We have a treat, my lovelies! The Society is up to their old tricks again, welcoming a new member. This time around, we get to meet naughty (but maybe just a little nice) college girl Felix as she goes “undercover” (or maybe “under the covers”) to get the scoop on what it’s like to be a courtesan. But there are dire consequences, like losing your heart!
Title: The Dollhouse Society: Felix
Author: Eden Myles
Felix Burks, student journalist, is looking for the scoop on the mysterious Dollhouse Society. She means to write a kick-ass news article that she just knows will help her ace her journalism class. To that end, she agrees to become the temporary courtesan to esoteric tycoon Alex Ishikawa in order to discover what all the fuss is about.
It’s just eight weeks of training, and both of them know it isn’t a “real” arrangement, but as Felix learns the ins and (sometimes painful) outs of being a professional courtesan, she discovers something else: the news of the day is, she’s falling hard for Alex. Too bad she can’t keep him!
I stood on the fringes of the crowd and watched the gentleman secure his courtesan to the post of the bed. She was naked excerpt for a feathered owl mask and he was securing her wrists to the bedpost with a number of long, colorful silk scarves, stopping periodically to run the pads of his fingers up and down her thighs and whisper intimately in her ear. She moaned and rolled her head back, and he nested one hand into her long, bright red hair and yanked her head back until the pain made her gasp and her eyes fluttered with pure, unadulterated lust.
He kissed the back of her neck, moved to the chair where a long, rattan cane waited. He snatched it up and returned to her side, rubbing the hard wood against her back and ass until she moaned again. She closed her eyes and hugged the bedpost. She knew what was coming.
The first crack of the cane against her bare ass made me jump almost out of my skin, it was so loud and unexpected. Jesus, Joseph and Mary…
I was surrounded by more than a hundred well-dressed strangers, all of them focused on the gentleman and his courtesan’s play, and almost everyone in the room wore masks, myself included. Even so, I was finding it very difficult to “hide in plain sight,” as it were. I knew the other gentlemen and courtesans and courtiers gathered around me thought I was with someone—I kept shuffling up beside various men in a kind of incognito dance of invisibility, and I was sure no one had caught on—but I kept thinking someone was looking at me, maybe noting that my “gentleman” seemed to keep changing over the course of the evening. Maybe they noticed, or maybe I was just feeling paranoid.
I had never been undercover before.
Normally, I was good at disappearing in a crowded room—mask or no mask. The baby fat stubbornly clinging to my curves made me look younger than twenty-two, and with my plain brown bob of hair, grey eyes, and freckled, girl-next-door looks, I could usually pull off looking like everyone and no one. It was inevitable I should go into journalism and do this undercover gig. It was either that or the FBI, I figured.
I jumped again and watched the beautiful, elegant courtesan writhe and gasp against the bedpost. She was gorgeous, glamorous in a way I could never pull off, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. But I had no idea why men and women would want to subject themselves to this type of public humiliation.
I felt someone large moved up behind me and I grounded myself and fiddled with my black feathered ostrich mask as the gentleman performing for the crowd landed yet another expertly-delivered blow against his courtesan’s pert ass, a little bit below the first blow. I swore I could feel the vibration of the caning in my own flesh, and there was a slickness of the folds between my legs that made me uncomfortable. The whole great room at the center of the Dollhouse smelled like sex and roses. The hundreds of portraits and erotic photographs covering the walls seem to look down upon the play with enormous approval.
The man standing behind me made a sound halfway between a snort and a harrumph. I suddenly thought of that old Sesame Street song: One of these things is not like the others. Could he sense I was one of those things? That I didn’t belong here?
A new adult erotic novel set in The Dollhouse Society series.
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