Page 9 of Seth’s Doll

I’m too stunned to swat her away.

I look at Crystal. “And you were in on this?” My voice sounds a little accusatory, even though I’m feeling quite grateful to all parties involved.

She holds up her hands in defense, shaking her head slowly. “Hey, now. When Dr. Neil Walker asks you to help him out, I don’t care how dominant you are. You do what he wants and feel honored he chose you to do it for him.”

I nod, conceding easily. “That’s fair.”

She looks me dead in the eye then, and my tummy does a little flip. “But seriously, girl. I was genuinely taken aback when he called last night—not because he called, but because of what he was calling about. What he told me about the woman he was needing my help with did not match the sub I remembered meeting on New Year’s Eve. She couldn’t have been the one I saw with her husband in their store yesterday, or the one I hung out with at the coffee shop either.”

My brow furrows, not understanding what she means, since those women were all one and the same—me.

She switches up her position on the mat, and we follow her lead almost unconsciously. She explains further without pause. “The sub I met at Club Alias—perfect classic positioning while mingling in a crowd of other Doms and subs. Slightly behind her Dom, head marginally bowed, relaxed features. I did notice your tight grip on his arm, but that could’ve always been by his order, his preference or what the two of you agreed upon in your dynamic. But when he introduced you that night, you met my eye politely and nodded but didn’t offer your hand, which is common in our community. My first impression of you was that you were a highly trained and gloriously obedient submissive who looked perfectly natural and happy in your role.”

I’m speechless, hearing her recollection of our initial introduction during the New Year’s party. I was super happy that night. I didn’t put much thought into the way I stood or acted, not at all, really. I always just feel the most comfortable right there, with my tall and strong husband leading the way, my hands around his bicep, reveling in his powerful strength I can always sense beneath the surface of his long-sleeved black Henley and light-tan skin. I try to absorb it into myself, since I’ve never been big on crowds. I’m definitely an introvert, while he is a hundred percent an exhibitionist.

We all switch the leg we’re stretching, and Crystal continues. “The wife I observed with her husband at the store yesterday looked to him for guidance and comfort with nothing but love and trust in her eyes. Like she had no doubt he’d know exactly how to make her feel better in the stressful or embarrassing situation she found herself in. And he looked at her like she was the center of his entire universe. Girl, when he wasn’t staring at you with hearts in his eyes like Cupid just shot him in the ass with an arrow, he was lookin’ like that wolf in the cartoons, with his tongue rolled out across the table, you know? Anyway, he alternated between looking like he wanted to kiss your face or make you ride his. No in between.”

My eyes widen, and my hand slaps over my mouth after I let out a very unladylike squawk. Her description had started out so sweet.

My sister, on the other hand, is on her back, knees pulled up to her chest, her hands covering her eyes, but she’s dying of laughter.

Her laugh is infectious though, and every time she tries to stop, she fails, bursting out loudly once again, which sets off my giggles, and I hear Crystal start to cackle as well, probably at us finding what she said so hilarious.

When we finally get control of ourselves, Astrid having to wipe off the tears that fell from the outer corners of her eyes to her hairline, Crystal inserts with faux haughtiness, “As I was sayin’,” before getting us back on track in her stretching routine. “There was no way that wife could possibly think her husband thought of her as anything less than absolutely perfect.”

My face warms for the first time since I accidentally asked her what her stripper name was when we first arrived here. But it’s not from embarrassment or shame or anything of the sort. It’s from the pleasurable heat that started in my chest and spread outward, from another woman telling me what she saw when my husband looked at me.

What, probably, all women see when my husband looks at me.

What all the submissives at Club Alias see…

When my Dom looks at me.

CHAPTER 5

Seth

“Guess what I learned today,” my beautiful—sweat-stained?—wife prompts the moment she and our mini-her walk in the door.

“How to sweat outside our bedroom?” I ask her, the last word said against her lips just before I kiss her and take the bags she’s carrying. She pokes me in my abs as she pulls back, shifting her eyes to Luna, then back to me with a “little ears are listening” look. But we don’t have to worry about filtering for more than a second before Luna runs off to her room.

“Anyway,” she singsongs. “Today, I learned that if you go to Vegas to become a showgirl, traditionally, you start in one of the exotic dance clubs. If you get hired at one of the clubs right on The Strip, it’s apparently a big deal, since they only want the most beautiful dancers who can do all the super cool tricks on the pole. And if you last a while there, it’s very impressive on a resume, just in case you audition for one of the big shows in the huge casinos. Also, a lot of the talent scouts will go to those clubs to spot any hidden gems they think would fit what they’re looking for.”

I listen to her enthusiastic tale as we both empty the groceries from the bags onto the counter, and then I grab the can opener out of the drawer to get started on dinner.

“Are you trying to say you’re leaving me to go strip on The Strip, doll?” I smile, but when I glance up at Twyla, she looks utterly horrified. I forgot she doesn’t know I’m actually in on what’s going on with her and Doc’s therapy—part of a contract she signed when she became an official member of Club Alias.

At first, I believe that look is in response to her leaving me. But what she says next shuts that down and pisses me off.

“As if I’d stand a chance. Who’d spend their hard-earned money to see this? Plus, I couldn’t even hold myself up today. An exotic dancer, I was not meant to be.” She shakes her head. “Plus, you’re stuck with me, husband,” she adds, making me feel better about that part at least.

She was opening the package of chicken breasts while she spoke, gesturing to herself from head to shorts, not paying attention to my immediate change in demeanor, so she’s startled when she feels my hand wrap around her throat from behind as I pull her back to my front. Her little squeak makes my dick jump inside my basketball shorts, and I know she feels it against her plump ass, even through her modest biker shorts. They’re long but they’re thin, and my cock nestles right between her cheeks when I squat enough to speak quietly into her ear.

“You feel that, doll?” At her frantic nod when I grind into her, I tell her, “Me.” My hand tightens a little around her throat as I lick along the salty shell of her ear. “I would spend every cent of my hard-earned money to see this.” My free hand fills itself with her soft flesh, first over her sports bra, and then beneath it so I can feel the weight of her breast. My cock hardens even more.

She whimpers, so I loosen my grip on her neck slightly, hearing her suck in a breath before she moans quietly when my other hand trails from her tit to her hip. My fingers dig in there, and like my good little doll, she gives in to my subtle shifts in pressure leading her to bend over the kitchen island.

A flashback of our first time together fills my mind, and I smirk as I glimpse the package of chicken next to where I have my wife’s face now pressed to the cold marble.

---