The Dollhouse Society, Volume I: Evelyn by Eden Myles

Author:Eden Myles [Myles, Eden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Courtesan Press
Published: 2012-05-31T14:00:00+00:00

So we tried both.

***

Mr. Sterling was in good spirits when we finally arrived at the old, rambling stone colonial on Staten Island that the Society called the Dollhouse. The anteroom was brightly lit by candles, but otherwise almost empty. We’d arrived fashionably late, but not by design. Our excursion in the shop had simply taken longer than we’d expected. Only a few gentlemen mingled there tonight, mostly the new ones, those without courtesans yet. Mr. Sterling greeted them and shook their hands briefly. He got the safe word from them for the night. Mostly, he made a point of showing me off, and I could tell he was enjoying the looks of envy in the other gentlemen’s eyes.

He kept his hand clamped over my hip at all times to keep me in line and to warn me to stop squirming around too much, which was difficult with the pearls still inside me, itching and mingling with his wetness and my own. “Would you like to see the Dollhouse tonight, Evelyn?” he asked after he’d availed himself of the open bar. “You didn’t get much of a tour last time.”

I groaned out an answer.

He walked me into the great room where I had met the other courtesans last time. It was still all black and white—black and white furnishings, black and white checked floor, with lovingly framed black and white antique and modern erotica covering the walls. There was no bed occupying the main room this time. The night of my debutante ball, we had made love for the enjoyment of the others. The room was practically empty tonight, the other dolls off somewhere else, except for Mr. Sterling’s friend Malcolm, who was busily photographing his courtier Devon in various states of undress on a divan covered in white animal furs near the lighted hearth.

We stopped to watch them together. Devon had a beautiful body, the kind of tight, smooth, blond body that men envy and women covet. And he knew how to use it. He seemed very much used to these sessions. He smiled at me in greeting, naked and ridiculously perfect in the firelight. But I couldn’t hate him. He was as much a doll as I was. Malcolm, as always, ignored me, as was house rules. Gentlemen were not permitted to commune with or touch other men’s courtesan inside the Dollhouse.

“You’re late as usual, old thing,” Malcolm said, snapping off another careful shot.

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Sterling answered. I did not know Mr. Sterling to run on anyone’s clock but his own. He studied Devon, but not with the eye of a man taking sexual interest. It was more like someone admiring a fantastic piece of art—which, of course, Devon was.

“And now everyone has gone off scouting playrooms, and you’ll be left with the remains of the day.” Malcolm turned and photographed us with what seemed a very old-fashioned camera. He lowered the camera and smiled. “I dare say, she is quite lovely tonight, Ian,” he said, looking me over.

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