His Master's Voice #3 (The Dollhouse Society) Page 2

  Finished, his lust slaked for the moment, he stood up, grabbed me by the hair, and yanked me up so he could lay a painfully tender kiss on the side of my neck. “Thank you, my courtier,” he said, sounding supremely satisfied. “Now, go fetch my dinner.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I woke to the sound of Master’s unique ringtone—Baarish, a Hindi long song.

  Sliding against me, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. I pretended to sleep while he answered it, hoping it was a wrong number and he would snuggle back against me and keep me warm. Instead, he sat up straighter. ”What’s happened?”

  He listened for several seconds before climbing naked out of bed. He snatched up his robe before heading downstairs. That made me nervous. I thought maybe it was work, that something had gone terribly wrong with the account he was working on.

  Even from up here, I heard him swear violently in German. That really frightened me and got me up and out of bed. I crept down the stairs, sinking onto a step behind the spindles like some little kid at Christmas—only, I wasn’t feeling very cheerful. Master was stomping irritably around the parlor. “If you need me, I’ll come and get you,” I heard him say with anger and concern. I watched his shadow against the darkened walls as he paced quickly back and forth. “Don’t be ridiculous! I love you. Do you think I would just abandon you?”

  My heart sank at the words. I knew it was possible Master had other courtiers…or, at very least, other men, in his life. But experiencing it, even understanding that it was his right as Master, didn’t make it any easier a pill to swallow.

  “Ja. I will see you tomorrow. Then we will talk about it. Ja…sleep well.”

  I sucked in a quick breath, wondering who was on the other end of the line. I crept back up the stairs and got into bed.

  Master didn’t immediately return. I waited and waited. It wasn’t unusual for him to wander around at night—he was a chronic insomniac. I tried to sleep, thinking I would eventually nod off, but it was impossible with the worries and questions crowding my mind.

  When he finally returned an hour later, I could tell he had had too much to drink from the way he weaved as he crossed the room to the bed.

  I sat up and pushed the covers away. “Master?”

  “It’s late, Timothy. Go to sleep,” he ordered, sounding irritable. He was carrying a tumbler. I could hear the ice clinking against the glass.

  For once, I didn’t listen. Sometimes you have to disobey.

  I got out of bed and took the glass from him. “I think you’ve had enough of this for tonight,” I said, setting it down out of his reach.

  He didn’t get angry. He did grunt, whether in agreement or otherwise, I couldn’t tell in the dark. “Let me help you sleep,” I whispered and set my hands boldly upon the naked wall of muscle under his robe. I leaned forward, tickling my shoulder-length hair against his chest, and nuzzled my cheek against his heart before bending my head to gently lick around his nipple piercings. His muscles rippled under my ministrations, and, before long, he was nesting his fingers in my hair while I licked, kissed and sucked upon the tiny silver barbells. He moaned at the contact and said something in German I couldn’t understand.

  I pushed him down upon the bed and crawled upon him, undoing his robe so I could kiss and nip down the center part of his body. He didn’t normally tolerate it. He always wanted to be the one kissing and teasing me. He didn’t even seem to like me touching his genital region, and he never let me blow him. I thought it was odd he could fuck me with such ferocious lust but didn’t like me pleasuring him. It put this weird wall of intimacy between us and served to remind me that I was his doll, his plaything. He could only do things to me.

  I wondered if he did these things with his other men. His other lovers. The idea was horribly depressing. I wanted to show him I could be the best he ever had. I worked my way slowly down his chest and belly, finally nipping at the smooth, sensitive skin at the base of his cock until he sighed with pleasure. In seconds, he was ramrod hard and the big, soft head of his shaft was bubbling over with precum. I took his lovely manhood in hand and flitted my tongue over the crown, licking away all the cream before taking it into my mouth and loving upon it. I’d always had some trouble deep-throating my lovers, so I didn’t even try to take the whole thing in. I just concentrated on licking and squeezing until he bucked his hips in response.

  He mumbled something unintelligible while I swallowed as much of him down as I could, slathering him with my saliva. But, forever the Dominant, he grabbed at my hair, taking control of me. “Suck. Hard,” he growled out, and I started sucking enthusiastically on his shaft. Holding my head in place, he bucked his hips, forcing me to swallow him almost down to the base. I choked, so he let up a second to let me catch my breath, but then forced me down upon him once more.

  “Open your mouth like you’re yawning, sweetness,” he commanded in the most dulcet, seductive tone, and I obediently stretched my jaws to accommodate him. He stuffed my mouth and throat full, guiding me up and down upon him. The sweet taste of his maleness made me whimper with contentment. He shuttled inside me, grunting and moaning, but, just as he was about to come, he pulled back on my head.

  The moment of incredible intimacy between us was over; I was his doll again. He pushed me hard against the pillows and commanded that I spread my legs for him. Seconds later, I was gasping and gripping the bedclothes, and his brutal, lustful thrusts were making the whole bed shake and making my back bow with unimaginable pleasure.

  It was everything I wanted, yes. Everything I dreamed of. But, as he growled into my shoulder and loosened his seemingly limitless male hunger into my body, I kind of wished I could bring him—just once.

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Inventory. Ugh. Didn’t we just do this a few weeks ago?

  I hated it, but there was an unusual amount of shrinkage in the store, so Rebecca was keeping me after work to go over everything with her this week—and to show me the ropes, natch, for when she left and I took her place as Assistant Manager. So annoying. I had had to cancel with several of my clients, or move them around in my schedule—and I didn’t even want to be here! But ever since that late-night phone call, I was more determined than ever to hang onto my job.

  On the upside, the Corn Pops fiasco meant that Master had to be out of town for several days, visiting the Kellogg’s offices in Berlin, so it meant I didn’t have to make any excuses for my unusual absences. The downside to that upside was, I hated this thing I was doing—sneaking around behind his back with my job, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he, too, was sneaking around.

  Yet, despite all that, I found myself missing him horribly, even though he promised to be in contact every single day.

  I love him. It was the reality I was slowing coming to grips with. He might be cheating on me, lying to me, and I loved him.

  Really, could I get any lamer?

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was funny how accustomed I had become to visiting the townhouse four days out of a week. Going home after work to my skanky little apartment instead of riding the sub to Master’s townhouse felt incredibly alien to me now.

  Reg and Jesus were in the kitchen, popping Jiffy Pop all over the floor, while a frozen pizza burned in the oven. They were already stoned out of their heads, but at least Reg had the wherewithal to shout over, “Hey, dude, a package came for you today. Sweet laptop, man. How’d you afford that?”

  Jesus called over, “Who the fuck is Byron? Another of your little goth friends?”

  I grumbled as I stepped into my room, glanced at my secondhand desk, and saw the package Reg had mentioned—already ripped opened by my nosy, high-as-a-fucking-kite roomies. I picked up the attached card and saw that it was from Master, then looked at my mutilated package and felt like screaming at the ceiling. I couldn’t even retain the privacy of my mail in this dump!

  It took me several moments to calm down
and keep from going back out there and punching the boys in the face. Once I was certain I was not going to do that, I sat down and set the laptop up. It was top of the line—the same kind Master used to work on late at night—and had all pre-installed software, including an instant messaging system I didn’t recognize, it was so new. When I clicked it open, I saw I already had one friend added.

  “I’m glad it arrived safely,” Master said through the video chat that was so clear and real-time, it put Skype to shame. The computer itself was so hi-tech, it was like the Aston Martin of computers. It made my secondhand Best Buy jalopy look like a Flivver by comparison. Master was sitting at a desk in a high-end hotel room with an unfamiliar view of a European city through the panoramic window behind him. “How was your day, Timothy?”

  “Just the usual. Nothing too exciting.” I didn’t make mention of his ripped-open package or my moronic roommates. “Is that Berlin?”

  “Would you like to see more of it?” He got up and aimed the laptop at the window and panned slowly left to right so I had a clear view of the lighted nighttime buildings and old, rustic charm of the city. The view looked like a cross between New York City and something out of a Hans Christian Andersen story. It totally made me jealous. I had never been out of the country. Hell, I had hardly seen anything outside of New York.

  “It’s really beautiful.” I couldn’t keep the envy out of my voice.

  “When this is over, we’ll have a proper vacation.” His voice came from out of frame. “Berlin is magnificent in the springtime.”

  I thought about asking him if he had any family there, but then recalled how he had acted when I had asked him about his family. He would probably just change the subject.

  “I miss you,” I told him when he sat down again. The admission made me more uncomfortable than I had thought, so I quickly added, “But I’ve been checking up on the dogs for you. They’re doing fine, except…George ate part of the Queen Anne sofa. I’m sorry.” Since I was working all the time, he had hired someone to care for the dogs in his absence, but I didn’t want him thinking their welfare didn’t concern me—or the demise of his nice antique sofa.

  He smirked at that as if it was no big deal, though the dark, hollow rings under his eyes spoke volumes. He looked like he wasn’t sleeping at all, and I recalled all the pacing he did during the night. I wished I could be there and alleviate whatever demons haunted him after dark. “The sofa is no concern—but is Georgie all right?”

  “He misses you. Separation anxiety.”

  He nodded. “I won’t be much longer—you can tell him that from me. Speaking of which…I plan to have a dinner party on Saturday after I return. Mr. Eisenberg and Sasha will attend, as well as a few of my very close friends. I want you there, Timothy, and I want you to serve. It will give you an opportunity to experience your many different functions as my courtier. It will also allow you to get to know Sasha better.”

  “Yes, of course, Master,” I said, excited by the idea of spending time with Sasha and Master’s other friends. Sasha, more than anyone. I knew I could learn so much from her about what it was to be a good courtier, and Master would probably be discussing the details of our coupling with Mr. Eisenberg. The idea gave me a nervous thrill. “Should I arrive early…?” The only downside? The idea of cooking and serving for Master’s friends sort of terrified me.

  “It will be catered,” he explained, relieving me of that horror. “You won’t need to cook. You will only serve—but you will serve everyone in attendance. You will see to all their needs for food…and otherwise. I will send you all the details.”

  I knew what he meant, and my excitement—and fear—was redoubled. It wouldn’t just be a dinner. It was also going to be a scene. I wasn’t just going to be the waiter. I was going to be a sex toy. “I can’t wait,” I told him honestly.

  “You sound nervous.”

  “I am. A little. This will be like a trial run for our time in the Dollhouse, right?”

  “In a way,” he explained. “But more informal. In the Dollhouse, scenes—or ‘plays,’ as we call them—only take place between the Dom and his sub. In this informal setting, the rules will be more relaxed and any gentleman will be able to play with any courtesan or courtier he chooses—so long as he has the sub’s Master’s approval, of course.”

  My heart was thudding like a war drum and my mouth was suddenly dry from breathing a little too fast through it at the idea. “And what about the sub? I mean…what will be my function?”

  “You are a courtier, Timothy. My property. You will not have a say in who may play with you or what they can do to you. That is for me to decide. You will not speak, and you will deny them nothing. You will serve your masters as if you are serving me. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, trying not to blush so hard he could see it—though I’m sure he could.

  His eyes softened and a winsome smile tugged at his lips. I wished I could be there with him right now, to hold him and comfort him. He looked so lonely—and his words had made me so hot. The weekend seemed so far away. “I, too, can hardly wait,” he admitted after a few moments, making it sound delightfully sinister. Then he went on to make a special request of me.

  My heart only pounded harder at his words. It sounded so wonderfully sexy and taboo—something I had never done before.

  “One moment,” I said and went to my bedroom door to make certain the old-fashioned chain lock I had installed for more privacy was thrown and the boys out there couldn’t interrupt me. Then I carried my new laptop to the bed and set it down on some pillows, angling it so he could watch me while I slowly undressed for his pleasure.

  I treated our scene as if it were no different than if he were standing in the room with me. I folded my clothes and set them aside properly. I made every motion as sensual as possible. Once I was undressed and down to just the piercings and my collar, I glanced over my shoulder at him, giving him a shy look.

  “Heel, my pet,” he said, his voice hissing with desire.

  I assumed the heel position on the floor beside the bed and bowed my head low.

  “Stand and serve me, pet,” he said, his voice warm and ominous and so commanding that, even though he was halfway across the world, I could feel it brushing with butterfly kisses across my bare skin.

  I rose up and settled on the bed in front of the laptop. I pushed the pillows against the headboard so I was sitting upright with my legs spread so he had a perfect view of every part of me—including my tight balls and ramrod-hard shaft. He looked me over hungrily, his eyes consuming me. He didn’t say he was recording me, but I treated it as if he was, trying to be graceful and sensual with every move I made.

  His orders had been simple enough—touch myself. Bring myself. For him. But he hadn’t said how, so I used my imagination. I tried to do things I thought that he would love to watch and find attractive. First, I touched my lips and face, pretending my hand was his. I sucked a finger into my mouth, my eyes never leaving the dreamy, concentrated expression on Master’s handsome face. I trailed my wet fingers over my mouth. I played with my lip rings before running my fingertips down my throat. I played with my collar, running my fingers over the cool metal studs as if I was counting them. I went slowly, letting him pretend every touch was his touch.

  “You are so beautiful…so hot…you collared little slut of mine,” he said.

  “I am yours,” I agreed. “Every part of me belongs to you, Master.” I smiled saucily at him. “I came last night just thinking of you. I came so hard.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that. You know the rules.”

  “Fuck the rules. You weren’t here to stop me.”

  “Well, now, you’ll need to be punished for swearing, too,” he said.

  I bit the tip of my thumb. I wanted to be a brat for him. “If you were here right now, you could punish me. Put me over your knee. But you’re not.”

  “I’ll punish you after I get home.” His eyes had darkened considerably. “You w
on’t forget the rules ever again after I finish with you.”

  I shivered at the idea. Master was rarely physical in his punishment. He said that was too easy, so I knew my punishment would be more elaborate—and far more humiliating. It would give him—and me—something to look forward to.

  “Touch yourself, slut. Come hard for Master,” he commanded.

  I moved my fingers down my body, my breathing coming a little quicker now. It was easy for me to imagine him touching me like this. It was so hot and comforting, doing this, connecting us across the thousands of miles. I encircled my nipples, then wet my fingers and rubbed that wetness over them so they shone wet as if he had been sucking so hard on them. I rubbed and squeezed my sensitive little peaks until they flushed with color and stood proud. I imagined his mouth there, growling, biting, making them so sore I could barely stand to lie still beneath him. It was a soreness that stayed with me even into the next day. A comforting reminder that I belonged to him. That I was his property. That he could do anything he wanted to me because he was my Master, my owner.

  I didn’t say all these things, or express my thoughts in that way, but I hoped the way I was touching myself conveyed my love, my lust, and my total loyalty to him. I moved my fingers down the trunk of my body to where I was already so hard it hurt. My cock lay flat against my stomach, the head weeping pearls of precum. I swiped up some of the creaminess and licked it gratuitously from my fingers before moving my hand to tease between my legs.

  He said I could come. That he wanted me to come—for him. I stroked along the underside of my dick, a gentle, teasing touch that made me gasp breathlessly. I trailed my fingers down over my painfully tight balls and across my perineum and to my sweet spot. I tapped myself there, moaned at the contact. I wanted this to last. I wanted him to feel everything I was feeling. I encircled my hole several times before licking my finger and pressing inward, but not quite penetrating myself.