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

by Eden Myles

  I was sitting on the floor at home amidst a paper tornado, an old Clint Eastwood movie on the TV, when my cell went off. I pulled my reading glasses off, then shoved some papers and an open box of half-eaten pizza aside to dig out the phone. When I saw it was Lachlan calling, I turned down the TV.

  I wanted to be a good courtesan, no more fucking around. I said in a clear voice, “Hello, sir.”

  “How are you, Charlotte?” his deep, melodious, almost chocolaty voice responded.

  “Good. Missing you.” I made no mention of the Castellano case strewn before me.

  “Excellent. I plan to pick you up in the morning around eight so we have all weekend to work on your training. Is that acceptable?”

  I nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Good. What are you doing at the moment?”

  “I’d rather not say, sir.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s work-related.”

  “Yes?” he said, prompting for details.

  “I’m combing the Castellano files.” I added, “I’m also watching Joe Kidd on TV.”

  “I remember how much you used to love watching old westerns when we were kids. We snuck into that old, dilapidated theater in the lower Bronx when we were twelve…”

  I laughed. “And the usher never saw us because he was so drunk.”

  We chatted a little bit about the past, some of the crazy shit we’d gotten ourselves into. Then Lachlan’s tone changed to something deeper and slower and he said, “Will you pleasure yourself for me?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.” His voice was a soft, silken hiss. “Lie down on the floor and put the phone on speaker. Touch yourself. I want to listen to you come for me.”

  I did as he asked. I stretched out on the floor and put the phone down beside me. “I feel a little silly,” I admitted.

  “Don’t be. Just imagine I’m there atop you, touching you, holding you down.”

  I closed my eyes and imagined Lachlan’s face, the press of his lips against the side of my neck. The warm, muscular pressure of his body as he held me immobile beneath him and at his mercy. I little shiver ran through my body.

  “Touch yourself. Start with your breasts.”

  I was wearing an oversized pajama shirt and panties. I pushed the shirt up and brushed my fingertips over my already erect nipples, then began to circle them slowly. I imagined his fingers touching them, pinching them gently, then not so gently so spikes of sweet pain coursed through my body.

  A flush of warmth centered in my lower belly. I moaned as I imagined his lips and teeth on me, sucking and pulling at the wet, eager peaks. “Lachlan…” I gasped.

  “Spread your legs,” he said. “Touch yourself there.”

  I obediently scissored my legs open and slid my panties down so the coolness of the room touched my already moist center.

  “Part that pretty pink labia of yours and touch yourself inside,” he whispered, and I did.

  I made small circles around my clit, the way Lachlan had that first time, before sliding two fingers inside my tight, wet, pussy. I imagined them as his fingers…his tongue…his cock. The pleasant pressure low down in my body grew. “Now imagine me thrusting inside you, Charlotte, slowly at first, just the head of me, then deep, harsh, primal thrusts that stretch that beautiful cunt of yours. Imagine me making you accommodate me. Imagine me holding you down, pistoning my hips as I fill you. You’re all mine. Mine to fuck…mine to use…to play with.”

  My pelvis undulated on the floor and the most ridiculous cries started coming out of my mouth. I rubbed my g-spot, curled my fingers, and as Lachlan whispered the most intimate and obscene things to me, I felt my body jerk, my stomach curl, and I came suddenly, like a diver reaching the surface of a deep lake of water and taking her first, deep breath of air. It was like being born, reborn…

  “Oh god…” I hissed between my teeth.

  “Can you feel me inside, filling you with your gentleman’s come as is his prerogative?” Lachlan asked, and I cried out as I gushed with warmth and wetness, my come trickling down the insides of my legs.

  “Yes,” I told him, my voice breathy and strained as I panted for breath. “Oh yes.”

  “Good girl. You’re mine to fuck, to fill. I love making you my woman, my doll…”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll pick you up early tomorrow. Now I want you to go to bed and get some sleep.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  Lachlan phoned me ten minutes before picking me up. I fixed my hair in the mirror, grabbed my overnight bag, and headed downstairs to meet him in the visitor’s parking lot behind my apartment building. But as I was heading toward where his limo was parked, I spotted a familiar car out of the corner of my eye: Roddy’s little blue Kia.

  My steps slowed as I changed directions abruptly, heading toward him. Paranoia kicked me in the breadbasket. Was he following me? Did he suspect I was up to something?

  My heart was knocking furiously by the time I reached the car. But when I looked into the driver’s side window, my heart slowed and I felt my breathing return to normal. Roddy was asleep behind the wheel, looking rumpled and still wearing the clothes he’d worn at the precinct the day before. The window was cracked an inch to let in some cool air, and I could smell the alcoholic fumes from where I stood.

  Jesus, was he drunk? Had he slept the whole night in his car, here in the parking lot behind my apartment building? I opened the door and shook him, but he didn’t so much as even stir. Not just drunk…dead drunk.

  “What’s wrong?” Lachlan asked, strolling up behind me. His hand was tucked discreetly under his suit jacket where I knew his holster was.

  I almost jumped at the sound of his voice, then chastised myself for not paying better attention to my surroundings. “It’s my partner, Rodriguez. He’s having marital problems, and I assume he came here last night to hang with me but passed out instead.”

  Lachlan looked him over. “Your partner,” he said, not sounding especially pleased about that. Roddy, after all, wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes.

  “I wouldn’t get too close. Roddy’s not your biggest fan,” I pointed out.

  “I’m not worried.” Lachlan looked around. “It’s supposed to be pretty cold today, chance of snow. Is there anywhere we can get him?”

  The inside of the car was already starting to feel like a refrigerator, and I admit I was touched by Lachlan’s concern. After all, under different circumstances, Roddy and Lachlan would likely be holding a gun on each other. At first, I thought about getting in the car and driving him back home, but that would be to Maria’s, and I was pretty sure she’d thrown him out. I had no idea where he was staying at the moment.

  I sighed and said, “Would you help me get him up to my apartment?”

  Lachlan didn’t answer, but he did take Roddy’s full weight with surprising ease, dragging him inside in a fireman’s over-the-shoulder carry.

  I led him to the side entrance of the building. Thankfully, it was still early and we didn’t run into any of my nosy neighbors in the lobby or elevator. I don’t know how I would have explained this. When we got to my apartment, I looked around my cluttered little living space, the papers strew everywhere. “Just drop him on the sofa. He’s been here before, so he won’t freak when he wakes up. I’ll tell him the doorman helped me get him up here.”

  “You’ve had him here before?” Lachlan said.

  “Just as a friend.”

  Lachlan answered me by dropping Roddy like a bag of potatoes on a sofa.

  ***

  “Something wrong?” I asked as we headed back to Lachlan’s place for the weekend, my overnight bag in his trunk. The medical reports we had shared lay open on the seats beside us. Lachlan had asked that we share them with each other, as he’d expressed a desire to be inside me without the use of a condom—assuming we were both healthy and ready to take the next step as gentleman and courtesan and be exclusive.

  I was af
raid they had something to do with his sudden change of mood. We were both clean of STI’s, and I had started on the pill recently, but in college I’d picked up a good case of mononucleosis, which was in my report. I remembered the doctor telling me it was the kind of disease you carried for the rest of your life, even after you recovered. Such a common disease wasn’t putting him off?

  “Lachlan?” I made my tone accusatory because I wanted Lachlan to know I knew that his weighty silence was telling me something was up.

  “You care about your partner,” he said stoically from the seat beside me.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re jealous of Roddy?”

  He looked over with narrow gimlet eyes. “Do I need to be?”

  “Jesus. He’s my partner. We look out for each other.”

  Lachlan looked unconvinced. “That’s not an answer, Charlotte.”

  “Look, if you don’t want me to give you grief about Margo, then don’t go all caveman on me about Roddy, all right?”

  He grabbed me by the chin and dragged me to my knees before him. I didn’t even bother trying to fight. I knew how strong an angry Lachlan was.

  My heart started thudding in my chest, but then I saw the glint of mischief in his eyes. He undid his trousers, and his cock bounced free, already trailing a long spidery wet of precum, some of which slapped me across the cheek. “It’s ‘sir,’ not Lachlan. And he may be your partner, but I’m your gentleman. Don’t forget that. Now suck my cock, girl, and make me come, and maybe I’ll forgive your tone of voice.”

  ***

  Our altercation in the limo had set the tone for the whole weekend. As soon as we arrived at Lachlan’s mansion, he ordered me to disrobe and presented me with a list of demands for the weekend. I looked them over while kneeling in the middle of the living room floor, naked save for a pair of fishnet stockings and three-inch heels.

  Lachlan stood over me, the cat o’ nine tails tucked under his arm, the long leather straps trailing along the floor behind him. “Are they acceptable, Charlotte?”

  I knew what he was really asking me. Do you trust me not to hurt you?

  I glanced back over the list. If I followed all his instructions, I would be spending the whole weekend at his beck and call. Naked, leashed, and literally crawling along the floors. I was not allowed to wear clothes past stockings and heels. I was not allowed to walk on two legs until Monday morning. I was not allowed to do anything without his express permission. My job this weekend was to be his courtesan, a receptacle for his seed and his commands. It was like sexual boot camp.

  Lachlan reached down and captured my chin. He tilted my head up. “Charlotte…”

  I went with my heart. For the first time, I felt instead of overthinking everything and getting in my own way. “Yes. I trust you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Charlotte. I value your trust. This weekend you’re mine.” He gave me a stern but sexy smile as he produced a thick leather collar from his inside pocket. He buckled it snugly around my neck and attached a short chain lead that he held loosely in his hand. Finally, he reattached the dreaded nipple clamps, making them tighter than ever, so tight my breath caught in my throat.

  We made a circuit of the room, with me crawling the whole way, the chain jingling between my tortured breasts. If I went too slowly, he slapped my bare ass with the cat o’ nine tails, which immediately hastened my step. Then he commanded that I heel before him in the center of the room, resting on my knees.

  “You’ve done well,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He undid his trousers and cupped himself. His cock was swollen again with his need despite all the come I’d swallowed in the car and his big balls heavy and tight against the flatness of his belly. He stroked himself, standing over me, until a long syrupy string of precum poured loose. “Taste,” he said, and I tilted my head back to catch the drop in my mouth. I swallowed and licked my lips to show my enthusiasm.

  “Good girl. I’m going to fuck you like the courtesan you are. Give me that pretty ass, Charlotte.”

  I bowed my chest to the floor, the chain clanking against the hardwood. Moments later his hands were rough on me, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me like he owned me. Without warning, he shoved himself deep inside me, all the way to the end of me, and I shivered as I surrendered myself to him completely. He spread my legs wider and plowed into me even harder, until my back arched and I found myself crying out, not that my cries made him relent, because they didn’t. Only our safewords could do that, according to his list of rules.

  I gasped and snorted through my nose, every fiber of my being burning with sensation. A kind of electric desire filled my insides as I started panting hard and fast, the sounds so wild and lustful I almost didn’t recognize my own voice.

  “Good girl,” Lachlan said in a low, soothing voice. “Take me all the way in, Charlotte. I know you can. I know how much you love being used like the pretty little slut you are.” Lachlan quickened his thrusts, pounding me now, really pounding me. Each upward thrust rocked me and made his huge balls crack against my ass. Each time he lunged inside me, filled me, both the pleasure and pain ramped up another notch. Each thrust pushed my tortured nipples against the polished, hardwood floor. Pain and pleasure rocketed through me in a sweeter mixture than I’d ever imagined and I screamed as Lachlan’s seed shot through me, filled me, heated me from the inside.

  “Good, my courtesan,” Lachlan complimented me, then, with a playful slap to my rear end, gave me my second set of instructions.

  I turn around and latch my mouth around his cock. It twitched in my mouth as I sucked it clean of come. I suckled harder and Lachlan grunted, fisting his big hand in my long, unruly hair. His seed was salty and pungent. I could feel more building up as I sucked and nibbled on his cockhead. He came again—his third time tonight—shooting his hot load down my throat. I licked my lips for him, showing him how I savored every drop of my gentleman’s come.

  Slowly, he pushed me back down to hands and knees and smiled down on me, a pleased look. “Heel, girl.”

  I heeled, my heart pounding against my breastbone, waiting on his next order.

  “Now that’s what I want to see.”

  ***

  I was afraid the crawling would leave me too sore for work on Monday, but I needn’t have worried about it. Lachlan didn’t even let me out of his bed except for when I needed to use his facilities. For two days, the huge, California king bed was a nest of wrinkled sheets and heaps of pillows good for snuggling down into. He kept me leashed to the headboard, but showed me how easily it would be to unlock the chain that kept me there. That, and the safewords we had in effect, kept me placated. I could end our play at anytime, whether it was because I was uncomfortable or simply tired of it.

  I found that being pampered and controlled was surprisingly liberating. I thought he would treat me roughly, like some cheap prostitute, but Lachlan acted exactly like what he was: a gentleman. He brought me every meal in bed, fed me by hand, dressed me and undressed me, and brushed my hair, taking his time like he had to get every strand just so.

  His handling of me contrasted deeply with his lust, which was both thrillingly aggressive and sometimes unexpectedly rough. He would be gently brushing my hair one moment, then snagging it and forcing me to deep throat him the next while he called me his slut. He sexed me in the shower, in the bed, and once on the bedroom floor as he had that first time in his living room, his hand snagged in my hair, his weight pinning me as he battered his way inside me like some wild animal in heat. I could barely breathe and his come gushed from my cunt from the way he filled me to overflowing.

  By the time Sunday evening rolled around, I was sore, exhausted, satisfied, exhilarated.

  We were lying in bed together after another fierce bout of lovemaking, and Lachlan was pressed to my back, his hands roving over my bare breasts, his voice soft in my hair. “I remember that time we were in school and you gave me half of your sandwich for lunch,” he said unexpe
ctedly.

  That was a very long time ago. So long, it took me a moment to remember the details. I’d been eleven or twelve, and Lachlan had come to school with a black eye, courtesy of his old man, and no lunch, which was the norm for him. I’d given him half of my peanut butter and banana sandwich (my favorite). I’d been afraid he wouldn’t eat such an unusual concoction, but he’d ravenously wolfed it down in two bites. After that, I always packed two sandwiches for lunch—one for myself, another for Lachlan.

  “What brought that on?” I asked sleepily and turned over, rubbing my sticky self against the impressive, hairy wall of his chest. We smelled like sex and each other.

  He brushed a long lock of hair out of my eyes and looked down at me fiercely and with a frightening level of devotion. “That was the day I knew I loved you and would marry you someday, Charlotte.”

  I laughed at that, but then realized Lachlan wasn’t laughing. “Are you serious? Are you proposing to me because of a sandwich?”

  “I guess I am. And it was more than that. You were nice to me.”

  I felt my heart clench up inside of me. There weren’t many people who were nice to Lachlan.

  He glanced around the room. “I love this house. I had it custom built. But it’s never felt like a home to me until now. I love having you here with me, Charlotte.” I caught a glimpse of his raw emotion before he wiped it away with a devilish smile. He ran a hand up my side, making me shiver, and pinched my nipple playfully. “You were nice to me this weekend. So nice, I have a surprise, my courtesan.”

  My heart started knocking again. “What is it?”

  I thought he was going to give me an engagement ring, or maybe introduce me to some new kink, but he detoured to slap me smartly on the ass. His eyes simmered with mischief. “Wash up in the shower. When you come out, you can have your surprise.”

  I scrambled for the shower. Surprises always made me impatient.

  ***

  As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom, I caught my breath. Lachlan was dressed in one of his infamous cashmere tuxedoes, this one in black. It lent him a heartpoundingly clerical look. He was holding a long fire engine red sheath that I think was a dress, except there wasn’t much to it. It had a Marilyn Monroe halter neckline and was cut so low in the back I feared for my poor butt crack. The skirt, if you could call it that, was one of those ragged handkerchief hems that you see on the victims of Dancing With the Stars.