Welcome To The Dollhouse ~Style fan fiction~ {Complete}

16

Once we're both inside, I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room as he turns the light on and locks the door.

His office is surprisingly small compared to everywhere else in the house, only having enough room for a small amount of furniture.

The walls are a deep red with white spots, the carpet is a navy blue, and a mahogany desk sits in the middle of the room, a black leather chair behind it.
Two computer monitors are on the desk, their sleek design and large size suggests they're pretty expensive. Along with the monitors are two trackpads and two average black keyboards.

On one wall is a large bookcase full of old, thick, leather bound books.
On another wall is the photograph of the family which I swear is in every room, but this one is a lot bigger and has a brown frame to match the room. The photograph is hung behind the desk, so that anyone sat facing it will be stared at until they leave. It makes me feel uncomfortable.

The wall to the right of the desk is a large cabinet full of alcohol, much like the room where I first saw the master, and on the same wall as the door is a large display cabinet showing off seventeen shiny trophies for various achievements.
When I take a closer look at the trophies, I notice all of them are for football.

"So what do you want?" I ask, jumping up and sitting on the edge of the master's desk, making sure not to move anything.

The master walks towards me slowly, filling me with slight fear and curiosity. He places his hands on either side of my legs and leans close to my ear.

"I want you to tell me to stop if you start feeling uncomfortable." He whispers, his hot breath tickling my skin.

Before I can react, his tongue slips out of his mouth and touches my ear. I freeze up and open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.
His tongue glides from my ear to the corner of my mouth, where it stops and he pulls away for a second.

He studies my expression quickly before leaning back in and pressing his lips onto mine. His hands move from beside my legs to my face, cupping my cheeks gently.
For some reason, I start kissing back, gripping his shirt to pull him closer to me.

He gently bites my lower lip, but I don't open my mouth to tease him. He removes one hand from my face and slips it under my shirt. His hand is cold on my warm skin and almost makes me gasp in shock, but I catch myself just in time.

The master growls and instead shoves his hand into my pants and into my underwear. This time I can't stop myself from gasping under his cold touch.
His tongue invades my mouth, fighting for dominance against my own.

His hand remains in my pants and begins to gently stroke my dick.
Instinctively, I shove him off me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, like a flustered teenage girl, "someone could walk in on us at any time."

"I locked the door, remember?" He reminds me, tapping the pocket with his keys in it.

My heart is racing wildly, my cheeks feel hot and I think I'm getting a boner, but this guy has kidnapped me. Do I really want to do this? But when I look at him, every fibre of my being screams yes.
Is this what Stockholm syndrome feels like?

"So," the master bites his lip, "Do you want to do this or not? I'm not going to pressure you into this, it's completely your choice."

I know I should say no, I know I should just leave, or beat the crap out of him. I know that saying yes is the wrong answer, but for some reason I nod.