The Doll House

Lana Adams walked through the door and there stood Lyra Law—mistress of the house, wolf in silk. One look, one quick scribble on the contract, and Lana signed herself away to Markus Dupree. Then Lyra dressed her. Pigtails, bows, the whole porcelain act. Painted cheeks, fluttery lashes. They posed in the hallway like playthings waiting on their owner. "Be a good girl. Do everything he says." Lyra whispered the rules like a dare. Markus stepped inside, looked Lana up and down the way men look at expensive machinery, spread her open, checked the fit. Satisfied, he ordered Lyra to tongue the new doll’s pussy till Lana shook and came. Then it was Lyra’s turn—Lana wet her mistress’ cunt, licking until it glistened and dripped for Markus. "Watch," he told Lana. She knelt, eyes locked, while he buried himself in Lyra across the couch, cock slamming deep with every thrust. Lyra came twice, gasping. They stood, bodies locked together, and Markus hammered her until his load spilled hot and thick in front of the kneeling doll.