The Dollhouse Society Volume IV: Lucky (Includes Lady Luck, House of Dolls, The Reluctant Bride, A Woman on Top, plus a bonus story!) (8 page)

He stopped to roll his eyes up and find me. “I enjoy your company, Lucky, and I like it that you speak your mind, and that you have a mind to speak. But I think I love those sounds you make even more.”

I made those sounds while he teased and suckled me. I continued to make them as he peppered his kisses and gentle bites down over my ribs and belly. He circled my navel with his tongue, dipping it in briefly, then lowered his head to nudge my legs apart and nuzzle the quivering flesh on the insides of my thighs. I tried to close my legs to him but he clamped his hands over my knees and forced my legs farther apart. I whimpered at the realization that only the bulk of Tiberius’s body kept me from being on full, shameless display to the others.

He licked along my lower belly, then snuffled along my damp slit before flicking his tongue against my most sensitive part. I shivered against him, but my bounds hands got in his way, so he stopped to slip them over his head so they rested on the back of his neck. That put him right up against my body. He gave me a feral look and a biting kiss before lowering his head and lapping between my legs once more, his tongue darting out to scrape inside all my sore, wanting wetness. I cried out and tried to squirm away before I climaxed for the entertainment of all those who watched us, but he slid both hands under my bottom, forced my legs as far apart as he could, and licked me front to back.

I thrashed against him, against his hot, probing tongue. Like him, I had became a creature of instinct, and against my will my hips began to move against his mouth. I listened to the wet, lapping sounds of his tongue as he licked at both my openings, imbedding his tongue deeply, and shamelessly, inside me. He had touched me there before, of course, he had even tasted me, but never with such demanding fury, even lifting my hips in his hands to better his depths. I clutched the back of his neck, threw my head back so the lights of the chandeliers blinded me, and ground my hips against his face, oblivious to the world around me. I was so close, so close to climax.

Finally, he drew his thumb in a circle over my anus, inserted it into my rectum, and snapped his teeth down over my clitoris. He sucked and I immediately climaxed against him, rocking my hips, crying out, and gushing my wetness against him. He licked and licked, and when he raised his face, his eyes were dark and wild, and his lips and chin shining with my release. I trembled with weakness at the feral sight of him.

He kissed me, and to my intense shame I tasted myself in his mouth. His hands teased over my small, bare, applelike breasts as he kissed me, pinching and rolling the nipples in his fingers until I gasped into his mouth. He looked pleased by my reaction and stopped to reach into a pocket of his jacket and withdrew a curious device that looked like an instrument of torture, two small clamps with a chain strung between them. “I discovered these in the Orient, my filly. It’s called a butterfly clamp, and I understand they can be either quite pleasurable or quite painful, depending on your perspective.”

I groaned against his mouth in response. I writhed against his body. The more he plucked at my nipples, the wetter I became. I thoroughly enjoyed stories about the exotic ways of the Orient, but at the moment all I could think about was how much I wanted to feel his hands on me, and his lips and teeth back between my legs. He seized my left nipple roughly with his fingers, pinching it and making me hiss between my teeth, then deftly attached the little clip. The pain shocked me at first, but before I could even begin to acclimate myself to it, he attached the other clip to my other nipple and slid a hand between my legs to gauge my reaction. The little clamps bit so deeply into my sensitive flesh that I found myself thrashing against him and wetting his hand as I immediately climaxed again. He grabbed the chain between the two clamps and tugged on it, and a third orgasm fluttered through my belly as I cried out. He held my eyes and kept his other hand firmly planted between my legs, experiencing my climax even as I convulsed against him.

“
Good girl,” he said, his voice so low a growl it was barely human. His fingers teased past the slippery folds of my sex and probed me. He whispered that I was almost ready for him, almost there. He commanded me to lay down on the divan on my stomach. I wanted to resist, but he pinned me with a look that suggested he would pull the chain again if I disobeyed, so I scrambled to lay flat on the divan, which applied more pressure on my already throbbing nipples, and the pain became almost unbearable. Just as I began to cry from it all—the pain, the humiliation, my own need—I felt him come up behind me on the divan and run his hands down my back and over my slightly upraised bottom. He leaned against my back and whispered soothing words into my ears and my crying lessened. His hands moved back between my legs and a wave of intense pleasure slowly took my mind off the pain.

I closed my eyes, gripped the edge of the divan with bound hands, and moaned as he rubbed himself against my back, gently and persistently. He continued to whisper in my ear even as he slid two fingers inside me, thrusting suddenly and forcefully so I rocked my hips and gushed over his hand. I squealed at the sensation, having never felt anything so intense, having never been so out of control before. It was too much, too fast. I couldn’t even control myself when I finally felt him enter me from behind.

He grabbed my hair and thrust inside me, hard. “Oh Lucky, my love…” he said in that low, growling voice, and there was such warmth and love and tenderness in his voice that I relaxed completely into his thrusts. He sheathed himself completely inside me, then withdrew, then shoved himself back inside. I was wet but tight, and he had to fight for every inch he gained inside me. Gathering my hair away from my ear, he kissed it and said, “Relax and open for me, Lucky. Let me all the way in. Let me in as you’ve never let anyone in.”

I arched my back and relaxed my lower half. He immediately took advantage and bucked sharply inside me, making me cry out as he buried himself all the way to the testes in my body. He pulled back and then re-entered me with a massive grunt of approval. “Good girl,” he said and I felt the warmth of his approval fill me with love and happiness. “Are you mine, Lucky? Are you my woman? My courtesan?”

“
Yes,” I answered as I fought for breath.

“
Do you love me?”

“
I love you,” I said. I knew it was just play, but I secretly meant the words. I loved his warmth, the way he controlled our pleasure, the way he protected me, wanted me…when no one else did.

He drove his cock deep inside me again and again, his arm pressed against the space between my shoulder blades to force me down onto the surface of the divan, my nipples stinging from the constant pressure of the clamps. The mix of pain and pleasure made me cry out, and soon my cries and whimpers turned to sobs. I could feel another climax building deep inside me.

So could he, he was so attuned to my body. “Not yet, Lucky. I don’t want you to find release until I tell you.”

“
Yes, sir,” I managed between sobs.

He pulled out of me and came around the divan. He grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head up so I was facing him and I could see his impossibly huge, engorged cock dripping with a combination of our juices. He held my hair and said in a soft, commanding voice, “Lick. The way I showed you.”

I put out my tongue and licked the angry purple crown of his cock. It immediately wept over my bottom lip and chin.

“
Lick it all,” he said, and I did. I licked the tip and down the sides. I followed the pearls of fluid where they were collecting beneath his cock. I licked along the soft, swollen velvet pouch that was his scrotum. I even dipped my tongue behind his testes, swirling it in that little private place that I had discovered brought him enormous pleasure, so a plaintive cry was torn from his lips.

The men down in our audience murmured approvingly amongst themselves. I had not proven to be the difficult, disobedient courtesan that they assumed I would, though their approval—or lack thereof—meant nothing to me. Tiberius stood with his head tilted back and his lips parted, his tongue wetting the whiteness of his teeth. He was rubbing the sensitive place behind my ears with both thumbs and groaning softly, a sure sign that he was incredibly pleased with me. I wanted to make him happy. I thought that if I could make him happy, maybe, just maybe, he would love me back.

He pulled my hair and drew my face back so he could bend and kiss me on the lips, then he returned to his former station, bent over me, and turned me over on the divan so I was facing him, the chain from the clamps rattling between my breasts. He shrugged out of his formal jacket, dropped it on the floor, and straddled my hips, mounting me from the front. His face was full of furious passion as he looked upon me, and his look alone, so intense and demanding, made me arch my hips against him like a doxy.

He slid his hands up my stockinged legs, then folded them back so my knees nearly touched my ears and I was fully open to him as he eased himself back inside me. I was so wet there was no trouble at all. His breaths came hot and furtively against my throat as he forced himself deep inside me, and I cried out at the sudden spasm of pleasure and pain. Still watching my face, he drew back and shoved himself inside once more, even more forcefully. I screamed at the impact. He was not usually so rough with me, and I had the sudden impression that he was punishing me in some way, though I couldn’t fathom why. Hadn’t I done whatever he wanted? Hadn’t I pleased him?

I thought about using the safe word, but the pain of his entry was so close to pleasure as to be indistinguishable from it. He forced himself inside me a third time and I automatically arched my back. At the same moment, he took up the chain and yanked the clips from my sore little nipples.

The surge of pain and pleasure made me scream and made my entire body convulse around him, which forced his own climax. The walls of my cervix closed around him like a mouth, and then I was milking him so he writhed with me, above me, not the little spasms I was used to, but enormous, breath-stealing lunges that rocked my hips as his seed erupted inside me over and over and filled me to overflowing. He gasped as he pounded inside me and we climaxed together.

“
I want to see you,” I told him, shocked by my own boldness, and he dutifully pulled out so the last twitches of his cock were not just inside me but against my lower belly, his sticky, sweet seed spilling over me. Spent, he let out a sigh and leaned down to kiss me below the ear, the residue of our passion smeared between us, though he didn’t seem to mind it at all. In fact, he rubbed himself against me as if scent marking me as he kissed me.

“
You belong to me,” he said, his voice hoarse and insistent. “You belong to me and no one else, do you understand, Lucky? You’re my woman.”

I felt warm. I felt loved, even if he didn’t say as much. I began to cry. “Yes,” I answered in a whisper.

It wasn’t love, of course, it was only theater, but it would do.

THE RELUCTANT BRIDE

Smithtown, New York, 1805

“
Miss Lucky, there’s a man in a carriage here to see you,” Nellie told as she swished into my father’s study in her long skirts—except that the room was no longer my father’s study. It had become, instead, my partner Tiberius’s main base of operations for the cotton mill. Nellie glanced around the study. “And where did Mr. Sloan get himself off to?”

I looked up from the books I was balancing and said, “I’m afraid he’s down at the mill, Nellie. Some repairs were required today. And thank you for telling me about the carriage. I’ll be down in a moment.”

But Nellie remained, looking at my crossly from across the room.

“
Nellie, what is it?”

Nellie, my nanny and the only member of my original staff to remain with me despite my family’s ruin, gave me a down-the-nose look similar to when I would get into her raspberry tarts as a girl. Truthfully, she was less like my nanny and more like my substitute mother, my real mother having died when I was still an infant “It’s a young man calling upon you,” she said precariously.

I stood up when I noted her distress and came around the secretary where I was working. Nellie held out a calling card for me. It read
Bleeker & Brinkerhoff of New York,
and I knew then who it was. “Ah, Stuart Brinkerhoff.”

“
Stuart?” she asked, surprised by my sudden familiarity with the man.

“
We met him at the carnival, after we re-opened the mill. You remember, Nellie.”

She thought about that. “Yes, I seem to recall a young man who cornered your attention.”

“
You don’t seem pleased.” I went over to the rocking chair where Nanny Nellie had often held me while my father worked. I waited until she followed and had sat down before climbing into her lap. Then realizing I was much larger than she was these days, I got up and signaled for her to stand as well. When she had, I sat down and
she
sat in my lap. “I would have thought you would be happy a young man is showing me attention.”

Nellie looked reluctant to continue so I just waited. I knew she would eventually overcome her reluctance and speak her mind. After all, it was really from her that I had learned to voice my own opinions. She swiped a curl of hair off my forehead familiarly. “I thought that perhaps…oh, never mind, my dear…”

“
No, go on, Nellie. You know I value your opinion.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Well, then…you see…” she glanced down at her gnarled old hands, “…I was hoping that perhaps you and Mr. Sloan had developed more than a working relationship.”

I was surprised. “Really, Nellie. That ogre?”

Nellie sat up straighter, looking angry. She wagged her finger in my face. “Lucille Elizabeth Van der Meer, that’s not a very Christian thing to say. You are very quick to lay judgment on Mr. Sloan. You always have been, girl. He is not some monster! He was your father’s trusted partner for years! Perhaps he is not as comely as your young suitor downstairs, but he’s certainly not an…an ogre, as you say.”