The Dollhouse Society: Felix

 

FELIX

The Dollhouse Society

By

Eden Myles

Copyright © 2013 Eden Myles

Published by Courtesan Press

http://courtesanpress.wordpress.com/

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be distributed, shared, resold, posted online, or reproduced in any electronic or hard copy form.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities between actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. This book contains adult content and is intended for a mature readership. All sexual scenarios depicted in this book occur between consenting adults over 18 years of age.

Cover art design by Courtesan Press

***

CONTENTS

The Rules of Conduct Inside the Dollhouse

Felix by Eden Myles

Previews & Excerpts

***

THE RULES OF CONDUCT INSIDE THE DOLLHOUSE

(Failure to comply with these rules shall result in immediate expulsion from the Dollhouse.)

- No gentleman/lady under the age of thirty shall be permitted to enter the Dollhouse. Gentlemen/Ladies desiring permanent membership within the Society shall be subject to a trial period lasting no less than one year, after which he will be reviewed for possible permanent inclusion in the Society.

- A gentleman/lady and his/her courtesan/courtier may do anything they wish, so long as it is consensual, tasteful and entertaining. Consensual acts of entertainment within the Dollhouse are hitherto referred to as “plays”.

- “Plays” between a gentleman/lady and his courtesan/courtier may not be interrupted in any way or for any reason by a third party. “Play” can only be begun or ended by the parties involved.

- “Plays” shall be conducted only in a designated playroom of the Dollhouse. The only time this rule shall not apply is for a new courtesan’s debutante party, in which “play” shall be conducted in the great room.

- A gentleman/lady is not permitted to touch, address or otherwise acknowledge another gentleman’s or lady’s courtesan or courtier while in the Dollhouse.

-  Proper decorum must be observed at all times.

- Courtesans/courtiers shall not be allowed to imbibe any kind of alcoholic beverages while in the Dollhouse.

- Courtesans/courtiers shall be shown the utmost respect while in the Dollhouse.

- A new safe word shall be issued at each gathering. When a safe word is used by a gentleman/lady or his/her courtesan/courtier, all “play” shall immediately cease between all the parties involved.

***

FELIX

by Eden Myles

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.

Thwack!

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?

It’s just your imagination, Felix
, I told myself. Relax.
The more relaxed, worldly and faintly bored you act, the better you’ll fit into this group!
 

But it was hard to relax in this atmosphere. You would have thought I was behind enemy lines, like Walter Cronkite covering the Vietnam War. As a journalist—well, okay, a journalist-in-training—I wasn’t anyone’s courtesan and I sure as hell didn’t belong here tonight, watching this gentleman and his courtesan play.

The assignment in my journalist class said we were to write an impartial article on a controversial subject we had no previous knowledge about. We were to research it extensively from the ground up and that it would decide our grade. The other students had chosen subjects like cloning animals, abortion, stem cell research, and gay marriage. I, being the overachiever I was, wanted something more esoteric.

I’d heard rumors about the Society all over the college where I was studying journalism. At first, I’d thought it was one of those urban legends, like losing a kidney after getting a roofie, but since I was studying to be the type of crack reporter who eventually won the Pulitzer, I knew I had to learn more. I started digging.

At first, everything I found came up dry bones. Rumors, vague whispers, some ancient documents in the school vaults written during the Colonial Period. None of it concrete. But eventually it led me to some journals kept by the city elders around the early part of the Seventeenth Century, when New York City was little more than a collection of ambitious Dutch, Irish and English immigrants. Eventually I found a solid lead in the form of a man named Tiberius Sloan, a British importer and ex-soldier who’d taken to writing extensively about his and his wife’s travels around the world. He had included very detailed information on “the Society,” as he called it, an exclusive collection of powerful New York businessmen who kept “courtesans,” or paid companions.

Naturally, I was intrigued. An ancient sex trade taking place in Colonial New York, right under the noses of its citizens? You bet I would be.

A few more trips to various libraries and some visits to underground clubs proved useful. The Society was still around, I discovered, nearly four hundred years after it had been established, and there were still regular monthly meetings at this old, secluded colonial on Long Island. The hard part would be getting inside, getting the exclusive. But if journalism teaches you anything, it’s how to work the angles.

Tonight I’d gotten in dressed as a server before quickly ditching my costume for the borrowed evening gown I’d brought along. Everyone was wearing masks—even the courtesan presently bound to the bedpost—so that made things even easier. I could be anyone’s courtesan. I just needed to act the part and stop fidgeting and being so nervous.

Yeah, right.

“
Are you enjoying the show?” A soft, course male voice said low in my ear. The way he said it made it clear the words for my ears alone, and the sound sent a flush of gooseflesh crawling down my back.

I stood stock still and said, “It’s very…interesting.”

“
What do you find interesting about it?”

The man was standing very close, almost on my heels. His was big, and his presence made my nerves jangle. His voice had a strange, alternating inflection, the clipped briskness of an English accent with something else underneath, something foreign and exotic. I thought about moving away, but I was already on the group’s fringe. If I moved forward, I would be deeper in the crowd. If I moved back, I would literally be stepping into his arms. I took a deep breath to calm my flitting heart and half-panicked thoughts and stayed where I was. “They’re very pretty together,” I said lamely.

The man behind me put his big hands on my shoulders. The scent of his cologne—light, breezy, foreign, incredibly masculine—enveloped me. I could literally feel the adrenals picking up in my blood. He put his mouth very close to my ear, so close I could almost sense the roughness of his chin, and said, “I should put you over my knee and spank you for what you’ve done, my dear. You don’t belong here.”

My heart seemed to stick in my chest. Speaking was impossible. Moving was a fantasy. I shivered instead, and he responded to that and tightened his grip on my shoulders as if afraid I might bound away like a frightened rabbit.

“
Give me one good reason why I should not alert everyone here as to who you are?”

I realized I had one of two choices—I could scream bloody murder and alert everyone that I was an unwanted guest, or I could try and negotiate with the brute standing behind me, ready to unmask me, figuratively speaking, for the pleasure of the Society. After I got my panic swallowed down to a manageable level, I whispered in a shaky voice, “What…what do you want with me?”

“
Come with me,” he said. His big hand enveloped my elbow, his grip powerful enough to make me wince and prove he meant business as he turned me around. A part of me wanted to resist, to fight him, but I had this fantasy of being dragged, kicking and screaming, away. I wasn’t sure I could deal with the humiliation of that anymore than I could deal with the idea of being tied up and caned in public for the delight of some of the most powerful men in New York.

The gentleman dragged me toward one of the playrooms. As I looked up to see what breed of man had captured me, I wondered if screaming wouldn’t have perhaps been the smarter thing to do.

***

Moments later I found myself in a playroom fashioned to look like an old Eighteenth Century English study. There were walls of books, a large ornate desk, and dozens of different types of crops, martinets and whips lining the walls, all there for the gentlemen and their companions to play with. The gentleman who’d outed me pushed the door closed and turned to give me a fierce once over. He stood casually, hands in the pockets of his tuxedo trousers, but it was the kind of stance that made me acutely aware of how he was barring my way. I knew there would be no escaping him.

I’d known plenty of pushy guys in my time, playboy types and bad boy types. I’d grown up around tough guys. The college was full of them. I’d even dated a few, but I’d since learned the error of my ways. Bluster didn’t impress me, and that’s what they were—all bluster and sexy come-hither, but they weren’t the type of guys you trusted. Who was I kidding? Those weren’t the types of guys the girl next door landed.