His Master's Voice #1 (The Dollhouse Society) Page 3

  It took me a moment to realize he was referring to the leather lead in my hand. “Uh…yeah…I mean, yes, Sir.” I shifted uncomfortably, both of us fully aware that he could see just how turned on this was making me. It made me blush up and down, which just made me feel even more mortified. God, I wanted to sink right through the ground!

  Instead of pointing out the obvious, he licked his lips in a way that made my jeans feel even tighter. “Give it to me.”

  The words—a command, not a suggestion—sang through me and, at last, I chanced a look at his face. His expression, sans shades, was so intense, so hungry, I had to look away. I had never seen such a carnivorous look on anyone before. Leaning forward, I handed him the lead.

  Our fingers touched again, but this time his strong warm fingers lingered on the back of my hand as he took the lead, pulling it tight, but not forcing me down or anything. The spark of electricity across my skin, and the realization that he now had my lead, nearly made me swoon on the spot.

  “Do you understand what this signifies?” he asked, holding the lead up so the imitation diamonds sparkled. His voice was gentle now, less demanding and more inquisitive.

  His voice invited my full attention. I nodded. Then, remembering proper BDSM etiquette, I quickly corrected myself. “Yes, Sir. I know all about Dominant and submissive lifestyles.”

  “You do?” He lifted his perfect eyebrows in a way that made me wonder if he was mocking me.

  “Well…some,” I admitted shyly. “I’ve only just begun studying it.”

  “Well, then, do you understand the significance of this gift you are giving me?”

  I savored his soft, dark words a long moment before nodding. Then, remembering that nodding was unacceptable and showed a lack of respect, I stopped doing that and said in a clear voice, “Yes, Sir. I do.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat. It was so hard to remember everything I had read and apply it! It didn’t help that every time I look into his eyes, I felt like I was melting a little bit more. “I’ve chosen you as my Master,” I explained, straining to recall everything. “That is…if you’ll have me as your submissive.”

  “You’re a sub?”

  I hesitated at the question. “No…I mean…” I had to think a moment before answering. Stuff off the internet wasn’t going to help with this. “I think I’ve always been a sub. It’s a part of me. Like my music and my Wiccan and everything else. But I’ve never found a worthy Master until now. I never knew what I was until now. Until I met you.”

  My answer seemed to amuse him. He ran his slender fingers up and down the lead attached to my collar. “But how do you know I’m a master worthy of you?” His voice was soft and almost touchable like fur. It was sweet, playful—but the question stumped me, frankly. When I didn’t answer that question because I wasn’t sure what to say, he said instead, “Have you ever been a sub before?”

  “No, Sir. I’ve never even seen a sub until Aber—I mean, Michael. But, when I did…” Again, I hesitated, almost too shy to go on, then wondered why I should be so afraid to speak to him if I wanted him to be my Master. Something in me trusted him enough to give him my collar. My explanation should follow. This time, I lifted my eyes to look him in the face. I wanted him to see my sincerity. “When I saw your submissive, I knew that that was what I was, too”

  “Because of Michael.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I glanced around the park. A few people were passing us by as they walked their dogs, but I didn’t care what they thought. This was too important. I didn’t see Abercrombie Michael, that was for sure. I’d hoped I wouldn’t, of course, but that wasn’t my choice to make. I knew a Dom could own more than one submissive, and I was prepared to share him, if I had to. If I was allowed to.

  As if to read my thoughts, Sir said, “Michael isn’t here. We…ended our arrangement last week.”

  “Oh!” My eyes snapped back around and I found myself looking the Dom in the face again. His seething grey eyes studied me so intently that I felt he was boring a hole through my soul. A chill went up my spine.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” I said, not sure what the proper response was to losing a sub.

  “Why?” the Dom demanded to know. “I’m certainly not. He was a brat, and that I could tolerate just fine. Being a brat can be very…stimulating, at times. But he was also rude to you, and territorial where I was concerned. And that I take offense to.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  Somehow, I felt like I was interviewing for a position. I loosened my posture up so he would not think I was being deceitful and lowered my eyes once more so he would not think I had designs on being territorial or disrespectful. “Yes, Sir. I’ve been studying up on the lifestyle, and I know that a submissive should always remember their place. A sub laying claim to a Dom shows too much ego on the part of the sub…” I stopped and took a deep breath. I didn’t want to come off sounding like Wikipedia. “I know I still have a lot to learn.”

  He nodded, seemingly pleased. “And you think I can teach you?” Instead of letting me answer, he tightened the lead slightly. “You’re humble. That’s good.”

  I felt a surge of pleasure at his compliment.

  “Heel, pet,” he commanded.

  My heart was thudding so hard I thought for sure he could hear it as I knelt down on the path before the bench. There was gravel on the path, which dug into my knees uncomfortably, but I braved the pain. I felt he was worth the pain. I put my knees together properly and rested my hands on my knees, mimicking the way Abercrombie Michael had done that day. I hoped I was at least as good as he was.

  He looked down at me. Approvingly? I couldn’t tell.

  “Look at me.”

  I did.

  “Your name—what is it, pet?”

  I made a terrible mistake in that moment. “Timothy.” Normally, I used Timot as my stage name. I even used it among my clients. Only Rebecca and my parents used Timothy. Timot was the name I had planned to give the Dom because it was so much cooler sounding, but I was too mesmerized by those eyes and had blurted out my stupid first name instead. I wanted to kick myself!

  “Timothy,” he said, slowly and sensually as if he was tasting every syllable of my name. “It’s a lovely name. Mine is Byron Erbach-Schönberg‎. Do you know the name?”

  The name sounded German, which, after a moment, explained the vague accent. But I had to think about it a moment. All I could come up with was the vague memory of a SoHo shop called Erbach Diamond Exchange, and I wasn’t even sure if that was a real connection or not. “I’m…not sure,” I answered honestly. “But it’s a nice name. A long name. I’m sorry.”

  He smirked at that, then laughed. “I like you, Timothy.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” I answered hopefully.

  He was still smirking when he reached out to brush some hair out of my eyes. I turned my head to feel the roughness of his hand on my face. Normally, I wasn’t big on strangers touching me, but him…I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to touch me everywhere. I nearly purred in response, his touch was so gentle, so sure. “What a sweet stray you are,” he said, cupping my chin and angling my face up so he could pierce me with those ghostly eyes of his. “I just may have to take you home and keep you.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I released Copernicus back into Mrs. Degenerate’s care. She didn’t look pleased. “You know, young man, I pay you well to teach him something,” she said, standing by her open limo door. She held his lead loosely, almost like she was afraid of touching him. Copernicus sat beside her, hanging his head, studying a crack in the pavement with great interest. “He doesn’t seem to be progressing at all!”

  Her sudden anger put a damper on my formerly good mood. “I get that, Mrs. DeGeneres. But you have to understand that dogs like Copernicus take a bit to teach. Afghans…they…uh…” I wasn’t sure how to explain to her that her dog had the brain of, essentially, a gnat.

  She glared up at
me. “What is it? Speak up!”

  Her anger froze me on the spot and I totally forgot what I was going to say. Seconds later, I heard footsteps on the gravel behind him, and Mrs. Degenerate’s whole demeanor changed suddenly. She actually straightened up and put a smile on her face. “Oh, hello, Byron!” she crowed as Sir came to stand beside me, his hands in the pockets of his suit coat. “It’s good to see you. Where have you been hiding of late?”

  “Not very far, Nancy,” Sir said, stepping forward to take her hand and brush a kiss across the back of it. I could tell she was trying to break the ice she had just created, but Sir wasn’t impressed. He kept his face expressionless even as he greeted her.

  Even so, Mrs. Degenerate blushed like a giggly schoolgirl in response. “You really should come out to the summer home on Lake Tahoe. I remember your father! He so loved—“

  Sir swiftly cut her off. “You have met my young companion, Timothy?” He put a hand on my shoulder, clearly marking me as his own.

  Her head swiveled around to take me in. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she didn’t answer. She glanced at my dog collar but quickly dismissed it. The one advantage to wearing skulls and crosses all the time was that you didn’t have to explain your Master’s collar, I noted. “Yes,” she said, suddenly cold. “He is Copernicus’s trainer…”

  “I’m pleased you know each other. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Timothy and I must be going. Have a lovely evening, Nancy.” He patted Copernicus on the head before placing a hand in the small of my back and steering me past her and toward the parking lot.

  I groaned as I let my new Master guide me. Undoubtedly, she would be gossiping about me in no time behind my back.

  Reading my dread, Sir said, “Nancy is a busybody. Ignore her. She does not have nearly as much sway as she thinks she does.”

  “She knew you,” I pointed out.

  “She buys diamonds from my father,” Sir explained. “Not the same thing.”

  “But…”

  “We tolerate each other. That does not mean she—or her kind—enjoy my company. It’s called being polite.”

  I found his words cryptic and strange, but decided we were too early in our relationship for me to ask him about it.

  Sir steered me toward his car. It was not a limo, not too flashy, and he drove it himself. It was a very pretty red Pontiac GTO convertible from around the mid-sixties. Compact and made for speed. A classic muscle car, not overly rare, but in magnificent condition. He opened the passenger door and said, “I want to take you to dinner, Timothy, so we may discuss our arrangement in detail.”

  Another command. The fact that he never asked, only commanded, made my heart flutter anew. This is really happening…

  I dutifully slid into his amazing car, admiring the white leather interior.

  Once entrenched in the cockpit, Sir didn’t immediately turn the engine over. Instead, he turned in his seat, boxing me in, and brushed my cheek with his thumb. His eyes pinned me in place. He was very young, I realized, maybe only a few years older than I was, but there was age and pain in his eyes, and lines that crinkled the corners. His thumb shifted downward, resting at the corner of my mouth. The touch sent a river of pure desire straight down my body. I nearly swooned when it invaded my mouth and slid over my lower lip. His crisp, manly aroma engulfed me, musky and slightly sweet.

  “You are serious about this, Timothy?” he asked. His light, almost nonexistent German accent sent a trill down my spine. “This is the first, last, and only time I will ask. After this, I will naturally assume your will is mine.”

  I looked deep into his eyes as I gently sucked on his thumb, an act that made those beautiful eyes darken with something like desire, only darker. More primal. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” I whispered.

  I thought—hoped—he would kiss me. But he merely smirked that almost indecipherable smirk that could mean almost anything, stroked my cheek once, and then turned to start the car.

  Sir drove with a combination of speed and confidence that left me breathless to behold. A distant part of my native New York sensibilities told me you didn’t get into a car with a strange man you didn’t really know—especially one so rich he could presumably do anything to you and get away with it. But I wasn’t afraid of that. I wasn’t afraid of Sir hurting me. I trusted him implicitly—I wanted to give him my body, my heart, my life, if he asked for it—and that scared me more than anything because I had never felt that with anyone before.

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dinner was at one of those formal little bistros that only serves ten patrons at a time and you have to have a six-month advance reservation just to get into. Or just be incredibly, disgustingly, rich. The maitre d’ quickly seated us at a corner table with a vase full of the most beautiful black roses I had ever seen. I gawped at the fine bone china edged in gold, the Waterford crystal, and delicate linens while Sir ordered for us both. The lighting was low and romantic, our faces illuminated only by candles, and the music overhead faint, something classical.

  I felt dirty and underdressed and out of my league as I watched all the elegant men and women wandering past in their fine dinner suits and not-quite-formal cocktail dresses. It was really depressing until Sir said, “Timothy. Look at me.”

  I did.

  “They don’t matter. Only you and I matter. We are alone.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “I want to get the formalities out of the way.”

  I waited, my heart thudding. The server came and went, leaving behind a bottle of wine and two sparkling waters.

  Sir waited until we were alone again before saying. “Firstly, you need to understand that I’m not a Dom.”

  That threw me. Before I could ask him what he meant, he elaborated.

  “At least, not in the traditional sense. I’m a gentleman, and I’m part of a private society that dates back centuries before the Dom/sub lifestyle was even a concept, so it’s important that you forget everything you’re learned online. You will need to re-learn it all. Do you understand?”

  That made me nervous. I reached for a glass of sparkling water, but Sir reached out and grabbed my hand, halting it. His warm, powerful fingers stroked the tattoo of the roses and spiders that crawled up my left wrist.

  “Do you understand?”

  I swallowed. “What you’re a part of…it’s not like a weird cult or anything?”

  Sir smirked. “Nothing like that. The Dollhouse Society dates back to the very founding of this country. It’s an ancient order that specializes in erotic pleasure only. I can give you literature on it to study, if you wish.”

  “I’d like that.” I’d always loved history. “It sounds interesting.”

  “In many ways, it laid the foundation for what we have today in the Dominant/submissive lifestyle, but there are many more rules, and all of them are stringently enforced. No room for error.”

  That sounded good. But I was curious about something. “How is it…different from what we have today?”

  “Ah.” He sat back and took his hand off mine. I felt a loss as he withdrew. “That.”

  Sir went on to explain that, unlike in the D/s relationship, Dominants were called gentleman, and submissives were either courtesans or courtiers, depending on their sex. Among the cardinal rules, no gentleman under the age of thirty years was allowed to join the Society and keep a courtesan or courtier…until now. He said that the Society, as a whole, had begun to break a lot of glass ceilings, including allowing same-sex couples, female gentlemen (called ladies), and to change a host of other old-fashioned ideas that had long since outlived their purpose. As such, he was the first “underage” gentleman to become a full member.

  “Is that why you were training Michael? To become your…courtier?”

  “Precisely.”

  “May I ask you a question, Sir?”

  He folded his hands sedately on the table before him. “You may always ask me questions, Tim
othy.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  That surprised me. He was only five years older than I was. He seemed so worldly, so sophisticated. But I guess money would do that to anyone.

  He said I could ask questions, so I did. “Are you…experienced? With being a Dom? I mean…a gentleman?”

  “I won’t lie. This is new to me. Michael was my first courtier.” He leaned forward. Knowing that we were practically in the same generation made it somehow easier to speak to him. “He did not fail me. I failed him.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I misread him. Michael was interested in a casual D/s relationship, not the kind that the Society is apt to foster between a gentleman and his courtier. That relationship goes…deeper. It’s difficult to explain, but it requires a greater understanding between the parties entering into the relationship. In many ways, the connection between a gentleman and his courtier is more like a marriage than a simple sexual arrangement. But, you see, I’m learning as well.”

  That made sense. It also made me feel a little more at ease to know I wasn’t the only one a little wet behind the ears. He was a student, too. A student of the Dollhouse Society. And I was his student.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You have other questions. Ask them.”

  “Okay. Well, just one.” I took me a moment to summon the nerve. “Am I…safe with you?”

  To his credit, Sir wasn’t offended. “A good question, Timothy.” He paused before reaching out to take my hand again. He rubbed at the tattoo, making little sparks fly through my body. “Yes, you are. I will have my medical records drawn up and sent to you as soon as possible. You will need to do the same before we experience any kind of intimacy…”

  That was good to know, but it wasn’t what I meant. “I mean…I read some stuff online. Some things that can be dangerous if not handled by a…more experienced Dom.” It took me a moment to push on, but I needed to know this stuff. I needed to ask it. “Stuff like…you know…suspension and such.”