The Dollhouse

"Class dismissed.” Professor Deal ended the lecture with an air of finality. The students rose, an orchestra of rustling papers and shuffling feet, but Miki Lenz remained seated, clutching at the hem of her semi-sheer summer dress. She shouldn’t have worn it to class, but it had been such a beautiful, warm morning she couldn’t resist. It clung to her, revealing more of her athletic physique than she would have liked. She gingerly closed her copy of Federal Judicial and Civil Procedures, stuffed it in her backpack, stood up, and self-consciously straightened her light summer dress. This was one of the few occasions Miki was glad her tits were smaller than her friend Gwen’s, but she could feel her nipples pressing against the light fabric, and the tingle turned her cheeks red.

She’d bought it for herself as part of their ‘get laid’ summer. Gwen DiMatteo, Miki’s best friend since third grade, practically her sister—it was her idea, reckless and over-the-top as usual. Quantity wasn’t an issue for Miki; plenty of guys were interested in the beautiful, athletic twenty-year-old, but somehow it felt like she wasn’t enough. The more men she attracted, the more her optimism about humanity withered. She had encountered countless terrible specimens of the male gender—superficial, self-centered jerks who just wanted to fuck her with little to no regard for their partner or desire for a genuine connection. And what did that say about her? Gwen insisted she was self-sabotaging and needed to modify her standards if she was actually serious about getting some. But what had really kept Miki on edge the entirety of the two-hour lecture on civil and federal law was her financial situation.

Miki had fucked up badly, something very out of character for her, and therefore all the more disturbing. Facing her upcoming second year in law school had thrown her off, scared her, and she did a very non-Miki thing: she let Gwen talk her into partying a little (way) too much. The four grand her parents had given her to get through to Christmas was all but gone, blown on booze, Ubers, clothes, and an old Honda CB350 that they were supposed to share but had so far turned into a derelict money pit. She needed to find a job quickly, or it would be another three months of abject poverty.

As Miki exited the lecture hall, she noticed James Darden briefly glancing at her. He was a postgraduate physics major, so he had no business in this part of the school. It was a bit galling to see him popping in and out of her perimeter so frequently, but maybe it was also nice to have a little attention, even if he wasn’t her type. He did have seriously nerdy good looks, kind of a clean-cut Buddy Holly thing going for him: strong jaw, a little thin and tall at around six feet. She’d noticed him since the start of the semester, stealing glances, helpfully picking up any items she dropped. His voice was soft and timid, yet there was a hint of intelligence and humor behind it. Whenever he spoke, it was with a slight nervousness, as if he was always afraid of saying the wrong thing. He obviously liked her; it was sweet and more than a little pathetic. But Miki just wasn’t interested. For better or worse, she was attracted to men with fire and intensity, and James’s passive manner left her skirt cold and unlifted. Worst of all, he lived down the hall from her. To his credit, he kept his distance there, never trying to invade her private space or invite himself over. As tempting as it might have been, a mercy fuck would inevitably have come with unwelcome consequences: don’t shit where you eat.

Miki flipped open her laptop and took a look at the job postings on the university website. She would have preferred to work on campus since she didn’t have a car, but there didn’t seem to be anything available besides a daytime cafeteria cashier, which clashed with her daily class schedule. A wider employment search revealed a considerable number of minimum-wage job openings in the exciting fields of food service and retail, neither of which she felt particularly drawn to or qualified for. She filled out an online application at a coffee shop within walking distance of the campus.

A thump, followed by a muffled curse, let her know Gwen was awake.

Gwen was family. She was also the embodiment of rebellion, a constant presence in Miki’s life since they were young, and everything Miki wasn’t: carefree, unpredictable, and unapologetically herself. Though their friendship was deeper than blood, Gwen’s shitstorms usually caused more trouble than good. But to Miki, she was still the sister she never had, and she couldn’t imagine her life without her untamed alter ego.

Gwen had been part of the Lenz family since her parents abandoned her at age six, first by serving a ten-year stretch in a federal minimum-security penitentiary for interstate mail fraud, and then for just simply being shitty human beings who never bothered to come back and be parents. It was, Miki knew, for the best, but that kind of abandonment leaves a deep wound, and Gwen had been changing the dressing on that bloody, gaping hole ever since. First it was sugar, then boys, then alcohol and drugs; she was a party girl, at times an unstoppable wild thing.

Miki had always been the sensible one, the one with discipline, career goals, and a near-obsessive dedication to success. Well except until recently, but that was not going to become a thing. Gwen was a dreamer spawning new desires on a biweekly basis. Miki studied her tight little ass off, devoted herself to The Law and its Studies, and rarely indulged in booze, drugs, or men. Gwen made sure Miki left her house once in a while to have fun, and Miki made sure Gwen didn’t hop in random cars with strangers offering candy. They suited each other in unlikely and powerful ways; it had been that way right from day one.

Gwen peeked out from behind her bedroom door. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday. One-thirty. P.M.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m so late. Why didn’t you wake me up for fuck’s sake?”

Miki threw a stern look in poor Gwen’s wretched direction. “I knocked an hour ago.”

Gwen had a schedule, honed to perfection by the end of her first year at college. As a psych major, she had a challenging load of labs and classes her second year, still considerably lighter than Miki’s workload, leaving plenty of room for ‘fun’. She’d wake up somewhere between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., head to her classes, all scheduled for afternoons and evenings, then spend the rest of the night doing whatever it was that Gwen wanted to do. It usually involved drinking, men, women, and the occasional intervention of law enforcement. There had been rumors going around about Gwen. She was uninhibited, something Miki actually was a little jealous of. But some of the rumors were more disturbing: that Gwen had gone from party girl to professional.

Miki chalked it up to the typical gossipy bullshit that flew around college, but Gwen had definitely taken some kind of turn lately. She’d been gone for almost a full twenty-four hours this time, and she looked like shit, which in her case was saying a lot—bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, the stench of alcohol and drugs clinging to her skin.

“I made you some breakfast, but it’s cold now.”

“That’s cool. I’m just going to hop in the shower and GTFO, though. Let’s meet up tonight at Frolic Room? I really want to hang out, I miss you, Miks.”

“Sure. I can’t stay out late, though.” Gwen was gorgeous, even half-dead with a hangover. Miki admired her bouncy tits as her friend shuffled stark naked down the hall to the bathroom.

Miki made it to her afternoon lecture half regretting agreeing to meet Gwen. She needed to keep looking for work, and had no real time to fuck off at a bar with her libertine friend.

Gwen hesitated at the entrance to the dark room. She felt a mix of excitement and fear; it happened before every client, like the first time she jumped off a high diving board as a child. The air reeked of stale sweat and alcohol, and she could almost feel the weight of the bitter secrets that clung to the carpets and walls.

“Come,” a deep voice beckoned from the shadows. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw what she assumed was George Karamides sitting alone in a chair in the back corner, next to a lit, empty stage. His weathered face held a subtle smile. His eyes at first seemed passive and kind, but she also thought she sensed a predatory afterimage burned into those dark brown irises.

Serena Lane, Gwen’s boss at the agency, had set her up for this last minute, with a considerable emphasis on how important it was to satisfy Mr. Karamides, the money behind Serena’s agency, and Gwen had heard he ran a lot of other businesses that might be useful to her career, so she really wanted this. Polly, his usual, had been out sick with a nasty flu, and Gwen jumped at the chance to earn some extra money. Her growing opiate addiction was threatening to outpace even her significant earnings as an escort was pushing her into more ‘unusual’ scenarios with clients, but she didn’t mind. Some of them were actually fun.

She took a deep breath and sauntered over. The shimmering, gold lamé material of her tight-fitting dress clung to Gwen’s body like a second skin, accentuating her significant curves. Her high heels clicked rhythmically on the wooden floor, announcing her approach like a clock ticking down the last seconds of a dean man walking.

“Sit.” Karamides spoke quietly.

“Nice place,” Gwen said, forcing a sultry smile onto her face. Something about him had her nerves up, on alert. She employed her slut façade in a bid to disarm him.

“Is it?” he replied. He looked her up and down. “I find it’s the people that make a place.”

Her pulse quickened as Karamides gestured to his lap. She hesitated for a moment, then settled herself onto his powerful thighs and let out a high-pitched giggle. His hands immediately found their way to her breasts, kneading them roughly through the thin fabric. She bit back a gasp.

“Good girl,” he murmured in her ear, his voice thick with lust and control. “I can tell we’re going to be very good friends.”

“I hope so,” Gwen replied, her defense mechanism of choice now unbridled enthusiasm. And she had to admit to herself that the setup, her sense of danger, and his understated power trip were turning her on.

As if sensing her distraction, Karamides pointed to the stage. “Go on.”

Gwen rose from his lap, her legs trembling ever so slightly beneath her. As she ascended the steps, she felt the weight of his gaze on her, heavy and possessive. Once on the stage, Gwen closed her eyes briefly, then swayed and began to dance to the silent room.

She peeled off her dress, revealing miles of tanned skin, and then slid out of her panties, leaving her clad in nothing but her high heels. The rhythmic motion and sense of vulnerable humiliation began to work on Gwen’s libido; she felt herself gush a little as she sank to her knees and laid her back down on the hard stage floor, her labia parting just slightly enough to be kissed by the cool air in the room. She ran her fingers down her stomach and over her mound to her shaved pussy lips, first teasing, then spread them wide open for him to see.

“Beautiful.” Karamides stared at her open sex.

She could barely hear him, but other than the sound of her own breathing and her heart pulsing in her chest, the room was silent.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Mmmm. Very much,” she replied. As if to prove the point, she slipped a finger in her pussy, gently rubbed her clit with her thumb, and shivered with a sincere moan of arousal.

He watched her, his eyes darkening. “I do have a few other things in mind.”

Gwen knew there was more to come before she was done earning her money. She could hear her blood rushing through her ears as she finished her solo act, beads of sweat trickling down her tanned skin, leaving a shimmer under the hot stage lights.

“Come here.” Karamides strode onto the stage.

Gwen obeyed and dropped to her knees before him, swallowing her nagging discomfort as she reached for the bulge in his slacks.

She unzipped his pants and pulled out his erect cock, taking a deep breath before she opened her luscious pink lips and took his manhood inside her mouth. The taste and feel of him filled her senses. This was Gwen’s comfort zone: a strong, handsome man, putty in her hands, mouth, pussy, or ass. She swirled her tongue under and around his cockhead, then pushed herself further onto him. She love the feel of his soft silky skin on her tongue, veins pulsing in her mouth as she athed him in saliva, then sucked and pulled off with a wet pop. She stroked his shaft twice, just hard enough to hear him groan, then licked from his balls up to his tip before swallowing him again.

George Karamides moaned as he herd her choke slightly on his cock, gripping her long, dark blonde hair as he thrust deeper into her mouth, her eyes watering from the effort. He suddenly had the urge to see tears roll down her pretty, soft, and smooth cheeks. He gripped her hair tightly in his fists and forced his way just a little deeper. Gwen had plenty of experience holding back her gag reflex, but she knew this man wanted her to struggle. She could sense it, and the anxiety she felt stirred a wave of nausea deep inside her gut. She barely held it back, pulling back hard against his grip on her hair, gasping and choking as his cock slid out of her air passage, drool cascading down her chin and chest.

Karamides growled, pulling Gwen away from him. He walked to a trunk on the side of the stage, leaving Gwen to recover, and pulled out a set of steel wrist and ankle manacles.

The Frolic Room’s jukebox was legendary. First, because jukeboxes had almost completely gone extinct, and second, because it had an insanely weird collection of singles. Everything from Believe by Cher to Lick My Decals Off, Baby by Captain Beefheart, and whatever might be found in between. You Keep Me Hangin’ On by the Supremes drenched the kitschy-chic deco room in a frothy emotional density as Miki took a seat at the bar. She hated arriving first to anything social, mostly because she felt shy and awkward, but also because it was just a matter of time before someone tried to pick her up. She’d decided on a white t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and the shittiest pair of jeans she could find that didn’t make her look dumpy or fat, in hopes she’d fly under the man-radar for the evening. Now she just needed to order something. The ritual of it might help settle her down, make her feel a little less tightly wound. On cue, the perky blonde bartender looked her way.

“Hmm... gin and tonic, please. The cheaper the better.”

A couple of sips in, and she felt better.

"Put these on,” Karamides ordered, tossing the metal restraints to Gwen. He had a metal contraption in his other hand, a Jennings dental retractor gag, its surgical titanium frame glinting in the light.

She hesitated. Serena had mentioned there might be some BDSM, but Gwen had been busy trying to hide the sweat from her opiate withdrawal and counting how much money she’d spent on drugs the last couple of weeks; it went in one ear and out the other. But she couldn’t back down; she needed the money too desperately, which had become a recurring theme lately. She also agreed to breath play, choking, and even pretended to love it when he brought it up along with the offer of a significant cash bonus. She was going to have to do something about her habit, but not just yet.

She smiled and took the restraints, fastening them around her wrists and ankles.

“Open”. Karimides pointed to Gwen’s mouth. She complied. He placed a titanium Jennings gag in her mouth against her upper and lower teeth. The cold metal pressed against her lips, and she felt an immediate loss of control. Karamides gave her a gentle, concerned look as he ratcheted the Jennings gag, forcing her jaw into a wide-open position that she had no ability to resist.

“Good girl.” He gazed over Gwen, now reduced to three helpless holes to be fucked. Her pussy gushed again. She mulled the idea of writing her psych dissertation on this very subject, and the title popped into her head just as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end: Sexual Assertiveness as Handmaiden to Sexual Submission. She pictured the furrowed brows and looks of disapproval at the use of Handmaiden in this context and tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like a hiccup with the gag prying her jaw open.

Gwen’s world tilted as Karamides forced her onto a small bench at the center of the stage. The cold, hard surface dug into her back, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from the man looming above her. Her bound limbs prevented her from doing anything more than writhing helplessly beneath him, her large breasts swaying from side to side as she tried to get comfortable. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her vulnerable form; it was electric and slightly terrifying.

He grasped his large cock, already slick with her saliva, and guided it towards her gaping mouth. Gwen closed her eyes and tried to relax for what was coming. His cock slid over her tongue. Her lips were too wide open to get much contact, but as he traveled further into her mouth, she felt him fill her up. She felt the urge to regain some control and made a show with her eyes and brows of pleading for mercy, gagging and choking on her own spit. She could tell he wanted to control her and make her suffer, hopefully only a little. Karamides pushed forward, forcing his thick length past her lips and down her throat. Her gagging and choking became all too real as his glans reached the back of her mouth and pushed against her epiglottis, the barrier to the entrance of her throat giving way to his forceful invasion.

Gwen found it hard to breathe, and a panic rose as her body’s natural instincts fought against the obstruction, demanding air. She tried to pull away, but the restraints and Karamides’s grip on her hair held her firmly in place, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the suffocating pressure of his cock now lodged deep in her throat.

The veins in her neck bulged and pulsed, straining to provide her oxygen-starved brain with the blood it so desperately needed. Tears welled up in her eyes, streaking mascara down her cheeks and mixing with the smeared lipstick that now covered her chin. She looked broken, and she knew he would be pleased.

Karamides looked down at her, his focus shifting from her bulging neck to her tears and mascara-stained face. He reached down and wrapped his frighteningly large hand around her throat, pressing down against the bulge his cockhead made in her.

Gwen’s thoughts raced, even as her vision blurred and darkened. She tried to choke out the words, “Stop. Please... Can’t breathe...“, but it came out as unintelligible gurgling. She knew she could shake her head three times to make it stop, they’d agreed to that before starting the scene, but she was here for a reason, and she really wanted that bonus.

Karamides’ lust short circuited his awareness just long enough to push past her boundary. He didn’t relent, didn’t give her the chance to draw a breath. Instead, he continued his assault on her throat, driving deeper, squeezing his hand tighter, her need for oxygen just not a factor in his desire for pleasure.

Gwen’s vision narrowed, the edges of her world fading to black as her body screamed.

And then, everything went black.

Where was Gwen? It was definitely like her to be late, but two drinks in, Miki started to wonder if she’d been stood up. Wouldn’t have been the first time. Two guys in the neighborhood of rich, frat, finance douche took up position next to Miki. She held out as long as she could, but the moment the words, “She looks kind of desperate, you got this, broham,” collided with Miki’s auditory cortex, she was out the door. Fucking Gwen.

Miki burned out her anger studying, then made herself a hot tea and climbed in bed, compartmentalizing her financial stress into a quiet basement section of her brain so she could drift into sleep.

The alarm clock’s shrill cry shattered the fragile web of sleep Miki had managed to weave around herself, dragging her somewhat unwillingly into the new day. The room seemed to sway as she sat up, a wave of exhaustion washing over her.

This week she’d been cutting her mom’s archive of digitized episodes of Murder, She Wrote, Cold Case, Crossing Jordan, CSI, and by special request, Law & Order: SVU, into digestible chunks for Professor Deal’s class analyzing the procedural process. It was a grind to get done on time, but last night’s outing had put Miki behind. She threw on yoga pants and an old t-shirt, whipped up an omelet for breakfast, then began the arduous task of reviewing the questions from her upcoming review session on wills. Still no Gwen.

“Get it together, Miki,” she muttered under her breath, her voice thick with fatigue. She pulled off her t-shirt and yoga pants and stood in front of the full-length closet mirror, assessing herself critically. She was naked, her tight, athletic body on display as she turned this way and that, taking in every angle.

The sight of her own body never failed to conflict her with a mix of pride and loathing. She had always been athletic, with lean muscles undulating beneath smooth alabaster skin. But no matter how hard she trained or how strict her diet was, some part always slipped through the fingers of her exercise and diet regimen. Her tummy had fat (it didn’t), her arms were getting too muscular (they weren’t), her legs were too short (nope), her ankles too thick (on what planet?), the list of grievances was endless.

To others, she was impossible to look away from. Her face was a striking mosaic of unconventional beauty. Each individual feature defied traditional standards, yet when combined, formed a mesmerizing and unforgettable allure. Her unique and prominent nose enhanced the piercing gaze of her light blue, almost silver eyes, while her full lips were framed by a pleasingly wide face with great bone structure and lovely, distinguished cheeks. Her raven black hair was styled into a tousled bob, always slightly unkempt, yet perfectly arranged at the same time, like she just rolled out of bed and into a randomly perfect hair day.

To Miki... it was complicated. She knew people found her attractive on some level, pleasing perhaps? But she couldn’t see past the flaws. That obsessive attention to detail that served her well in academia and the law was a double-edged sword that cut into her self-esteem on a regular basis. Every flawed feature was only that: a flaw.

Her small breasts were another source of dissatisfaction—no amount of push-ups or chest presses could change their size; simply put, they were tiny little A-cups in a C-cup world. As a consolation prize, she didn’t have to wear a bra. She was proud of her dark nipples, but couldn’t help feeling a twinge of embarrassment when they stood at attention, visible through the thin fabric of t-shirts or light tops. Their smooth, dusky hue contrasted against her skin, drawing attention to their perky shape. She couldn’t control their responsiveness and sometimes wished they would stay hidden beneath layers of clothing. But deep down, she knew there was a certain allure in their boldness and unapologetic presence.

But recent choices and her dire financial situation made relationships a near impossibility. She would be busy from morning until sleep.

She ran her fingers through her neatly trimmed bush. Gwen was bald down there. It was sexy and kind of repulsive at the same time. Miki appreciated how her pubic hair provided at least a little distraction from her large labia and clitoris, which had been a source of embarrassment for her since getting teased about her “bat wings” in high school gym class. Her cheeks flushed as her fingers brushed against the soft flesh of her folds, the familiar faint glistening of her warm moisture coalescing like dew on flower petals. She paused, letting her fingertips linger in the wetness before tracing circles around her swelling clit.

Miki closed her eyes and melted a bit in her own touch as she continued to explore and caress herself. Her breaths grew heavier and more frequent as she increased the pressure, each touch rolling over her like electric rubber waves. She could feel herself getting closer and closer, but self-consciousness kept creeping in, threatening to ruin the moment.

She opened her eyes and caught sight of herself in the mirror, pushing away those negative thoughts and focusing instead on the pleasure coursing through her body. She watched in awe as she touched herself—all her imperfections seemed irrelevant as she receded into an inner world of ecstasy, back against the wall now, sinking down until her bare ass hit the cold wood floor. She rode out each ripple of pleasure until finally succumbing to a powerful climax that whisked her from this world to an entirely other place, even if just for a few seconds…

Knock, knock...

Miki followed the auditory invasion into her bliss back to awareness. “I… I’ll be right there.”

She quickly threw on a pair of black slacks; her post-climactically clumsy fingers fumbled with the buttons of her white fitted blouse as she dressed.

James’s voice from the other side of the door. “It’s me, James. Your neighbor.”

As she unlocked and opened the door, he immediately noticed the flushed glow on her face. She looked luscious.

“Oh, hi, James.”

“I’m really sorry to bother you. They delivered this package to my door by mistake.” James held out a package around the size of a shoebox, wrapped in brown paper, with Gwen’s name and address.

“Thanks, James. I’ll pass it along to Gwen.”

“Again, so sorry to bother you.”

“No problem, really. Thanks for being a good neighbor.”

“My pleasure. Okay. Bye then.”

“Bye, James. Take care.”

Miki closed the door. She would forgive this intrusion; it was justified. She shook the box—a bit of heft, no rattles or thuds. It was well packed, at least. Where are you, Gwen? You have a package.

It had been two days now since Gwen had promised to meet Miki for drinks, and no word. Ghosted. Miki forced a smile as she left the lecture hall, frustration and concern driving her every step as she crossed the campus to the postgrad psych department. She scanned the faces of all passersby for any sign of Gwen, but knew if her friend was actually on campus, she’d have at least let her know by now. She came upon a small group of students she recognized from one of Gwen’s parties at the start of the semester.

“Hey, have any of you seen Gwen?”

“Uh-uh,” replied one girl, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “But you know how Gwen is, right?”

“Actually,” chimed in another, her voice barely above a whisper, “she’s been weird. Not showing up to class and stuff. I mean, that never happened last year. And I heard some things.”

Miki perked up. “Like what?”

“It’s just a rumor, so take it with a large grain of salt, but word is she’s um… you know… escorting.”

“I don’t know, and I seriously doubt it. Gwen’s crazy, but she’s not a fucking idiot.”

Miki’s brow furrowed, anger flaring in her chest. Psych majors were the worst, peddling that kind of ridiculous gossip. Gwen was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a prostitute. Miki would know, for sure, if Gwen went off the deep end like that.

As she walked away, Miki couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that festered. What if it was true? What if something really bad happened and Gwen wasn’t coming home?