Seth’s Doll (Club Alias)

1. Twyla

CHAPTER 1

“The shipment of new dildos and intimacy companions were delivered this morning, boss. Just in time for the big sale. I left them all in the boxes for you, since I know you prefer to inspect the ones we’ve never carried before,” Christi tells me, grabbing her purse from the safe beneath the register. She tosses it on her shoulder, then rounds the counter, giving me a high-five when I hold my hand up as she passes me on her way to the front door.

I ignore the little bit of panic that hits me when she reminds me how close we are to our bi-annual sale, which this year happens to land on my husband’s birthday. And I haven’t figured out a worthy enough present to get for him.

“Awesome. I’ve been dying to see for myself just how ‘lifelike’ these things actually feel,” I reply, pushing my glasses up my nose as I turn my head toward the back room, but her giggle has me facing her once again, my eyes narrowing. “What?”

She smirks and shrugs. “Nothing, Twy. Just didn’t think you swung that way.”

My brow furrows, my confusion written all over my face—as usual. “Huh?”

Christi rolls her eyes then says, “The sex dolls. They’re all… you know… female.”

My face flushes as it always does when a misunderstanding like this happens, no matter how long I’ve worked here at Toys for Twats. Even after I took over as the head honcho when Roxy, the former owner, decided she wanted more time with her husband and retired—my own husband, Seth, quickly swooping in and buying her out, incorporating it with his BDSM club, Club Alias. And even after the probing and exposing experience of pregnancy and the birth of my daughter, Luna, I still get a little embarrassed.

Maybe it’s the fact that I was a virgin until I was twenty-four.

Or maybe it’s because I kept myself sequestered and focused on my studies, then work before my sister and I made our escape from California and landed here on the East Coast several years ago. I hadn’t been exposed to all the sexual stuff everyone else seems to find normal in TV shows, movies, and… well, everywhere you look, really. I was firmly planted in laboratories and cleanrooms while working as a chemical engineer, with no time for social media or even friends.

So how did I end up here, as the manager of a sex shop, you might ask?

I might not have had social media or friends, but I had my big sister. And as the only thing I cared about outside of my career, when Astrid needed my help to escape her abusive boyfriend, I was all in, a hundred percent. With her very life at stake, the way things were going, I knew we only had one chance to do it right. I quit my job, picked her up in the middle of the night, and after closing our eyes and letting fate guide our fingertip on the map, we drove straight to the other side of the country.

To a small military town called Ft. Vanter, where there was absolutely no use for a chemical engineer who focused on developing all-natural cleaning solutions.

And with that fancy degree and specialty, I was quickly labeled “overqualified” for literally every job I applied for around town… until Roxy took pity on me and hired me.

The virgin who had never even seen a vibrator in real life before.

But as fate would have it, during my very first week of working here, in walked Seth Owens, the—secret—owner of the local BDSM club, at which he was also the trainer in all things sex toys and equipment… although in a much more hands-on way than one would teach a new employee at a novelty store. But at that time, I didn’t know that, and after a completely mortifying mishap, where my now sexy, goofy asshole of a husband pretended he was some regular guy stopping into a sex shop for the first time, Roxy spilled the beans and basically offered me up to the sex god as his newest disciple. She recruited him to teach me about all the things I was supposed to sell… and the rest, as they say, is history.

Along with my V-card.

I giggle at my last thought, my hand coming up to cover my lips, and receive a confused look from Christi much like my own a moment ago.

“Sorry. I squirreled there. Um. No. Not what I meant. The skin on these intimacy companions, it’s supposed to feel incredibly real and unlike the silicone and other materials used for dildos and men’s masturbators. I did a deep dive into this company’s products, and judging by the compounds and componen?—”

“Boss. As much as I love seeing you geek out about chemistry stuff, since you get so excited you don’t even hesitate on words like ‘dildos’ or men’s ‘masturbators,’ I’ve really got to get to class. I was just pickin’. I knew what you meant,” she assures me with a smile, giving me a little wave before shoving open the tinted glass door.

I shake my head at her. “Have a good night, Chris.”

She grins and makes her exit, but not before calling out her parting words for not only me but the customers walking inside to hear. “Text me after you squeeze her boobs!” And I stand there, red-faced, eyes wide, my mouth opening and closing like a guppy as the couple looks from her departing, laughing figure over to me.

“I—” My brain has shut down at the expression on their faces after registering it as worry, as if I plan to grope the well-endowed but fit black woman with long, thin braids decorated with gold beads. All I can do is shake my head in denial, hoping she understands Christi wasn’t talking about her. But the words that finally leave my mouth don’t help to convey that fact. “To see if they feel real.”

She raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and turns her dark-brown eyes framed with extra-long, thick lashes up to her tall, handsome companion. The straight, white teeth of his big smile seem to light up not only his dark-tan face, but the entire store as he wiggles his eyebrows at her. She looks at me again and must see my natural reaction is the last of the human instincts to either fight, fly, or freeze, recognizing the misunderstanding.

She smiles then, hers even more powerful than the man’s, because she has an endearing little gap just between her two front teeth, her lips painted a cool purple I couldn’t dream of getting away with. “I mean, I didn’t get them this big to look real, but if you want to squeeze them, go right ahead, honey.”

My eyes widen even more, and my hands shoot up in front of me as if to ward her off. But then I realize it could look like I’m holding them up right at boob-squeezing level, and I jerk them back, my elbow hitting the display of individual, flavored condoms, sending them scattering to the floor like obscene little pieces of colorful confetti.

My eyes close behind my glasses then, so I don’t see who walks through the door when the little bell dings at that moment.

But I sense him.

And knowing exactly who it is just by the way my body responds to his presence, my anxiety dipping and my heart rate calming, I’m both relieved and extra mortified for him to appear right in the middle of this embarrassing situation.

When I open my eyes, he’s already knelt down next to me to pick the condoms up off the floor. As he looks up at me from his position on one knee, that ever-present mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes, the smile that spreads across my husband’s breath-stealing face makes me wonder how I could possibly think to describe anyone else’s as beautiful, when it’s this one all others are compared to.

“Breathe, doll,” he murmurs, then stands to his full height, my head tilting back to keep eye contact with him.

“Christi short-circuited my brain again,” I tattle, and he chuckles, leaning in for a soft, quick kiss.

“Well, luckily, she did it in front of friends instead of strangers this time. Twyla, meet Antonio and Crystal. They’re the owners of the place that opened up across the street from our building downtown. Antonio and Crystal Garcia, this is my wife, Twyla Owens,” Seth introduces, his arm coming around my back to lead me toward the couple who came in before him. My first step stutters as he has to actually force my body to move in their direction, but I manage to reach my hand out in greeting on my own.

“Nice to meet you, Twyla.” Antonio shakes my hand, but when I offer it to Crystal, instead of taking my hand, she dips forward a little, as if to set her huge breast in my palm, before jumping back and turning to press her front to Antonio’s as they both burst into laughter at my loud squeak.

My hand is now pressed to my mouth as I look up at my husband, begging him with my eyes to save me.

“Okay, now I gotta know what I missed,” he says instead, and I glare at him before dropping my arm.

“The intimacy companions came in today,” I finally get out. “That’s what Christi was telling me to squeeze.” I look at Crystal again. “Not your… glorious décolletage.” I attempt humor in order to get me out of this loop of embarrassment, or I’m afraid I’ll be stuck in it for the rest of the day.

“Glorious décolletage,” she repeats in a breathy, thick Southern accent before glancing up at her man. “I like the sound of that way better than ‘your tig ole bitties.’” Which makes everyone laugh—including me, after the extra second it takes me to get it—and the tension leaves me. “But what the hell is an intimacy companion?”

“Um… it’s like a… human-shaped, life-size… um… non-living partner for?—”

“It’s a sex doll,” Seth inserts with a shrug. No shame. No stutter. He just states it as if he’s telling them the forecast after they asked what the weather’s supposed to be like tomorrow. “Supposed to be super lifelike.” He glances down at me. “You haven’t felt them yet? I know you’ve been looking forward to them coming in.”

My eyes widen once again and whip to the couple, and I rush to explain, “The skin. I’ve been excited to feel the texture of the skin. With my hand. Like… on the arm or something. Not any of the… intimate parts it comes with.”

Crystal gives me a “you are the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen” smile before looking up at Antonio. “She’s precious. Can I keep her?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’ll have to ask Seth if he wants you around her. You might corrupt her.”

To that, my husband pulls me close, and when I look up at him, he lifts his hand to stroke his thumb along my jawline, sending a shiver down my neck and spine. “Believe me. If I wasn’t able to, nobody can.”

I melt against him as he pushes my glasses up my nose, then lets his finger trail down to the tip, as he’s done since we first met. After a moment of just absorbing my perfect opposite, my person, who tells me he loves me unconditionally just the way I am, I straighten and look back at Crystal. “I always have room for another girlfriend, especially a local businesswoman. Even if all the women in my life have made it a competition between themselves to see who can embarrass me the most.” I roll my eyes with a little laugh, totally used to being picked on. I know it’s all in good fun. Plus, the same people who tease me are also my biggest protectors and supporters, and I know they wouldn’t do it if they didn’t love me.

But still, a teeny-tiny part of me wonders if Seth wishes I wasn’t so… uncorrupted.

I know it’s silly of me, since he tells me every single day how much he loves me. Even on the days I’m in full-on mom mode, hair in a messy bun, covered in God knows what after chasing around our preschooler for hours. He makes it a point to end each night with a shared shower, in which he soaps up and caresses my tired and kid-goo-smeared body, all while telling me how beautiful each part of me is. A tradition started after I grew self-conscious of my post-pregnancy and c-section-scarred form.

He'd have none of it.

The former sadist turned pleasure Dom inside Seth took over my hilarious and sweet life partner, and Seven put me to bed every night, sated and with no doubts about how he felt about my body. “Different than it was before—but because of me, and still all mine,” he always murmurs when his soapy hand skims over my scar before moving around my hip to possessively grip my ass cheek.

Yet, as much as he’s made it perfectly clear he can’t get enough of my physical form, doubt still creeps in when it comes to me. My personality. My shyness that never seems to fade, no matter how many years go by or the exposure to situations I feel other people would’ve grown used to and be unfazed by.

Because above all else, I worry I’m not the sub my former-professional-Dominant husband always dreamed of. Not because I’m not submissive, because God knows I am. Especially to this man, who is so deserving of his role. But because—like earlier with Crystal and Antonio—I freeze.

Often.

Even when told exactly how to do something, even in the safe space Seven creates for us to play in, I frequently freeze, unable to follow his order, his gentle instruction, his clearly expressed desire. It’s as if someone suddenly flips a switch inside me and turns my power off, and I’m stuck in whatever position I was in when that order was given, unable to move, to speak, to convey in any way what I’m feeling.

It's never fear. Especially not with Seth, but never with “Seven” either. Not once has my Dom punished me in any way for insubordination. Instead, he’s always ended the scene and bundled me up with extra aftercare, so I’d know I hadn’t disappointed him.

Maybe that’s the problem, something whispers inside my mind, puzzling me, so I shoo it away.

No amount of reassurance from my husband, nor aftercare from my Master could possibly get rid of every doubt. And the one left inside my mind is powerful enough to make me wonder…

Is he truly happy, or just content?

“Sound good, doll?” Seth asks, squeezing me tightly to him to gain my attention.

I look up at him, feeling a little sullen and dazed from the path my thoughts had taken. “Hm? Sorry, I think I need some coffee,” I say with a forced laugh as I stand up straight, taking my weight from Seth, and his brows furrow just slightly but enough I catch the worry there. “Managing this store on top of being a mom has made me single-handedly responsible for keeping the coffee shop next door in business, I swear.”

Crystal chirps, “Girl, you ain’t lyin’. We have two boys. And the business we’re opening in the space downtown is a workout studio. Pilates, barre, pole dancing classes—you name it, I teach it. If it weren’t for coffee and protein shakes, I wouldn’t survive.”

I feel my eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “Pole dancing classes?”

She smirks and nods. “Hell yes. You probably have no idea how strong a lady has to be in order to make it as an exotic dancer. We may make it look easy, but I promise—you know what a pecan looks like getting popped open by a nutcracker?” At my nod, she finishes, “These legs could do that to any meathead at the gym’s… well… meathead.” She giggles sweetly, even though there’s an evil little gleam in her eye. One glance at Antonio shows he feels nothing but pride in his woman’s strength.

Crystal continues, “Which takes a lot of working out and muscle building. And since I stopped performing professionally when I got pregnant with our first son but didn’t want to lose this body I worked so hard for, I decided to make an income by teaching new girls how to pole dance, which was a workout for myself as well. That was when we lived in Vegas. When we moved here, some ladies answered my ad about the classes who weren’t dancers but wanted to learn anyway, whether for themselves or to show off for their partner. And when they all loved it and said they’d be dropping their gym memberships to do my classes as their workout instead, I did some research and found out other small studios were offering pole dancing as an alternative form of exercise. I kinda just went off what they were doing, and now, a few years later, I have enough members that I need the bigger space. Luckily, it’s just right across the street from my original spot we got when we first moved to town.”

“Across the street? That means?—”

Seth interrupts, his ADHD hyping him up, “She was in the place on the other side of our security office.”

“The one with the black-out curtains that are never open?” I ask, having wondered what that storefront was but had never taken the time to figure it out. My attention was always pulled to the other next-door neighbor of the Imperium Security office. Club Alias. Which also has an ominous-looking entrance.

“Yep. We didn’t think our non-stripper ladies would want to be stared at from the sidewalk while they’re trying to learn how to dance on a pole,” Crystal explains.

Antonio adds, “Or cause traffic accidents on the one-way street we’re on.” He chuckles. “One peek through the window and there would be a daily pile-up. Especially if my woman was the one on the pole, giving instructions.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her again, and she slaps his chest, rolling her eyes, even though I can see the pleased look in them at his compliment.

Another thought occurs to me then. “So that means your old space opened up. Do you know if it’s still available? My sister has been toying with the idea of opening a ballet studio for a while now.”

“As far as I know, it is. And even better, it wouldn’t be much work to change it from an exotic dance studio to a ballet one. Since we’re taking the poles with us and all.” Crystal smirks, and we all laugh.

With that idea in my head to ponder on and present to Astrid, my earlier sullenness disappears, at least for now. We close up shop and put out the lunch-break sign, the four of us strolling next door for some much-needed coffee and more fun conversation to get to know each other.

All the while, a part of me still can’t wait to get back to my store to feel up the sex doll.