The Dollhouse Society: Isabelle (New Adult BDSM Erotica)

by Eden Myles

  I checked my watch and realized I’d finished up in just forty-five minutes today. “Did you want me to do the upstairs rooms? I have plenty of time. I could start cleaning some of the closed-up rooms for you. It would be no bother.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He looked up at me. “Yes.”

  I finished rolling up the cord and pushed the Dyson toward the door. I thought about getting my feather duster out even though I’d dusted only yesterday. I wanted to actually feel like I was earning the ridiculous wages my employers were paying me, but Dr. Dorian stopped me.

  “Belle, may I ask you something?”

  I turned to him and smiled. “Sure.”

  “My brother and I are attending a fundraising shindig for the American Cancer Society tomorrow night. Would you be available to act as our consort?”

  It took me a moment to digest that. “You want me to be your date? Yours and Dr. Damian’s?”

  “Consort.” He offered me a smirk. “Arm candy, if you will. And no, that’s not code for anything.”

  “Both of you?” I was finding it a little odd that they didn’t each have high-class dates to bring—or escorts, or whatever men like the Michaels brothers took. I mean, they were doctors. Any woman in the city would kill to be on their arms.

  Dr. Dorian set his notebook down in his lap. “My brother and I like to share.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It amuses the investors. Two doctors who look alike. One date between them.” He shrugged. “It entertains the investors and loosens their purses. But if you’re uncomfortable…”

  I thought about that. It was for a good cause. The American Cancer Society. And they were already paying me an absurd amount of money to do practically nothing. “No, it doesn’t bother me. It sounds like fun, actually.”

  I smiled, and Dr. Dorian smiled back.

  ***

  I’d found a little black cocktail dress on sale down at a thrift store on Market Street in the East Village. I’d thought it was really cute and sophisticated until I got to the house and saw Damian and Dorian coming down the spiral staircase dressed in tuxedos that would have had James Bond panting. Then I started feeling totally underdressed and exceedingly poor.

  I quickly excused myself, locked the door in the downstairs bathroom, sat on the closed lid of the toilet, and speed dialed Stefan. “Oh god, I’m totally in trouble, Stef,” I said as soon as I heard him pick up. I touched my pounding heart, afraid I was going to have a coronary.

  “What’s up? They didn’t pull something weird…?”

  “No. They’re totally gorgeous, both of them. And total gentleman, as always.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I’m…me.”

  Stefan laughed. “You’re beautiful, Izzy Pop. I know because I put you together myself.”

  “I’m not beautiful. I’m poor and fat and totally out of my league.” I was breathing too hard, on the verge of hyperventilating and passing out. I hadn’t had a panic attack like this in months.

  Stefan must have known because he coached me, saying, “Breathe, Iz, breathe.”

  “I’m trying!”

  “Put your head down between your legs and breathe.”

  I followed his instructions and took several long, shaky breaths. Finally, the nausea retracted and my fluttering heart seemed to slow down from its frantic gallop in my chest.

  “Where are you?”

  “Locked in the downstairs bathroom.”

  “Stand up and go to the mirror.”

  I did.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “A really ugly, fat, poor girl,” I said, tears in my eyes.

  “Iz, listen to me: you’re a total knockout. You look like a princess, and nothing Clark did can change that. You were beautiful before and you’re beautiful now. Do you understand me?”

  I breathed in and out, in and out. Stefan’s words hit a chord. I heard similar things in my support group every week when we met up.

  You did nothing wrong and you’re not to blame.

  You’re beautiful and strong and indestructible.

  What happened is not your fault.

  You’re unbreakable.

  “Unbreakable.” I repeated those mantras we said to each other in the group until my tears subsided and I was calm and breathing normally once more. I looked in the mirror and slowly a veil lifted from my eyes. I didn’t feel ugly now. I felt almost pretty. I felt almost pure. Almost.

  Stefan said in my ear, “Iz, still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, Stef, I am. I’m okay. I’m fine.” I patted at my makeup with a piece of toilet paper and even tried on a smile. “I’m good.”

  “Good. Now go get ‘em.”

  ***

  I felt like Cinderella being driven to the ball. I sat on the seat of the limo with Drs. Dorian and Damian on both sides of me. I leaned back on the seat, sipped my champagne, and tried to act as casual as I could, even though there was some serious butterflies flitting around my stomach. The closeness of two beautiful men and their spicy, expensive cologne didn’t help much.

  “I guess I should try and keep my mouth shut, being the odd girl out and all,” I said.

  “You’re free to be yourself, Belle,” Dr. Damian said. “And if anyone makes you uncomfortable, just seek one of us out.” He touched my knee briefly, but it was a light touch, not sexual, comforting.

  Dr. Dorian turned and slid his arm along the seat so I was sitting close enough to feel his heat. It was a strangely possessive gesture. I never felt ill at ease with Damian, who always smiled and made jokes, despite his punkish exterior, but Dorian was another matter. If I had to peg the dangerous one, it would be he. He looked me over carefully, his eyes lingering on my dress, my neckline, everything. I always felt a little twitchy while under his scrutiny.

  His hand brushed the back of my neck, raising goose bumps there. “Nervous?”

  I laughed. “Yes.” And then I blurted it out. “The dress is just awful, isn’t it? Cheap. I look cheap.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Dorian said. “You wear it well, Belle. You wear everything well. You’re lovely.”

  I wondered if he was just saying that to put me at ease.

  He looked over at his brother. Damian whipped out a large velvet case that he presented to me like a suitor. My heart thudded at the sight, and when I opened it, I saw a long, thin gold chain with one of the biggest rubies nestled in a setting of white gold.

  “You can’t say no,” Dorian said. “We simply won’t accept it.”

  I blushed as Damian slid it around my neck, the ruby so heavy the necklace was weighed down between my cleavage. Damian kissed my cheek. “Not cheap at all.”

  We reached the lobby of the building, where there was a valet to park the car. Damian and Dorian stepped out and Damian turned to help me from the limo. Both bothers offered their arms and I took them, feeling a little bit silly and a whole lot scared, and let them walk me into a crowded ballroom full of the filthy rich.

  You could almost smell the money. There were tables of h'orderves, a tabletop fountain full of champagne, a live string orchestra, and about a hundred of the wealthiest men and women in New York City. Chrystal chandeliers twinkled above, catching winks of light in the diamond necklaces and earrings that the women wore. It flashed in the depths of the heavy ruby around my neck.

  I knew what to expect—the Michaels brothers had tried to prime me—but I still held onto their arms with a death grip as we made the rounds of the room, introducing ourselves to CEO’s, VIPs, god knew who else. We met models, publishers, politicians and businessmen. I worked hard to remember names, but they soon started to run together for me.

  Only a few people stood out. One was a glamorous young model I recognized from runway shows and assorted fashion magazines. She’d been a pinup model for Victoria’s Secret only recently. �
�Is this your girl, Doctors?” she asked with interest.

  “Veronica, you look marvelous…” Damian began, kissing her knuckles.

  “…and yes, this is Belle,” Dorian finished. “Belle, this is a very special lady. You’re to be her model.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dr. Damian looked to Veronica, who nodded her approval. “Veronica is an A-list model, but she had a double mastectomy a few months ago. Breast cancer, you see.”

  She motioned at the bodice of her evening gown. “Falsies.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh, dear god.” She was so young, little older than I was…

  “We plan to reconstruct her breasts based on your measurements.”

  “Oh!” I said, feeling, as usual, rather foolish. So all those notes that Dr. Dorian was always taking had a purpose, after all. He wasn’t just observing me out of some perverse pleasure. “I’m so sorry!” I told Veronica, but the woman laughed.

  “Don’t be, hon. I’m a survivor, not a victim. And because of you, I’ll have a rack that’ll put me back in the catalogs.” She turned to the brothers. “You are rewarding this beautiful young woman for her contribution, are you not?”

  “We plan to, yes,” Damian said with a smile and a wink my way. “We’ll be rewarding her for every contribution she brings to our work.”

  Dr. Dorian patted my hand and leaned down, making me shiver slightly as he spoke in my ear, “So now you see why we won’t take no on that necklace.”

  I looked at Veronica. She was so beautiful, so young and perfect. I felt honored to be helping her. I looked at my two employers. “You don’t need to pay me for this. I’m not doing anything. You and Damian are doing all the work.”

  “We couldn’t do it half as well without you.” And Dorian kissed me on the cheek, which made me blush.

  The food was delightful, but I only drank water. I’d had champagne in the limo and didn’t want to imbibe anymore than that. I’d never been good with holding my liquor, and ever since Clark, I no longer drank anything suspicious in public.

  Eventually, the Master of Ceremonies showed up and welcomed everyone, and then the string orchestra started up and I took turns dancing with the Michaels brothers. In-between dances, a tall, gorgeous Japanese man showed up with his date, a small, dark-haired girl not much older than I. They made pleasant chitchat with the Michaels brothers before the girl turned to me. “I’m Felix. Yes, you heard that right. And no, that’s not short for Felicity. Do you belong to Dorian and Damian?”

  “What?” I said. “Belong? No. I’m not their girlfriend or anything.” I laughed nervously. “Actually, I’m their housekeeper.”

  “Ah,” Felix said, sipping on a glass of champagne. “I thought for sure you were part of the Society. You seem such a part of them—exactly what they’re looking for.”

  “Society?”

  Felix frowned. “You’re not part of the Dollhouse?”

  “Dollhouse?”

  “So you’re not a doll?”

  The Japanese gentleman stepped between us and took her hand. “Felix, my dear, I really don’t think we should be interfering this way in Damian and Dorian’s affairs.”

  “Oops, my bad.” She grinned at me. “But if you do join the Society, we’ll definitely be best friends!”

  The Japanese man dragged Felix away even as she waved to me, and I watched the strange young woman with the even stranger name disappear into the crowd.

  On the ride home, I said, “What’s the Dollhouse?”

  Dr. Damian exchanged a meaningful look with Dr. Dorian, who cleared his throat. “That’s really no concern of yours, my dear.”

  But now I was intrigued. “Felix said something about a Society. Is it like a secret club or something?”

  Damian smiled. “Felix, though a dear girl, talks far too much…”

  “I often wonder how Alex endures her,” Dorian added.

  Again that psychic look passed between the brothers. Dorian nodded his approval to go ahead and Damian added, “It’s a gentleman’s club.”

  “Like…some kind of strip club?”

  “It’s a gentleman’s club,” Dorian repeated.

  I thought maybe I was starting to catch on. “You mean like a sex club.”

  They looked at each other and said in unison, “Yes.”

  I was more than a little surprised. Both brothers seemed pretty…asexual. I never found evidence of girls being brought home, and there was nothing even remotely pornographic in the house. No porn movies, no dirty magazines. Then again, they were loaded, and Damian was a former rock star, so who knew what their sexual tastes were like?

  “We’re part of what members call The Dollhouse Society,” Damian explained. “It’s a very exclusive collection of powerful men and woman who keep trained courtesans or courtiers and show them off at Society meetings, though many of us do not have courtesans as yet. We still enjoy the Society and the pleasures it has to offer.”

  “Such as…?” I prompted.

  “Gentlemen and their courtesans or courtiers make love for the entertainment of the rest of the Society,” Dorian explained.

  “Well, that…and other things,” Damian added with a mischievous smile.

  “You’re kidding.”

  They gave me a serious look I’d learned meant they were definitely not kidding.

  “Felix said she thought I was your doll…”

  “No,” Dorian immediately answered. His face hardened and he indicated the limo. “This is not a primer for being our courtesan. We are not grooming you for the position, Belle, so you should stop worrying about that immediately. You’re our model, our housekeeper, and, we like to feel…”

  “…our friend.” Damian took up my hand and swiped a kiss over my knuckles.

  The brothers offered me warm smiles that crinkled their eyes at the corners and Dorian added, “We’ll have you back to your dorm just in time for bed, Belle. We appreciate you acting as our consort. Because of you, the ACS had quite a few donations tonight.”

  “I’m glad,” I said.

  What they were saying about the sex thing was a little weird, but I really couldn’t be too offended by it. At least they were being honest with me about their tastes and sexuality, and I didn’t think two men who were up to something nefarious would be so open with their next victim. Would they?

  After they let me out on the campus grounds, I stood in the student parking lot, clutching my wrap, and waved goodnight as the limo pulled out and disappeared into traffic. I told myself I was a very lucky girl to have two employers who were honorable enough to not take advantage of me.

  I ought to be ecstatic about that, I knew, but somehow it made me sad.

  ***

  “Belle, would you be able to serve Friday night?” Damian asked, standing in the doorway of the dining room.

  I was balanced somewhat precariously on a stepladder and trying to get the dusty drapes off the curtain rod so they could be dry-cleaned. “Serve?” I mumbled from under a fold of drape, and then coughed at the dust I was inhaling.

  “Act as a server, I mean, for a dinner party that bro and I are having. We’ll pay you extra, of course…what are you doing, Belle?”

  I tugged at the rod, but they seemed to be somehow permanently affixed to the molding around the huge, panoramic windows that looked out over the manicured lawn behind the house. “Trying to get these down. They’re filthy!”

  “Belle, we have professional cleaners who take care of the window dressings.”

  “Well, they aren’t doing their job. Have you seen these things?” I shook the curtain and a cloud of dust sparkled in the air, making Damian cough. “And sure, I can serve. I don’t have anything going on Friday night.”

  After Damian finished coughing, he said, “No dates or anything? Because if it’s a bother, we have a firm we can hire.”

  “No dates. I don’t date.”

  He crossed his arms across his broad chest, making the tight black concert T-shirt he wore st
retch across his plain of pectoral muscle in a way that I found way too distracting. He cocked his head and eyed me with his sparkling blue eyes. “Why don’t you date? You’re certainly an attractive young woman.”

  “Because I don’t date, that’s why,” I said, not wanting to get into this with him. “What time do you need me?”

  “Seven.”

  “I might be just a little bit late. I have a support group meeting that gets out at 6:30.” I immediately wanted to slap a hand over my mouth for oversharing information.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Support group? You don’t seem much like a drug addict or alcoholic.”

  “It’s not that kind of group,” I said in a rush, trying to cover my tracks. “I…I help people. Counseling, you know. So I might be a little late. Is that all right?”

  “That’s fine…”

  At that moment, I pulled too hard and felt the ladder slip out from under my feet. I saw Damian move like lightning out of the corner of my eye. I cried out as I found myself in freefall for half a second, then a pair of strong arms caught me and I gasped at the impact. The dusty drape dropped down upon us seconds later, which Damian shrugged off. His hair sparked with dust, but his face was strained with concern when he looked at me. “Belle? Are you all right?”

  I caught my breath and breathed out. I realized I was pressed up against the muscular wall of Damian’s chest. “I’m fine,” I said, though my breath caught again for an entirely different reason. I could feel his erection through the snugness of his jeans pressing into my side, but I told myself it must be his tight jeans. “Thanks.”

  An awkward moment passed before he lowered me to my feet. He grabbed up the fallen drape and kept it strategically close against his body. “Good. Don’t do that again,” he said in an overly stern voice. “Be here as early as you can on Friday night…and, Belle, don’t mess with the drapes anymore.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  I was only a little bit late on Friday night. Catering had already come and gone, and the dining room was set with six places. I went through the rooms with my clipboard, double checking to make certain all the rooms I thought might be used—dining room, living room, foyer, rec room—were clean and tidy before stepping into the kitchen to find out what my duties for the evening would be.