Dress me up
Make it tight
I’m your dolly…
This story takes place on Tuesday night of the third week of the Fifth Year of Addergoole after chapter 40 but before 43).
“Put these on.”
Emrys, Shahin thought snidely, in the tiny part of her brain that she reserved for such things, liked to play dress-up. At least, he liked to dress her up, like some life-sized Barbie doll.
There were worse things than being his doll. He had some sense of what looked good – or, at least, he was picking from her wardrobe, which limited the mess he could make. She turned her back on him and unsnapped the leather cuffs around her wrists, replacing them with the thin lace half-gloves he’d handed her.
His hands snaked around her as she straightened the glove’ seams, taking her time and making them perfect. He cupped her breasts with his always-so-warm hands and blew lightly across her neck, grabbed her collar with his teeth and tugged, pressing it against her windpipe.
“Oh,” she gasped, arching back against him as he wrapped her corset around her. He gave the collar one last rough tug before releasing it as he tugged just as hard on the buckles of the corset, pressing the steel bones up against her ribs and her breasts. It was another way to steal her air, but just as slowly suffocating, just as sweet.
He pinned her hair atop her head with surprising deftness, pausing again to bite her neck just above the collar. She gasped, gasped again as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms above her head. “Stay.”
When it was like this, the two of them alone, when he took charge, life was simple, and even the pain was beautiful. She stood as he’d posed her, her eyes half-shut, relishing the sensations. There was nothing she could do but comply. It was a freeing sort of surrender.
He took her foot in his hand, and she struggled to stay balanced on the other foot as he slid a stocking onto her leg., and then buckled on a high, high stiletto heel. The second foot was harder, balanced on her toes and that tiny sharp heel, but then he was done dressing her.
“Nice,” he murmured, his hands sliding slowly up her legs as he stood up. He brushes his hands over her corseted hips. “I’d love to take you out into the lounge and fuck you like this with everyone watching.”
She smiled at him, licking her lips softly. “Then you’d have to share this sight.”
“You do have a point.” He cupped her ass with both hands and licked his way slowly across the tops of her breasts. Shahin held her breath, trying to seem as if she wasn’t tensed. He was going to…
…he bit her sharply on the top of her breast, and again, on the other breast, tugging hard enough to nearly knock her off-balance. She bit her lip, mostly stifling a moaned gasp that was trying to escape. There would be marks there tomorrow, to complement the fading bruises from yesterday, and it was wonderful. He had a skill for hurting her just enough.
He grabbed the front of her collar. “Come this way.” She led where he tugged her, putting a little sway and wiggle into every step.
He let her up against the edge of his bed and stalked his way behind her. With one hand on the small of her back, he nudged the inside of her feet, kicking her legs further and further apart until she was spread as wide as she could and still be standing. “That’s better. Give me your hands.”
She held her hands behind her, at the small of her back, and he looped something around them – rope? It felt like rope – and pulled them together, tugging the rope tighter and tighter. One loop, two loops, three, four, five, each of them pressing the lace of her gloves into her skin. The sixth loop pressed against bare flesh, and he tied the rope off, giving it a final tug. ‘Lovely.” He patted her ass affectionately. “You look perfect like that.”
“Thank you,” she murmured softly. It was a lovely compliment, double-edged as it was.
“Stay there,” he told her, and then he was no longer touching her. Her legs were stretched wide, her feet en pointe and her hips shoved forward by the shoes, her fingers beginning to get chilly from the rope digging into her wrists. Her breath came in shallow pants, the collar seeming tighter than it should be against her throat, the corset reminding her of every place Emrys had bitten her. And it was cold.
He grabbed her wrists with one hand and her hips with the other, and took her before she knew he was there. She screamed, surprised, and he only thrust harder. “Shh,” he murmured, “that’s a good girl.”
He tugged a little harder on her arms, pulling her against him, and she was silent, biting her lip until it bled. Dolls didn’t scream.
But oh, god, did they have fun. She fell into his rhythm, riding the waves of pain and pleasure until there was nothing left of her but his empty, smiling doll.
Copyright © 2009-2011 Lyn Thorne-Alder & Elasmo. All rights reserved.
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