Possessed: The Dollhouse, Part One (4 page)

I
t was
a slow day at the diner.

I stood behind the counter, topping off ketchup bottles and surveying the expanse of empty tables. I had a woman taking up one of my booths so she could read the newspaper and sip on free refills of coffee without ordering food and a man at the counter who’d spent more time looking at my ass than he had at the menu. Otherwise, my section was crickets.

“Why you look so down, baby girl?”

Miranda, an older woman who’d been working at the diner almost as long as I’d been alive and one of my favorite people to work with, slid up next to me.

“No reason, just ruminating on the joys of working for free.” I said, giving her a weak smile.

“Thems the breaks when you work for tips.” She picked up a rag and started wiping down the bottles that I had already filled so I could cap them. “It’ll pick up for dinner.”

“I hope so.” I glanced up at her as I slid a filled bottle over. “Did you get your hair done?”

“Sure did, sugar.” Miranda’s thin hair was teased up in a beehive, the same way she’d worn it since that style was actually in vogue. Yesterday it had been a pale yellow like buttercream frosting and she’d clearly been back to the salon, because today it was the color of pink cotton candy. She got it colored a different outrageous shade every month.

“I like it, reminds me of spring.”

“It sure makes me feel good.” She patted the side of her hair gently as if it wasn’t held firmly in place with a hundred pins and a gallon of super-hold hairspray. “You should find something to cheer yourself up, too. You’re too young and pretty for frown lines.”

I laughed at that. “I’ll work on it.”

“How’s your mom?”

“Hanging in there.” I turned away to busy myself with lining up the ketchup bottles neatly on a shelf under the register. “We go back to see the oncologist at the end of the month.”

Miranda patted me gently on the back. “Well, I hope its good news, sweetheart.”

“Me, too. She has an appointment with the lady from the disability office next week. I’m hoping they’ll put her back on benefits because she hasn’t been able to work in weeks.”

Miranda’s face was sympathetic. “It will all work out. You let me know if you need anything.”

“Always.” I scanned behind the counter for any other sidework that needed to be done. Busying myself was the only way to keep agonizing thoughts of the future at bay.

I bent down below the counter to tidy the stacks of menus that were heaped on top of each other in a precarious pile.

The bell above the door dinged, announcing the arrival of another customer.

“You take this one,” I heard Miranda say to me. “I’ll get the next.”

“Thanks,” I said and hastily finished pushing the menus into place. I brushed my hands off on my apron as I stood, simultaneously pasting my patented customer service smile onto my face.

And then I came face to face with the Procurer.

I froze, mouth working uselessly as I tried to no avail to produce something coherent.

“Table for one,” he said with an amused smile, obviously enjoying my discomfiture.

I swallowed hard. “Right this way.”

Grabbing a menu, I moved around the counter and led the way to a booth in the back of the diner, far away from the handful of other customers and outside of Miranda’s hearing.

It was a struggle to maintain my composure, caught as I was at the epicenter of two colliding worlds. Who did the Procurer think he was, just showing up like this without warning? And at my job, of all places.

I waited for the Procurer to seat himself, inwardly seething.

He pulled a handkerchief out the pocket of his suit jacket and wiped at the battered tabletop, a look of disdain twisting his aquiline features.

“What a charming little place, my dear.”

I slammed the menu down in front of him. “This is not okay.”

“You’re looking well, my dear Dalia,” he said, obviously unfazed by my outburst. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for a glass of water that hasn’t come directly out of the river.”

“Sorry, we just ran all out of Evian.”

“Pity,” he said, ignoring the sarcasm – if he heard it all. “I believe I’d like a bowl of soup,
sans
flies please. And do you have any specials?”

I glared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“No specials, then?”

“The catfish is pretty special – if by that you mean it’s a day from turning and needs to be offloaded.”

“I’ll pass, thank you.” He surveyed me quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Might I suggest that you fetch me a cup of hot tea and take a moment to soothe your ruffled feathers? Then, perhaps, we can speak like civilized adults.”

The warning in his voice was clear as a bell. As much I wanted to continue snarking at him, it was clear there’d be consequences if I kept going.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

Miranda followed me when I slammed through the plastic saloon doors and into the kitchen.

“Dalea, is everything okay?” Her thin face was pinched with concern. “Do you know that man?”

“No,” I said, too quickly. “I’ve just been on edge today. That’s all.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong.”

“Everything’s fine.” I forced my lips to contort into as convincing a smile as I could muster. “I just need a minute to get it together.”

“If you say so. I can take that table over if you need me to.”

“No, no. I got it.” I busied myself at the drink station, filling a pot with hot water and lining a holder with tea bags. “I’m good, really.”

The concerned look remained on her face, but she left me slip past her and back into the dining room.

Desperately trying to maintain my composure, I silently sat the pot and teabag carousel down in front of the Procurer. I felt his gaze on me, watching my careful movements, but I very deliberately avoided looking at him.

I pulled the order pad and a pen out of my apron and held them up. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

The Procurer laughed and the sound was like ice running down my spine. “Poor little darling, so confused about what she wants.”

My fingers clenched on the order pad and I had to force myself to relax. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You do.” Elegant fingers carefully poured hot water into the cup before setting down the pot, picking up a spoon and twirling it delicately. “And you know why I’m here.”

“Is there anything else that I need to know about me?”

“Stop it.” He set the spoon down with a hard click. “This offer can be the last, if that is what you prefer.”

“No!” I answered before I could stop myself and cursed my weakness. I was supposed to be stronger than this. It should have been easier to resist.

“Then I suggest you abandon this insubordinate attitude.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, defeated. There was no use trying to pretend that they didn’t have a hold on me.

“He wants you back, for reasons I cannot fathom at the moment.” The Procurer brought the cup of tea to his lips and took a small sip. He grimaced and set it down again. “Your payment has increased to $1500. All other contract terms remain in force.”

My patron’s face swam in my vision and I couldn’t stop my body’s instantaneous response. It was useless to pretend that I wouldn’t go wherever he wanted and do whatever he asked. Regardless of what it would do to me.

“When?” I asked, my voice soft.

“Tonight, of course.”

I closed my eyes as a thousand butterflies suddenly took flight inside of my heart. “You can’t do this to me.”

“I am afraid it is simply the nature of the beast, my dear.” He rose smoothly from the chair. Standing, he regarded me thoughtfully. “To accept or refuse is your only prerogative.”

“That’s not much of a choice.”

“Alas, not a one of us is ever completely unfettered.” He pulled out a money clip, removed a twenty-dollar bill and placed it on the table. “For that abysmal tea.”

I swallowed hard. “And I have to decide now, of course.”

“You do.” His head cocked to the side and he examined me clinically, like a particularly interesting laboratory specimen. “Shall we expect you?”

Every rational part of me screamed
No! This will destroy you.
I had to be strong. I had to ignore the fire that threatened to burn me up from the inside out. I had to be greater than my darkest desires.

“Yes.” My voice was small, but firm. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

T
his time
, my patron was waiting for me. The burly guards who flanked me up the stairs of the Dollhouse pushed me through the door and shut it hard behind me.

I had not milled in the living room with the other Dolls like before. Instead, they brought me straight to him, not even waiting for me to change out of the simple, blue dress that I had never returned to my mother’s closet.

The room was dark, just like before, but this time lit candles lined one wall creating a warm glow. A small table arranged with a light buffet of fruits, cheese and sliced meats had been set up near the bed, along with two chairs.

It was at the table where he sat. He didn’t look at me as he raised a glass of wine to his lips, as if he had failed to notice I was there.

I hesitated near the door, unsure of how to proceed without explicit instruction. A draft of cold air blew over my bare legs, my skin dimpling with gooseflesh in response.

I knew not to break the silence, every instinct telling me to allow him to have control even over something as simple as how we were to began. Every cell of my body felt alert and primed, waiting for him to tell me what he wanted.

With an effort, I willed my breathing to steady and my heartbeat to slow.

“Take off your panties.”

The sound of his voice, so sudden in the silence, was a shock to my senses. So much so that I almost forgot to comply with his command.

I hooked the thumb of each hand into the waistband of my panties and pushed them down to my ankles before kicking them away.

My patron rose from the table and walked slowly towards me. He was so large, well over six feet tall and with broad shoulders. I was struck anew by the power of him. He could do anything he wanted to me and I would be completely powerless to stop him, even if I wanted to.

He circled me slowly as I stared straight ahead, frozen in place.

“Use your hands to spread the lips of your labia, wide so I can see that pretty little cunt.”

I made a gasping sound, shocked at the demand. The thought of being so open and exposed, of doing it to myself for a stranger, was humiliating. I felt the rush of blood to my face as I blushed in embarrassment.

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

My shaking hands moved between legs to do what he asked. Fingers trembling, I spread the heavy folds. When one of my knuckles just barely brushed my already aching clitoris, I couldn’t hold back a moan.

My patron walked all the way around until he faced me, eyes locked firmly on my exposed center. He knelt down in a fluid movement, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply.

Need quaked through me. My knees trembled underneath me until I was barely able to remain standing. I was desperate for his touch. It was the only thing in life that I wanted.

When he spoke, I could the whisper of his breath on my sensitive skin. It was almost too much to bear.

“Have you thought about when we were last together and touched yourself?”

“Yes,” I said on a choked whisper. “I dream about you, sir.”

“Indeed.” He moved an infinitesimal distance closer, the smallest possible distance separating him from my exposed skin. “Show me how you touch yourself. Show me what you want me to do to you.”

With a sob, I moved the index finger of my right hand over the tiny nub, moving over it in slow, tiny circles until I was gasping. I moved two fingers of the other hand down to dip inside of myself, pumping in and out gently. Need arced through me like the sharp slice of a knife, the sensation harsh and almost painful. I was so close, a moment more of this would send me over the edge.

“That’s enough.”

My hands stilled, the sexual frustration so keen that I felt the burning in the corners of my eyes that precipitated tears.

He stood and took a step back. I did cry then – taking harsh sobbing breaths – the lack of release more than I could bear.

Moving to the table, he roughly swept the plates and silverware off its surface and sent it all crashing to the floor. The violence of it was so unexpected that I took an involuntary step back, my hands falling from my body.

“Come here. Now.”

I walked towards him on unsteady legs, but not quickly enough. He grabbed my arm and wrenched me towards him. Propelling me forward, he pushed me down on the table. My breasts pressed painfully into the hard surface and my backside was exposed.

Coming to one side of my shivering body, he took my wrists and pulled them over my head, stretching my arms up until my muscles strained in protest. He pressed the palms of my hands flat on the table for a moment.

“Do not move your hands or I will tie them.”

“Yes, sir,” I said on a gasp.

His fingers gently traced the outlines of the darkened bruises on my bottom from our last encounter that had not quite healed. I shuddered at the gentle caress, innately knowing what was to come.

He walked back around behind me, but my neck could not crane enough to follow his movements. I turned my head to the other side and caught his reflection in the mirror hanging over the dresser.

I watched as his hands moved to the waist of his dress pants and he began to remove his belt.

A belt!
I made a move to crane back so I could see him more completely, my hands sliding a small distance on the table.

“Be still,” he said sharply.

I froze in place, heart pounding as terror and desire warred for dominance inside of me. My fingers dug into the wooden tabletop. “P-please, sir!”

“Please what?” My patron lowered himself to kneel beside me. When I turned my head to face him, our eyes were level. He had the belt looped with both ends held in one hand and resting at his side. “Are you afraid?”

The tears fell down my cheeks. I nearly choked on the words. “Yes, sir.”

“Your fear is part of your desire.” He raised the belt and stroked the looped end over my body, tracing a fiery trail down my skin. “Tell me how much you want this. Beg me to do it.”

I couldn’t –
wouldn’t!
– do it. Every cell of my being balked at the idea of begging for my own debasement. But words spilled from my lips unbidden, no part of me under my conscious control.

“Spank me! Please spank me, sir!”

“As you wish.”

He abruptly stood. At nearly the same moment the belt came down, whistling sharply through the air. The first blow struck my skin with the same force as the hardest of the ones from his hand.

I screamed – from shock, pain and the fire at my core that only burned with a greater intensity.

Strikes streamed down with the steady rhythm of a metronome. His aim was unerring, never hitting the exact spot twice, until my entire backside was consumed in flame.

My tears turned to sobs as my cheek drove into the table with each strike. He whipped me without mercy. I lost count after the tenth one, my awareness receding into an ocean of sharp pleasure and sparkling pain. Wetness gathered between my legs, moistening my upper thighs, as I endured one blow after another.

His rhythm slowed and finally stopped. Seconds passed, the only sound his harsh breathing and my heavy sobs.

A large hand insinuated itself between my legs, his searching fingers sparking my desire even further. I cried out, rocking back against him, desperate for friction and his touch.

“Tell me what you want, Dalea.” His voice was harsh and strained, a product of his exertions. “Tell me what you need.”

“I want you to fuck me.” I no longer had a hold on my own consciousness. The words came out of my throat unbidden, as if he was speaking to the very heart of me. “Please fuck me, sir!”

He pulled away and I moaned at the loss, wanton in my desperation.

Then his face was buried between my thighs and the world exploded.

He sucked the little bead of my clitoris into his mouth, drawing hard on it as if he wanted to pull the very life from me. Flattening his tongue against me, he licked up the length of me to my perineum, just barely brushing the puckered skin of my rear entrance.

I reacted as if I’d been shocked with electricity, bucking and grinding against his face. A high-pitched keening sound filled the room and I distantly realized it came from me, but I was too far gone for embarrassment.

His tongue moved lower, dipping into me before moving on. He pushed thick fingers inside of me just as his lips closed over my clitoris, sucking hard.

With that, I dissolved. Keening moans transformed into inarticulate cries of pleasure. The orgasm rolled over me like a steaming train and I melted like candy into the heat of his mouth.