The Dollhouse Society: Margo (11 page)

“Punish me, fuck me, I don’t care, but hurry up.”

Malcolm laughed and Devon rested his ear against the wall of Malcolm’s chest to listen to the soft, comforting sound. He hadn’t heard much laughter in his short life.

Finally, after much anticipation and whispering among the Society, Malcolm withdrew a small vial of oil from his tuxedo pocket and worked it open. It smelled minty, and when Malcolm applied a little to Devon’s well-gnawed nipples they immediately began to burn coolly and Devon groaned at the promising little pain. “What is that?”

“A little tincture I pick up in Chinatown.”

“Will it hurt…I mean, really hurt?”

Malcolm kissed the shell of Devon’s ear and said, “Nothing I do will ever hurt you, pet. I promise you that.”

“I know, Malcolm, I know,” Devon answered and lifted his bottom a little as Malcolm began slicking his lower belly, perineum and then his opening with the minty oil. Within seconds it began to burn, but not unpleasantly. Malcolm slipped a finger inside him, then two. Devon arched his back against the burning and the stretching, and Malcolm immediately slid two more up his ass so Devon began making those mewling noises again and thrusting his pelvis against Malcolm’s body, inviting him to take him, and soon.

Malcolm licked his courtier’s lips and chin as he worked him wider. Devon’s swollen cock bumped him and he knew he was near to bursting. Lifting Devon easily, he worked his cock inside him, letting gravity and Devon’s weight pull him down upon his thick shaft. Devon grunted and his fingers clawed the front of his gentleman’s jacket as he took more of Malcolm than he ever had before. Malcolm seated himself slowly inside Devon’s slick, eager hole until Devon was fully sitting in his lap once more with his gentleman buried balls deep inside him.

Devon’s face had flushed. Malcolm began by saying, “Devon…” but his courtier cut him off mid-sentence.

“Just do me,” he said, gasping through the pleasure and the pain. “I can’t stand that you’re just sitting there, gov. Fuck me hard. Fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone in your life.”

Malcolm began to move inside him, slowly at first but with an increasing, grinding rhythm that soon had Devon groaning, crying out, and rocking against Malcolm’s body as Malcolm touched him deeper and deeper inside. He bucked sharply near the end, lost in a reverie of lust and emotion, and Devon screamed his release into Malcolm’s shirt as they came at the same moment, as one.

***

On that very special Christmas Day ten years later, Malcolm took Devon to the Royal, a favorite spot among the Society. It had good wine, better food, and it was owned by a pair of brothers who were also members of the Society, so they were able to get a private room off the main dining area.

Malcolm spared no expense. He ordered champagne, caviar, oysters, lobster for them both, and black pudding for Devon. In the nearly ten years of their relationship, he had been unsuccessful in breaking Devon of some of his more disturbing British culinary habits. For dessert they had bread pudding, crème brulee, and a chocolate rum cake, heavy on the rum.

Afterward, Malcolm slid his Christmas gift over to Devon, wrapped in a love letter he had hand-written on parchment with a quill. It was a two-week vacation in a Cuban resort that they would have all to themselves. Devon looked over their travel plans with great enthusiasm. He had wanted to see Cuba for some time. He read the letter that Malcolm had written, all the things Malcolm felt, and nearly wept. Then he slid his own modest, foil-wrapped box over to Malcolm.

Malcolm opened it carefully to reveal a new, fine leather wallet from Brooks Brothers. “To replace the one I stole,” Devon admitted sheepishly. That night, over ten years ago, Malcolm had recovered his most important things and his money, but Devon the teenaged pickpocket had thrown his wallet into the East River.

“Really, Devon,” Malcolm said and slid his big hand over Devon’s slim one. He brought Devon’s fingers to his lips to kiss.

“Open it, gov,” Devon said with a teasing smile.

Malcolm did, anticipating a gift card to a men’s boutique or maybe a health club. Devon was sweet but practical in his gifts. Four years ago, when Malcolm complained about gaining an unexpected ten pounds from having too little time to exercise, Devon had bought them two West Highland White terrier pups so they could walk the dogs in Central Park in the morning.

This time he found the ring, a thick gold band dotted with small diamonds and one large, flawless white diamond in the center. Malcolm looked at it blankly for a moment as he processed the information. Devon felt his spirits slowly sink. If Malcolm had to look at the engagement ring like that, then something was wrong, very wrong.

Had he moved too fast? But they had been together almost ten years. Surely ten years was enough to know if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with someone you loved? Maybe Malcolm didn’t want to marry. He never spoke of it, almost as though he feared he’d jinx their relationship if he did.

“Malcolm?” Devon felt his heart trip and then start thumping with disconcerting pressure against his ribs. He wondered if he was on the verge of having a panic attack. He knew he should say more, propose properly, maybe even get down on one knee or something, but he was at a loss as to what to do. Suddenly he felt like a fool, a damned fool for giving Malcolm the ring.

Malcolm continued to stare at the ring in his palm. Then he moved his other hand to his face and covered his eyes. It took Devon a moment to realize Malcolm was fighting back tears.

He had never seen Malcolm cry before. He wasn’t sure the man was even capable of it. “Malcolm?” Devon said, frightened now as he partially stood up.

And then Malcolm looked up and smiled. “Yes, Devon. I’ll marry you. Of course I will.”

Devon froze as he felt his heart lighten, bloom…fly away. There was no other way to describe it. He started reaching for his cell phone, to tell his girls, his family, the good news, but Malcolm stopped him. He took Devon by the wrist and guided him around the table. Devon climbed into his fiance’s lap and Malcolm palmed his cheek as they shared a quiet, passionate kiss. Then he tucked Devon’s head under his chin and just held him so fiercely that Devon could barely breathe.

“We need to visit Evelyn and Rachaela…oh, and I need to tell Daniel too. We need to tell everyone we know,” Devon insisted. For the first time in his life, he was really happy. “Or we can wait until tonight, until the Society meets up.”

“Just stay with me like this for a moment, Tweety Bird,” Malcolm said, holding him close. There were tears in his voice. “I have everything I want right here.”

***

About the Author

Jay Ellison lives in the big city with his partner and several rescue dogs. He writes m/m romantic erotica. To see all of the Courtesan Press titles, visit
http://courtesanpress.wordpress.com
.

***

Read an excerpt from
Red (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
by Madeline Apple:

Frank Lupo was the type of guy you fell in love with at first sight—and then quickly learned the error of your ways. I know because I was one of the stupid ones who did, the first day on the job, no less.

Frank was my boss and half owner of Lupo & Mayer, Accountants. He was tall and powerfully built, with the lean, broad physique of a guy who had probably done track in high school and football in college. He wore his perfectly black hair slicked back Mafioso-style and his goatee trimmed and tight. His eyes were icy blue and his teeth the porcelain white of a man with good genetics as opposed to a good dentist. He looked like the devil, if the devil was an accountant. He wore no wedding ring, though he did have a football ring from Rutgers University. Real movie-star material, I thought dreamily that first day I found myself working in one of the biggest accounting firms in New York City. 

The competition for the job had been fierce, and I had only gotten in due to good timing. The last girl had been caught embezzling money and I had just put my resume in, thinking nothing would come of it. At twenty-four, I didn’t think I would actually get it. But suddenly there I was at Lupo & Mayer, crunching numbers. Naturally, that first week I was careful, checking and double checking my work. The last thing I needed was an error on the books. The following Monday, Frank called me into his executive suite office and told me to sit down.

I honestly thought he meant to compliment me, stupid me, but as he sat down and I concentrated on not gaping at him like some lovestruck teenager, he said, “You work too slow, Sadie.”

“I’m…sorry?” Maybe I hadn’t heard him right.

He scooped some papers out of the file folder that I had delivered to him before the weekend. “I appreciate you graduated top of your class, and you obviously have a knack for numbers, but, Redner, you finished two accounts last week. If I had shown these to my partner, he would have canned you before the weekend.” His voice was steady and boomed around his plush, white luxury office. He put off a kind of fission as he slapped the folder down in front of me like some kind of a displeased professor put off by a project of mine.

I felt my face burn with shame and anger—shame that I had let him down, anger at being called Redner, like he was my coach back in high school. His lips pursed together, hiding his big, strong teeth, and his eyes narrowed to laser points. I thought of some big predator stalking a deer deep in the wood and the thought made me hyperaware of my body, the way my hose rubbed between my legs. My fingers pressed nervously into my sweating palms.

He lifted his chin in a gesture I could only call arrogant. “If you want to run with the big dogs someday, Redner, you’re going to need to step it up.”

I wanted to tell him I’d done my best, and I’d made no mistakes. It took me three tries to get the words out. “All right.”

As always, I never got mad fast enough, and I always let everything bother me afterward. I knew what I would do next. I would thank him and then step out of his office, dutifully reprimanded but smiling at all my coworkers as if nothing had happened. Then I would go home and overeat and cry into my pillow as all the loose parts of my self-confidence fell apart. I was the same way in high school and college. I was the same way in all my relationships. That was me, Sadie Redner, human doormat.

At least I had the good grace to not cry when I got back to my desk. But later that day, as I was leaving, Frank called me back into his office. I was shaking and I nearly collapsed to the floor as he let me back in. Had he found an error in my hastily performed work? Or maybe I still wasn’t fast enough, even though I had knocked out a whole account in a day.

“Thanks for staying after, Sadie,” he said as he walked around his desk and picked up the file folder I had just delivered. He flipped it open and I felt my heart as it started banging around my chest. He glanced down at my figures, then up at my face. “Good work. And see, you
can
work fast and not make any errors.”

I nearly sobbed with relief. He noted my expression and said, “Look...Red…I have to be hard on you. My partner’s a nervous man, and we’ve never taken on someone as young as you are. I don’t want to see you out on the street. It’s nothing personal.”

I swallowed and nodded. He stared at me with an intensity that left me feeling pinned down and a little vulnerable, but at the same time, hopeful. I hated him for being so confident, but at the same time, I envied him. So when he asked to walk me down to the lobby, I scrambled for my coat and satchel like a desperate idiot.

I’d only had two boyfriends, one in high school and one in college that I’d actually slept with. Neither of my relationships had ended well, and after my boyfriend in college left me for my best friend, I had vowed not to fall for a pretty face again.

On the way down in the elevator, Frank asked me how I was liking New York.

“How do you know I don’t come from New York?” I asked.

“You have a Pennsylvania Dutch accent,” Frank noted, and I felt my face flush for the second time that day. “Are you Amish?” he asked. He sounded genuinely interested. “Or were you?”

Oh god. I hated talking about this. It made me feel like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. “No,” I immediately told him. “My grandmother and I just grew up in Lancaster, is all. There’s a large Pennsylvania Dutch settlement there.” I didn’t mention that Gramma was an ex-Amish and that she had largely raised me alone.

I tried not to talk too much the rest of the way down.

When we stepped out into the lobby, I immediately saw a beautiful, sleek woman in a smart suit and swing coat from Saks Fifth Avenue heading our way. She was carrying a Prada clutch purse. I was still about five years away from owning anything Prada. She immediately linked her arm through Frank’s and leaned down to whisper something in his ear, something that made Frank grin in his wolfish way. The two hurried toward a limo waiting for them in the curb outside the building, both their coats flying.

It was the emotional equivalent of having a cold pail of water dumped over my head. Then I wondered what I had been expecting. Frank was so much older than I was, sophisticated. I was a country girl at heart. We had nothing in common.

I hurried out into the street, trying not to gape and look like a tourist. I had only been living in New York a few months and its vastness and speed still took my breath away.