Massage Room (1)
Thump thump.
"Hoo, hoo."
I placed a hand on my chest and took deep breaths. Thump. Thump. I could feel my heart pounding like mad, edging past a frantic thump-thump into a heavy thud-thud.
Right now, I was in the massage room inside the cultural center of the VIP Residential Zone. At the center of the modern room, designed around a palette of whites, sat a pristine white massage bed. It was plush yet waterproof, with a cutout for the head to cradle the neck comfortably. There was even a fist-sized hole where a man's lower half might go. Ahem. There were rooms with beds like gynecological exam tables too, but I doubted I'd ever need one of those.
Luxurious furniture and potted plants were artfully arranged around the space, bathed in soft lighting from above and infused with a soothing aroma that eased the mind. Gentle meditation music played quietly in the background.
And there I stood in a white gown. 'Please wait just a moment,' Chloro had said, taking my hand and leading me here before vanishing into the prep room. It had been ages since someone held my hand. Hers was warm and soft. We'd walked from the storage room to here in silence, hands linked, and it filled some parched riverbed in my soul. So much so that, right up until we entered this room, I'd forgotten how starved I'd been.
A moment later, Chloro returned. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
She wore sheer black lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. Her golden blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, and her blue eyes sparkled with a smile—like Galatea incarnate, the statue Pygmalion had sculpted over a lifetime, pouring every ounce of artistic passion into it. Flawless white skin without a single blemish, perfect curves. Taut, beautiful abs that weren't overdone or underwhelming. Her massive breasts, too big for one hand to fully grasp, defied gravity even without a bra, perky and proud like a defiant woman tossing her head. The tips of her small nipples peeked through the fabric.
Naturally, not a hair on her body. Real women spend money removing hair, but dolls spend it adding it on. An old joke floated to mind. I preferred it bare, myself.
She wheeled in a small cart loaded with massage oils and a few tools. "What's that?"
"Waxing supplies. I got them from the warehouse where we collected residents' leftover items."
"Waxing first?" I was a little thrown.
"I could make you feel good right away if you want, but on a scale of pleasure? That'd be an 80 or 90." She crossed her arms, pressing a finger to her lips—and I couldn't even focus on that cute face. My eyes were stolen by the way her breasts mashed together in territorial battle above her elbows. This was insane; there was no other word for it.
"Doesn't uninterrupted skin-on-skin contact sound tempting? It'll be way better than you can imagine."
"Yeah, I think I've heard that before." They said the sensation was on another level. Once you waxed and fucked, you'd stay smooth forever after.
"Alright then, time to strip, sir?"
Chloro's hands slipped my gown off. I'd already showered in the adjacent bathroom while she prepped, so my body was clean. "Lie down comfortably."
She took my hand, guiding me to the bed, and I lay back facing the ceiling. I was buck naked, but with the heating on, I wasn't cold at all.
Smack. Her finger tapped my lips, and she flashed a warm smile down at me.
* * *
Riiip. Every time her deft hands moved, my lower abdomen grew smoother. Her skill was godlike—precisely calculated wax application, temperature control, coverage, the pull's strength and angle. It felt like a criminal waste of supercomputer-level intellect on something like this. She never double-dipped, and the pain was minimal.
Riiip. My cock was already rock-hard at its limit. Every teasing brush of her fingers sent maddening tingles through me. The tip, pointed skyward, glistened with precum. When she ripped another strip from my lower abdomen, my dick jerked wildly from the recoil.
But Chloro stayed calm. Dodging my desperate, thrashing cock—which might as well have been screaming 'Please pay attention to me!'—with annoying precision, she kept at the waxing. Soon, my cock and lower abdomen were a smooth plain. She picked up the tweezers for the finishing touches—ingrowns too stubborn for wax.
Her left hand pressed near the base, spreading to expose a hidden hair. As her right hand's tweezers clamped it—
Twitch. My abs clenched involuntarily. My cock leaped like a mullet breaking the surface, on the verge of knocking the tweezers away.
Slurp. Chloro caught it in her mouth.
The warmth, comfort, and wetness enveloped me in bliss. Pop. She plucked the hair, but I barely registered the pain. Her long tongue had already coiled around the head once.
"Hngh." The long-forgotten pleasure drew a moan from me; I clapped a hand over my mouth. Guys groaning felt embarrassing, right?
Pop. For the second hair, her upright tongue dipped lightly into my slit. Like a pebble in a still pond, ripples of pleasure spread from my urethra.
Was this like how nurses tap your ass before an injection to distract? It worked wonders. But Chloro wasn't one to play fair. As all my nerves focused expectantly on the head, she ambushed me. Ping ping ping. One hand flicked my nipples—light upward, light downward, then hard upward.
The electric jolt from my nips raced up my spine, flooding my upper body. Were men's nipples this sensitive?
"Ah." Another shameful moan escaped.
I'd never anticipated this kind of stimulation. Looking down, my eyes met hers. She beamed mischievously. A signal to look at her face, probably. Even with a dick in her mouth, she exuded sweetness over sleaziness. It wasn't just the second-gen doll's beauty. It was Chloro's kindness, her caring intent shining in that smile.
With my cock in her mouth, she rolled her narrowed eyes playfully while wielding the tweezers. Her hands on my lower abdomen created a bizarre pose and expression. She shifted the joystick-like dick in her mouth to avoid obstructing her work. Lips smacking softly, tongue wiggling, eyes spinning. Breasts jiggling. The dizzying sight was comical, arousing, and surreal all at once.
She clearly wanted to wring every drop of pleasure and spectacle from this waxing session.
Pop. Her tongue lapped the frenulum underside. A small spark shot from there to my lower abs.
Pop. Quick laps along the head's backside. That Japanese kariseme technique?
Pop. Her broad tongue enveloped the whole head, pressing and kneading like sushi rice. It squished violently, pleasure exploding outward.
Then her tongue stretched impossibly long, spiraling around the shaft. Humanly impossible.
Pop. Felt like an electric drill whirring. From base to tip, it twisted upward like wringing a rag.
Pop. What woman's tongue could move so delicately yet fiercely? Chloro's savage yet sweet torment squeezed my mind into haze. The faint sting of plucking vanished before the tidal wave of ecstasy.
Pop. Fierce pleasure charged from my lower abs to the tip like a racehorse, bent on one goal: release.
Then her tongue stopped. Tap. Like scolding a kid—'No jumping here!'—or petting a child's head, her flat tongue settled atop the head.
I pleaded with my eyes. She gave a firm look—the first stern one she'd shown me. 'Not yet,' her eyes said. Mouth still full of my cock.
Pop. She released it, slick with saliva and precum. A few shakes in her hand, and I'd fountain cum everywhere.
"Front's all done."
Ignoring my gaze, she reached for my stomach. Long, slender fingers traced my navel, sliding down to my smooth lower abs. The bare skin clung to her fingers, sending delightful shivers.
Lower still. Brushing my fully erect shaft sent faint thrills. Finally, she stroked the head. 'Please grab it. Please stroke it.' My eyes begged.
Chloro smiled sweetly in response. "No."
From prostate through urethra to the tip: a straight sensory highway jammed with pleasure traffic. And at the destination? One red light.
"Hair removal isn't finished yet." Her hands swept up my ribs. A different thrill—not sexual—prickled my whole body in goosebumps.
Ping. Up to flick both nipples. The side-zing mixed with nipple pleasure tangled my breath. Even a fraction rebounding to my lower abs made my cock thrash, leaking precum.
"Chloro." My voice trembled. She'd get the plea in what I left unsaid.
She ignored it. "Turn over."
Her eyes and voice were kind, but her tone unyielding. "Now."
The words commanded, the voice warmed, her eyes promised love—like 'Trust me for greater pleasure.' I had no choice but to obey.