The Dollhouse Read Online Free Page B

undergoing that pain again petrified me, but not nearly as much as 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. The last Christmas that we ever had.
    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.

3
    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 potent 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 his 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