Forty-Day Doll 5
I sat back against the bed, leaning into it.
Because of the posture, the metal anal plug registered with vivid clarity.
The hard anal plug.
In that instant my mind changed.
I picked up the hard glass dildo and brought it to my pussy.
The shape—like ping-pong balls strung together—looked vicious. Even so, I exhaled a long breath and slowly applied pressure.
“Hah…b!”
Just like the plug, once I cleared the thickest section it slid right in. Yet with the anal plug already seated, the stimulation felt insane. No—it was insane.
The ridges of the glass dildo meshed with the curves of the anal plug like interlocking gears. Whenever I forced it deeper, it had to climb over the stationary plug, raking my vaginal walls the whole way.
“Hwaaah♡”
Only two of the beads, and already… what would happen if I pushed further?
Come to think of it, I still needed the Fairy Wand on my clit. I grabbed the wand I’d set aside while inserting the plug, clicked it to the first setting, and coiled my tail around it.
Slowly. Very slowly.
I parted my outer labia with my fingers and brought the head against my thoroughly hardened clitoris.
“!!!”
I jerked it away again.
Breathing hard, I eased it back into place. The Fairy Wand’s vibration traveled through the rigid glass, and that resonant torment continuously worked the walls already locked against the plug. It felt as though the dildo and the plug were singing to each other.
I pushed another bead inside.
“Kkeuk!”
Then another.
“!!”
Again… again…
My hand trembled as if seized by a spasm, yet I refused to stop. This time I drew the dildo almost all the way out and drove it back home.
“Haahk!!♡”
As I gradually adapted, the first-entry shock dulled—but the piston motion that followed was maddeningly intense.
Squelch! Squelch!
I turned the Fairy Wand higher. Left hand clamped hard on my breast, right hand thrusting the glass shaft.
“Hah… hah…”
Just before the peak I tore the wand away and yanked the dildo free. Any more and I would have gone over. I still hadn’t even used the silicone one…
I breathed out slowly until the edge receded. Then I planted the silicone dildo on the floor. Love juices sprayed everywhere had left the surface slick, yet the moisture only helped the suction cup lock down hard.
I squatted carefully, lined myself up, and settled my weight onto it.
“Hheup!”
A completely different sensation from the glass. Instead of climbing ridges, this one flexed and yielded, offering its own distinct charm.
I dialed the Fairy Wand to five, let my tail grip it, and pressed the head to my clit.
“Haaaahng!!♡”
Remarkably stable. And still devastatingly stimulating. Right hand braced on the floor, left hand kneading my breast, I began to move. Every bounce set my heavy breasts swaying—pure visual fuel—while milk sprayed free in thin, glittering arcs that only stoked the fire higher.
“Haahk!! Haahk!!”
Streams of juice pooled on the floor. I was close. I cranked the wand again.
Bzzzzzzz!
The motor’s roar filled the room; the pulse against my clit climbed another merciless notch. This was the end. Both hands mauling my breasts, I snapped my hips faster, wringing out the last of it.
“Hak!♡… Haahk♡…”
Deep, broken breaths escaped with every bottoming thrust. Pleasure spiked to its absolute peak—and as the orgasm detonated—
I slipped.
!?
My foot shot out from under me. My entire weight dropped onto the dildo.
Thud!
It punched straight through my womb.
“Kkeup!!”
The sensation of something spearing my guts arrived together with a savage climax. My vision warped. A little more—then further still—until everything went black.
I came to around nine on Saturday morning.
Sitting up, I surveyed the wreckage: dried streaks of love juice and breast milk glued to the floor in every direction. Memory of last night’s slip—and how deep the dildo had driven—returned at once.
Unlike the first time I’d used a dildo, no white band remained at the base.
“…”
Apparently the fall had seated it all the way to the hilt. I stroked the womb tattoo with my left hand. That depth should have hurt like hell, yet my super-regeneration trait had erased the pain. I’d learned the limits while cleaning trash after the possession: a can-lid slash or a deep bruise closed at visible speed if I focused, and even without focus vanished in under thirty minutes. The impact that should have wrecked my cervix simply… didn’t.
I spread my palm to measure the dildo’s length, then laid that same span against my lower belly. The tip of my thumb—marking the end—reached past the heart tattoo nearly to my navel.
Amazing.
It claimed 7.5 inches, yet it felt longer. Even measured by finger it was substantial, and the fact that every last inch had vanished inside me left me stunned.
Only then did I remember the plug was still in; I’d blacked out with it seated. Standing, it refused to come free. I squatted like using a traditional toilet, applied the lightest pressure, and eased it out. My rectum seemed ready to follow—until the thickest flare cleared.
“Eut…”
It popped free with a soft sound. Only a little thicker than a bottle cap, yet it had felt enormous; no wonder extraction was stubborn.
“Huu…”
Time to clean up and cobble together a product review.
Monday arrived. The boss didn’t show until after lunch, then summoned me the moment he did—same as always.
Secretary Choi sometimes rode the elevator right after parking, but more often he lingered downstairs for a long while. That window was why the boss called me the second he stepped into the office: a time slot that kept Secretary Choi from growing suspicious. The boss knew it too.
“Did you like the gift?”
The toys themselves weren’t bad. They were something I could enjoy alone in my own space. Having to report that enjoyment to him, though, was another matter.
“…Yes.”
I had no desire to elaborate. Short was better.
“And the homework?”
He had noticed the approval folder the moment I entered. Knowing his gaze was on it, I slid the folder toward him. He immediately pushed it back.
“Read it out loud.”
“…”
He reclined his chair, propped both feet on the desk edge, and settled into pure, deliberate leisure. The posture itself was an insult, but I had no options. I opened the folder and began, voice flat and mechanical, stripped of every emotion.
“The feeling of being filled inside was much better than expected. The length reached deep and stimulated thoroughly. It isn’t the real thing, of course, but it was surprisingly satisfying. I played with it several times over the weekend.”
“…”
I risked a glance. His eyes had been closed, yet the moment they met mine the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“The name?”
I knew it; every package had carried the product title. Speaking it aloud, however, burned.
“…Non-toxic Cl…ear 7.5-inch Mas…sive… Dildo.”
A tremor must have leaked into my voice. His smile deepened, as if that was exactly the reaction he’d wanted.
“The review’s a little thin. Show me the photo.”
I handed over the single sheet clipped inside the folder. He glanced at the print, then took it and stared hard. After a moment he laughed—softly at first, then louder—before wiping the expression away and sitting upright.
“Don’t you have another photo to show me?”
“…No.”
He couldn’t possibly know. Yet my answer only made him smile again.
“Last chance. Do you have it, or don’t you?”
That smile was unsettling, but consistency was the only shield left. He had no proof I possessed anything better. If I denied it and he ordered me to produce a “proper” shot, I could at least buy the rest of the day—and every day gained shortened the remaining sentence.
“I don’t.”
He laughed as though the whole thing were pure entertainment.
“…”
Then, expression settling while the smile still bloomed across his face:
“Really the last one. Guess why I laughed and I’ll let it slide.”
“…”
I racked my brain and found nothing. He always smiled while tormenting me; normally I could have claimed he simply found my reaction amusing. This wasn’t that kind of moment.
What is it?
He had started laughing the instant he saw the printed photo, so the answer had to be there. Yet all I’d printed was a shot of the dildo held beside my hand. It fell short of his full demand, but it was still a usable review photo—taken by me, a woman’s hand, nothing stolen. No reason to laugh.
“…”
“Ten seconds.”
He began counting, slow and deliberate. I still had nothing.
Did I miss something? No…
Five.
Four.
Three.
“I think it’s because of the photo.”
“Wrong.”
He finished the countdown and said zero.
“Aren’t you curious about the answer?”
“…”
This time, I was.
“Yes.”
“You’re far too competent.”
He rose and approached with unhurried steps.
“You ought to be a complete amateur with zero experience. Yet you’re ridiculously seasoned.”
“…”
What does that mean?
“At your age it’s almost a natural gift.”
He stopped directly in front of me.
“Sharp instincts, good sense. You pick up on things without me even spelling them out.”
“…”
“Excellent crisis management, too.”
He paused, then grinned.
“So why would someone who usually reads my intentions so perfectly suddenly fail this time?”
One more step closed the distance until I could hear him breathe.
“Either you deliberately never took the photo… or you hid the real one.”
“…”
“And from where I’m standing, you hid it.”
My mouth went dry.
“I gave you multiple chances to confess. You refused every one.”
Another brief pause.
Then:
“Lying so brazenly… isn’t it fun?”
He laughed again—deeply.
And cruelly.