The Dollhouse Society: Isabelle (New Adult BDSM Erotica) (5 page)

“…our friend.”
Damian took up my hand and swiped a kiss over my knuckles.

The brothers offered me
warm smiles that crinkled their eyes at the corners and Dorian added, “We’ll have you back to your dorm just in time for bed, Belle. We appreciate you acting as our consort. Because of you, the ACS had quite a few donations tonight.”

“I’m glad
,” I said.

What they were saying abou
t the sex thing was a little weird, but I really couldn’t be too offended by it. At least they were being honest with me about their tastes and sexuality, and I didn’t think two men who were up to something nefarious would be so open with their next victim. Would they?

After they let me out
on the campus grounds, I stood in the student parking lot, clutching my wrap, and waved goodnight as the limo pulled out and disappeared into traffic. I told myself I was a very lucky girl to have two employers who were honorable enough to not take advantage of me.

I ought to be ecstatic about that,
I knew, but somehow it made me sad.

***

“Belle, would you be able to serve Friday night?” Damian asked, standing in the doorway of the dining room.

I was balanced somewhat precariously on a stepladder and trying to get the dusty drapes off the curtain rod so they could be dry-cleaned. “Serve?” I mumbled from under a fold of drape, and then coughed at the dust I was inhaling.

“Act as a server, I mean, for a dinner party that bro and I are having. We’ll pay you extra, of course…what
are
you doing, Belle?”

I tugged at the rod, but they seemed to be somehow
permanently affixed to the molding around the huge, panoramic windows that looked out over the manicured lawn behind the house. “Trying to get these down. They’re filthy!”

“Belle, we have professional cleaners who take care of the window dressings.”

“Well, they aren’t doing their job. Have you seen these things?” I shook the curtain and a cloud of dust sparkled in the air, making Damian cough. “And sure, I can serve. I don’t have anything going on Friday night.”

After
Damian finished coughing, he said, “No dates or anything? Because if it’s a bother, we have a firm we can hire.”

“No dates. I don’t date.”

He crossed his arms across his broad chest, making the tight black concert T-shirt he wore stretch across his plain of pectoral muscle in a way that I found way too distracting. He cocked his head and eyed me with his sparkling blue eyes. “Why don’t you date? You’re certainly an attractive young woman.”

“Because I don’
t date, that’s why,” I said, not wanting to get into this with him. “What time do you need me?”

“Seven.”

“I might be just a little bit late. I have a support group meeting that gets out at 6:30.” I immediately wanted to slap a hand over my mouth for oversharing information.

He quirked an eye
brow. “Support group? You don’t seem much like a drug addict or alcoholic.”

“It’s not that kind of group,” I said in a rush, trying to cover my tracks. “I…I help people.
Counseling, you know. So I might be a little late. Is that all right?”

“That’s fine…”

At that moment, I pulled too hard and felt the ladder slip out from under my feet. I saw Damian move like lightning out of the corner of my eye. I cried out as I found myself in freefall for half a second, then a pair of strong arms caught me and I gasped at the impact. The dusty drape dropped down upon us seconds later, which Damian shrugged off. His hair sparked with dust, but his face was strained with concern when he looked at me. “Belle? Are you all right?”

I caught my breath and breathed out. I realized I was pressed up against the muscular wall of
Damian’s chest. “I’m fine,” I said, though my breath caught again for an entirely different reason. I could feel his erection through the snugness of his jeans pressing into my side, but I told myself it must be his tight jeans. “Thanks.”

An awkward moment passed before he lowered me to my feet. He grabbed up the fallen drape and kept it strategically
close against his body. “Good. Don’t do that again,” he said in an overly stern voice. “Be here as early as you can on Friday night…and, Belle, don’t mess with the drapes anymore.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

I was only a little bit late on Friday night. Catering had
already come and gone, and the dining room was set with six places. I went through the rooms with my clipboard, double checking to make certain all the rooms I thought might be used—dining room, living room, foyer, rec room—were clean and tidy before stepping into the kitchen to find out what my duties for the evening would be.

Dorian was standing at a counter, g
oing over a list. Dorian loved making lists. I found them all over the house—just another part of his controlling nature, I think. He was very organized. He turned when he heard me come in and said, “Thank you for serving tonight, Belle. Do you have any issues with wearing a uniform? It’s to be a very formal dinner.”

I thought about that. “No, I guess not.”

I thought he would give me some kind of Maitre ‘d uniform to wear, like in a high-end restaurant—black slacks, white shirt, some kind of bowtie—but instead presented me with an itty bitty black dress and white apron combo, fresh from the drycleaners. I looked it over. It was a little briefer than I generally liked my dresses. “There are heels to go with it,” he explained. “But I understand if you prefer your own shoes. You might be running about a bit.”

I always wore sensible Dr. Scholls with their no-slip soles to clean the Michaels mansion.
In fact, I almost never wore heels. I was short, only five-two. Even three-inch heels weren’t going to make much difference in that department.

I decided
it was a sensible compromise. I took the dress from him, wondering what kind of special company the brothers were entertaining tonight. “If I can wear my shoes, then I’ll wear your dress.”

“Excellent.”

I waited in the kitchen amidst all the catered food in their warming trays. When it came time, Damian stepped into the kitchen, dressed smartly in his million dollar James Bond tuxedo, and looked me over. I saw the approval in his eyes. “You look beautiful tonight, Belle.”

I beamed him a smile. “I aim to serve,” I said, then realized how that sounded kind of slutty and said, “I mean…thank you, sir.”

He asked that I bring in the champagne. I placed a bottle on a silver serving try and arranged six glasses around it, then ushered it into the living room, where the guests were taking drinks.

I soon discovered that all the guests were women—drop-dead gorgeous women with huge boobs, tiny waists, tight evening gowns, and painfully high heels.
One was prettier than the next, like a long procession of living Barbie dolls, and I even thought I recognized at least one from a popular daytime soap. I served them all with a smile. Some nodded thanks as I filled their glasses, while others barely acknowledged my presence.

I didn’t take offense. I wasn’t nearly pretty enough to talk to them. And besides, I was just the help.

I cleared empty glasses and quickly ushered in more champagne, followed by wine. Damian and Dorian nodded to me and smiled and gave them A-OK signs as I quickly moved between the kitchen and living room. I thought I was doing a pretty good job for an amateur, but just before dinner was called, I accidently turned too quickly with a full try of champagne glasses and tripped over an end table. I caught myself before I fell, but a glass toppled and splashed the front of one of the women in her long, midnight-blue gown.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” I said, setting down the try and plucking the bar mop from my shoulder so I could soak up the strain, but the woman rounded on me before I could approach her and slapped my hands away.

“What’s the matter with you? Are you blind? Do you know how much this gown costs?” she spat.

“I can imagine. I didn’t mean…”

“You stupid bitch, I’ll make you pay for the cleaning!”

T
ears fill my eyes, but before I could apologize again, Dorian appeared at my side. “You can leave now, Tiffany,” he said in a soft, rumbling baritone to the woman.

“Leave?” she said, eyeing me l
ike something she’d likely peel off the bottom of her high heel. “It was
her
fault! You should keep your help better in line, Dr. Dorian!”

“She apologized already,” Dorian said, his voice
calm but vibrating with a faint growl. “And it’s time for you to go.”

I turned and fled to the kitchen before I started crying in front of everyone. I leaned against the counter and took a few deep breaths, let a few tears out, then worked on trying to control myself. I thought about my support group. They said it was okay to cry, that tears were weakness leaving the body.

I was dabbing at my eyes with my bar mop when Dorian came in. “She’s gone. Are you all right, Belle?”

I sniffed and
stood up straighter. “I’m fine.” I offered him the bravest smile I could. “I’m sorry I messed up.”

Dorian sighed, came to me, and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe at my makeup. “It’s just a lit
tle spill. Nothing to fret over.”

“I cost you a guest.”

“They’re here at our good graces, Belle.”

I let him dry
my face. “Who are they?” I asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Potential courtesans. T
hey’re auditioning for the position of our courtesan.”

“Oh.”
Then I thought about what he was saying. “Your courtesan? You’re only picking one?”

“I told you. My brother and I share.”

“I know…but…I guess I thought you were pulling my leg or something.”

“When my brother and I were young, we were in fierce competition with each other. It almost destroyed our relationship. But then, when our parents died, we vowed not to let that happen, as we were the only family we had left. We decided we would work together and share everything
we had—the house, the practice, everything.”

“Including girls?”

“Including the girl who would become our courtesan, yes.” He finished wiping my face and smiled. “I’m rather glad you rooted out Tiffany for us, Belle. I have no patience for women like that. Better?”

I nodded. “Better.”

***

I made no more
mistakes for the rest of the evening. I swiftly and successfully ran dinner from the kitchen to the dining room, then scooped up all the used dishes and tableware as each course came to an end and ran them back to the kitchen just as quickly. I refilled water glasses and wine glasses, and somehow managed to spill not one drop. I was feeling very good by the time dinner was done and the girls were saying their goodbyes to the Michaels brothers. They stood at the door a long time after the last girl left, whispering between themselves.

While I was in the kitchen, loading the industrial-sized dishwasher,
Damian suddenly appeared and said, “Would you join us a moment, Belle?”

“Sure.”

I went out into the dining room to see they’d set a place for me and a fresh bottle of wine was in the ice cooler. Another jewelry box sat next to the plate. “This isn’t necessary,” I giggled nervously, wringing my hands.

“We think it is,”
Damian answered and led me by the end to the table. He pulled out the chair for me and I sat down and placed the cloth napkin properly into my lap. Dorian brought out a plate of the gourmet lamb and mint that was the main course, then poured me a glass of champagne. The guys sat down on either side of me as I tucked into dinner.

“
Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked as Damian showed me the diamond pendant earrings in the jewelry case that they were giving me. “I’m only doing the job you hired me to do.”

“We want you to feel valued, not just ‘the help’,” Dorian insisted.
I could tell he was still feeling bad about what Tiffany said. He folded his hands contemplatively. “What did you think of the girls?”

I almost choked on my wine. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think any of them suit us?” Damian asked.

I thought back to the dinner party. “I liked Jennifer. She was nice.”

“Too nice? A courtesan who’s too nice is no fun at all.”

I looked between them. “You mean you want a bad girl?” I giggled nervously.

Damian smiled and Dorian pursed his lips. “Not bad, per say,” Dorian said. “We want a strong woman. Someone who can handle our demands.”

“What are your demands?”

Something passed between the brothers, that psychic signal again. They stood up at once, almost in sync with one another. “If you’re finished, will you follow us upstairs?”

“Sure. If you want.”

I followed them up the curving staircase to the second floor, then down a long hallway to where one of the many locked door lurked. I thought they wanted me to clean it for them, but when Dorian unlocked it with a key in his pocket, the door fell open on an immaculate room carpeted in plush arctic white carpeting and intricate oak wainscoting.