His Master's Voice #3 (The Dollhouse Society) Page 4

  The doorbell rang, momentarily distracting everyone from their individual plays. It was odd because I was pretty sure no one else was expected.

  “Do not get too comfortable with my property, Todd,” Master warned playfully as he got up.

  “Of course, mate.” Mr. Harrison smiled lustfully at me while he ran a hand freely down the front of my body and started playing with my balls, squeezing and caressing them. My skin shivered at his touch. “Christ, you are a delicious little fuck-boy. I may just have to wrap you in a rug, my sweet kitten, and make off with you in the night when your Master’s back is turned.”

  I smiled at the visual, couldn’t help myself. The way he said it sounded so wonderfully sinister.

  “Enrique,” Master said with surprise from across the room, and all heads turned to follow the conversation. I looked as well. A tall, gorgeous, middle-aged gentleman in a tailored tuxedo that was open at the throat was standing in the doorway to the parlor, grinning at Master. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed and olive-skinned, and he had the most devilish smile I had ever seen—I mean, he actually made me think of some sexy version of Lucifer up from hell. I actually felt my heart skip at the sight of him.

  “Byron,” he said with a thick and utterly erotic Spanish accent and threw his arms out enthusiastically. “Mi alma…an exquisite party and no invite? I should be insulted, except…” He paused and stepped boldly into the room. “…I could never be angry with my little prince.”

  Enrique, the party crasher, gave Master a rough shove backward so he collided with the fireplace mantel. I thought for a moment that the two men would come to fisticuffs by the force that Enrique used, but he lunged forward and grabbed Master’s hair roughly before he smoothed his other hand across his cheek and started passionately kissing him.

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  I was in the kitchen, putting together a new table setting for our unexpected guest when Sasha danced through the door and to my side.

  She clutched my arm and gave a little squeal of excitement. “Can you believe Enrique Martín showed up?”

  “Is he like some kind of royalty?”

  “Practically, yes,” she said at my elbow. “Old money like Lord Byron. A bit wild, though. Shows up when he wants. Does whatever he wants.”

  “I take it he’s a gentleman, too?”

  “Well, no…” She hesitated before she decided to spill it. She just mouthed the words: He was thrown out of the Society.

  “Really?” I hadn’t expected that. “What did he do?”

  “I don’t know the details. Only the gentlemen of the Society know that, and they don’t share those types of details with subs. But I heard he broke the rules—apparently very badly.”

  Mr. Martín sounded like a genuine bad boy, with a possible emphasis on the bad. Under different circumstances, I might have found it as squealy and exciting as Sasha to meet someone like him, but his display on stepping into the parlor had really thrown me. In all the weeks Master and I were together, not one person had so much as dared to put their hands on Master. I tried not to let the surprise show in my face as I stacked the dishes together. “I take it he and Master…?”

  “I really shouldn’t say,” Sasha said, her excitement dissipating.

  “But I’m your new best friend, Sasha. You have to tell me!”

  She thought about that before biting her lip. “You won’t tell anyone I told you?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  Sasha glanced at the door to make certain no one was eavesdropping, then turned back to me. “Enrique Martín is your Master’s…Master.”

  Nothing could have stunned me more. “Master…was a courtier?” Maybe I wasn’t hearing right.

  “Not for very long. The story goes that your Master joined the Society as Mr. Martín’s courtier, that Mr. Martín found and trained Lord Byron. But Lord Byron’s dominance soon showed itself, so they ended their arrangement—though I’m sure they’ve stayed in touch. In more ways than one.” She added the last with a giggle. “After all, that was quite an entrance.”

  I tried not to let Sasha’s words bother me as I took the new place setting out and arranged it at the table. There were little place cards and everything, but, of course, I didn’t have one for Mr. Martín. I placed him at the only empty spot at the long trestle table—near the end. I left to fetch the wine while the gentlemen and their courtesans filtered in for dinner, but, when I returned, I saw that the sitting arrangement had changed and Mr. Martín now sat at the head of the table with Master on his right-hand side. I figured that was probably significant.

  He was dominating the conversation with stories of his travels across Madrid, and Master seemed unable to take his eyes off his former Master.

  Don’t be jealous, I told myself as I moved around the table, pouring the wine for the guests. We all have old flames.

  I caught Mr. Martín watching me, and when he saw I had seen him, he wetted his bottom lip with his tongue in a deliberately suggestive way. That made me nervous. I wasn’t sure how he saw me—as a rival for Master’s affection or something to be toyed with. Perhaps both.

  I quickly returned to the kitchen to fetch the first course.

  When someone again stepped into the room behind me, I knew it wasn’t Sasha. Not this time. Instead of the gentle tap of high heels, the steps were heavy and deliberate as they approached me from behind. I set the salad course down, lest I drop it, while a pair of powerful male arms encircled me from behind. The scruff of his chin as he rested it in the saddle between my neck and shoulders made little shivers course down my spine. “Ah, now, pretty plaything,” he said in a deep baritone that purred out of his chest, “how you have turned our lovely Byron’s head, eh? Let me look at his obsession.”

  He turned me around and braced his arms against the edge of the counter, boxing me in. He studied every naked inch of me, his eyes, already dark, growing darker still with male hunger. I was again struck but how wonderfully devilish he looked with his rakishly cut hair and goatee, and his scent—spicy like cinnamon, but still very male—enwrapped me, seduced me, and made me tremble before him like some small prey animal. His eyes were so dark they appeared almost like black mirrors. I looked so pitifully frightened in them.

  “He has talked much about you, my pretty pet. One would think you were the sun and he the Earth revolving about it.” Mr. Martín smiled at my all-too-obvious awe and reached out, brushing a thumb across my bottom lip before inserting it into my mouth. “Mi sol—the sun that warms Byron’s icy heart. Suck. I want to see this special blend of magic which you possess to tame the likes of my little prince.”

  His words warmed me and excited me at the same time. I still felt the danger of this incredibly mysterious stranger, but hearing his words, my heart was lifted—and now I wanted to please my Master’s lover. I sucked on his thumb, even nibbled it, trying to be sensual about it.

  A low rumble caught in his throat and he said something in Spanish I didn’t understand. It sounded positively scandalous. Within seconds, his other hand slid down my side, tickled along my hip, and moved to cup my bare ass. He squeezed me hard, possessively, and pressed himself against me so I could feel his hardness and his size—how eager he was to couple with me. He said those words again, right against my lips, dreamy and romantic, while a finger slid along the cleavage of my ass. He found and encircled my opening before inserting a finger. He rubbed at the inside of my body until I was breathless with excitement and almost writhing against him.

  “Mi sol, that sweet ass is mine. Soon you will beg to feel my cock dance inside you.” He withdrew his finger and caught my hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of it and then the palm—his lips burning hot.

  He halved his eyes dangerously and said, “Mine,” just before he returned to the dining room.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TEN

  I was still trembling from the encounter and Mr. Martín’s sinister promise as I served the first course, fol
lowed by the second. The gentlemen openly admired my skills in serving and grace while I moved skillfully around the table, filling their plates on their right-hand sides from the chafing dish on the cart.

  “Your training skills are exceptional,” Mr. Ishikawa complimented Master.

  Master smirked. “I wish I could take full credit, but that belongs to the Westside Culinary School.”

  “Still, he is wonderfully biddable. And exceptionally beautiful. I could see him complimenting my jute...” Mr. Ishikawa added, “…assuming I was into that.”

  “Perhaps if I assisted?”

  “It’s most definitely an idea,” Mr. Ishikawa said.

  The courtesans all knelt on cushions beside their gentleman’s chair, assuming the “heeled” position that Master had taught me, and waited to be hand fed their dinner. I kind of admired how the etiquette between Dom and sub carried on even over the course of the dinner. It was really hot and interesting to watch.

  I felt a little jealous, not being able to participate in the dinner itself, but I was far too busy serving everyone and fetching things from the kitchen. Master had instructed that once the actual dining commenced, I was expected to stand near the wall and wait to be summoned in the event one of the gentlemen needed something, but Mr. Martín threw our plans right out the window.

  Just as the gentlemen began to eat—or, rather, cutting up their food so they could feed tiny morsels to their waiting courtesans—he signaled me over. There was a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes that made me nervous. I glanced over at Master to get his approval and saw him nod.

  Mr. Martín had turned his chair slightly and now looked me up and down with those black, exotic eyes. He had not yet touched his meal. “Come, mi sol. Sit in Mr. Martín’s lap.”

  His choice of self-address wasn’t lost on me. I saw Master take great interest in Mr. Martín’s play, and, over on the other side of the table, Mr. Harrison looked jealously piqued. I wondered if his threat earlier—that he wanted to make off with me—wasn’t entirely play, after all.

  “Yes, Sir,” I said and started climbing into his lap, but Mr. Martín stopped me.

  “Sir…I like that,” he said, his voice hard so I would understand he wasn’t at all playing. Then it softened and he added, “You will undo your Sir first.”

  I looked him in the eye and saw what he wanted—not just to play with me. He wanted to take me, to put his mark upon me in front of all of these gentlemen. He meant to make me his pet. “Yes, Sir,” I said and reached for his tuxedo trousers, undoing them with some difficulty with the hardness of his erection pressed against them.

  He was big like Master, wet and ready. “Lick,” he commanded, and I inclined my head and licked the head of him. “Now, mi sol…sit.”

  I considered the dynamics of what he was requesting. Sitting in his lap with such a raging hard-on would be difficult, if not downright impossible, unless…

  “Sit. Now,” he commanded. His voice was a near-growl, and I was acutely aware of all the gentlemen watching us, waiting to see how we would resolve this. A few were speaking in low voices amongst themselves, discussing Mr. Martín’s prowess at handling me, and whether it was enough to tame me.

  I straddled his lap. Mr. Martín kept his stern eyes pinned on me while he canted my body forward so my chest was pressed against his and our lips were inches apart. His eyes smoldered with desire while he lifted my ass slightly and his fingers boldly explored all the quivering hot flesh between my legs. A chill coursed through my body at the easy, possessive way he handled my cock and balls—as if they belonged to him. His dexterous fingers followed the slope of my perineum to my opening. “Easy, pretty boy,” he whispered. “We’ll go slow, though I’m sure you are no novice, seeing how you have been in Lord Byron’s possession these past few weeks.”

  My cheeks flushed at his words, his words making my whole body shiver in anticipation.

  “Such a pretty ass,” he whispered. He kneaded my buttocks a few times before inserting two fingers.

  I whimpered in response.

  “Easy,” he reminded me as he pumped them in and out of me, going deeper so I groaned. “So wonderfully tight, mi sol.” He withdrew his fingers and positioned the hard, merciless head of his shaft against my hole. “Are you ready?”

  I found myself breathing too fast. I had to slow myself or risk hyperventilating. I almost spoke before I remembered I was not allowed to. I could only endure as I was used for this man’s pleasure. I braced my hands on his burly shoulders, closed my eyes, and nodded.

  “Open your beautiful eyes,” Sir reprimanded me.

  I looked into his eyes as the firm head of his cock pressed against me. I reminded myself to breathe slowly while he pushed harder.

  “Open for me,” he commanded, and, seizing my cheek with his free hand, pressed his burning hot lips against mine.

  I lost myself in that kiss, but suddenly cried out against his mouth when the huge, firm head forced itself past my tight opening. It stretched me uncomfortably, and the angle was awkward, but, at the same time, I found it erotically thrilling to be taken this way, in front of all these elegant strangers. Sir grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back while he slowly but forcefully pushed me down upon his erection, forcing me to accept inch after hard inch of his cock. I mewled, my body struggling to accept the girth of him, but he didn’t give me time to acclimate to his size, as my other Master usually did. Instead, he leaned forward and bit me brutally on the side of the neck.

  The bite hurt and made me scream, but it distracted me from the discomfort he was causing. He growled against my neck while he forced me down another inch. I whimpered helplessly and felt him force his shaft even deeper.

  Now Sir wrapped both hands around my neck, holding me in place. “Let me in,” he said, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, his tongue playing with the metal rings.

  “Ahh…yes,” I cried out, forgetting myself and my silence.

  He moaned as he kissed me. “I want my cock deep inside you, my pretty colt. I want to feel you writhing upon me like the good little slut you are.”

  His lustful words seemed to open my body to receiving yet another inch of his hot shaft. “Please,” I said, begging for more, but my body resisted despite my desperate need to feel him deep inside me.

  Sir slid a hand beneath me and delivered a stinging slap to my ass that echoed embarrassingly loud around the room. Many of the gentlemen made approving noises. He spanked me again, and the slap made me cry out with pleasure. I melted inside in a way I only ever did for Master. I literally felt like putty in Sir’s masterful hands.

  He, too, had received pleasure from the contact. He groaned deeply with raw male lust while his cock sank in completely and I finally rested fully in his lap. I felt chills as I accommodated the fullness of him and started panting against his chest, savoring the sweet pleasure mixed with pain.

  I was surprised when he paused to allow me to adjust to the sensation of his enormous shaft seated deep inside me. Then, grunting with approval, he grabbed my hips, lifted me a few inches, and let gravity take me, thrusting deep inside me. I cried out at the sensation, sagging against him with such pleasure my whole body trembled from it. It was almost too much for me to bear.

  Sir kept his eyes on me the whole time. “Give yourself to me.”

  I closed my eyes while my whole body was wracked with delightful shivers. I licked my lips and I felt him inside me, twitching slightly. My fingers clenched at his shoulders while he made the same thrusting movement up and down inside me.

  “Dance, my colt,” he commanded.

  “Oh,” I said, not caring that I was speaking. “Ooohhh.”

  I opened my eyes and reveled in the delicious sensations coursing through my body, no longer caring that all the guests were watching us with either rapt interest or outright jealousy. Pleasing my second Master was an incredible experience, and each little jostling movement just intensified the experience.

  Sir smiled a
nd clasped his hands around my throat as he started that subtle but powerful up-and-down movement in earnest, his shaft moving inside me like a jackhammer. “My cock loves the feel of you, mi sol.”

  I moaned as I danced for him. He used the opportunity to rub his fingers over the studs in my collar. “You dance well, my pretty, obedient pet,” he purred. He continued lurching me up and down, twitching inside me, stoking the flames of my desire and his own until I found myself shuddering and thrashing my head against his thick, muscular chest. In that moment, I was Sir’s pet, his slave, whatever he wanted me to me.

  I whimpered, unable to form any coherent words.

  Master growled low, then roared with approval as he forced his shaft deep into my ass one last time. His hands clenched tight around my neck and he forced my head back while he came shamelessly inside me, gaining the approval of all of our guests.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I sat obediently in Sir’s lap, his shaft still buried deep inside me, while he turned to his plate and began to cut his dinner into small pieces. He forked a small bit of food into his mouth before turning to me. Clenching the back of my head, he kissed me roughly, tonguing the food into my mouth. “Eat!” he commanded, and I did, mouthful after delicious mouthful, all of it through his kisses. I had never experienced anything like it before, being so intimately kiss-fed this way. It was incredibly sexy and romantic, and Mr. Martín spared no food for himself.

  Later, while Master was seeing his guests out, Mr. Eisenberg shook his hand. “Your dinner was amazing—as always, Byron.”

  He clenched his friend’s arm. “I’m glad you came and that you brought Sasha.” He glanced down at the girl, giving her a warm smile. She was again dressed in her big fur coat, her hand on her husband’s arm, the way she had been when she first arrived.