seriously. Even so, tonight, of all nights, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “They’re great, sir. Thank you.” I stood up and was rewarded with a shoot of agony up both legs, but I trained my face to remain pleasant.

  He cupped my cheeks and brushed a fiery kiss across my lips, then affixed my collar. “Are you certain? I want you comfortable enough to dance with me tonight, Ash.”

  “Oh yes,” I told him.

  He attached two little black studded leather leads to our collars, tugged them delicately, and we followed him downstairs to the waiting limo.

  ***

  Our gentleman sat on the seat of the limo with the two of us seated on cushions on the floor, our leads in his hands, our arms twined around his legs the way he liked it. Jazzy Rose giggled excitedly about seeing the other courtesans, but I just tried to concentrate on not having a panic attack. When we finally arrived at the vast, palatial, colonial house full of columns and balconies, I felt my little enthusiasm slip. Standing up was going to be hell.

  And it was. Each step inside the sumptuous, three-hundred-year-old Dollhouse was an experiment in agony, but I soldiered on like the gentleman I was, walking through the huge, oaken double doors and into the great room with my hand on my gentleman’s forearm the way Jazzy Rose was, smiling at the other courtesans and courtiers in their shining evening finery, but not acknowledging the other gentlemen, according to the house rules. Classical music filtered into the room through invisible speakers, and champagne was being delivered silently and efficiently to the gentleman via a series of wait staff dressed in black and white like vampires. Courtesans and courtiers were encouraged to try the various vintages of virgin champagnes on display, in accordance to the strict no-alcohol-for-companions Dollhouse Society rules.

  “Ah, there’s Rachaela!” Jazzy Rose crowed at one point. “I haven’t seen her in ages! May I visit with her, Mr. Chase?”

  Mr. Chase smiled indulgingly. “You may,” he said, and unclipped her lead.

  I admired the explicit erotica on display on the walls. Many of the people in the photographs were people Mr. Chase was talking to as we made our rounds, and that distracted me from the agony in my feet and legs for a while, but eventually it became too much. “May I go out on the veranda?” I asked when I spotted a bench out there, a place to rest my aching feet.

  He tugged my lead. “Stay with me a moment, Ash.”

  “Of course.”

  He steered me to a private smoking parlor and asked me to wait on a divan a moment while he went to speak to his driver. When he returned about a half hour later, he had produced another shoebox. “Open it,” he said, giving it to me.

  Inside were a pair of new, soft canvas running shoes. We passed a knowing look between us until I said, “Are you sure, sir?” I knew this was messing up the ensemble he had picked out for me specifically for this evening.

  He leaned down, cupped my chin, and whispered against my lips, “Never more so, my dear.”

  When we returned to the party, I was in much better spirits and ready to dance and play

  ***

  For our first play as a ménage a trois, Mr. Chase ordered us up onto the big, antique, four-poster bed set aside for our coming out and told us what he wanted us to do. Jazzy Rose and I spent a little while disrobing each other, giggling and kissing, as the coolness of the room alighted on our skin. I didn’t look at the other members of the Society. If I looked at them, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Instead, I concentrated on the soft, wet pressure of my lover’s kisses falling on my lips and cheeks and neck, on the feeling of her hands on my body, the smooth enamel of her fingernails sliding across my shivery skin. I kissed her back, sucking fervently at her mouth until she mewled against me.

  Mr. Chase slunk up behind me, hugged my nak
edness against the delicious friction of his clothing, while Jazzy Rose kissed her way down my body, finally reaching my already greatly engorged cock. She ran the smooth of her fingernails up and down my shaft until I shivered violently, then bowed her head to lick delicately at my dripping crown. She licked all around the head and down the underside, nipping gently at my balls before working her way back up again. I groaned and would have grabbed at her head, except that Mr. Chase was holding me in his tight embrace, my arms pinned to my back so I was helpless to do anything except respond.

  Her small, perfect teeth closed around me and I bucked instinctively toward her and more precum spilled over into her mouth.

  “Don’t come,” Mr. Chase growled. “You don’t come until your gentleman comes.”

  I knew the rules, and I knew how to behave properly, yet it took a deep, determined grunt and every bit of my self-control to keep from going off in her mouth.

  “Good boy.” He let my arms go and pushed me forward, toward Jazzy Rose.

  I grabbed her by the hips and dragged her under me. She lay there on the bed, so dear, looking up at me with the sweetest, most trusting expression. I realized then that I was lost, that I loved her. That I loved Mr. Chase. That I loved us, as foolish as that was. I was in love, and lost, and I no longer cared if it broke my heart. I pulled her under me and easily sheathed my cock inside her warm, wet depths.

  The first thrust made her cry out. I leaned down to kiss her open mouth, catching her cry. I felt Mr. Chase slide up behind me. Already full aroused, he rubbed his thick, pulsing shaft against me, tracing my slit with it. I felt his wetness seeping between my ass cheeks, his precum spurting all along my seam. I groaned, and at his urging, lifted my ass a little higher. Mr. Chase gripped my hips and speared me soundly. The impact drove me forward a little, and deeper into Jazzy Rose. And again, Jazzy Rose came with a cry, this time ejaculating all over my belly.

  We began to move as one, Mr. Chase controlling all our rhythms. He slid his slippery cock in and out of me while driving my own aching erection in and out of Jazzy Rose. We went slow at first but quickly built up to a natural and almost punishing rhythm. Jazzy Rose wrapped her legs around us both, holding us tight together even as we all reached our end.

  “Remember,” Mr. Chase said, and held me tight as he pulled out and came all over my back and ass.

  I waited until he’d finished spending himself before pulling out and coming in pearl-like spurts between Jazzy Rose’s pert breasts and against her belly. She cooed as I emptied myself against her soft, warm olive skin. I leaned down to kiss her soundly, then proceeded to lick her clean to the enthusiastic applause of all the Society members gathered around us.

  ***

  Jazzy Rose and I were standing on the veranda, talking to Devon, one of the more established courtiers, and his gentleman Malcolm, when a strange man came up to us. I immediately recognized him as a gentleman. He had two courtesans with him, both tall and regal-looking, but one dark-skinned and dark-haired and one pale and blonde so they looked like mirror opposites of each other. The blonde wore the same wide-eyed expression I did as she tried to take everything in around her all at once. I immediately recognized her as a novice.

  “Well, there’s our debutante!” the gentleman stated, looking me over carefully. But I didn’t like the interest he took in me, or the way he lingered on my footwear, of all things. Thank goodness I didn’t have to talk to him. In fact, it was against the rules of conduct inside the Dollhouse for gentleman and companions to speak who were not engaged in a relationship. But Jazzy Rose and I could speak to his courtesans.

  They introduced themselves as Brenda and Sylvie. Sylvie was the blonde one, and we immediately hit it off as we whispered and giggled about all the high society people.

  “Poor Christian lost a bet at last!” the strange gentleman was saying to Malcolm, and I immediately perked up at their conversation and the smug tone of his voice.

  “You two aren’t still engaged in that ridiculous rivalry, are you?” Malcolm said, reprimanding his friend. “How very ninth grade of you two!”

  The strange gentleman laughed at that but still seemed quite pleased with himself. After he called Brenda and Sylvie back, I managed to wrangle Devon aside by offering to help him with some champagne he was fetching for Malcolm.

  While in the wine cellar, I asked about the conversation I’d eavesdropped on.

  “Ah, Richard…a fine bloke…but far too competitive for his own good,” Devon said, climbing the ladder I was holding for him to better examine a bottle on a top shelf.

  Devon seemed to know a great deal about everyone here, so I pushed for details. “I didn’t know the gentleman here were in any kind of competition.”

  “They’re not, lad, but Richard runs that news station based out of Syracuse in direct competition with Christian, so their little corporate brawls are always flowing over into their membership here. Like that little bet of theirs?”

  “What little bet?”

  Devon climbed slowly down the ladder, looking at me oddly. Something passed across his face, a look I didn’t like, like he’d realized he’d spoken out of turn. He put on a big, false smile as he carried a prize bottle of champagne out of the wine cella. “Forget I said anything about it.”

  And I tried to, but Devon’s words bothered me so much, I made excuses all through the evening just to get Sylvie on the side. When I learned that she’d been a lowly waitress who had become Richard’s courtesan at almost the exact same time as I had become Mr. Chase’s, I started piecing the puzzle together.

  It was an ugly puzzle. And the more I realized what had happened—that I was, in fact, the bet—the angrier I became.

  It rained as we left the Dollhouse and skirted puddles to the limo. The weather matched my mood completely. And like the storm clouds moving in, I knew trouble was coming, in more ways than one.

  ***

  When we got back to Mr. Chase’s penthouse, the first thing he did was strip off his wet coat and say, “Everyone to the tub. Now.” There was a devious smile on his lips and in his wolf eyes, and I knew he was thinking about what fun we could have together, getting clean and warming ourselves in each other’s arms. Jazzy Rose squealed with excitement and raced off to the bathroom, but I hung back by the door.

  My gentleman turned to me with concern and said, “Ash?”

  I gave him my darkest look. “I know about the bet,” I told him, and promptly left the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

  I took the elevator back down to the underground parking garage and then ambled my way toward my reserved parking spot, where my restored vintage Mustang waited for me. I’d wanted one since I was a kid and had seen Bullitt with Steve McQueen, and now I had one. Unfortunately, it had been bought and paid for by Mr. Chase, and, like wanting to be Steve McQueen’s character, it was the same unrealistic pipe dream. I thought about that as I ducked inside and leaned back against the all-leather interior and listened to the rain fall. I would have to give the car back since I was officially breaking up with Mr. Chase forever. That also meant I had to get home on the sub tonight.

  But I just didn’t want to move at the moment. My mind kept whirling around with these little details even as I felt my composure breaking down. I covered my eyes and tried not to sob like a little kid.

  A knock on the glass made me jump in my seat. I was sure the parking garage attendant was probably wondering what the blond guy was doing in the vintage car, crying his eyes out. But it wasn’t him; it was Mr. Chase. He stared at me for only a moment before pulling the door open and sliding into the passenger side of the car.

  The moment he slammed the door, I said, “Please leave. You’ll get your car back, don’t worry about that.”

  For the first time, Mr. Chase looked angry. “I don’t want the car back. I want you back.”

  It exploded out of me then. “You made a bet with that Richard character and took me in like some stray animal. Do you know how that makes me feel?�
� I looked him over, his regal, wealthy presence a suffocating miasma in the car with me. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Men like you have no idea what it’s like to be a man like me.”

  He gave me a droll look. “No, because obviously I was born with money and power. I didn’t earn any of this.”

  I knew he was being sarcastic. I knew he’d come from nothing, had lived in some slumlord’s project in Queens with his unwed, struggling mother for the first sixteen years of his life. Then she’d died unexpectedly and his situation had just deteriorated. He’d worked hard to make it to the top, and he’d done so with zero education. But that didn’t mean I forgave him his behavior now.

  “How could you do this to me?” I said, trying desperately not to cry. “Did I mean so little to you?”

  He narrowed his wolf eyes. “Listen to me, Ash. You mean everything to me. That’s why I deliberately allowed myself to lose the bet tonight.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He made a gesture toward my feet. “The shoes. I thought they would be perfect, and I knew your class and behavior would be more than enough to match that Sylvie. But when I realized you were uncomfortable, I got you these instead. I decided the bet didn’t matter. Richard didn’t matter. It was a childish game and I regretted playing it with him.” He gave me a hard look. “I hope you can forgive me. And, Ash, I have never said those words to anyone in my entire life…except, perhaps, Jazzy Rose a time or two.”

  I sniffed the unattractive snot in my nose. “You’ve apologized to Jazzy Rose?”

  “When I’ve misbehaved, yes.” His eyes softened, and he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket to dry the tears on my face. “I’ve even let her punish me on occasion. The two of you mean more to me than anything else in this world.” He slid his hands around my waist and pulled me around so I was straddling his lap. Thankfully, the Mustang was roomy enough to accommodate us both. He captured my face and kissed me, softly but ardently, and I quickly felt myself melting against the solid, comforting wall of his chest, his heart beating rapidly against mine.