The Dollhouse (story)

The Dollhouse
She could have been my twin. Her frame was more willowy and her curves more pronounced than my tight, muscular physique; but otherwise we stood before each other like mirrored images. Her dark hair reached down far below her shoulders, hanging in full waves, and she stood slightly pigeon-toed in her white sun-dress – her nipples clearly visible in the air-conditioning. We differed in our gaze: mine cool and steady, hers nervous and adoring. I knew her.
I remembered her from a philosophy course I’d taken in college. The class was almost pure folly, populated by underclassmen with little to no understanding of or appreciation for rational thinking. She’d stood out not as an intellectual in the class, but had instead gotten my attention for her striking beauty and tendency to smile with the same consistency and fervor with which I do not. We’d conducted class outside one day, taking advantage of our liberal classroom etiquette and the beauty of the weather that day. We circled ourselves under a tree to discuss Augustine and this girl had positioned herself across from me – through accident, I was sure – and in her summer dress had decided to sit with her knees up, her dress carefully covering her knees, but her purple thong betraying her splits where her thighs met – her whole privacy framed by the hem of her cotton dress. I’d assumed she was either painfully unaware of her exposure, or was aiming her distaste directly at our professor, who was young and male and attractive. Two weeks later, at the celebration after the final day of classes, she’d run up to me as I sat with a group of my girlfriends and told me that she’d had a crush on me in our class. I shrugged it off with a kind of disinterest in her earnestness, saying something like, “oh, you have a girl-crush on me? That’s sweet.” My vanilla friend had told me that my response was “cold,” as she believed this young thing’s confession to have been a sincere one. I didn’t see her again after that.
Now she stood here in front of me, still in her sun dress like some fantasy of Humbert Humbert manifested years after the initial infatuation. How interesting. I stepped inside the room and closed the door behind me. Dom Ariana had not said a word to me about my client being a young girl; was this a joke? I kept my gaze locked on her and she began to quiver slightly, goose bumps rising up on her arms and thighs. She was rather exquisite in this state.
“What a beautiful little doll,” I said and she smiled.
“I looked for you for a long time,” she stammered, almost giddy. “I didn’t know if you’d remember me, but I wanted to see you and… I don’t know.” She fell silent. I kept my eyes on her as I began to pace in a tight circle around her, gathering her image like a tongue around an ice-cream cone.
“I’m not really interested in your story,” I whispered. Her body stiffened, her breath stopped. “Take off your dress,” I said.
She obliged, the goose bumps spreading all over her porcelain skin, her knees knocking inward in a half-attempt at hiding her nakedness. “What have you come for?” I asked, coming to a stop just behind her shoulder. “For you,” she said, almost at a whisper, “because… I don’t know.” I moved around to face her again. “You said that already,” I snapped. “What do you know?”
She stayed silent for a long moment, her fingers curling and uncurling in her discomfort. “I…” she stopped again and then, in a slightly assured voice she continued, “I just want to experience you; however you want to experience me.”
“How convenient,” I teased, “I love experiencing little girls on my own terms.” I ran my index finger down the center of her body and dug my knuckle into the soft lips of her sex, which parted to reveal a tiny metal ring, piercing right through her clitoris. I ground my knuckle into it for a few rotations and she let out a groan. I turned and walked over to a set of cabinets on the far side of the room. Inside the clear plastic tackle-boxes was an array of nipple clamps, clothes pins, miniature vices, etc. I selected a few miniature clothes-pins in vibrant purple and grabbed a length of hemp string before returning to my little doll.
I wound the hemp string around the crotch of one clothes pin and pinched her right nipple before clamping the purple mouth on. She made no sound, but watched intently as I ran my index finger and thumb down the length of the cord and threaded the string through the little metal ring in her clit. She let a little gasp escape her parted lips as I drew the last end of the string up to her left nipple and clamped it on with the second clothes pin, tying both ends together in the center of her chest, creating a triangle across her torso. She looked down at herself, her wild eyes moving from one point to the next and then coming back to meet my gaze; we held our eyes locked like this for a moment before I began plucking at her strings, one at a time, and she began to pant. I pulled each string, running my hooked index finger down the length of each leg of the triangle and pressing my thumb into each vector point: a hard nipple, a wet clit.
I played her like a harp, making a marionette out of her ecstasy while she moaned and swayed, closing her eyes out of pleasure and then forcing them back open to look into my steady, unwavering stare. I put my palms on her shoulders and turned her around, bending her forward until I could see her pussy spreading open in front of me.
“Stay there,” I said and walked over to another cabinet, where I selected a cock out of a plastic box and out of another bin, a wide elastic band with a ring hole in it. I pushed the head of the cock through the ring and secured the strap around the top of my thigh. I moved over to the large chair in the corner of the room and sat myself down on it, my knees coming out at a 90 degree angle and my feet squarely on the floor. “Come over here,” I commanded, and she righted herself, slowly, and turned to come stand in front of me.
I hooked my index fingers around the long sides of the triangle and pulled her toward me, positioning her so that she straddled the cock on my leg. “Down,” I said, and she spread her knees outward until she came to rest with the cock insider her, her ass spread on the tapered end of my knee. “Fuck yourself,” I said and she began moving up and down, slowly at first, making quiet sounds as she moved down, breathing deeply as she came back up. I watched her torso, her exquisite breasts as they bounced tightly against the gravity of her movement. Her stomach tightened and her feminine muscles appeared and disappeared with the rhythm of her breath. My thigh became slippery and glistened with her wet and I commanded her hands up behind her neck so that she had to use all her strength to work herself on the static cock on my leg.
Her breathing rate increased and her groaning became louder. She moved less up and down and began more to grind and gyrate on the surface of my leg. I reached down and pinched the metal ring in her clit with my fingers, holding it tightly while she tugged against it with her gyrations. She went crazy. I could feel her body stiffening, her motions becoming more constricted as her trajectory launched her straight toward climax. Just before she had the chance, I stood up, spilling her off of me and collapsing her like a rag-doll onto the floor. She looked around her, eyes blinking and bleary with disorientation and panic. When she had realized where she was, she clawed her way over to my feet, her little hands wrapping around my small ankles and she began to beg, “oh please, please!”
I stepped toward her, pressing the tip of the cock against her pleading lips and pushing past them, all the way to the back of her throat. She took it, hungrily, sliding her mouth over the cock and tasting herself on it. I bent my knee into her chest and flexed my ankle until the ball of my foot rested against her soft, bald mound. She groaned and I began to rub, grinding my foot into her wet pussy while she sucked greedily at the cock protruding from my thigh. I could feel her getting wetter, he juice from her cunt drooling down between my toes, running along the arches of my foot in slow droplets.
I stepped forward and knocked her onto her back. She fell with her knees spread wide, her hands groping hopelessly at her breasts. I stepped on her hot, wet pussy and pressed into it with my foot, leaning all my wait over my knee and reaching down to grab the triangle web across her torso. My index finger on the top leg and my pinky and thumb grabbing the longer sides, I pulled all sides together and gave my instrument one final pluck, resounding in a triumphant wail as she came, back arched and hips thrust into the air, before collapsing like a rag-doll on the cold floor in front of me.

Mistress Rex

Keeping World Shiny And Tight And Well Disciplined