by Jay Ellison
“I’ve always loved them.”
The gesture of the flowers had left me unusually shy, almost wordless. I squirmed around, which he seemed to enjoy. It was like the public humiliation he liked to subject me to, but this was somewhat more. Deeper. I felt like he was telling me he loved me—and I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I continued to stare at my beautiful gothic bouquet and the lights flashing across the windows until he cupped my chin and brought my face up to his.
“The roses are pretty,” he said, correcting me. “They don’t compare to you, my darling.”
That just made me blush harder, if that was even possible. The way he talked…he had never said such sweet and sensual and vulnerable things to me before. Like all the barriers had fallen down, which was strange because he was always so guarded, and he didn’t throw affection around much. His thumb stroked hungrily along my cheekbone while he leaned down to kiss me.
I know Master only intended it to be brief, a way for both of us to blow off steam, but, within minutes, the roses were pushed to one side on the seat and I was sitting in his lap while he kissed and fondled me. His hands drifted down my shoulders and back, touching me with as much love as lust. His gesture—his whole demeanor tonight—made me feel unusually bold, and I raised my hands and set them on the lapels of his smart black tuxedo. I rubbed the silky material while he increased the pressure of his kisses, his tongue sweeping my teeth while he slid a hand past the waistband of my trousers.
Soon enough, I was moaning against his mouth while his hands gently squeezed my ass, which only made me ache that much more terribly.
“Yes,” he whispered intimately. “Rub it against me, my pet.”
I did. But it did nothing to slake my need, or his.
We barely noticed when we passed out of the city and into the suburbs and then the semi-rural and more open plains of Long Island on the way to the Dollhouse.
I was dizzy and breathless when we finally arrived and I looked upon the Dollhouse for the first time. It was an old but pristinely-kept Colonial set behind a tall, black iron fence with acres of carefully manicured gardens surrounding it on all sides, affording it even more privacy. In among the flowering trees were walls of evergreens, so the grounds were private even in the dead of winter.
The car took us past the stately gates and up the white gravel road and past an elaborate fountain to the front doors, set up high upon wide Roman steps. As we exited the car, I said, “Who owns the Dollhouse?”
Master frowned as he tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone owns it, specifically. The members share in its expenses and maintenance.”
“So there’s no boss…no one in charge, then?”
“That would be Malcolm Sloan…well, he’s more of a de factor ‘corporate president’ than anything else.” He thought about that a moment. “The ladies and gentleman of the Society vote on everything. Malcolm just keeps the trains running on time.”
Master walked me up the stairs and into the foyer of the grand old house. The interior was as magnificent as the outside, although it gave me the dizzy sensation of having stepped through a time machine and into a different, bygone era. The wainscoting, pillars, gorgeous Greek- and Roman-inspired statues, and huge, eight-foot portraits on the walls. It made me feel like a dwarf by comparison, as if the house had been designed for giants.
The foyer led to a vast common room where the gentleman, ladies and their courtesans and courtiers were all interacting. Well, the gentlemen and ladies were interacting and so were the courtesans and courtiers, but not the Doms and subs together. That was one of the most stringent rules inside the Dollhouse, Master had emphasized. Unlike the more informal dinner I had served at, I was not permitted to speak to any of the other Doms, and the Doms could not speak or interact with me. Master explained that inside the Dollhouse, the Dom and his or her sub was to remain exclusive in their performance. And, of course, everything here was a performance.
There was a luxurious bed set up in the middle of the room, draped with veils. I looked at it and felt a flutter of fresh new excitement. This is really happening, I thought. This is going to happen to me. To keep from freaking out, I turned my attention to the walls, where some of the most beautiful and erotic paintings and photographs were on full display.
Master’s friends joined him immediately. I recognized Alex Ishikawa and Henry Eisenberg, but a very plain-looking man who had a surprisingly powerful presence also joined them. I had the immediate feeling that he was a power Dom, and my suspicions were confirmed when Master shook his hand and called him Malcolm—ah, this would be the “corporate president” of the Dollhouse Society. The one who made certain things got done. Master smiled while the men shook his hand in greeting—but I knew his confident smile was there mostly for show. I could feel that Master was almost as nervous as I was.
“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” Malcolm Sloan said, looking me over carefully.
I lowered my eyes so as not to appear haughty in his presence. I had the immediate impression that Mr. Sloan was safe and kind, someone to be trusted, but not someone to be crossed. Despite his rather mundane appearance, he looked like the type of Dom who might be pretty hard on a disobedient sub.
Master pulled gently on my lead, which jerked my head up. “Lovely and trainable, but something of a challenge. I have to be quite firm with him, at times.”
“They are frequently rather spirited at that age,” Malcolm said. “They need a heavy hand to keep them in line. I’m impressed with your ability to break him. Is he a good ride?”
“He is an excellent little colt and a magnificent ride,” Master said, sounding flattered by Malcolm’s compliment. “A true treasure.”
“I think I speak for all the members when I say I’m looking forward to watching you put your trick pony through his paces tonight, Byron.”
They were talking about me as if I wasn’t human. Under other circumstance, and with any other group of people, I would have been insulted, but I felt safe around all of Master’s friends. The way they were admiring me and talking around me had the expected results—I was harder than ever. I wanted to please Master and entertain his friends.
After Malcolm Sloan moved on, Master passed some words with his other gentlemen friends while I stood silently and obediently at his side. Each of them admired me and told Master how excited they were about tonight’s rather unusual performance.
“Would you like to talk to the courtesans?” Master asked, glancing over to where a large group of women and a few young men were gathered together in an improvised coffee klatch. The moment they spotted me, they started waving me over.
“Yes,” I said, smiling. “May I go, Master?”
“You may.” Master let me off my leash and I cautiously approached the group of subs. I was feeling unaccountably shy again, but the gaggle of girls and boys sucked me into their group so fast, it made my head spin. Within seconds, I was standing in the middle of their circle while they cooed over me and told me their names and started asking all kinds of questions.
I laughed. “I don’t know,” I said to one of the girl’s questions about whether I was scared. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“We all felt like that in the beginning,” she said with a warm smile.
“Maybe you did, Evelyn,” another girl teased, tossing her head. At first, I thought maybe she was saying that to be mean—I was so used to the backbiting in the music business—but then both girls started laughing and I knew they were joshing each other.
“Bitches, please!” Sasha said, wading into the midst of them. She was wearing a fantastic silver wrap mermaid evening gown and moved with her characteristic quick grace—always the supreme ballerina. She threw her arms around me. “You’re frightening my fine colt.”
They laughed at that and touched Sasha quickly with their fingertips, almost like an anointing. Sasha pulled me aside and got me a d
rink of seltzer water with lime from the bar set aside just for the subs—no alcohol. I wasn’t allowed to drink it on Dollhouse grounds. She seemed to know I needed something. The others joined us, and, soon enough, we were all in deep conversations about everything and nothing much at all, and I completely forgot about my nervousness.
Just about every single one of them wanted “dates” with me—that is, they wanted to meet me outside the Dollhouse for lunch and shopping and other outings. They said they loved my makeup and piercings and nails. Felix, Alex Ishikawa’s courtesan, said she absolutely wanted me over for dinner so I could spend time with her and her daughter. And a cute guy named Cody, who was the courtier of some big Romanian ex-pat, said he wanted to take me out for some of the best Indian food in the city. I had never felt such a part of a group so quickly, even among my goth and alternative friends.
When Master called out to me from across the room, I actually felt a slight pang of regret that I had to leave my little group of new friends. The nervousness was back big time. I was practically trembling when I crossed the room to him. Thankfully, Master took control almost immediately, reattaching my lead and dragging me close so he could cup the back of my head and kiss me. It was a hard, forceful kiss, his tongue battering into my mouth while he growled hungrily against my lips. I liked that he was doing that—it let me know he was back in full control.
By then, the subs had all been called back to their Doms, and all of them—and I mean all—were watching us expectedly.
“You gorgeous little fuck toy,” he said as he steered me toward the bed. “I can’t wait to be inside you.”
That made me blush. He was talking loud enough for everyone to hear what he wanted, what he planned to do to me for their pleasure.
The bed was a magnificent antebellum, four-poster antique with red satin sheets. Our favorite crop—the same one he had bought at the adult store that night we were first together—lay waiting at the foot, newly oiled, and the sight of it and the scent of the leather made my stomach quiver with fear and anticipation.
Taking up the crop, I saw his whole demeanor change. He looked older, colder, more authoritative than I had ever seen him in my life. It left me trembling before him. “Down, colt,” he said, his voice unusually icy and commanding.
“Yes, sir,” I said, lying down on the bed for him.
He slapped the crop across my belly. “You will not speak. You are a colt.”
I didn’t answer this time. I merely lay there while he stripped me slowly, one piece of clothing at a time. I kept my eyes on him and not on the others. If I looked at the large crowd of interested people gathered around the bed, I was afraid I might lose my nerve and bolt from the room.
Once naked, Master went about teasing my bare skin with the crop, starting with my lips and moving downward. There was absolutely no part of me not on display. No part of me that did not belong to him. Master rubbed the crop in small, teasing circles around my nipples, then slowly down the midline of my body to encircle my navel before moving it lower to that place that ached just for him.
I was hard as steel for him, the cock ring putting enormous pressure on my hard-on. I could barely breathe.
Leaning down, Master kissed my mouth slowly and gently, almost like a prince in a fairytale. Then, like with the crop, he moved downward, laving great and powerful affection on each nipple, drawing each deep into his mouth and away from my body before sucking. I had always been so sensitive there, and he knew it. When I shivered like some wet horse and arched my back in response, he looked me up and down approvingly, his eyes lingering on my hardness. He touched me gently but forcefully between the legs, fingering and squeezing my testes until I moaned and jumped on the bed for him. “You are so much my boy—my sexy little colt. Are you ready to entertain us, little colt in heat?”
I made a low moaning noise in my throat.
“Kneel before your master, little colt.”
I did, bowing down low before him on the floor, assuming the position I usually did when I first arrived at his house.
“Head up.”
I looked up at his command.
An assistant stepped up and handed Master a large, wine-red velvet case. He opened it to reveal a collar I had never seen before. Sterling silver, with intricate Celtic-like markings carved into it. He showed it to me before unbuckling the collar I wore—the one I hadn’t taken off since the day I gave myself to him. “Take and wear this as a sign of my devotion and control over you.” He banded the new silver one around my neck.
It was cool and stiff, the metal somehow more present and powerful than the leather had ever been. The pressure of it made me whimper in response as he secured it with a lock and then hung the key around his neck to join the other one he wore. Finally, he attached a short, heavy chain to the collar and wove it through his powerful fingers. He tugged it firmly so my head was forced up, up, to the level of his crotch. “Undo me,” he commanded in that hard, no-nonsense voice, and I did, though my fingers were shaking so badly. “Make me come, boy.”
I could hardly believe he was allowing me this honor as I inclined my head and licked the fullness of him until I tasted his salt and heat in my mouth. Grasping my head firmly in both big hands, he guided me up and down on his thick, weeping shaft, going slow at first before increasing his speed. He moaned and thrust, forcing more and more of himself deeper down my throat. He didn’t relent until I felt his lower stomach muscles contract and a grunt escaped his lips.
Pulling me off himself, he jetted some of his thick, creamy come into my lips, making a show of it, and some down my chin and throat. “Lick me clean, my pet,” he instructed. Bowing my head obediently, I licked along the length of his slightly softened shaft, cleaning him thoroughly and completely before moving to suck delicately on his balls. I wanted to make a great display of my loyalty. He groaned long and loud at my ministrations, and his cock stiffened up almost immediately.
Yanking on the chain, he pulled me to my feet and against his chest so our hearts beat wildly against one another’s, and I could see plainly the rampant male lust and the softer, deeper, love in his eyes. Pinching my chin in his free hand, he kissed me hard before turning his head to bite the side of my neck.
I cried out so suddenly, my voice filled the room, and that made me blush with embarrassment. I had nearly forgotten about all the men and women watching us so intently. But the thought of it, of us being so intimate for their pleasure, only made me harder still, made the cock ring pure torture as I grew so incredibly aroused I thought I might lose my mind.
He touched me between the legs again, grunting with approval. “He’s ready,” he said, but not to me.
When I thought to look around, I saw Mr. Eisenberg and Sasha standing beside the bed. He was disrobing her slowly, his lips tracing the curves of her soft but incredibly strong body. “Down, filly,” he ordered her, and Sasha sank to the softness of the bed for his pleasure and scissored open her legs so he could lean down and kiss her neck and slide one hand up the inside of her thigh. His fingers slid inside her vulva and he played with her, gently, but with incredible control, murmuring the most beautifully perverse words into her ear until she was virtually purring for him.
Master picked up the riding crop and used it and the chain to guide me on top of Sasha before removing the cock ring—which was a relief. Sasha gave me a brief, warm smile while I mounted her. We shared a moment of joy and friendship between us, but then I saw her halve her eyes and lean back, always the sensual, obedient courtesan.
Mr. Eisenberg, suddenly nervous, said, “Maybe we should…”
“He’ll be fine, Henry,” Master reassured his friend. “Just let nature take its course.”
I groaned when he tightened the chain, dominating me. He tenderly kissed the back of my neck, then stroked the crop down the line of my back. The hard, cool leather, barely touching, elicited such shivers in me, and I could see the response in the other members of the Society watc
hing us. Subs started rubbing themselves against their Doms as subtlety as they could, and the Doms’ hands moved to their subs’ necks and shoulders, making their ownership obvious. I shuddered in response to the way Master was stroking me, and he repeated the motion.
Then I forgot all about the people in the room and turned my full concentration on Sasha, my breath rasping out in escalating desire, the need in me enormous. She was so pretty, and I really did care for her. Love her. Each time the slim, tooled bit of rawhide touched me, my skin rippled and my breathing grew shallower and louder in my ears.
I felt something take hold inside me—primal and almost feral. Lowering my head, I kissed the tip of each breast, licked her hard little nipples until she was mewing for me and writhing around delicately on the red satin sheets. Watching her dance only excited me further. I slid farther down her body until I found myself wedged between her legs and used two fingers to spread her wet, swollen lips. I might prefer guys, but I wasn’t some noob when it came to what a girl liked. After all, it was only by being with girls that I had learned where my preferences lie.
I thought about what we were doing—performing, yes, but also conceiving a baby. We were making a child. I wanted to make that child with love and passion. I wanted this to be pure. Dipping my head low, I licked gently but thoroughly up and down her slit until she whimpered and started thrashing for me. I increased the pressure, alternating between barely-there licks and long, ferocious laps, until I felt all her lower body muscles seize up and she came with a shiver and a cry for me. I tasted her salty come on my tongue—minty and raw and fresh.
Only then did I move back up to see her smile as she welcomed me into her arms. I found myself slipping inside her so easily. I didn’t look at what we were doing; instead, I concentrated on the peachy, after-come blush in her cheeks and her own rapid breathing. I could see her pulse ticking in her throat. I worked on not making much in the way of sounds, though I did make a few contented moans while my hips started moving of their own accord and I rubbed my engorged dick inside her hot wet sheath.