Ashe stared at the word, his eyes skimming the description.

  Assignment: Brothel (High Credits)Description: Assist living doll in preparing for her client — or assist living doll clients with alleviation.

  “...The hell does that mean?”

  A fresh chill rolled through his stomach, distinct from the cube’s sterile air. The options were clear: take the supporting role, or become the featured attraction. Both suggested hands-on service—each in its own way.

  The biting cold, the promise of warmth, and the lure of serious credits pushed his legs forward.

  Maybe assisting wouldn’t be so bad. Helping a few pretty girls get ready for work—there were worse ways to spend a shift.If he was the one doing the alleviating, though… well, that probably meant women too, right?

  The thought made his pulse skip. He’d never even kissed anyone, let alone done that. The idea of being alone with a real woman—skin, breath, eye contact—was enough to make his face burn.

  He stepped into a marble-tiled suite lit in soft gold. The air smelled of vender and synthetic ozone—warm enough to ease the goosebumps from his skin. Plush towels lined chrome racks; high-end toiletries glinted along the vanity. A wardrobe stand waited to one side, elegant and untouched.

  It felt more spa than brothel—refined to the point of unreality.

  “Come here.”

  The voice startled him.

  Sweet—yet off. A mechanical polish sanded the edges from every sylble. He hadn’t heard another person speak since arriving here.

  He turned toward the sound.

  There she sat—perched on the edge of the tub bench.

  A beautiful woman: voluptuous, motionless, her eyes half-lidded in a dreamy trance. Her presence was magnetic—unnerving. Not quite alive, not quite artificial.

  Ashe’s body betrayed him with a twitch beneath the thin bnket around his waist. He gritted his teeth and adjusted it as subtly as he could.

  Unscensored Version“H-hello! I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Come here,” she repeated. Same tone. Same inflection. No recognition of his words.

  He stepped closer, shame blooming hot across his face. His eyes flicked downward—anywhere but her gaze. God, he hoped she hadn’t seen the duck-print panties hiding beneath his makeshift skirt.

  “Prep me for shaving. Quickly. Time is ticking.”

  Her tone was ft—robotic.

  He raised his eyes, heart sinking. She had no pupils—only smooth, perfect white.

  Mannequin.

  From a distance, she could pass for real—but up close, she was too perfect. No pores. No breath. No blink. Every curve sculpted to visual precision.

  So this is the living doll, huh…

  Disappointment curdled with relief. He grabbed the shaving cream from the shelf, blinking away confusion. There wasn’t a single visible hair on her body.

  “Start at the top and move downward,” she said.

  With a swallow, he obeyed.

  He thered her arms, watching the foam cling to the fwless imitation of skin. Then he lifted the razor and began—careful, methodical—as if she were grading every stroke.

  Down her arms. Over her shoulders. Across her colrbones—

  Then her thighs parted.

  He froze.

  She didn’t move or acknowledge the shift, but the precision of her design left no doubt about what she was meant to imitate.The realism was unsettling—every line and curve rendered with impossible care.

  Mere inches away y a perfect pussy.

  Ashe had never been this close to a woman before. His mind scrambled for logic, but instinct was faster.

  Heat flushed up his neck; his member throbbed, straining painfully against the confines of his panties. The bnket-skirt did little to hide it now.

  Is it strange to wonder what that feels like?The thought came uninvited, shame spreading through him like fever.

  “We are falling behind. Continue,” the doll said.

  Her voice cut clean through the haze. He swallowed hard and forced his focus downward.

  Just do the job.

  “Scrub me.”

  She stepped into the bath with mechanical grace, settling into the water as if she’d done it a hundred times.

  He stripped off his hoodie to keep it dry—his skirt had fallen away somewhere along the line—and knelt beside the tub.

  His hands moved over her skin, fingers slipping along the slick curves of her shoulders, her arms, her stomach. She offered no reaction—only warmth, synthetic flesh, and steam.

  His panties clung uncomfortably to his hips. He didn’t dare look down.

  “Dry me.”

  She stood, dripping, and walked to the vanity with showroom precision. Ashe followed with a plush towel, patting her down—face, arms, hips, legs—rushing now, trying to make up for lost time.

  Her expression didn’t change.

  He blinked. “Where’s the rest?” he asked, gncing at the skimpy pile on the wardrobe rack.

  “That is all the John requested.”

  He lifted the outfit: a cy bck push-up bra, matching panties with a suspicious hole in the back, and a pair of thigh-high stockings.

  Ashe hesitated, then dressed her quickly. Each piece clung perfectly to her frame.

  “Apply makeup.”

  He moved to the vanity. Foundation. Powder. Lipstick. The motions were clumsy, but something old stirred—a faint memory of painting his little sister’s nails, and letting her paint his in return.

  He finished with mascara and reached for the small gss bottle on the counter.

  “It’s time.”

  She stood—fully dressed—and walked wordlessly through a door at the far end of the room.

  Ashe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  Finished… just in time.

  Well. Sort of.

  The second mannequin arrived—a near-identical figure with a different hairstyle. Ashe fell back into the rhythm: shave, bathe, dry, dress, and apply makeup. This time, the steps came faster. His hands trembled less. The eyeliner looked cleaner. He finished ahead of schedule, with just enough pride to sting.

  A third doll appeared—same body, new face, and a subtle request: “Warm rinse, please.” Her skin felt colder than the others, rigid and stiff. While scrubbing her back, Ashe experimented with a gentle massage. To his surprise, she responded softly, “Thank you, dear.”

  It was the first unscripted line he’d heard. Whether a glitch or something else, it sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, he almost asked her name—but the thought felt dangerous, like stepping over a line he can’t see.

  He finished the rest of the routine in silence, more careful than before.

  By the time the third living doll exited through the back door, Ashe was exhausted.Three hours of scrubbing synthetic flesh and dressing mannequins in ce and perfume had worn him down both physically and mentally.His thighs ached, his fingers were pruned from bathwater, and the heat running through him had nowhere to go.

  His groin ached, still fully alert. It had been begging for attention for hours now.

  I should’ve taken care of it st night—under the covers, quiet, when no one was watching.Would’ve made this a little easier.

  The door hissed open one final time.

  Rose-scented steam curled thick through the air, blurring the figure that stepped inside. This one was different—shorter, slimmer, with a delicate face and smaller frame. For a split second, he thought, boy?

  But as the steam thinned, he caught sight of modest curves on her chest beneath the haze. Definitely a woman—just not as voluptuous as the others.

  Ashe turned to grab the shaving cream, bending forward. As he grabbed it, something hard pressed between his buttcheeks—sudden and precise, pressure building against his special pce. His steam-dampened panties clung tightly to his every curve, giving very little protection from the sudden intrusion.

  Ashe instinctively clenched and jerked upright, spinning around as the can of shaving cream slipped from his hand.

  Now facing her up close, Ashe saw she really was shorter—her build slighter, her features younger than the others.The doll’s pupil-less eyes seemed fixed on him, cheeks faintly flushed, as if from exertion—or something else entirely.

  “Lucky,” she purred. “To have such a cute girl preparing me tonight.”

  Ashe’s face flushed hot, his brain gging to process the words. He’d been called a girl before, sure—but never mistaken for one. Not to his face.

  “N-no, I’m not—” He dropped into a squat to retrieve the fallen can, grasping for routine, for anything normal. What brushed against his nose was anything but normal, the “intrusion” twitched happily at the contact.

  He froze, jaw dropping. Too rge, too close. A hand slid through his hair, slow and lovingly. Her voice followed, sugar-slick and too close.“I didn’t realize I’d be receiving a warm-up first.”

  Unscensored image

  The words sank in. Ashe’s stomach turned as the shape of what was coming took form. If he didn’t find a way to stop this, fast, he knew exactly where it would lead.

  “No!” Ashe blurted. “I’m here to prep you. That’s all.” His voice came out thin and brittle.

  The doll’s disappointment felt so real it almost broke the illusion.

  “A shame,” she murmured.

  But she didn’t argue. She simply sat at the tub’s edge and waited for him to begin.

  The process was the same as before, but Ashe’s hands shook.The shaving cream foamed under his fingertips, the rhythm breaking as he reached the part of the routine he dreaded.The warmth coming off her skin made his pulse trip.“A-are you a boy or a girl?” he blurted.“Tonight I am to be a girl,” she said. “It is rarely satisfying.”“Oh.” The word slipped out before he could stop it.The answer only made him feel more out of pce. His hand rotated her excited joystick as he worked.

  Once Ashe finished, she slid into the bath and leaned back, eyes half-lidded.“You look tired,” she said. “Care to join me?”

  He froze. None of the others had spoken like that—or shown anything close to emotion.The offer hung between them. The water looked warm. His skin itched with sweat and steam. He hadn’t felt clean since he arrived.

  “…Is that allowed?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  “I won’t tell,” she murmured, tone sweet but the pause afterward stretched too long. “Perhaps.”

  Ashe hesitated, steam coiling around him like a curtain. For a long moment he just stood there, trembling—not from cold, but from confusion, from shame, from a frustration he doesn’t know how to name. The steam hid him, emboldening him. With shaky hands he shed what little protection he had left.

  The tub felt smaller than it should. Her knee brushed his. Their movements mirrored each other, though hers seemed deliberate where his were hesitant. He became painfully aware of every inch that separates—or doesn’t separate—them. Their tips nearly kissed each other, his eyes refused to obey; it’s as if he’s been hypnotized by the wrong thing

  She’s… built differently. He’d always thought four inches was respectable, but next to her, he felt like a little princess.

  “You’re quite small,” she said, amusement curling through her voice. “How… delicate.”

  The sudden voice jolted Ashe from his trance. His gaze snapped to hers—and his stomach dropped.

  The doll was smiling. Not the empty, polite kind the others wore, but something sharp and deliberate.A devilish grin spread across her face, eyes gleaming with a predator’s focus.

  Despite the water’s pleasant warmth, a chill reached somepce deep and unfamiliar.He forced himself to steady, regaining just enough composure to resume the task—cleaning her as he had the others. When his hands moved higher, she changed. The stillness broke; her eyes snapped open, and her hand shot out, seizing his wrist.

  Her grip tightened, forcing his hand downward.“Here,” she ordered. “Now.”

  His body moved before his mind caught up, acting on command. Both his hands wrapped around her, stroking and thering. A heavenly moan slipped from the doll’s lips.

  Ashe decided he’d done enough and tried to move on—anywhere else, anywhere at all.

  “You’re not finished there yet!”

  The words came out jagged, almost a snarl. It was the first time she’d sounded angry.Everything inside him went quiet. His body stayed where it was, too locked up to move.

  She shifted, cupping water to rinse herself, then rose to her full height.“You’ve broken protocol by joining the bath,” she said softly. “There will be consequences.”

  Ashe nodded meekly, the doll’s frustrated shadow looming over him.“I was going to be merciful, let you use your hands,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “But you’ve made that difficult.”

  Her meat nded with a wet sp on Ashe's face. “You’re such a little cock tease, you know.” Her words turned sharp, “With how you taunted me with that juicy ass... acting like you didn’t know what you were doing. But your little princess wand gave you away. You wanted attention, and now you’ve got it.”

  Her voice dropped until it was almost a purr.“Hands aren’t enough anymore,” she said. “I want your pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock. Do you understand?” Disgust cwed its way up his throat, but the doll’s voice pressed on, unbothered. “You’ve been testing me, now it’s my turn. If your mouth fails, I’ll just take those sweet cheeks of yours instead, those thin cotton panties won't be there to protect you this time."

  Ashe folded in on himself like a rabbit pressed ft beneath a hawk’s shadow; his ‘princes wand’ shrunk, small and docile. It took only a heartbeat for Ashe to understand that resistance was futile. His exit would be demolished and remade into an entrance, assuming it stayed intact. Somewhere in the static of his thoughts came a single, absurd line: this wasn’t how he’d imagined losing his virginity. He did what was demanded because the alternative was worse.

  His lips stretched around her. Of course he had no idea what he was doing. He’d never had the chance to learn, never even been on the receiving end of this type of affection. He’d pictured things like this before, with Monica. How he wished she would touch him. His brain did what it could to protect him. The scene blurred; he wasn’t himself anymore, he was Monica, and the cock he was currently wrapping his tongue around? that was his.

  His body moved on its own, thoughts erased by rhythm. The sweet voice returned, drifting through him like smoke, curling deep into his mind.

  Lost inside his own head, Ashe let the fantasy take him, of all the ways he wished Monica would service him.His tongue stroked her gnds, his full lips bobbed up and down on her staff, desperate to please, hungry for what lies at the end. Ashe slurped as he worked. Then she made a sound he hadn’t thought possible—a low, shivering noise somewhere between a growl and a moan.

  It snapped him back to himself in an instant.

  Before he could react, her hand cmped against the back of his head—too strong, too fast. He felt every inch of her aggressively slide down his throat before it twitched...

  again...

  and again...

  over and over...

  Each time was followed by a warm sensation that shot down his throat to his very core.Instinct took over—he jerked, muscles locking as panic surged. He couldn’t breathe. The pressure built in his chest, dizzy and sharp, and for a moment he thought he might pass out. None of his squirming had any effect onher iron grip.

  Finally, she pulled herself out of his throat, with a slow wet plop. When it finally ended, Ashe’s lungs seized, and he sucked in air so violently it hurt. Her warm and slimy ‘girl’ goo clung to his tongue and the back of his throat like syrup— thick, wrong, and impossible to swallow.

  Once the coughing fit passed, Ashe dragged in a shaky breath and finally managed to track the doll with his eyes.

  The doll had already left the bath, rinsed herself, and stood there looking perfectly composed. A faint smile pyed on her lips. “Hurry, little one,” she cooed. She waited patiently, as if expecting Ashe to proceed to the next step of the routine — drying her off.

  Ashe felt a jumble of emotions—disgust, shame, emptiness—but beneath it all, a hot pulse of lust sparked by his own fantasies. Moving on autopilot, he began patting the doll dry. She paused, head tilting slightly, as if she pitied him.

  “Come now, don’t make that face. Be a good girl and finish up—I might even let you dry yourself.”

  She smiled, further sweetening the offer. “I’ll even touch your boy bits—if that’s what you call that cute little thing.”

  She put extra emphasis on boy, like that would somehow make him feel better.

  Through the haze in his head, Ashe caught only fragments of meaning—just enough to want it. The allure of having the doll’s soft hands and the promise of her sugar-sweet mouth carried him forward.

  He toweled her off, then slipped a standard-looking sailor-style school uniform over her fwless frame. The doll almost looked cute in the pleated skirt—until Ashe caught himself trying not to think about what y beneath the hem, and the thought tangled his feelings. At her direction, he added a swipe of powder, a hint of blush, a touch of mascara.

  When he stepped back, her lips curved into a faint smile. “Good,” she murmured. “Now for your reward.”

  A satin-soft hand cupped his bare crotch; her lips drifted close enough for her breath to warm his cheek. For half a heartbeat, Ashe’s eyes fluttered shut—a dizzy, impossible flicker of comfort and approval blooming in his chest.

  Her hand lingered, gentle enough to make him forget where he was. For a breath, he gently rocked his hips, leaning into her touch—Then—sp. A sharp flick to his testicles, just enough to sting and steal the air from his lungs. She giggled. “Thanks for the lovely time,” she cooed, gliding out through the exit like every doll before her.

  Still dazed, Ashe forgot he was bottomless. The haze of disappointment carried him out of the bathroom as he clutched his discarded hoodie and bnket, bare feet padding against the cold floor. It wasn’t until the chill of the cube hit him like ice that he snapped back to himself. He finally pulled the hoodie on and wrapped himself in the bnket as he shivered.

  Job Summary — BrothelBase: 40 crReceived Tip from variant #4: +20 crTotal Earned: 60 cr

  Credit Bance: 108

  Of course she’d leave a tip, he thought numbly. Funny.

  The cube was warmer now—maybe fifty degrees, enough to sting less but still bite at his bare skin. Ashe drew his knees to his chest, pressing his face into the fabric of his hoodie until the trembling eased. He wasn’t sure if the warmth was a kindness or the system’s idea of a joke. Either way, he needed clothes. Real ones. And something—anything—to wash the doll’s salty finish from his mouth.

  The menu loaded. Not a single neutral basic this time—just pinks, ribbons, and soft fabrics that looked cold to the touch.

  Silky bra & panty set — 60 cr“Unwrap Me” Lingerie — 100 cr

  He stared at the list until the screen blurred.

  So they got rid of the shorts too.

  Prices bit. The air bit harder. He scrolled once more and settled on:

  Simple short skirt — 15 crWarm-looking thigh-highs — 10 crReplica duck-print panties — 3 cr (cheapest option)Single-use toothbrush & paste — 8 crSterile water bottle — 3 cr

  -39?crCredit Bance: 69

  The delivery hatch hissed open. Ashe dropped the bnket skirt, revealing his quite wide and feminine hips, soft thighs and slender legs. His plump yet firm backside, which had caught the eye of many, whether he knew it or not, jiggled slightly as he rushed to grab his new attire. From behind he looked like a delicate half-dressed girl—until the hard truth poking out between his thighs ruined the illusion.

  The dolls’ intrusive fun left his body raw. His cock jerked painfully, swollen balls begging for release. His mind swam with conflicting signals—shame, confusion—disgust. But his body betrayed him.

  Once dressed and a little warmer, Ashe stumbled to the bathroom corner—the “toilet bucket.” He downed half the sterile water in three burning gulps, throat still raw from panic and strain. The toothbrush pack tore under trembling fingers. He scrubbed until his gums throbbed and the bitter film peeled away, yer by yer. The empty tube and brush cttered into the bucket.Only then did he stop moving long enough to think—about the things he’d been forced to do, and how little of himself felt real anymore.

  Yet despite his best efforts, he couldn’t focus. New clothes on: panties snapped snug, thigh-highs climbed, skirt swished—a thin shield against the chill and shame. He kneaded the fabric of the thigh-highs, as if the friction alone could burn away the ache still coiled in his body. He pressed a palm to the wall, forcing himself upright, jaw locked against the swirl in his chest. His knees buckled anyway.

  The words ripped out before he could stop them. “I can’t take this anymore!”

  He slumped to the floor, hoodie pooling around his shoulders. The skirt bunched as he pulled it up over his face—half hiding, half revealing. He wanted to cry. The shock was wearing off, emotions he wasn’t built to handle came flooding in. Panic and hunger tangled until he barely knew what he was doing.

  Panties already pulled aside, his movements turned animal—fast, uneven, desperate, only one thing mattered at this moment. Face buried in the fabric, his hips moved on their own—driven by something raw and instinctive. The tension was building. His breath came hot and heavy. Pumping faster, his eyes squeezed shut... Pleasure detonated, an orgasm so intense that his body shook, trembling until his bance gave out. He fell backward, hitting the floor with a dull thud. He y there exposed, trembling, as hot cream coated his hand.

  Mind bnk, he stayed where he was until his breath finally steadied. After a long moment, he peeked out, hesitation blooming. His hand hung in the air, covered in his own love juices. The thought came uninvited, Do I taste like that? Having nothing to clean himself with and not wanting to soil what little he had, he slowly brought his hand to his mouth. A tongue swipe not once, but thrice—"Slightly sweet… mostly the same," he murmured, the words slipping out before he realized he’d spoken.

  Once he finally cooled down, the thought hit him—what had he just done? Here, of all pces. With no idea who might be watching. Shame hit like a wave, rising until he nearly retched. Sick, trembling, and spent, he crawled to the terminal—useless, hollow.

  A call for help—this time, physical. He pced an outgoing request for something that might make him feel clean again.

  Basic Sink Unit — 100 80?cr

  He could only hope someone would answer, for the sake of his hygiene… or his sanity. Curling beneath both bnkets, tears tracing hot paths down his cheeks, he let exhaustion drag him under.

  sUWUly

  ?? Worn Clothing

  Oversized gray hoodie — damp cuffs; faint vender-steam scent

  Short skater skirt — bck cotton; newly delivered

  Warm knit thigh-highs — charcoal; estic still snug

  Replica duck-print panties — fresh & dry

  ?? On-hand (sleep / backup):

  Thin cotton bnket x2

  Foil emergency bnket

  Mostly dry oversized T-shirt

  ?? Room & Gear Inventory

  Bucket Toilet (Tier 1) — gel liner ≈ 20% used

  Assist Plea Posted: wall-sink instaltion — awaiting helper

  Credits: 69 cr

  Influence Tokens: 4 (Chloe)

  ?? Physical & Mental Snapshot

  Hunger: slight, manageable

  Thirst: mild

  Fatigue: exhausted — muscles shaky, eyes gritty

  Cleanliness: moderate — mouth mint-clean

  Body temperature: chilled

  Stress: high — post-brothel tremors

  Mental stability: low — fragile, tearful

  Lust: moderate — subsided after frantic release

  System Log — End of Day 2