The Dollhouse Society Volume II: Rachaela (Includes The Rules of Engagement, Big, Bad Wolf, The War of the Roses, Beauty and the Beast, plus a bonus story!)

by Eden Myles

  Wolf clutched my knees and spread them. He bent over me and stayed my whimpers with his biting, demanding kiss. Somehow, my head had wound up in Jasmine’s lap. I could smell her spicy perfume as she cradled me and ran her long fingers through my hair. Wolf said to Jasmine, “Hold her open,” and Jasmine obediently reached up and held my legs apart while Wolf undid himself.

  His cock was more than ready for me. I wondered how he endured it; he seemed to live in an almost constant state of arousal. He stroked himself as he looked me over, growing even bigger and harder in his hand, frighteningly so. Then he mounted me and shoved himself deep inside me and I felt my inner muscles clench down around him. He pressed my knees further apart, to my ears, so I was spread completely, with no way to hide myself from him or the other members of the Society who had gathered around the bed to watch us, and no way for me to control his depth. My cunt was fully open to him, and he immediately penetrated me to the hilt. He drew back slowly, then drove into me again, wetly, so my breath caught in my throat. He varied his tempo, slow and gentle strokes, followed by fierce, sharp thrusts. His cock penetrated me all the way to my cervix, while his tongue thrust deep inside my mouth, so he was fucking me in two places at once.

  His hands released my knees and I moved my legs up, hooking them over his shoulders. I matched his thrusts with my own. He pressed the palms of his hands to the wall above us, bracing himself as he pistoned deep inside of me, his eyes half-closed, grunting deep in his throat from the work, the whole bed groaning and straining under the incredibly powerful thrusts of his assault. He said in that low, hoarse voice, “Tell me you belong to me, my pet.”

  “I belong to you,” I said as I clawed at the bedclothes to anchor myself.

  “Tell me you want me. Only me.”

  “I want you, Wolf,” I gasped out. “I want only you.”

  “Tell me you trust me.”

  “I trust you. I love you,” I panted. “I love you,” I said again, barely aware of what was coming out of my mouth in those last few seconds.

  Wolf made a groaning noise deep in his throat and closed his eyes in something like rapture as he thrust one last time, a bruising impact that left me screaming, and finally came, his seed spurting hot and deep inside me, with no barrier between us now. “Ich liebe dich,” he whispered as he collapsed on top of me, burying his face in my hair. I wanted to ask him what he’d said, but before I could, he moved to one side of me to relieve the pressure of his body and gathered me against his suit.

  “Wolf, please…I want to see you. Really see you.” All these weeks, all the times he had fucked me so hard, so deep, and I hadn’t seen him naked. I wanted to see my gentleman naked, to feel and taste him. I immediately went to work on his jacket and waistcoat, his shirt. He didn’t protest as we came up together in the center of the bed on our knees as I pulled the shirt off his shoulders, kissing every newly revealed inch of him. He was beautiful, like some pale, carven statue—not a soft-edged Donatello, but a more angular Michelangelo. I rested my hand in the middle of his chest, comparing my mocha skin to the almost glowing icy Norse whiteness of his. Sparse platinum fur encircled his nipples and moved downward over his sweating belly toward the coarser, warm thatch I knew lurked below his beltline. Shirtless, I’d expected him to look pink and vulnerable like so many white men did, but he was hard like stone, and he didn’t feel vulnerable at all. I licked the sweating hollow of his throat, then moved my lips down, tracing the line of hair. I sucked each of his nipples deep into my mouth, lathing the little piercings there. I bit them until he grunted and his fingers dug into my hair.

  I let him go and said, “Am I hurting you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should I stop?”

  “Harder.”

  He pulled my hair until I continued, licking and biting him, the small muscles of his belly jumping against me as I tested the limits of what he could endure. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as I tormented him. His threshold for pain was frighteningly high, and I wondered if we too could have a playroom someday, and if so, if Wolf would let me help him explore those limits. I pushed him down onto the mattress and climbed atop him. He gripped my ass, holding me against him as I kissed him, dipping my tongue lightning quick into his mouth. I licked and bit at his mouth, then moved my little biting kisses down his throat, in a line over his chest, and down over his belly.

  I lowered my head to nip playfully at the base of his cock, and as I did so, I felt Jasmine come up behind me, very close, her hands resting on my hips. She lowered her head so her black bob of hair brushed my spine, and then her mouth was right there, her tongue brushing against my ass before finding the folds of my labia and licking all along my damp slit as if she had never tasted anything sweeter in her life. She was gentler than Wolf had been on me, but persistent, holding me in place as she drove her clever little tongue deep inside me and seemed to churn it. I knew what she was doing. She was eating Wolf’s release out of me, and the realization almost made me come right then and there.

  I took Wolf’s cock in my mouth, lathering it with thick strings of saliva. I swallowed him down, inch by inch. The harder Jasmine worked me from behind, the harder I worked Wolf until he started to buck beneath me, shoving himself as far down my throat as I could take him. I rocked back against Jasmine, and as she found my clit, and snagged it between her small, pearl-like teeth, I felt my orgasm crash over me. I groaned as she drank me out. My teeth snapped down, a little harder than I’d intended, but Wolf didn’t complain. I felt his sudden jerk of pain/pleasure, he cursed in German, and then he came in my throat. For one moment I felt like our orgasms were feeding into and out of each other, building and crashing together, and somehow binding us together.

  Then Wolf sat up and pulled me into his lap. He grabbed the back of my hair and yanked until my head arched up almost painfully and he could kiss me, bite at my open mouth. “I still owe you ten punishments, Rachaela,” he informed me.

  “You never punish Jasmine,” I complained.

  “Jasmine’s a good girl. You’re not,” he said, and his eyes glittered with what seemed a great number of wicked possibilities. “Aren’t you, Jasmine?” He didn’t look her way, but apparently a cue had been given, because Jasmine appeared at my side, bearing what looked like a mahogany and gold jewelry box in her arms, which she placed on the bed between us.

  “Kiss her,” Wolf told me. “Kiss Jasmine.”

  I wanted to kiss him, but I knew that he hadn’t decided on a courtesan yet. If I didn’t kiss Jasmine, I would likely lose Wolf. So I turned to her, palmed her face, and kissed her, a few strands of her mussed hair caught between us. I had never kissed a girl before, not like this, and her lipstick taste threw me for a second. Then Jasmine opened her mouth to gasp for breath, and I tasted her breath like cinnamon, and I realized I didn’t really mind the taste, the texture, the soft give of her mouth. I kissed her hard, forcing her back against the huge mound of satiny pillows at the head of the bed. I licked inside her mouth. Her hands went over me, fondling my breasts as I kissed her, our pelvises pressed together so I could feel Jasmine’s increasing wetness.

  “Now bring her,” Wolf said. He was lying alongside us, running his hand idly across the mahogany box, enjoying the show.

  I didn’t know how to bring a woman. I could only go from my own experiences. I licked the side of Jasmine’s neck, tasting her perfume, and sucked the tender, oversensitive flesh there like a vampire until Jasmine made little whimpering noises. Then I moved down over the rest of her. I thought about biting her, as Wolf so often bit me, but he seemed to have that down to a science, and though he left some small bruises, he never broke the skin. I hated Jasmine, hated that she was such a good girl that she had escaped punishment at Wolf’s hand, but I didn’t want to draw her blood. It wasn’t that kind of hate. I flicked my tongue over the hard nubs of her nipples, trying not to let the fact that she was bigger than me bothe
r me too much, then dipped it into the shallow indentation of her belly button until she squirmed and drew her legs up a little, which opened her up a little more to me.

  “Please, Rachaela…” she said, mewling like a kitten. “Suck me.”

  When I finally reached her clit, she was so wet and writhing beneath me that I had to hold her down as I found the sensitive little nub of flesh under her clitoris hood and licked over it. She tasted minty and meaty. I licked and then sucked a little on her, varying the intensity of how hard I was going down on her, trying to make it good for her. I thought if she came, came hard, there was no way that Wolf would choose her over me. Jasmine’s stomach muscles clenched and I could feel her cunt walls quivering as I forced my tongue deep inside her. Jasmine bucked and cried out as she came in my mouth, then lay jumpy and spent on the pillows, staring up at me dreamily out of her heavy black lashes. She was so adorable in the afterglow of our lovemaking, like a pretty little doll in a Dollhouse. I went after her again, cuddling her against me, our breasts mashed together, so we wound up giggling and wrestling like sisters on the sheets until I kissed her and she tasted herself in my mouth.

  “My good little pets,” Wolf said beside us as we jostled him. He had opened the jewelry box. Inside were a number of articles, none of them jewelry. He removed a pair of cuffs and showed them to me. They were different from the ones he had given to me with the portfolio. Those had been regular handcuffs of the kind worn by criminals. These were wider by several inches, and welded together without a chain. They were not fur-lined, like the ones that Jerrel had bought me all those years ago from the sex store. They looked like they probably hurt.

  I soon found out just how much when he’d slipped them onto my wrists and locked them down. I felt a surge of panic at the feel of the metal squeezing my wrists. I started to protest, but Wolf ignored me. He reached for the industrial-strength chain hanging from the giant mobile above the bed. The chain went through the little loophole between the cuffs, and when Wolf pulled down on it, it shortened and drew the cuffs—and my arms—up over my head. He continued to pull until I found myself on my knees in the center of the bed, with my arms stretched as far above my head as they could go. I stared up at the giant mobile rocking lazily above me. Wolf pulled a couple inches more, which arched my back and thrust my breasts out in a decidedly lascivious manner.

  My breath caught deep in my throat, and I found myself panting as I struggled with both my balance and my panic. This was nothing at all like in those medieval fantasy movies where some princess is tortured and left hanging from her bonds in a dungeon somewhere. It wasn’t anything like a hardcore porno, either. The strain was too great to let myself just hang, and gravity was not being my friend. The only way I could alleviate the terrible pressure in my arms was to spread my knees out as far as I could and center my weight, which was probably the point of the device. The whole mobile left me stretched and open, with my breasts and cunt on full display to the crowd murmuring with gentle approval.

  I groaned at the terrible tension in my body and looked around for Wolf, hoping to plead him into letting the chain down just an inch or two, enough so I wasn’t left in such a vulnerable position, but he wasn’t on the bed. He and Jasmine stood in the center of the room, kissing and licking each other’s faces as Jasmine pulled a long, heavily embroidered, hunter green dressing gown around Wolf’s shoulders. I rattled my chains and Wolf looked up at me with his cunning pale eyes. The dressing gown was the old-fashioned kind that fell to the ankles, very proper, though Wolf had opted not to close it so the long line of his pale flesh and cock was on full and shameless display to everyone. He looked me over, and his cock, which had been twice relieved inside my body already, immediately began to grow once more. He moved toward me, still watching, then climbed onto the bed and moved to the center with the subtle, liquid grace of a cat or dog, so he was positioned right in front of me on his knees. I realized he was armed with one of the white roses. That put him in the unique position to touch me while I could neither escape him nor touch him in return. He drew the rose over my lips and down my throat, a moth-like brush that send a kind of silent vibration through my skin. He tickled the undersides of my arms, encircled each of my nipples, then drew the rose further down and between my legs.

  “How can you always be like this?” I gasped out.

  “Like what, mein liebeling?”

  “So…aroused?” I struggled to get the words out as the rose petals teased me, the lightest kiss against my already swollen labia. “It’s not possible.”

  “I’m not always aroused.”

  “You are,” I said as he leaned down to breathe me in, my hair, my throat, lower down, between my breasts.

  “Only with you,” he said, his voice muffled like a growl against my heart. “Every morning you walk into that office, Rachaela, and I smell that scent, that perfume, that smell that’s just you, and I think of roses and orchids and African rain, and it’s all I can do to control myself. It’s all I can do to keep from taking you in the boardroom, on the table, in clear sight of everyone else.”

  His words made my heart tick in my throat.

  He gripped my hips, angling my pelvis so he could scent me between the legs. I cried out and gripped the chains above my head in a death grip as his lips found me and his beard scratched me and he licked and then sucked my clit deep into his mouth, the way I had done with Jasmine, only fiercer. The pressure built and built in the back of my spine, and just as he used a hint of teeth, I shuddered to orgasm and came in his mouth, thrusting against him, the chains clattering together far above. He drank me down, and then suckled me there, softly but intensely, looking for more as I cried out, this time as much from the shame of our intimacy being made so public as the pain of his constant and unrelenting attention on my oversensitized flesh.

  He let me fall in the chains after that, and rest for several minutes, my heart clocking in my chest, as he climbed off the bed and circled it, watching me, trying to decide on how he would mete out the punishment he had promised me. He went to a wardrobe and searched through the contents for several moments before turning to face me, armed with the one thing I had dreaded more than anything else since meeting him that night in Malcolm’s kitchen.

  He was sporting a cane made of bamboo. I felt my panic edge up a notch as he approached me, drawing it over the front of my body as he had the rose, and despite myself, I immediately felt the wetness gathering between my legs. He saw. “It excites you, doesn’t it? I told you I would cane you, Rachaela. That I would take you, make you my courtesan. Bend you to my will.” He smirked. “Do you know that it’s commonly believed that the cane is the most painful tool in a gentleman’s arsenal? Reserved for only the most difficult of courtesans. You hate it, but you also want it. I can tell. You’ve been waiting for it.”

  “I don’t want it,” I protested as he slid the incredible hardness of wood between my breasts, making a beeline toward my belly. My entire body quivered and I suddenly felt the need to test the chains again, not that they were going to suddenly give for me. “Please…” I said as he moved the tip of the cane down over the front of me and tapped gently at my mound. I didn’t care if I sounded weak and pathetic; the sudden fear of that length of wood had galvanized me. It had broken my pride.

  He moved around me, dragging the cane against my skin. I quivered where it touched me. He rubbed it against the small of my back and then further down over my ass as he waited to hear the safe word from me.

  “Wolf, please…” I nearly sobbed. I yanked at the chains.

  The cane cracked against my left buttock, smartly and suddenly, and I screamed—not in pain but in sheer horror. For one second, I felt nothing, and the crack simply echoed in the room around us. Then nothing could have prepared me for the uniquely concentrated pain that followed, and I screamed again as that pain built and built, dragging me along with it almost to the breaking point.

  H
e didn’t wait, hitting me on the opposite buttock almost immediately. I screamed again, unable to contain myself. The pain was unbelievable, less like pain itself and more like when he was inside of me, at that last moment when he came, when he was pounding against my cervix so hard the feel of him transcended pleasure or pain and became something else entirely. I wondered with a kind of detached delirium if the cane was made to delay the pain, or if my brain was simply working to try and accept this new level of degradation. And yet, despite their intensity, the waves of pain didn’t last. They seemed to fade in a matter of seconds, leaving me writhing and clawing at the chains. The true horror of the cane was not that it hurt, exactly, but that it was like an arousal that wouldn’t break into orgasm or go away.

  After he’d caned me five times, he moved around to face me. He stood there in his open dressing gown, the cane resting against his shoulder, observing me with that cruel and sublime expression of his, as if he were drinking in the pain of me, feeding on it. My body kept heaving, and a cold sweat covered every inch of my skin. The last blow he had dealt me had finally forced an orgasm out of me so I hung in my chains with the wet, sticky cream of my latest release running down the insides of my legs for anyone with eyes to see. He observed this with strangely detached interest. Jesus, I thought, he was giving me his blank poker face, the one he used when he did business, and yet I noticed that when he moved, his thick and heavily veined erection slapped against the flat plain of his belly.

  “More?” he asked, and I felt a kind of quivering, almost psychic vibration coming from him. I knew what he was really asking. He wanted to know if I’d had enough, only halfway into my punishment. He wanted to know if I could handle him. If I could endure more of this. If I couldn’t, I just needed to use the safe word and he would let me go.

  And maybe that was the real reason Wolfgang Beck was so ethically promiscuous, I thought. Maybe it had nothing to do with him wanting to sleep around, wanting as many women as he could conquer. Maybe it was because he couldn’t find the right woman to satisfy his unique hungers. Maybe he just kept looking and looking, but the girls kept disappointing him. I clenched the chains in my hands until my knuckles hurt. I held his even gaze, and I said the words. “More, please.”