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

by Eden Myles

  I clenched his hand and thought about his words. “What if I wanted you to? Kyle said I could be a part of this. Of us.” I swallowed hard and forced out the next words, “Does your offer still stand? Because I’m fucking tired of being alone. I’m tired of being scared all the time. I’m tired of clubbing and picking up strangers. I’m tired of all this shit.” I swallowed against the tears in my throat and nose. I didn’t understand how I could feel so naked and vulnerable, yet loved and protected at the same time, but maybe this was what love felt like. I clenched both their hands. “I want to be with you. With both of you.”

  I could feel Mr. Griffiths’ heart thudding heavily against his chest. I looked up and he swept his hand up my cheek. He grazed the corner of my lips with his thumb. His eyes burned coolly with lust and something else, something I had never seen before in anyone’s eyes.

  He leaned down and kissed me softly, tenderly, with incredible, trembling feeling. He cupped the back of my head, holding me in place. When he drew back, his face was faintly flushed and his eyes gleamed with hunger and tenderness. I realized I was seeing that soft and gentle side I’d only ever glimpsed before. “You’re already a part of us, my rose. You’re in our hearts, our souls. And there’s nothing I want in the world more than to own you, protect you, and love you for the rest of your days.”

  ***

  “Nervous?” Kyle asked as I waited behind the curtain that separated the “backstage” area from the Great Room of the Dollhouse. He was naked to the waist and dressed in black leather bondage pants and riding boots. I was naked except for a dressing gown, and I shivered as if the room were below zero.

  I decided not to lie and said, “A little.” Then I laughed. “I feel like I’m getting married.”

  “In a way you are.” He took my hand and squeezed it, then drew me against his broad, tattooed chest and kissed me soundly. I could feel the hardness of his arousal in his trousers, and I knew he could feel me through the robe. Suddenly looking concerned, he stepped back but gave me a serious once-over. “Are you sure about this? Because I went through it and believe me, Mr. Griffiths takes Commitment Ceremonies very seriously. It looks like a lot of pomp and circumstance, but it’s more than that.”

  I swallowed hard and thought about Mr. Griffiths’ name for tonight’s performance at the Dollhouse. A Commitment Ceremony. Kyle’s warm brown eyes held mine and seemed to give me strength. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  Kyle nodded. “There will be three parts to the ceremony. Commitment, Obedience, and the Covenant,” he said, as if he hadn’t explained all this already a thousand times. I guess he thought I might be so nervous I’d forget. “Do you know your lines for each?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll be assisting Mr. Griffiths where necessary. Remember, you can use your safewords anytime. That never changes.”

  Again, I nodded.

  Kyle smiled as he moved behind me and slid the robe off my shoulders. “Ready?”

  I took a shaky breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

  He led me naked from behind the curtain and to the center of the stage area.

  I caught my breath at the sight of Mr. Griffiths waiting for me, dressed in his sleek, dark tuxedo. He looked more beautiful than ever, like that night I first encountered him in the garden. How had I not noticed his grace, strength and inner beauty then? But then, some folks would call me shallow and stupid, Izzy among them.

  I stopped and looked out over the crowds of ladies, gentleman, and courtiers and courtesans, but the room’s lighting was dim and there was a huge spotlight on me, almost blinding me. Not seeing the audience made things easier for me to do this.

  Mr. Griffiths extended his hand to me. “Stefan Janovich…” His voice boomed through the hush of the room. I went to him and he took my hands, looking me over carefully with a combination of love and rawbone lust. “Do you understand the severity of the covenant you are entering into tonight?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered, uttering the proper words.

  “Do you understand what is expected of you as a gentleman’s courtier?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you in agreement with this covenant, and do you promise to love, cherish and obey your gentleman until the end of your days?”

  I looked up into those sharp grey eyes seething with such power and emotion. I didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes, sir. I do.”

  “Kneel down to accept the token of my commitment to you.”

  I knelt down obediently before him and bowed my head. Kyle stepped up beside him and offered his gentleman a jewelry case of royal blue velvet. From it, Mr. Griffiths produced a sterling silver collar similar to the one that Kyle wore. I knew that, like Kyle’s, it was inscribed on the inside with some very private words of love—words that no one could read but he and I. I knew I would feel the impression of those words against my flesh for the rest of my life.

  They would remind me every day that I was his, body and soul.

  “Accept this token of my commitment to you and know that I love you,” he said and affixed the collar around my neck, then sealed the metal clasp shut using a small tool so that only he could remove it. The collar was cool but not uncomfortable. I sensed the inscription on the inside, and suddenly the whole ceremony became painfully real to me. I felt my heart thudding with frantic anticipation against my chest.

  Mr. Griffiths leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Good boy.” His hand stroked over my head and then moved to the front of his trousers. He stroked himself before undoing them, saying, “Accept this token of my dominance over you and know that I cherish you.”

  I looked up and saw that he held himself, thick and hard and ready, the bulbous head dripping readily with precum. “Take. Lick,” he said, and I let him guide his beautiful cock into my mouth. Were we alone, I would have brought him grunting and cursing in my mouth and sucked him dry, but he’d explained how we were standing on ceremony tonight. Later, on our “honeymoon,” I could show him all the love and passion I wanted to. For now, I gave him careful licks up and down his shaft. He held his crown over my open mouth and dribbled into it, then commanded me to lather him with my saliva, which I did until he was shining wet.

  He smiled down upon me. “Prostrate yourself before me, boy.”

  I obeyed him, pushing my chest flat to the floor and elevating my ass. I waited, sweating and panting under the burning hot lights, as Mr. Griffiths moved in a semicircle behind me. He gripped me by the hips and rubbed the wetness of his cock between my legs. I listened to the meaty, wet sounds of his dick teasing over my balls. He sighed as he rubbed against me, moaned in my ear, took my bone-hard erection in his hands and slipped on a cock ring, keeping it tight and hard as he started thrusting into me. I gasped at the sensation of him filling me, stretching me, while I could do nothing but endue it. My body instinctively started moving, but he pinned me to the floor, his teeth raking over my neck just behind my ear.

  I tilted my head, inviting him to bite.

  He did, hard. I shuddered and whimpered under the pain of his bite, but he never let go. Instead, he started bucking his hips, working my ass wider in a sudden spurt of fierce, primal lust. I grunted and rocked against the floor as he held me down, sexed me, brought himself fast and rough inside me. His hips jerked and he snarled out a whispered endearment against the wound in my neck as he shot his hot load into me.

  “Good boy,” he said in a soft, guttural voice.

  I stayed down even after he pulled out, my heart thumping against the floor, waiting for his next command. Finally, I heard him come back around to stand before me. “Heel, boy.”

  I pushed back onto my knees, kneeling before him. He was again perfectly composed, his suit unwrinkled, not a hair out of place, though the love and shining excitement never left his eyes. Kyle stood beside him, wearing surgical latex gloves and holding an open metal case. Our eyes locked and he must have sensed my sudden panic because he winked. Just relax, he mouthed and I took a few deep breaths eve
n as Mr. Griffiths went to one knee before me, pulling on a pair of similar gloves.

  I gasped as he took my rock hard erection in hand and used an alcohol wipe to disinfect my crown. Then, from the case, he took a pair of clamps and used them to stretch the skin we intended to pierce tonight. He worked quickly and efficiently. I knew, from the stories Kyle had told, that he was very good at what he was doing, that it was safe. I told myself not to worry, but when I saw him take the 16-gauge needle from Kyle’s metal case and oil it, some of my courage flagged.

  “Jesus, it looks like a harpoon,” I muttered and someone in the audience laughed.

  Mr. Griffiths smirked. “Accept this token of my covenant with you and know that you belong to me. Close your eyes.”

  I did just that.

  Kyle was standing beside me and I felt him reach down and grab the tip of one of my nipples, giving it a sharp squeeze so I sucked in a sudden breath. When I let it out, Mr. Griffiths said, “You can open them.”

  He’d already done it and I hadn’t felt it at all. He used the needle to thread the metal ring through the head of my cock and replace the ball. I let my breath out in enormous relief and Kyle gave me a triumphant squeeze of the shoulder and said, “You did great, Stefan!”

  I felt a swell of pride and love. Love, most of all.

  Mr. Griffiths seized my cheeks and kissed me softly to the sounds of roaring applause from the other Society members. He moved my hand to the ring so I could feel the inscription on the inside, the same as Kyle’s.

  Property of Mr. Anton Griffiths.

  “Now I really do belong to you,” I said.

  “Now and forever, my love,” he answered.

  ***

  About the Authors

  Eden Myles lives in the rural northeast with her family and two demanding cats. Like Evelyn, she was once a temp, like Rachaela, she is sometimes a publisher, and like Lucky, she continues to be a romantic. She is the head whip cracker at Courtesan Press.

  Jay Ellison lives in the big city with his partner and several rescue dogs. He writes m/m romantic erotica.

  Alex Crossman works as a boring cubicle slave by day and writes romantic erotica by moonlight. She likes feeling like a superhero with a secret identity. She lives in the great southwest with dogs, cats and assorted cacti.

  To see all of the Courtesan Press titles, visit http://courtesanpress.wordpress.com.

  ***

  Read an excerpt from Blood & Lace (Blackstone Hall #1) by Eden Myles:

  Chapter I

  As we passed a dense forest of fine, old oaks on our way to Blackstone Hall, I leaned out the window of our coach and noticed that many of the trees were tall and proud, with strong limbs, good for climbing.

  My father, seated on the cushioned bench beside me, said, “Marie. You mustn’t.”

  “Mustn’t what, Father?” I asked innocently, biting back a grin. I didn’t turn to look at him, lest he see my secret smile.

  “Climb trees or do anything which might be construed as unladylike.” He took my hand and squeezed. “You’re almost twenty years old, girl. I’m counting on you to be on your best court behavior.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  The coach jostled along the uneven road, throwing us back against the braces, but my father’s coach was so luxurious that the padded velvet seats made the ride—almost seven hours thus far—more than bearable.

  “We shall be there shortly, my dear,” Father said as if concerned I might be losing patience.

  I wasn’t. I more than enjoyed watching the landscape drifting by, the deep, old forests—it was so different than the colder, craggier Northlands where our estate resided. There the trees grew short and farther apart, the people were brutish and covered year-round in animal furs, and the horses shaggy. There were mountain orcs that were a constant threat to my father’s people, but I hadn’t seen such creatures here. I wondered if there were Fae in these forests. “No more than an hour yet,” he added.

  “Yes, Father.” Once more, I leaned out the window of the coach, seeking out both the familiar and unfamiliar in this strange land.

  Where we lived, in the lands several hundred ticks to the north, the squatty pines shivered in the heavy snows. The people were fair-haired and blue-eyed like my father (except for the gypsies who regularly passed through) and there were still a few remaining ice dragons slumbering deep within cairns in the earth. On a cold morning one could stand on a balcony and spot their breath pluming up through small cracks in the earth.

  But I’d heard that Lord Elric Rothschild’s lands were warmer, the oaks and elms soaring and rotund, spreading their lush green boughs to the heavens like supplicating hands. I’d heard there were dwarves and tall, slender people of a swarthier complexion here. Food was bountiful, war scarce, and the people more congenial and trustworthy. Stone dragons still occasionally circled the skies. It was a pretty land, green and fecund, with autumn bleeding through the trees in vibrant shades of yellow and fiery orange, though we had not encountered many villagers along the way so I could not yet ascertain the friendliness of the local inhabitants.

  I did not blame the villagers for hiding. Though beautiful, it was said these were perilous lands, dangerous for those on foot, particularly now, with the evil of a corrupt Vargr on the loose—a werewolf who kills for its own pleasure.

  I had never seen a Vargr, either dead or alive, but stories abounded in our own realm of such things. Men who became wolves to placate their own nefarious hungers. It gave me something of a delicious shiver to think of it, for in our lands, there were no more werewolves, evil or otherwise. They had all been hunted to extinction decades before I had ever been born. I wondered if I would see one during our stay at Blackstone Hall.

  I admit I sighed to think of it. Adventure. The only adventure I had ever really known past childhood games was in my father’s libraries. A wealthy man who had made his fortune in shipping, he had a thousand books spanning every possible subject: science, alchemy, romance, chivalrous adventures with knights and pirates. I swore I had read them all at least twice. Growing up, reading about fierce warriors, and pretending I was one among their number, had been my two great passions in life.

  Less than hour later, I saw “the Hall,” (as the locals called it), standing mistily upon its distant rock for the first time, its highest spires and flapping banners rising far above the summit of the land. Even from this great distance, Blackstone Hall sprawled large enough, and certainly grand enough, to house a king or emperor.

  It had been built in a time that no one remembered by the hands of the Fae Folk, according to folklore. It was said the King of the Fae built the great keep for his Queen and court, and he had done so out of pure, shining white stone carved from his mother the moon. But some great tragedy had occurred there, and the Queen of the Fae fell dead, a dagger in her heart, and as her sacred blood spilled upon the floor of the Hall, it turned all the stones in the structure black. Or that was the story, anyway.

  No one knew who had really built it, or why. According to Father, only the Rothschilds had occupied it in the last few hundred years after their ancestor, the fierce and bloodthirsty warlord Alaric Rothschild, had conquered the land and set his flag upon the highest turret.

  As we rumbled nearer, I could just make out the black banner sinister with the white dragon upon it, the sign of Rothschild house. Father had stayed here at Lord Rothschild’s court as a child when Elric’s own father had invited him here visiting, and he had many tales to tell of it.

  As we crossed the spindly bridge that spanned a yawning and seemingly bottomless chasm on our last leg of the journey to our destination, I marveled at the vast, rambling darkness of it—the chipped, battle-weary ramparts and battlements, the craggy side chapels and gatehouse. The outer walls of the Hall stood five hundred feet high, with a tall, pinnacle tower twice that size rising from the center of the courtyard, enshrouded by a yellowish, poisonous-looking mist.

  The black-as-soot flagstone of which the
Hall was constructed made me think of some burned leviathan of a dragon, the spines of its carcass shimmering high in the heavens. The few windows on display were of colored glass, giving the place the brooding look of an abandoned monastery. The land surrounding the hall was different than the countryside—jagged and strangely lifeless, with virtually no trees and only patches of melting snow and cold, churned mud, which made crossing the vast, arched bridge treacherous and slow-going.

  The sun was beginning to set by the time we approached the portcullis, and as we rode under the gatehouse, I marveled at the enormous, black stone dragons and gargoyles crouching overhead, seeming to watch us with their cruel, idiot stone eyes.

  Then we were past the stone sentinels, the gatehouse and attached livery, and coming out in the courtyard where that mysterious tower stood in the most awkward of places, taking up at least half the space. It rose up like a black finger toward heaven, making my neck crick in my attempt to find the top.

  My father saw me looking and said, “A wizard’s tower, my dear. Or, at least, that’s what they used to call them.”

  “Is it really?”

  “The Rothschilds have long been dabblers in the Craft.” He inclined his head. “Not unlike yourself. In fact, I hear that Elric Rothschild is quite the magical adept, as well as being young and comely of face…”

  “Come now, Father,” I laughed a little nervously to cut him off. “Your attempts at matchmaking are sorry at best, and desperate at worst.”

  He took my hand. “Would it be so very despicable to find yourself in a state of marriage, Marie? I shan’t live forever, and you will need the protection after me.”

  “I hardly despise marriage, you know that. But you also know about my standards. He must be strong and sure of himself, a warrior and a protector.” I smiled at my father. “Fear not. I shall meet him one day.”

  “Marie,” he chided gently. “The man you seek exists only in books of romance.”

  I laughed even thought I truly did believe he existed! Once, long ago, I cast a spell upon a pond of water near our estate. A water nymph had answered my summons and had told me my one true mate was out there in the world, waiting as I was, and that I would meet him one day. He would be a powerful warrior, and a protector to me. I hadn’t stopped looking since!