The Dollhouse Society: Felix (6 page)

He growled and rocked against me, claiming me and subduing me with each sharp thrust, then grew still as he waited for my body to acclimate itself to his invasion, to accept what was happening to me. He was the hunter; I was the prey. I belonged to him. He had earned me. He wanted me to know that. I whimpered but soon relaxed against him, gave myself over to him. After that he fucked me hard, held me down, penetrated me so deeply it quickly became nearly impossible to breathe.

I whimpered as he used my body to satisfy himself. He groaned low in his throat, his body entirely molded to mine, his breath in my ear, his teeth nipping at the back of my neck as he made me his woman, his courtesan, his plaything. He slammed his cock in and out of me, each jerking thrust of his hips pushing me against the edge of the sofa and making me grunt and scratch like a wildcat at the cushions.

I struggled to wait for him, to let him come first as my gentleman. My internal muscles fisted around him and then I felt the pulsing heat of his come flooding me. He growled as he filled me and bit the back of my neck. I screamed and came hard, my entire body bucking against him. I couldn’t help but come. He put his hand between my legs as I convulsed against him, as I came for him.

“
My good girl, my courtesan,” he growled sweetly and kissed the bruise he’d made with his teeth. “You’re finally beginning to learn.
Now
you can get up.”

***

We knelt on royal red cushions around Mr. Ishikawa’s table, a huge glass trestle set low to the floor with flocks of cranes painted across it. Dinner was comprised of various small dishes of tempura, steamed vegetables, curries, and, of course, sushi rolls and rice. Mr. Ishikawa sat at the head with Ian directly opposite him. Evelyn sat to his left, and I knelt—naked—to his right.

Mr. Ishikawa had requested that Evelyn instruct me on some of the finer points of being a courtesan, particularly dinner etiquette and behavior in the presence of others. That was one of the reasons he’d invited Ian and his wife to his home in the first place, to “widen my education,” as he called it. And here I thought it was just to humiliate the hell out of me.

Evelyn went on at length about waiting to eat until your gentleman began to eat, and paying close attention to his words and gestures, speaking only when spoken to, and projecting a calm, confident, but obedient air in his presence. She was very open and upfront about her philosophy. As long as her husband did not request that she do something she felt uncomfortable about, she sought to meet all his needs, follow all his orders. They had safewords in place. There were lines he knew he must not cross with her. She was confident that Mr. Ishikawa and I too could develop such a trust between us.

I listened, struggled with my chopstick and with absorbing all this information, and tried to pretend I wasn’t the only naked one in the room. I had questions—and objections, of course—but there was something about being stripped, belted publicly, and losing my virginity that had made me contemplative.
Besides
, I thought,
I’m gathering data. I’m building my article.
 

When the meal was finished, Mr. Ishikawa invited Ian and Evelyn to take full advantage of his playroom, which was apparently one of the biggest honors one could bestow upon another member of the Society. He took me by the hand and led the way into an adjacent room. My heart flitted with the powerful, possessive hold he had on my arm, and the prospect of seeing a playroom for the first time, but I kept telling myself this was an article, just an article. I didn’t even like him all that much! We stopped at a door and he used an old fashioned key to let us into a huge, finely furnished suite that was vastly different from the rest of the penthouse.

All the previous rooms had boasted a spare Japanese eloquence that made it feel like I’d been transported to the Far East. This room was dimly lit by candlelight and outfitted with royal red carpeting, flocked golden wallpaper, and a huge, four-poster bed draped in red veils and covered in red satin sheets. There were huge bouquets of red roses everywhere. The room had everything one would expect to find in an antique Eighteenth Century boudoir. There was a bureau and washbasin with a pitcher, a wardrobe and finely carven hope chest, but also a few curiosities, like a giant mobile hanging from the center of the room, far bigger than anything I’d ever seen, and what I suspected was a spanking bench and an erotic swing hanging from the ceiling.

When Mr. Ishikawa saw me gaping, he said, “My father was Japanese, but my mother worked in the British Embassy at Kyoto. I keep the other part of my house to honor my father and his ancestors, but here I’m not Japanese.”

Ian and Evelyn went to explore the erotic swing. Mr. Ishikawa led me in the opposite direction, toward the dais where the bed waited for us. I realized now, on looking at it, that the scarlet sheets were covered in rose petals, just like in my fantasy. There was no way Mr. Ishikawa could have known that was in my head, yet, somehow, he’d produced it. “Up on the bed, my courtesan.”

“
No more punishments?”

He gave me a strict look. “Being a courtesan is not always about punishments. But if you insist…”

I jumped up on the bed before he got any ideas. The impact of my body scattered some of the petals. I thought he might be cross about that, but when I looked up from my supine position on the bed, he was smirking, barely able to hold back a laugh as he removed his tuxedo jacket and unbuttoned his silk shirt and waistcoat, folding everything carefully and laying them on a chair beside the bed.

I’d thought he was a little on the thin side, but naked he was everything I’d imagined and more. No—more, I decided, definitely more, looking on his slim, but powerfully solid body. He seemed bigger out of his clothes, and had the strong, sinewy musculature that came with good genetics as opposed to a good gym membership. The upper part of his body, just below the clavicle, had an intricate Japanese tattoo design of flowers and a coiling dragon. Beneath that, a soft line of dark hair bisected his broad chest, and the nest of rich dark hair at his groin emphasized rather than hid the hard readiness of his beautiful cock. He was bigger than I’d anticipated. Much, much bigger.

His dark blue eyes pinned me as he grabbed me behind the knees and yanked me forward, pulling me to him instead of coming to me. He dragged me a little beneath him so our faces were inches apart and he filled my entire field of vision, filled my world, and all I could see was him. I reached out and traced the fierceness of the dragon uncoiling across his shoulders. He inclined his head and his mouth came down fiercely as if he would kiss me—the first real kiss—but then paused. “I expect it would be inappropriate to be so intimate as to kiss you when you’re not truly my courtesan, yes?”

As if the position I was in wasn’t intimate? As if we hadn’t been as intimate as any two people could be? But I saw his point. Fucking was one thing, but kissing was something reserved for two people who truly loved one another, who were
in
love.

My breath caught at the nearness of him, his heat and lemony, Far Eastern scent, and I just nodded my head stupidly. Instead, his mouth captured the side of my neck. He sucked and licked until I was writhing uncontrollably beneath him and he could barely hold me down. His teeth nipped me just beneath my earlobe and I clutched the long, heavy hank of his carefully braided hair. I pulled at it until it showered down around us both in great ebony swaths and he growled and his teeth went into me.

His bite was incredibly powerful, briefly painful, everything I wanted. I felt the wetness of his precum gathering in the indentation of my navel. I clutched his firm ass, holding him against me.

“
Uhh,” I said and he stopped long enough for both of us to catch our breaths and get a semblance of control before he started working his way down my body. He kissed the flitting pulse in my throat and between my breasts before catching a nipple in his teeth. He sucked and rolled the pebbled hardness between his teeth until I cried out, then moved to the other. He suckled me like he could pull nectar from my flesh before moving down over my ribs and lower belly.

He traced his tongue over my newly shaved pubic mound before saying, “Open your legs.” His voice was hoarse and his words not really a request.

I opened my legs. He forced them further apart with his elbows, thumbed apart my labia, and bent over me, licking my cunt, burying himself deep inside of me. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he growled, ate me out until I was thrashing on the bed and clawing at his hair, then kissed me there, like in my fantasy. “Turn your head,” he told me. “I want you to watch Ian and Evelyn,” he said as his teeth found my clit and sucked it deep into his mouth.

I obeyed. Ian had roped Evelyn to the giant mobile in the ceiling. She hung from several strategically placed ropes, naked, blindfolded, and her hands tied behind her back while Ian took her from behind, roughly but precisely, each thrust rocking her in her binds and making her gasp aloud. Ian had his face buried in her hair, his hands cupping her breasts. He breathed gently into her long, brunette locks, but I could make out some of the soft, faintly perverse words he used—the dreamy mutterings of a man both in love and lust with his wife. It started making me feel sad and a little bit jealous to hear until Mr. Ishikawa snagged my clit in his teeth once more, gnawed gently upon me until my entire body stiffened and I struggled not to come in his mouth, to wait for him to satisfy himself first.

He moved up my body, grabbed my face in his hands, and stroked his thumbs across my cheeks. “My good girl, my good courtesan…take my cock.” He held me still as he pistoned his hips and sheathed the full length of his desire deep inside me once more. My body fit him perfectly, like a glove. I spasmed around him, but he said, “Honor your gentleman and wait for me, Felix. Wait for me to come.”

“
Oh god,” I told him, and used every inch of self control I had to slow the onset of my orgasm.

He watched my face as he thrust and thrust up into me, going ever deeper, excavating through the layers of my soul as well as my body. I finally lifted my legs and crossed my ankles, still in my stilettos, hugging his back so the angle was slightly deeper, so he could fill me more completely. He moaned and his dark eyes fluttered with release. He came seconds later, spilling himself deep inside of me, and I came immediately after, screaming my release.

“
There’s my girl,” he said, leaning down to kiss me almost piously on the forehead. “Felix the courtesan, the wonderful, wonderful courtesan.”

I laughed.

***

The young blonde guy stepped up to the concession stand and ordered a popcorn, Diet Coke and a package of Goobers. I smiled while the dispenser under the hood of the popcorn machine shot his paper box of popcorn with fake butter. The young guy smiled back at me, winked, and I blushed. He was big, definitely the weightlifter type, with a strong jaw and a snug dark blue T-shirt that set off his thickly muscles arms. When I gave him his Goobers and took his money, he was sure to brush my hand and I blushed again, dammit.

It was almost like every cute guy who stepped up to the counter this week knew I wasn’t a virgin anymore, that I was on the market. My time with Mr. Ishikawa had definitely transformed me in ways I was still discovering.

The end of my shift found me bent over the notebook I carried with me almost everywhere I went, good journalists that I was. I was trying to phrase my article on the Dollhouse Society, but no matter how I tried to describe my time with Mr. Ishikawa, I just couldn’t come up with words that seemed appropriate. I wound up just doodling in the margin while my last customer of the evening stepped up. I almost didn’t notice him.

When I looked up, I found myself staring up at Mr. Ishikawa. “Oh,” I said in surprise.

He was dressed in a dark grey pinstripe suit, complete with waistcoat, though no tie this time. Instead, the collar of his dress shirt was open and I could see just a hint of the intricate dragon tattoo there. He smirked at me from behind a pair of rose-colored sunglasses and said, “
Konnichiwa
, my courtesan.”

I felt like I should bow or something. Instead, I just stood there like an idiot. “Good evening, sir.”

“
Is that the article?”

“
Um…yeah. Well, what there is of it. Which is nothing. Yet,” I added. I laughed a little nervously and snatched up the notebook, holding it against myself even though it was virtually empty of ideas. Part of it was the sudden fear and excitement I experienced being in his presence. Part of it was the terror of him seeing me in my godawful work uniform, the cheap white shirt, black polyester old lady pants and garish red vest with pockets deep enough to sink the continent of Atlantis.

He raised his eyebrows as he checked his watch. “Your shift is almost done, correct?”

“
Yes, sir,” I answered.

“
Perhaps you’ll allow me to inspire you tonight? Give you a night to remember, Felix?”

“
Dressed like this?”

“
I promise you won’t need clothes. At least, not for long.” His smile was warm, hungry and so lecherous I felt my bikini underwear dampen.

“
Felix…can you take over the front?” Archie called as he skipped past the concession stand.

I sighed and was about to shoot some barb at Archie when Mr. Ishikawa reached out and put his big hand on Archie’s shoulder, stopping the smaller man in mid-stride. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, young man. I need her tonight.”

“
Who the hell are you?”

“
Her employer,” he said, his tone dry and cold as he glared at Archie through his glasses.

Archie looked uncomfortable as he looked Mr. Ishikawa over, the suit, the sunglasses, the tight ponytail and dragon tattoo. He swallowed. “Jesus. Is she working for the mob now?”

“
As a matter of fact.” Mr. Ishikawa offered my employer a slick, secretive smile. “She’s my number one sniper.”