Possessed: The Dollhouse, Part One (3 page)

I
n a movement
that was quicker than I could react, he seized me around the waist and pulled me into his lap. My arms and legs hung freely on either side of him but he held me securely with an iron grip, even as I struggled.

“I am going to spank you,” he said casually, as if discussing something as commonplace as the weather. “The more you resist, the more discipline that you will receive.”

He can’t mean it
, was my frantic thought. I wasn’t a misbehaving little girl. This couldn’t be real. Panicked, I squeezed my thighs together and pushed hard against the arm at my waist that may as well have been a steel vise.

The first strike on my bare bottom was more shocking than it was painful, but I cried out nonetheless. My legs flailed and he slapped each thigh punishingly hard – enough that I knew it would leave a mark – until they stilled.

He leaned further over me, pinning me hard to his thighs with the weight of his body. I could feel the stiff length of his erection pressing painfully into the soft flesh of my belly.

My last coherent thought was that
no one
had ever spanked me before, not even Momma when I was a child. I had expected sex, even to feel humiliated, but not this. Then the blows began to rain down, sharp and unrelenting, and I was no longer able to think at all.

I cried out with each crack of his hand against my skin. Perhaps I begged him to stop, choking out the words through my tears. If he heard me, he took no notice of it. Alternating flanks, he covered every inch of my backside in slapping shocks with a tempo that never faltered.

He whispered in my ear, lips moving against the delicate shell, as his hand never ceased its punishing rhythm. “You want this, you just don’t know it yet.”

And then he was hitting me even harder. I could no longer feel the individual blows but the whole of my body was consumed in fire, from the skin under his hand to the molten center at my core.

I was sobbing, without inhibition or restraint, tears and snot soaking the bedspread against my face and no longer able to struggle against him. His hand finally slowed, the severity of the spanking morphing into a sort of caress. He rubbed my skin – over my buttocks and down to my thighs – just hard enough that the stoked fire could not completely abate.

The tears slowed until I was taking only small, hiccupping breaths.

“That was very good. I think you deserve a reward.”

The circle he made with his hand slowly moved towards the center, his touch growing feather light as he barely skimmed the aching spot between my thighs. The burning that had once been pain had become something else entirely.

I moaned loudly when one thick finger dipped inside of me.

“What’s this, then?”

“I d-don’t kn-know…sir,” I said on a stuttering breath, overwhelmed with shame and desire.

“How very wet you are.” He removed his hand and I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging for more. “They can probably smell you all the way downstairs.”

I sobbed at that, unable to respond.

He gripped my chin hard between his thumb and index finger, wrenching my head back in a painful contortion until our noses nearly touched. “Do you know what kind of a girl gets wet when a man spanks her bare ass?”

“A b-bad girl, sir.”

“Not just a bad girl.”

He caught my lip between his teeth and bit down hard until I tasted the copper tang of blood. He pulled away enough to whisper against my mouth.

“A
slut
.”

“No!”

He slapped my bottom hard and I screamed.

“Say it, Dalea.” His hand stroked down my back and over the curve of one buttock, teasing me. “Say what you are and I’ll reward you.”

The ache and wanting was more than I could take. I tried to shift beneath him, to bring his hand closer to where I needed it, but he held me immobile.

“A slut.” I cried as I said it, ashamed and aroused both. “
I’m a slut, sir
!”

“Such a good girl.”

The fingers of one hand plunged between my slick folds, while the other found the little bead at the center of my need and stroked it over and over again. I pushed back against his hand, my feet in the heels sliding against the floor as I tried to find purchase.

My legs spread wide to allow him better access and I felt no shame at the wanton display. I moved frantically and without rhythm, completely overcome and unable to think about anything except how desperately I needed relief.

His fingers pumped in and out of me, matching the same speed of the punishing strokes his hand had delivered only minutes before.

The orgasm hit me hard enough that I nearly passed out from the force of it. I arched against him, screaming with the release. He reacted to the movement, matching it with his hips and making a low a sound in his throat, so soft that I almost missed it.

Tremors wracked my body even as his fingers slipped away to rub gentle circles on my back. The room spun lazily around me as I slowly came back to myself.

My patron shifted and his arms came around me, lifting my limp body until he held me curled in his arms like a child. I began to shiver, my teeth chattering, but I wasn’t cold.

He picked up the suit jacket that had been laid on the bed and gently wrapped it around me, still stroking me gently like a lap kitten that needed petting.

It was a slow realization that I had stripped naked, been severely spanked on my bare bottom and then expertly fingered until I came harder than I ever had in my life. And all the while, he had done little more to expose himself than remove the suit of his jacket. Except for the lock of dark hair that fell messily over his forehead, he could have just stepped out of an executive boardroom.

When I looked up, cold green eyes were watching me.

“Are you alright?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Can you stand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stood and placed me gently on my feet, holding me for a moment to ensure that I could remain upright unaided. Now, the sheer largeness of his form was impossible to ignore. Even in the stilettos, my head barely came to the same level as his shoulder.

I closed my eyes, feeling momentarily faint. When I opened them again, he had a white cotton robe held out in his hands. He removed the suit jacket from where it was draped around my shoulders and helped me to don the robe.

Not sure what I expected, I still felt a keening sense of loss as his hands fell away. He crossed to the other side of the room, shrugging back into the jacket, which was now severely wrinkled.

“Take a hot bath when you get home. That will help with the soreness.”

“I-is that it…Are we done?” I swallowed hard. “Sir?”

“Were you expecting something else?” He reached into the inner jacket pocket and pulled out a roll of bills before setting them on the dresser. “For you.”

“I just thought that you paid…” My voice trailed off.

“For sex?” He smiled then, and my heart stopped at the beauty of it. “No. Sex is a simple thing to get for free, even with someone as lovely as you are. I paid for the privilege of spending time with a gorgeous woman who would not say no, regardless of what was asked of her.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t confuse this with what it’s not.” He crossed to me and stopped with only inches separating us. His hand came up and stroked my cheek, so lightly that I could have imagined it. “I paid for your submission. And you were flawless.”

He was at the door before I could gather my thoughts enough to speak again.

“Will we do this again, sir?”

He turned back slightly and raised a jet-black eyebrow. “Would you like that?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The devastating smile returned, weakening my knees.

“I suppose anything is possible.”

P
redawn light
barely crept over the horizon as the black sedan wove easily through early-morning traffic. I sprawled against the leather seat, my head leaning on the window, glass cool against my cheek. Physically, I felt too exhausted to move but my mind raced.

I had never experienced anything like that before. I had felt terrified and exhilarated. Pleasure and pain comingled in a way that I had never known could be possible.

The thought of undergoing that pain again petrified me, but not nearly as much the idea of never again having the chance.

I stole into the apartment, matching my footsteps to Momma’s unsteady breathing until I reached the safety of the bedroom I shared with Lucy. My little sister still slept like a toddler, arms and legs spread wide so she took up more space on the bed than seemed like a physical possibility.

Gently rolling her sleeping form into a more anatomical position, I slipped in beside her and closed my eyes.

I desperately needed to sleep, but it proved elusive. The memory of my patron’s hands on my skin played behind my eyes on a constant loop. My mind recalled the shuddering orgasm that had ripped through my senses and I pushed off the bed, unable to keep still as aftershocks sparkled down nerves that were already over-sensitized.

Abandoning the idea of sleep, I reached for the battered laptop that my father helped fall off a truck for Christmas when I was fifteen. That was the year before he left Momma for the last time.

The computer was slow to boot up and I gritted my teeth in frustration. When I was finally able to open up the browser, I clicked into the search bar and typed two words:

Sexual submission.

The results list that popped up was like falling down a rabbit hole. Some of it was titillating, and the rest nearly impossible to contemplate. I quickly learned that my patron was something called a Dominant and that what we had done was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to play.

Sex didn’t even have to be part of it, though a shameless part of me could admit I wanted more of that than I had received. The play could be sensual or sexual, or simply about the delicate balance of power.

Curious, I clicked on a link for something called “figging”, thinking it sounded fairly pleasant. I slammed the laptop shut before the first image could load completely. Certain things were better left to the imagination.

My mind whirled with the possibilities. Wondering, almost desperately, if I would see him again, and what he would want to do to me if I did. I knew to the very core of my being that my memory – and my dreams – wouldn’t be enough.

I desperately wanted more.

M
y hands were bound
high above my head, the muscles at my shoulders screaming in protest. But he wouldn’t release me – no matter how much I begged.

The blindfold that covered my eyes robbed me of sight which only served to heighten my other senses. From the creak of the floorboard as he moved around my naked form – just barely not touching – to the heady scent of my own arousal that hung in the air. I was acutely aware of it all.

I pulled at the silken ties that entwined my wrists and ankles, but they did not loosen even a scant distance. My legs were spread wide. I pressed back against a tall, wooden post that was unyielding against my back.

My body ached from his attentions. Dozens of hurts coalesced into the most intense pleasure that I had ever experienced.

The heady mixture of terror and exhilaration mingled in me at the thought that I no longer had any control over my own body. I was open to him – and waiting – only for his pleasure.

He touched me then. Searching fingers stroked gently down my chest and the edge of one nail dragged sharply across the tip of one nipple which had tightened to a hard point in the cool air. I nearly fainted with the overwhelming pleasure of it, letting out a sharp cry.

His fingers moved lower and my breath held in anticipation until I felt lightheaded. The pressure of his touch was so light that it was almost as if I had imagined it.

An eternity passed – seconds morphing into a lifetime – as I waited for him to finally let me have what I had been begging for.

“Tell me what you want.”

I didn’t have words for what I wanted – what I needed. “Please…please touch me, sir.”

“Such a good little slut.”

Thick fingers plunged inside of me and I screamed. His palm covered me completely, as his fingers pumped in and out in a hard rhythm.

“Do you want to come?”

I was barely capable of coherent thought as fire consumed my senses. Every nerve-ending was consumed in flame and need.

With an effort, I found a few stuttering words. “Y-yes…, sir!”

His thumb found the tight ball of my clitoris and made small, hard circles. Shivers wracked my entire body and the world shattered around me. My desperate cries rang out as everything around me dissolved into sheer bliss.

I
jerked
awake in a cold sweat, aftershocks still wracking my body. My fingers bunched in the comforter as I willed my frantic heartbeat to slow into a normal rhythm.

The dreams had come each and every time that I slept since my night in the Dollhouse. Over a week had passed and instead of diminishing with time, the dreams had only grown more intense and practically indistinguishable from reality.

Thankfully, I was alone in the bed. Lucy always got up early on Saturday mornings to take advantage of our stolen cable before it was inevitably canceled.

The thought of having sex dreams while sleeping next to my four-year-old sister was more than a little discomforting.

As I rolled over in the bed, the oversized t-shirt that I wore to sleep rucked up and caught around my waist and thighs. My reflection in the mirror that hung on the door stared back at me, wide-eyed and enflamed.

I moved to inspect my backside where the bruises had faded to a handful of dark-purple patches on my skin. A pang shot through my heart at the thought of the marks fading completely. I would miss the physical reminder of that night and the pleasurable pain of his hands on my body.

The Dollhouse had not contacted me since that first night and I couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved. I desperately wanted to see my patron again and feel his hands on my body, to be swept away by the overwhelming waves of pleasure and pain.

I didn’t have to think or worry at the Dollhouse. His hands and the sensations they invoked in my body could be my whole world – at least for a little while.

But there was real danger there as well. My feelings already bordered on near obsession. What little more would it take for that obsession to turn on me, until I was compelled to give up everything for it?

I forced myself out of bed and to start getting dressed for work. The sooner the memory of the Dollhouse and my patron faded into something distant and difficult to recall, the better.

Lucy and Momma were on the couch when I entered the living room, watching cartoons just like I thought they would be. A shiny new CPAP machine sat on its metal pole next to Momma.

It had only been a few days of her wearing it at night and Momma was already sleeping better. The device had sucked up a good portion of my Dollhouse money, but it was worth it to see her more comfortable.

Another reminder of what the Dollhouse could do for my family.

When Momma asked, I’d told her that the health insurance payment had finally come through. Whether she believed it or not, Momma hadn’t asked anymore questions.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice hoarse. I prayed that my crying out had been only in my dreams, or at least soft enough that they hadn’t heard. There were only so many things that I could explain away.

“Mowning!” Lucy’s nearly toothless grin flashed at me, before her gaze returned to the bouncing animated characters on the screen.

I walked around the back of the couch to kiss Momma on the cheek. “I’m going to pick up your medications before I go to work. Do you need anything else?”

Momma shook her head slowly, the movement so weak that I felt a sharp pang of sadness.

“Too expensive,” she rasped. “Don’t fill them until next week.”

“It’s fine, Momma.” I turned away because I couldn’t face her. I knew she’d be able to see the lie in my eyes. “I’ve been picking up extra shifts at the diner so we can afford it. You need them.”

Julio was in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge when I entered. He saw me come in and slammed the door shut.

“Why is there never any damn food in here?” he asked, tone hostile.

“Good morning to you, too.”

He rolled his eyes and moved to the cabinets, ignoring my greeting.

I was determined not to pick a fight with him. It was just so much easier to let it be. “I think there’s some cereal in the cupboard.”

“Yeah, but no milk to go with it.”

I sighed. “Sorry.”

My fifteen-year-old brother was going through the phase of puberty that left him in a perpetually bad mood.

If he wasn’t locked up in his room playing rap music loudly enough to shake the rafters and piss of our neighbors, then he was stalking around the apartment and making sarcastic commentary about how everything in our life sucked.

But a big part of me felt bad for him so I tried to let everything but the most egregious stuff slide. It wasn’t fair that there were always more mouths to feed than food to go around. It wasn’t fair that Momma was sick and couldn’t work. And it definitely wasn’t fair that a boy was expected to step up and be man of the house.

My sympathy over how hard things had been for him was the reason I hadn’t made him take the job washing dishes at the diner that I knew I could get for him. Even if the extra income would really help out around the house. I wanted him to stay a kid for the little bit of time he had left, regardless of what it cost me.

Julio slammed another cabinet closed. “You’re going grocery shopping today, right?”

“I’m not going to have time.” I said, hoping that would placate him. “I’ll bring something home from the diner tonight.”

“I don’t want to eat that nasty shit.” He kicked one of the chairs out from under the kitchen and slumped into it. “Give me some money and I’ll go to the store.”

I knew that anything I gave Julio would be solely for his own benefit. He was as likely to use the money for grocery shopping as he was to drop it in the collection plate at the Episcopal church down the street. Meaning: not at all.

But at least it would get him out of the house so Momma wouldn’t have to spend the day dealing with his sour attitude. And if I gave him the cash, he’d be less likely to go out and steal the things we wanted with that group of degenerates he called his friends.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to soothe a sudden headache. “Twenty dollars, but just for food.”

“Whatever.”

I pulled a crumpled bill out of the pocket of my pants and handed it to him. Julio grabbed it without bothering to thank me, stomped back to his room and slammed the door closed behind him.

Ignore it
, I told myself. Starting a fight wouldn’t make things easier for any of us. I was about to be late for work anyway.

One night, in exchange $1000.

I firmly pushed thoughts of the Dollhouse away. This was my life and nothing was going to change it. They clearly didn’t want me back and, in the long run, I was probably better off. There was no room in my life for obsessive desire. The sooner I could forget about it completely, the better.