Page 26 of Seth’s Doll

Without making her wait a second longer, I press my knuckles against the left side of the slit, which makes enough room for my fingers to then slide beneath the right, and slowly, I open my most precious gift as a Dom.

I hold my breath, the light from overhead spilling in, giving me my first look at the beautiful woman inside as I open the other flap. And for the second time tonight, I’m speechless.

Gone is my wife, the girl other people always describe as pretty and cute on most days, and lovely when she’s here at Club Alias. In her place stands a version of her I’ve never imagined. The fact that I’ve never felt the urge to imagine her as anything but her authentic self is besides the point, because I don’t think I could’ve pictured the woman before me even if I had.

And all woman, she is, even dressed as a sinful schoolgirl who would be sent straight to the headmaster’s office for every dress-code violation in the handbook. On top of all that, she holds perfectly still except for the movement of her breasts as she breathes and her throat as she swallows nervously. Her eyes are focused on my chest, which would be directly straight ahead if she were at her normal height, but in these shoes that are straight out of an anime nerd’s wet dream, it means her gaze is lowered.

My good little sub.

Her painted-red lips I’m already considering how to smear are slightly parted, but I can see her jaw is tightly clenched to keep her features from moving, and I’m impressed as hell by her commitment to this role she’s playing. She’s not normally one who can allow herself to dramatically portray some character, too worried she’ll look silly or isn’t doing it right. The only time none of that seems to enter her mind is when she’s playing pretend with our daughter.

But right now, I’ve been staring at her for quite some time, and she’s only blinked once, purposefully, a slow blink that made her cosmetically enhanced lashes appear just like a doll’s would as she kept that faraway look in her eyes.

My cock hardens further.

Trailing my gaze downward, I see she’s holding an index card, the thick paper slightly trembling between her fingers, and instead of my usual compulsion to soothe her nerves, I allow myself to latch on to that dark pleasure I always felt before I met my wife. The power one feels knowing your presence alone, the anticipation of what you might do next, without ever having touched them, makes them have an outward physical reaction.

I have to reach down and adjust my cock inside my boxer briefs, worried it might break through the fucking metal zipper of my jeans I’m so hard. And when I glance up at my doll’s face, the pink she added to her cheeks this morning with a brush has spread but through her blood vessels.

There’s my girl.

I lift my hand and use the side of my knuckle to gently caress her cheek, her lashes fluttering before she catches herself. “It even blushes? Wow. How lucky am I? That’s always been my favorite feature of my own doll,” I say, letting that hang in the air for a moment so she can absorb it fully. She hates that she has no control over her sensitive nervous system, but my God, I’ve always gotten off on it. “I never have to wonder if she’s hiding something inside her. I can always tell just by that pretty blush she can’t control.”

I lean in like I’m telling her a secret, when I whisper, “You see, she seems to believe it’s all me, that I’m just that good at reading anyone’s microreactions. And while I’m admittedly pretty damn talented when it comes to that, it’s actually her that makes it easy for me.” I lean even closer, inhaling deeply as I run the tip of my nose from her collarbone to her ear, making her shiver. “If it weren’t for my doll’s involuntary responses, I wouldn’t be nearly as good at overwhelming her with pleasure.”

My tongue slips out to toy with just her huggy-hoop-impaled earlobe, and I hear her small whimper just before I feel a sharp jab against my abs. I grin but hide it before pulling back and looking down, seeing she’s holding the card out toward me, her finger still pointed after poking me, and when I lift my eyes to hers, they’re back to the faraway stare.

Again, I’m so fucking impressed with her refusal to break character.

“Oh, what’s this?” I ask like I hadn’t noticed the index card before. I take it, once more pulling my glasses from my collar, and read the first note.

“Hi, I’m your brand-new intimacy companion! I’ve been updated and much improved since the model before me, and I hope you enjoy my new features.” I swallow the lump that wants to form in my throat at the idea my wife felt she wasn’t good enough exactly as she’s always been. There’s no room for that here, in this moment, so I shove that part of me back down and give Seven extra strength to keep it at bay. “If you push the pink button on my remote, it will activate Test Mode One. This mode is a safety feature to make sure all my parts are in working order BEFORE you play with me. Please do not skip this step. Watch carefully but from a distance of at least four feet. If you notice any of my body parts not bending or moving in a natural way or if you see or smell something burning, the red button is the emergency stop. Contact the number on my box for troubleshooting help. Sorry, no refunds.”

I chuckle as I take my glasses back off and hook them in their usual spot at my throat when I’m not wearing them. As if I weren’t impressed enough, the thought and wit she put into the note brings my pride to a whole new level, and I find myself looking forward to not only what she’s going to do with each press of a different button, but also what the next index card will say.

“I don’t know how I feel about taking orders, especially from an inanimate object,” I speak coolly. “But I’m curious enough about what you’ll do once you’re no longer inanimate to put those unidentified feelings aside.”

I make a show of looking over the black remote, which is a simple thing, about the size and shape of our smart TV’s, only it has a single line of different-colored buttons down the center. I recognize it as a universal remote you can set up much like voice commands and routines on an Alexa, each button doing whatever you’ve programmed it to do.

So fucking brilliant, my girl is. The perfect tool to help keep up the sex-doll façade.

“Pink for Test Mode One,” I repeat the instructions, and without further ado, my finger presses the button at the top.

My head whips around toward the new stripper pole as a disco ball lowers from the ceiling near it, a bright light coming on to shine direct at it as the rest of the lights in the playroom dim. I’m taking everything in, the shimmers produced from reflecting off the mosaic of mirrors mesmerizing, so I miss her stepping out of the box, but I feel her nails through my shirt as she lightly drags her fingers from my right shoulder across my back to my left as she passes behind me.

I don’t move, frozen to the spot, the remote still lifted while I watch slack-jawed as this woman I hardly recognize sashays toward the pole. Her hips move in a way that’s nearly hypnotic as she takes long strides that had to have been practiced in those shoes. The skin between her thigh-high socks and the pleated skirt peeks out more with each step, and it’s the perfect level of tantalizing, making me crave to peep underneath.

She comes to a stop next to the new leather chair, her back still to me, one leg locking while the other snaps against it, slightly bent as the heel of the shoe hovers an inch off the floor. Her left hand props on her left hip, and suddenly her right arm lifts straight up in the air, her finger pointing skyward. And like magic… or impeccably planned timing on her part… music begins to thump around us, and I immediately recognize it as “Lick” by Joi featuring Sleepy Brown, a song off the XXX soundtrack Twyla added to her playlist when we had a Vin Diesel movie marathon a couple of years ago.

My eyebrow cocks when her position holds but her finger that had been pointing straight up suddenly snaps downward on beat with the bass. She turns just enough to peek at me over her shoulder, and I follow her silent command, but only because I’m allowing my wife to give me her gift. When I start to head toward the chair she pointed me to, she faces forward once again and continues on her way to the pole.

My eyes never leave her as I lower into the buttery leather seat, holding my breath as she steps from solid floor to the black mat surrounding the base of the pole like a tree skirt, but she manages it flawlessly. And the air then leaves my lungs in a long exhale through pursed lips as she grasps the golden apparatus in her right hand, hooks her right ankle at the bottom, leans all the way out from it, then seems to fall forward. But because the whole thing spins on its own, the movement is nothing but sensual grace as she swings around to the front, now facing me, before letting go and putting her back against the metal.

Then Joi starts to sing. “I lose all control…”

My doll cups her breasts, then slides her hands up her chest, her neck, into her hair…

And just as the words “when you grab ahold…” are heard, she lifts her arms to grasp the pole above her head with both hands, making me wish it was my cock instead. Or my own hands around her throat.

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