The Dollhouse Society: Margo (7 page)

“I’m doing quite fine, Matilda, thank you.”

“You’ve brought company today, I see.” She smiled cheekily like she suspected something.

“Yes, this is my partner and girlfriend, Margo. Margo, this is Matilda, head nurse at Brookmont.”

We made small talk for a moment and then Matilda said, “Amanda’s out on the patio, if you’d like to see her.”

“I would, indeed. Thank you, Matilda.” And reaching over the divider, Robert took Matilda’s hand and brushed a brief kiss over her knuckles, which made the woman blush like crazy. I might have been a little jealous, but I knew that was just Robert’s way. He was always the gentleman.

Robert then guided me down a series of corridors until we reached a pair of French doors that were open onto a sunny patio full of chairs and tables. Patients wandered among the beds of flowers in the vast, meticulously kept garden, or sat at the patio tables, drawing, playing cards or checkers, or just watching the birds wheeling overhead.

It took me only a few moments to recognize one of the patients as Amanda. We stopped at the table where the familiar, dark-haired woman was carefully painting flowers onto a canvas, and Robert said, “Margo, this is my sister Amanda. Amanda, would you like to say hello to Margo?”

The girl looked up shyly and offered me a brief smile before returning to her task.

“Amanda doesn’t speak,” Robert explained as we sat down at the girl’s table. “She was my mother’s youngest, and she was born extremely autistic. She never learned to communicate. But she does like to paint.”

Over the next hour, Amanda painted us many pictures, including one of Robert and I together, with me dressed in what I could only presume was a wedding dress and veil, surrounded by flowers. Robert blushed at that and explained that when he visited Amanda, which was at least once a week, he frequently talked about me to her, telling her all about me.

It was late afternoon by the time we said goodbye to Amanda and returned to the car. As we started back to the city, I said, “All those checks you wrote were to keep her here.”

“Amanda loves it here. She wouldn’t do well in the city. There are no flowers.” He smiled at that.

I watched his face, the love he had for his sister. “Why didn’t you ever say anything about her? Why hide her?”

Robert frowned with concentration. “When my mother died, she had me promise I would always look after her, protect her. But this job we do sometimes attracts bad elements, and Amanda is an innocent. Always has been. I didn’t want to risk anyone learning about her, hurting her. Hence the reason I always paid for Amanda’s care by check. Less paper trail.” He looked over at me with that same fierce look of devotion he had for Amanda. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her, Margo. I should have.”

I took his hand and kissed it. “And I should have trusted you.”

“Even?”

I grinned. “Even.”

“Well, bloody hell.”

“What is it?”

He shrugged and looked over at me with a shy smile that was all Robert, all male. “Here I was hoping you might punish me tonight, milady.”

***

“Are you nervous?” I asked Robert as my driver ushered us through the light-studded New York streets, on the way to the Dollhouse. I lounged on the seat in my Grecian-inspired cutaway gown in a soft, dark shade of velvety chocolate. It emphasized more than it hid, leaving my arms, cleavage and lower belly bare. Long strips of floor-length fabric covered me front and back, leaving my legs, thighs and hips bare as well, and my heeled gladiator sandals were on full display.

Robert sat beside me in his pristine tuxedo, his hands folded carefully in his lap, composed and obedient, though his eyes were trained on me like metal attracted to a super magnet. I knew he was being particularly attentive to my instructions tonight, and the thought made me wonderfully wet. I thought he looked magnificently beautiful. “No, of course not,” he said, though I sensed an edge to his voice.

I took one of his hands and kissed the space just below his knuckles. “Trust me,” I told him.

The driver pulled up and Robert climbed out first and then turned to help me from the backseat. I was his lady tonight, but he had insisted that I let him act like the gentleman that he was. I tucked his hand into the crook of my arm as we climbed the wide stone steps to the front entrance, nodded a greeting to the bouncer on duty, and then stepped inside the receiving hall where all the other gentleman lingered, drinking bourbon or champagne and chatting about their workweek.

I nodded greetings. Most looked surprised to see I had a companion tonight. Normally, I visited the Dollhouse alone to enjoy the plays in relative exile. It wasn’t that the men here weren’t progressive or being deliberately rude—Malcolm had many fiercer supporters—but all the “bachelors,” as the unattached were referred to, had a habit of hovering on the fringes for the first few years, or however long it took for them to find a courtier or courtesan.

Malcolm immediately spotted me and he and his best friend Ian Sterling made a beeline for me. I had long ago made Robert aware of the rules of conduct inside the Dollhouse, and he knew the gentleman headed my way could not speak to him, the first time for him in a social situation, I realized. By remaining with me, it was going to be a very lonely situation for him, so I turned to him and said, “Would you like to meet the girls? Well, there are some delightful men among them now, as well, thanks to Malcolm’s progressive campaigning.” The men would be a nice bonus, but I knew that, above all, Robert loved women of all kind.

“I would be delighted, milady,” he said, bowing in a courtly way over my hand before taking his leave for the next room where the courtesans and courtiers waited for tonight’s play to begin.

For the next hour, Malcolm, Ian and I made small talk and shared in bourbon and the bounty of Malcolm’s wonderful Cuban cigars. Malcolm expressed great interest in my play tonight, and asked whether I and my courtier might be available for a shoot sometime next week. Ian expressed interest in hiring Burkett Associates for a particularly sticky legal issue he had overseas with a distributor. I knew that would delight Robert; Sterling of New York, a cosmetic company giant, would be a hugely profitable account for us.

Not long after, Malcolm checked his pocket watch and said to me, “Shall we begin, then, Margo?”

I felt a thrill of nervous anticipation. This was definitely a red-letter day—or night, rather: The night the Dollhouse Society officially welcomed a lady into their midst. In some ways, it was like the Society gliding out of the old century and into a new one.

The gentleman turned to me and raised their drinks, encouraging me to begin. I led the way into the Main Hall with its vast checked floor and three hundred years’ worth of erotica hanging on the walls. There the courtesans and courtiers were enjoying their gossip and their bubbly drinks. The girls were of course fawning over Robert, who looked tall and so very handsome. Even the other courtiers seemed taken with him.

Since it was our debutante ball, our fantasy, I had been allowed to request that the hall be decorated to my taste. I had chosen a simple kline, or a backless Grecian reclining sofa, surrounded on both sides by two kebeti—two giant incense burners draped in veils.

I crooked my finger to Robert and he immediately tore himself away from the courtesans who had been oohing and aahing over him and came to me. I wasted no time cupping the back of his head and kissing him, slowly and unhurriedly. I breathed into him until he relaxed against me. I loved the hard, familiar feel of his body pressed against mine, the thrill of the others watching us together. “Trust me?” I whispered against his lips, and Robert’s eyes fluttered in response.

“I’ll always trust you, Margo.”

The kebeti were filling the hall with the delightfully exotic scents of sandalwood and spicy, lemony frankincense. I led him to the kline and told him to kneel down before me. A part of me feared he wouldn’t be able to perform in front of the others, that this exhibitionism would be too much for him and he would immediately use the safe word of the evening to stop our play, but he surprised me by going to his knees for me.

I took the crop I wore in a little loop on my specially designed dress and brushed the heart-shaped nip over his lips and chin. I brushed it down the front of his body and over the already hardening member in his trousers, then trailed it back up his body once more until the nub caught him under the chin, forcing his head up so he was looking me in the eye. I gave him his instructions. “You’ll do exactly what I say, when I say it. You won’t speak unless spoken to, and you won’t come without permission. Do you understand, Robert?”

“Yes,” he immediately answered.

I flicked the crop and slapped it against his hard-on, quick and decisively. Robert flinched and corrected himself by saying, “Yes, milady.”

“Good,” I said. “Lick me. Make me come.”

The skirt of my gown was comprised of little more than a few panels of filmy material, and beneath it I wore only my skin and my anticipation. Robert parted the material reverently and I felt the coolness of the room on my bare, wet sex. He flicked his tongue under the hood of my clit, quick and light. I gasped at the sensation, and very soon he was lapping at my wetness, teasing it from me, stopping only to feather kisses up the inside of my legs and to blow gently against my sex before continuing. Each touch of his tongue or his breath on my supersensitive flesh sent shivers through me from top to bottom.

He finally gripped my leg behind the knee and lifted it to the level of his shoulder, balancing it there while he went about the job of drawing more precum and a drowsy, almost hypnotic bliss from my body. His fingers parted the slick folds of my labia, and then three of his fingers were there, up inside of me and making such a delightful squelching noise as he touched me inside, moving steadily inward.

I rolled my head back on my shoulders and my hips thrust against the plunging fingers of his exploration. It wasn’t long before we found a rhythm that had me jerking and groaning and finally pouring my juices out for him as he coaxed the first orgasm of the evening out of my body. As I came, he withdrew his fingers and clutched my ass, holding my pelvis against his mouth so I could come, trembling, in his mouth, so I could fill him with my desire.

We stayed like that for some time while he licked me clean, starting at my now throbbing, oversensitive cunt and working his way down the insides of my thighs, everywhere I had wet myself. After that, I gave him his second set of instructions and knelt down and set my hands on the kline to steady myself so he could kiss the bend of my knees and nibble over the solid muscles of my calves.

“Good boy, Robert,” I sighed as he carefully licked all around my ankles.

“I live to please milady,” he told me, his voice low, almost a growl, making my muscles jump at the sound.

I noticed peripherally that the other gentleman and their courtesans and courtiers had drawn closer, making a kind of semi-circle around us to better enjoy our play. Their attention and quiet appreciation among themselves just fed into my lust. I elevated my ass slightly. “I want you to please your lady, Robert. I want you inside me. Now. Service your lady.”

He dutifully moved up behind me, molding himself to my back and ass, and started fluttering kisses down my spine while his hands slid beneath the panels of my dress and stroked and kneaded the bare flesh he found there. He stroked me and I purred like a cat. His courage redoubled, his hands slowly moved up the curve of my body until he was able to cup both breasts. He held them in his hands as if weighting them, as if they were precious to him, his thumbs slowly circling my hard , pebble-like nipples. The sensation sent a sweep of both love and desire down through my body and I rubbed my ass against the front of him and told him to fuck me, to fuck me deep and hard and make me come.

It took him only a moment to undo himself, and then he was pressing his weight insistently against my back once more and lazily sliding his already bone-hard erection up tight against me, between my legs, through the slippery arousal that was both his and mine. I murmured a few words of command through the haze of lust consuming both of us, and Robert grunted a response this time—all he could manage—and reached for my hair with his free hand, snagged it. He tugged it, and the spike of commingled pleasure and plain made me groan in response.

“I love you, Margo,” he whispered low in my ear so only I could hear, and then his hand at my hip held me tight and he plunged his cock home, impaling me so deeply my fingernails sank deep into the cushions of the kline and I yelped like an alley cat in heat and my entire body trembled from top to bottom. He bit my ear, took my earring in his mouth, tugging gently upon it as he anchored himself and began pounding me. His one hand held my hair while the other found my swollen clit, pinched it. He pounded me hard, stretching me wide open for his entry, claiming that space inside me, filling me almost to the end of me before pulling out and then repeating the action. He pounded high up inside of me, going almost all the way to my cervix, and each time he claimed me, I felt a little more of my heart going into him, melting for him, becoming a part of him.

“I love you too, Robert,” I told him just as he yanked my head back by the hair so I hissed between my teeth. He held me absolutely still like a statue, flooding me with his seed. Finished, he pulled out and I climbed onto the cushions of the kline while Robert straddled my lap, his tired cock sandwiched between us. I thought how funny we must look and we spent some time just laughing and touching and kissing while the Society applauded our performance.