His Master's Voice #3 (The Dollhouse Society)

  HIS MASTER’S VOICE #3

  By

  Jay Ellison

  Copyright © 2017 Jay Ellison

  Published by Courtesan Press

  http://courtesanpress.wordpress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be distributed, shared, resold, posted online, or reproduced in any electronic or hard copy form.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities between actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. This book contains adult content and is intended for a mature readership. All sexual scenarios depicted in this book occur between consenting adults over 18 years of age.

  Cover art design by Courtesan Press

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  HIS MASTER’S VOICE #3 by Jay Ellison

  About the Author

  How to Order

  * * *

  HIS MASTER’S VOICE #3

  By Jay Ellison

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Timot, dude, you wanna maybe join us?”

  The voice immediately snapped me awake. I sat up on the sofa and glanced around Kree’s parents’ basement, at the paneled walls and sound equipment strewn all over. My two band mates were standing there, looking at me as if I had two heads, Kree with his bass around is middle, and Raven behind the drums.

  “W-what?” I said, still groggy from sleep.

  “Dude,” Kree said, swaggering forward to toe my Les Paul, which had fallen on the floor while I was dozing, “we left for like five minutes to get beers and you totally checked out. You okay?” He offered me a can of Budweiser.

  I sat up, shaking the sleep off like an uncomfortable blanket, and went to grab the guitar. “I’m okay,” I said, ignoring the beer and standing up. “Sorry. Wasn’t blowing you guys off.”

  It was Saturday evening, late, and we were supposed to be practicing for this gig that Kree claimed to have landed in a dive bar in the Bronx next weekend. The terrible thing was I couldn’t even remember falling asleep. I know they had said they wanted to get some beers. I just figured I’d rest my eyes a second while they were gone, and…bam!

  Kree gave me a sympathetic look. “You are totally cooked, dude.”

  “Maybe he’s not cooked enough!” Raven laughed and struck a rim shot.

  That made Kree giggle, and before I even knew it, they were passing a homemade fatty between them. They offered it to me, but I waved it away. The Mary Jane would make me even more tired than I was.

  “If you guys are going to cook, I’m gone,” I said, feeling irritable the way you do when you nod off at the wrong time during the day. “I don’t need to be breathing that shit in.”

  “Buzzkill!” Raven said and laughed again. Kree laughed with him, and suddenly the two of them took up the mantra and started chanting, “Buzzkill! Buzzkill! Buzzkill Timot!” at me. They were good guys, but they had maybe half a brain between them, so I didn’t take it personally.

  I did pack up my Les and take myself out of there, however.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kree and Raven were right, of course. I was pretty cooked. Sleepwalking. Dead on my feet. Whatever you wanted to call it.

  It was my own damned fault. Two months ago, when I first agreed to train with Master, I also agreed to attend cooking and etiquette classes. They were fun, don’t get me wrong, and I was learning a ton of stuff in them, but they were also evening classes, and they were in lower Manhattan, so I had to rush from work at Pet World in Brooklyn all the way across the city. Of course, Master assumed I had quit the job at Pet World and that my days were being spent building my client list for my dog training business or working with the band on new material. He certainly was paying me enough to do so. I just hadn’t told him the truth yet.

  And that bothered me. A lot.

  While I rode the subway uptown to Master’s townhouse, I kept thinking about how I was basically lying to his face. Up until now, I had kept nothing off the table with Master. He knew everything about me—where I had grown up, what my dreams were, and the horrible incident in the boy’s washroom when I was eighteen and eight giant, angry boys had nearly killed me. I had even mentioned Taylor once in passing. But I hadn’t told him the truth about my job. That I hadn’t quit. That I had chickened out.

  That fateful Monday, I was supposed to give my six-week’s notice. Master’s orders. Well, I had actually stepped into Rebecca’s office to do it, but she wasn’t there, so I sat down and waited for her. Unfortunately, the longer I waited, the more uncomfortable the decision made me. I wasn’t stupid or naïve. I knew it was entirely possible that Master would grow tired of me, or that I would screw up in some fantastic way and ruin everything we had. It happened all the time in normal relationships. I knew it could happen with us, too.

  And if it did? I would be throwing away a stable job I had worked at for six fucking years!

  “Timothy!” Rebecca said, stepping into the office that day. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to discuss something with you.”

  I squirmed around a little in my seat. “Me, too.”

  She nodded, dropping some binders onto her desk. ”Can I go first?”

  “Sure.”

  Well, the gist of it was, Rebecca was being transferred to the Long Island store. She was ecstatic, of course. The transfer was coming with a massive promotion. In just two month’s time, she would be the shiny, brand new, full-time manager of her own Pet World. She couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear—and I couldn’t blame her. She deserved it.

  “Of course, that leaves a gap here. Home office might send someone new, but you know how Gary is about a new guy honing in on his territory.” She rolled her eyes dramatically as we shared an intimate moment of total grief.

  Gary was our ultra-macho regional manager. He was also kind of a prick. He dressed like a 1970s porn star and liked to come onto the girls. Rebecca thought I would be a good fit for Assistant Manager since the only thing that seemed to turn Gary off were homosexuals. Plus, the girls working in the store knew they could come to me, that I would lend a sympathetic ear, if something happened.

  “Anyway!” Rebecca fluttered her hands excitedly. “I want to recommend you for the position. What do you think?”

  It took me a moment to swallow that down. “You want to give me your position?”

  “You got it. So…can I recommend you?”

  I opened my mouth, shut it, then opened it again. I felt like a puppet with its strings being pulled.

  “Great pay. Full benefits,” she said teasingly. She looked a little surprised that I wasn’t jumping for it immediately. “It’s not like you haven’t earned it, too, Tim. I mean, as you reminded me last Friday, you cover everyone’s shift. You’re the most responsible person I know.”

  I should have said no. I should have given my notice. It was a direct order from Master. I was supposed to follow his orders to the letter. But when I finally found my voice, what came out was, “Okay.”

  So, yeah, I was feeling pretty crappy about that even weeks later.

  What is wrong with you? I kept asking myself as I climbed the steps up from the sub, stuck my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket to keep them warm this crisp November day, and started hoofing it down the street toward the townhouse.

  Master’s warning from just before we began our arrangement came back to haunt me like one of those scary voice-overs in a horror movie: “I will never forgive or forget a betrayal. Remember those two things, if you remember nothing at all.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER THREE

  As soon as I let myself inside Master’s townhouse, the dogs were all over me, jumping up and licking my
ears.

  “Yes, yes, I know, puppies! I’m here! I’m very exciting. I’m awesome company! I’m fascinating and charming and—”

  George woofed and almost knocked me over. I laughed as I led them outside to their personal condo, which was attached to the house and had a full heating and A/C system, and so many luxuries it was like dog heaven. Master and I only took them out of the house when we were preparing food or scening. Otherwise, they were usually all over us.

  After I got back to the townhouse, I checked the time. It was a little after seven. Master was very punctual and usually home by eight. I needed to get a move on if I was to complete my duties on time.

  First, I went to the industrial-sized refrigerator and checked the supplies. It seemed to have everything I needed for the new recipe I was trying out tonight. I quickly got into the groove of sorting the ingredients for my gourmet shepherd’s pie, chopped all the vegetables, and put everything together in the oven. I carefully designed the salad so it was attractive as well as delicious, as my instructors had taught me, and then set the table properly, including good linens, candles, silverware, and, finally, the flatware and glasses. I even checked to make certain the silverware was polished and the proper distance from the charger, and that the wine and water glasses were in the right positions. I wanted everything perfect. Finally, I took the wine out to breathe and went to clean all the kitchen surfaces, then lit the candles and dimmed the lighting. I thought it all looked attractive and romantic.

  Done with my food and serving preparations, I undressed, carefully folded my clothes, and set them aside. I quickly showered in the bathroom, then groomed and prepared myself properly before I went to kneel by the door and wait for Master’s arrival.

  Eight o’clock came and went. I started to worry that my candles would burn down to ugly nubs and my food would dry out in the warming drawer. Master was rarely late.

  I thought about calling him, but then decided that would be inappropriate. If there was some great delay, he would call me, and he hadn’t.

  At a quarter to nine, the key clicked in the lock and I felt my heart start to race. Moments later, Master swept into the townhouse. He never looked rumpled in his form-fitting business suits, but he did look especially tired tonight, with dark rings under his eyes.

  He didn’t immediate acknowledge me. Instead, he carried his attaché case to the living room and set it down and made himself a drink—scotch on ice, his favorite. He drank down half the glass and sighed with relief before turning around. When he did, the tiredness looked swept away and I felt his commanding presence once more—though that one moment of vulnerability had frightened me, honestly. Master had been working long hours, and he always looked so worn when he arrived home. Yet, despite his obvious fatigue, he didn’t seem to be sleeping well, tossing and turning all night long.

  He came to me and touched my bowed head. “Stand and serve me, pet.”

  I moved from my kneeling position to my feet in one easy, graceful movement. Ever since meeting Sasha, Henry Eisenberg’s courtesan, I had become obsessed with improving my form. She was so graceful, and she seemed to float instead of walk. I wanted to move just like that.

  Master grunted and his eyes lit up when he saw my improved form. I think it was obvious I had been practicing—twenty minutes every day, as he had instructed me. He reached out and tenderly touched my cheek, and it was magic. I always felt like I was falling inside when he touched me that way. “How was your day, pet?”

  I loved that he asked every day. That he cared. “Uneventful, Master,” I answered. I gave him a very short synopsis. “I’m still working on expanding my client list, but I’ve gathered plenty of names while working at Pet World, so it shouldn’t be hard.”

  “Very clever.”

  “Thank you, Master.” I kept my head bowed, not wanting to appear too haughty. I thought about being honest about my job, then chickened out. As usual, I changed the subject. “How was yours?”

  “Challenging,” he said. He turned and went to refresh his drink. He didn’t often talk about his work, but when he did, I listened closely. I wanted to understand more about what he did during the day. “Just as I was leaving, the firm was handed that racist Corn Pops packaging to unfuck.” Master seldom swore, so I knew this was taxing. “Hence the reason I was delayed.”

  I knew he wasn’t explaining things to be apologetic. Master didn’t do apologies, but punctuality was very important to him and he held himself to the same rigid standards as he did everyone else. He knocked back the drink before saying, “It’s a PR’s worst nightmare and will be making for very long nights over the next two weeks.”

  “Well,” I said, hoping to lift his spirits, “I made dinner…a new recipe. Are you hungry?”

  He turned to look me over, his eyes gliding over me in a way I could physically feel. For the first time that night, I was acutely aware of my nakedness, my vulnerability, and my Master’s rampant hunger. The furious lust radiating from his tall, angular form made my heart gallop in my chest, my cheeks pique, and my balls tighten. I had never met anyone like Master before—so wildly passionate, so incredibly male, but so capable of controlling himself at the same time.

  Usually.

  He didn’t answer. He did move faster than I ever expected.

  In less than two strides, he was standing in front of me. He clasped the back of my neck in his big hand and drew me to him. He captured my lips. His mouth was hard, hungry and unforgiving, and the bristles of his five o’clock shadow tickled in a delightful way as he deepened the kiss before turning his head and attacking the side of my neck. He placed one hand in the small of my back, holding me tight and immovable against him, while his lips tease over my ear and his other hand slid down my side and over my ass, digging with possessive force into the meat there.

  I imagined waking up tomorrow with the imprint of his hand on my ass. I moaned at the idea of him marking me this way.

  “Timothy,” he said like some kind of sigh. “I have thought of this…dreamed of this…all day.” His kisses turned to fierce nips.

  I whimpered helplessly against his mouth, felt a nervous thrill at his words. It was so exciting, so fulfilling, to know I had had that effect on him. That he had thought of me. Dreamed of me.

  Fingers digging into my ass cheek, he crushed me harder against him, kissing me as if he was feeding at my mouth. “Ah, my sweetness!” he said with sudden joy and, with a beauteous smile, lifted me into his arms, turned, and, in two more strides, set me down atop the beautiful table I had set for his dinner.

  Master looked me in the eye with such longing that my voice caught in my throat. Then he trilled his fingers down the sides of my neck until I became all melty and relaxed for him. He kissed me again, sliding his tongue deep into my mouth. He pushed me down atop the table, scrunching up the nice white linen cloth beneath me. Soon, he was roughly suckling at my nipples, making me writhe for him. I bunched the cloth up in both hands as I fought to control myself.

  I could feel the weight—the fury—of his lust. It burned like a raging inferno. He forced himself to back off only long enough to undo his cuffs and the tie around his neck. His face was flushed with desire when he said, “Down. Present yourself, my pretty colt. Your Master needs to ride you.”

  “Yes, Master.” I slid down off the table and turned to lean against it. I bowed my head low but offered my ass high, the way he liked it. I made certain my movements were all fluid…all beautiful to watch.

  With an impatient grunt, he ripped at his trousers, and, within seconds, he had me pinned to the tabletop and was mounting me from behind. His lust was furious and demanding tonight. He couldn’t seem to move fast enough, penetrate me quickly enough, for his own liking. He braced his elbow on the table beside my head and used his other hand to guide his dick deep inside my quivering, waiting hole. Even with the oils I had used so generously—the ones he had had made especially for me—it was hard taking him that deep that suddenly. My whole body jolted a
t the assault.

  “Easy, colt,” he growled out, steadying me while I shifted beneath him, my body straining under his weight and lust. His hand slid to my hip, where he pinched my hipbone so hard it made me cry out in pain. I didn’t mind. The pain centered me, reminding me of my place. “Master needs you. Let me in.” He held me still against the edge of the table so he could power his way inside me.

  He was the predator and I was his conquest. He grunted as he fucked in and out, and the table jumped at each harsh impact. I gasped as pain and pleasure swirled through my body.

  “Yes, colt,” he growled out. “Take that fucking, my sweet beauty. You know you want to.”

  I did want it. I wanted every part of him. My hips bucked and I my belly lurched against the table as he penetrated me in hard but even strokes. He was so incredibly rough, but, at the same time, so incredibly controlled in the way he doled out the pleasure and the pain. Each thrust made me gasp to catch my breath. Each thrust dragged my hips up off the edge of the table. The silverware rattled and the glassed clinked together. The pleasure built and built inside me. Soon, I had to make a conscious effort to hold myself back. I was his courtier. His pleasure was my pleasure. I would not spend myself until he said I could. And if not spending myself was his pleasure, I would do that, as well.

  His taking of me left me quickly, deliciously sore. I whimpered, which only made him batter into me harder and faster. He growled and raked his fingers up my sides. “Yes, make those noises, colt,” he whispered, and I did, mewling and crying out, but not speaking. He liked it when I vocalized, but he had trained me not to speak while he was satisfying his lust inside my body.

  With a low groan, he thrust one last time deep inside me. The impact knocked shivers down my spine and almost made me collapse. I grunted at the impact but felt my body clamp down instinctively around him, trying to hold him inside. He shivered in release and shot his seed through me.