The Family Doll Ch 02

So, after nearly 10 years (yikes) I finally have chapter 2 of this little story. Hopefully, I'll get the next chapter out a little sooner! As always, your feedback is appreciated.

I'm standing outside of the guest bathroom following my first break. I've used the facilities, showered, and reapplied my make-up. Now I'm waiting, nude of course, for Ms. K's directions. Although it's been several weeks since I started the job, it still feels surreal to be standing naked in someone else's house, not knowing exactly what pleasures or pains wait in my future.

I hear the sound of chairs scraping and plates being cleared as the family finishes dinner and soon see Ms. K approaching from down the hall. She is in one of her comfortable around-the-house outfits, black silk pajamas, the blouse unbuttoned to reveal her generous pale breasts.

As expected, she leads me to the living room and seats me in the middle of the couch. I allow myself to relax into a limp posture, head down, arms at my sides, legs casually parted. Strands of my hair, still damp and heavy with the scent of jasmine shampoo, cling to my cheek. Ms. K makes no move to brush them away. I appear... not lifeless exactly, but passive, ready for any demand my employers might have for me.

Soon the rest of the family files in. Gerard rarely wears clothes at home and tonight is no exception. I suppress a smile at the sight of his long, fit frame and am pleased when he sits beside me. He casually rests one hand on my bare thigh, while searching for the remote with the other. I'm a bit cold and his nearness warms me and sends a pulse to my core.

Blake is next. The strapping teen wears an outfit identical to his mother's, his open shirt displaying a mouth-watering six pack. He sits in a chair facing the television that Gerard has turned on as his sister Fiona enters the room. She takes a seat on the far side of the room that half faces the television and half faces the rest of the family. She is the only one still in her street clothes, designer jeans and a rather conservative button up blouse, her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She sneers at me, and I feel an excited pulse from my clit.

Ms. K settles on the other side of the couch, and although she doesn't touch me, I still feel warmed by her presence. There is a brief conversation about what to watch. Fiona dismisses every suggestion, even though she is already engrossed in her phone. Blake, likewise, has his attention on the small screen in his hand and takes little interest in the discussion. Finally, Gerard settles on a nature documentary that elicits neither enthusiasm nor protest. I'm indifferent to the images on the TV, I'm paying attention to signs that someone will want another form of entertainment.

I don't have to wait for long. Gerard's hand on my leg has been idly stroking my skin for some time. Eventually, his hand slips toward my inner thigh and I notice his prick begin to swell. He notices too and lifts his hand to the back of my neck, giving me a gentle squeeze. I know the signal and slip off the couch and onto the rich carpet. I arrange myself silently between his thighs and allow him to guide my head onto his quickly growing cock. Once I begin licking and sucking on his manhood, I withdraw his hand and settles back into the couch, feigning disinterest, though the pulsing of his dick tells me otherwise.

The rest of the family ignores us as well, but I can feel eyes on me, even though I don't look up. This was the hardest part of the job for me at first, from an ethical point of view. The idea of having sex with someone in front of their kids or with their kids in front of their parents was far outside my comfort zone. Ms. K reassured me on my first day, however, that nothing incestuous ever happened in the family, though I suppose one could quibble over her definitions. I any case, the parents never touched the kids in a sexual way, and I never saw Blake and Fiona touch each other at all. My employers don't even do more than hug or kiss while their children are in the room. They only have sexual contact with me. It's like I don't count, like I'm not really a person. The thought should offend me, repulse me even. But it doesn't, it turns me on. The idea that I can be naked in someone's home, have sex with anyone in the family, give a father a blowjob in front of his kids or let a son ejaculate on me in the middle of the house, gets me hotter than I ever thought possible. It's like it isn't really me at all. I step out of myself to inhabit a body that exists only for pleasure and don't have to follow any of the normal rules of society. And best of all, none of it is my responsibility. I'm just a toy, playing someone else's game.

All these thoughts pass through me as I work methodically on Gerard's cock. I knew Gerard liked a slow burn. Only when I felt him thicken, a hard pulse against my tongue, and his fingers tightened in my hair, did I deepen my stroke, taking him further down my throat. He's still pretending to watch TV, but he shifts his hips forward and spreads his legs wider. I fondle his balls as I take him all the way to the back of my throat. My eyes water as I fight my gag reflex but am rewarded by a low moan that betrays his feigned indifference.

I bring my hands up and begin squeezing the base of Gerard's cock with one hand as I fondle his balls with the other. I'm careful not to seem too animated, not wanting to disrupt the illusion of passivity. Again, my practice and careful observation of my employers pay off and I feel Gerard's head swell even further. I love the feel of him in my mouth, his masculine musk, like warm leather and sandalwood, filling my nose

.

My pussy moistens and I desperately want to stroke my clit, but I'm a good doll and keep my attention focused on my task. I hear Gerard's breath catch, and although I'm in tune with his signals, I still have to fight not to choke as his hot load gushes into my mouth. I manage to keep it all in and swallow it down, then hold his member in my mouth as his throbbing subsides and the last of his seed is deposited on my tongue. Finally, I feel him begin to shrink and with a last lick I let him fall out of my mouth.

I barely have time to take a breath before I feel a presence behind me, and a hand pulls me roughly to my feet by my hair. I almost cry out at the unexpected pain, but I draw on the discipline of years of childhood ballet training and keep silent. It's Blake of course, asserting his dominance over me and not so subtly proving himself to his father. He returns to his side of the room, leading me by the hair and sits back in his place, forcing me to my knees between his legs. A bit of fumbling at his crotch and then his proud, young cock is forced between my lips in one hard thrust. I try but fail to keep from gagging. He's holding me by the hair, fucking himself with my head. 'Just endure,' I tell myself. 'Be a good doll.'

Soon, I'm coughing and choking as Blake forces his member into me over and over again. Tightening my lips and pressing my tongue against the underside of Blake's dick, I slow him down enough to catch my breath. I know the increased friction will also speed his release and get this torment over faster. It's still several long minutes before his grunts begin to change to a lower, more urgent pitch. By now mascara stained tears are flowing freely down my face, both from the gaging and the vicious burn in my scalp. A few more short, sharp grunts and I close my eyes, knowing what's about to happen. Suddenly he pulls out and I feel his hot seed splash against my lips, some of it going into my open mouth, but most of it coating my cheeks and dripping off my chin. I open my eyes and look up at the young man from under tear-damp lashes. He leers back and finally releases my hair with a little shove. I fall back into a practiced pose, arms back, resting on my hands, knees spread and head forward, cum and tears dripping onto my chest.

"Disgusting." Fiona's voice is cold

.

I see her approach from the corner of my eye before I feel the hot sting of her spit hit my face and blend with the fluids dripping on my body. My skin crawls, a mixture of humiliation and a strange, twisted arousal

.

"Filthy slut," she mutters, her lip curled in contempt and leaves the room.

Ms. K speaks up. "Blake, clean yourself up. I don't want you staining the furniture." He grumbles but stands and exits towards the bathroom. I hear Ms. K stand as well, and her hand lightly touches my head. "Come dear. Follow me."

I stand and follow noticing as I do the slick wetness between my legs. Before taking this job, I never thought of myself as submissive, let alone having a humiliation kink. Exhibitionist, sure. I was always showing myself off in one way or another - dance, theater and ultimately modeling. But getting a little thrill out of wearing a skimpier-than-usual outfit on the runway was miles away from the heat I felt now after Blake's rough treatment and Fiona's contempt. I suppose I never would have considered this job if there wasn't some slumbering piece of me who always wanted to experience this kind of thing, but wherever it came from, it was wide awake now.

Ms. K leads me into the master bathroom. "Clean up," she says briskly. "I want to talk to you out of character."

Instantly my blank, submissive posture disappears as I grab a washcloth and begin running it under warm water. It's a bit difficult, since my body is still smoldering with lust, but I switch my mind into business mode.

"We're having a party Saturday." As usual Ms. K launches into business with no preamble. "It's a swinger party, about a dozen couples, maybe a handful of singles. I'd like you to be available, free use. Tripple pay 7PM to 7AM."

I pause for a moment thinking, then give myself a bit more time as I wash my face and chest. The pay is generous as I doubt I'll be working for the full 12 hours. But we'd never discussed something like it before. "Safety?" I ask.

Ms. K nods. "Everyone gets tested, just like the porn folks. It's a private club. We haven't attended an event in months and haven't hosted one in even longer. You've kept us occupied." She allows herself an appreciating look at my body, and heat flares for a moment. "Everyone will be told the rules and if anything gets out of hand, I'll put a stop to it. That shouldn't happen though. The group is very good at enforcing its own rules. Break them and you don't get invited to another event."

I stare at the mirror a moment longer, wiping mascara trails from my cheeks. 'Free use,' she said

.

That meant everyone at the party, maybe twenty or thirty people, could do what they liked with me. Everything the family did and maybe more. I picture the gang bangs and bukkake scenes I've masturbated too and feel my pussy tingle.

"Take some time to think about it. You can tell me..."

"I'll do it," I interrupt. I flinch inwardly at the breach in etiquette, then remind myself that I'm out of character. I take a deep breath and stand a little straighter. "I'll do it, but I want a bonus for each person who uses me." I look and sound as confident as one can, naked and agreeing to be used by strangers.

Ms. K narrows her eyes for a moment, and I think she is going to say "no," then she smiles and nods. "Fine," then adds, "It's good to see this side of you. It makes this next part more fun."

Ms. K's smile lingers, sharp and knowing, as she steps closer. Her hand brushes my arm, her touch light but deliberate, and I feel my body respond instantly, the heat between my legs flaring back to life. She circles me slowly, her feet a whisper on the tile floor, and I stand still, my breath shallow, my skin prickling with anticipation.

"You've been so good for us," she says, her voice low and smooth, like velvet wrapped around steel. "So obedient. So eager to please. But I wonder... how far can I push you?"

Her fingers trail up my spine, sending shivers through me, and I bite my lip to keep from making a sound. She stops behind me, her breath warm against my neck, and I feel her hands settle on my hips, her grip firm and possessive.

"Turn around," she commands, and I obey, my body moving before my mind can catch up. She's close, too close, her presence overwhelming, her gaze level with mine. Her eyes are dark, hungry, and I feel a thrill of fear and excitement as she reaches up to cup my face in her hands.

"You're mine tonight," she says, her voice a whisper that sends a jolt of electricity through me. "Every part of you. Do you understand?"

I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and she smiles, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. Her hands slide down my body, her touch firm and deliberate, and I feel my breath hitch as she grips my breasts, her thumbs brushing over my nipples. The sensation is electric, and I arch into her touch, a soft moan escaping my lips.

Ms. K's smile widens, and she leans in, her lips brushing against my ear. "Good girl," she murmurs, her voice sending a shiver down my spine. "Now, on your knees."

I drop to the floor without hesitation, the cool tile biting into my skin, and look up at her, my heart pounding in my chest. She's still smiling, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and she reaches down to stroke my hair, her fingers tangling in the strands.

"You're so beautiful like this," she says, her voice soft, almost tender. "So perfect. But I think you can be even better."

She steps back, her face inscrutable, then abruptly turns and walks into the bedroom, "Come."

I rise and follow, never questioning her mercurial demands. As I enter the bedroom my breath catches, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs, she's in the closet where she keeps my favorite toys.

"Hands behind your back," she commands, as she emerges from the closet holding items made of black shiny leather. I obey as she slips my hands into a pair of long leather gloves. The leather is supple, almost buttery, against my skin, and the scent of polish and something darker, something animalistic, fills my nostrils

.

The gloves are designed to be laced together, and my excitement grows as she tightens the bindings, securing my arms together from elbow to wrist. She steps back, her gaze sweeping over me. The gloves force my shoulders back and my chest out, putting my breasts on display even more prominently than my naked state already does. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at her mercy. I'm so hot, I'm practically dripping.

"Onto the bed," she says, "and kneel."

I climb, somewhat awkwardly, onto the bed, the task made difficult by the position of my arms. Ms. K returns to the closet and my body trembles with anticipation as she returns with an unfamiliar device in her hands. It is a rod of shining metal, about the length of a yardstick with a leather cuff on each end

.

I feel the bed shift as Ms. K crawls onto the bed behind me. I feel my breath quicken as she grips one of my ankles and deftly straps a cuff around it. "Spread," she demands, and I adjust me knees as she straps my other ankle into the cuff.

Ms. K crawls around to face me on the bed. The king-sized mattress is firm, but as she moves my weight shifts, and I have to tighten my muscles to keep my balance. Ms. K's pose is relaxed while mine forces my muscles into taut attention.

"Mmm," she purrs. "Quite helpless now, aren't you." And I realize she's right. The passive poses I habitually adopt are the result of my own choices in embodying my role as the family's doll. I could assert myself anytime I choose, even quit this job and walk out. Right now, I doubt I could stand, let alone walk, not without help. I'm completely at Ms. Kay's mercy. The thought is a little terrifying, but my body is responding with a steady throb in my core.

Ms. K sheds her top and I see a flush of pink above her full, pale breasts. This is clearly turning her on as well, though she keeps her composure. She arranges herself with her knees together, between my spread legs and steadies herself with a hand on my hip. That small touch sends sparks through me, and it takes all my willpower not to beg her for more. She runs her other hand over my arched chest, infuriatingly avoiding my hardened nipples, and down my taught stomach. I fight a whimper as she lightly brushes fingertips over my smooth mound. Then without warning she plunges two fingers inside me. I cry out, I can't help it, not in pain but in pleasure and surprise her fingers meeting little resistance from my slick, wet folds.

My mistress smiles, a small look of victory in her eyes, having forced me to break character for an instant, and I fight to reconstitute my passive mask. She pinches a nipple with her free hand, hard enough that I struggle to keep from crying out again, but my pussy clamps down hard on her fingers responding to both the pain and the pleasure.

"What a good little doll you are," she says, her voice a low growl, and I manage to stay in character, even though my breath is coming in shallow gasps. She pulls her fingers free of my swollen cunt and paints my lips with my juices. The rich musk of it reaches my nose and my head swims. Her fingers are inside me again, curling and stroking, and a moan escapes me, my back arching as I try to push myself into her hand. I'm afraid for a moment that my animation will lead to a reprimand, or worse, the withdrawal of her attention all together. But either she doesn't notice or doesn't care because she keeps fucking me with her fingers, hard and fast, and I feel myself spiraling out of control, my orgasm crashing over me like a wave. Somehow, I manage to stay nearly silent, with only sharp gasps punctuating my ragged breathing giving me away.

Ms. K doesn't stop, her fingers relentless, and I feel another orgasm building, my body trembling with pleasure. She leans down, her lips brushing against my ear, and I hear her whisper, "Such a beautiful toy."

I burst, whether from the caress of her breath on my ear, her praise or her pistoning fingers, my body, my soul, can't take any more. My body shakes, convulses, shatters, but somehow, I manage to swallow my cries and all but my most pitiful whimpers. Ms. K's fingers slow inside me, drawing out the last shudders of my orgasm until I'm left gasping, my body shining with sweat and fatigue, although the restraints keep me from slumping onto the bed the way I want to. She pulls her hand away, her fingers glistening, and brings them to her mouth, her pale eyes locked on mine as she licks them clean. The sight sends a fresh wave of heat through me, and I feel my clit twitch, still sensitive from the aftershocks.

"Good little doll," she murmurs, her voice low and satisfied. She leans down, her long, slightly wavy blonde hair brushing against my skin, and kisses me hard, her tongue claiming my mouth as if to remind me who I belong to. I can taste myself on her lips, and it's intoxicating, a reminder of how completely she owns me in this moment.

She pulls back, her hands sliding up my body to cup my breasts, her thumbs brushing over my nipples. I arch into her touch, my breath hitching, and she smiles, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. "You're so responsive," she says, her voice dripping with approval. "So eager to please. But now it's my turn."

She slides off the bed and sheds her pajama pants. I love looking at her full figure, still firm breasts, wide hips, a little softness at the belly, evidence of bearing two children, and the downy blonde hair above her clearly swollen labia. She gets back onto the bed and presses my shoulders back until they touch the bed, my knees spread and my bound hands awkwardly under my ass. Again, I thank years of ballet and modern dance training, the position only giving me a slight strain in my hips. She moves to straddle my head, careful not to kneel on my hair and grips the headboard for balance. Then she lowers herself onto me, and I feel her wetness against my lips, the smell of her filling my nose and her pussy becomes my whole world.