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You sat in the chair behind the receptionist’s desk at the new tennis club. Although you’d only been working here for a month, so had everyone else; the club had just opened. The courts were state-of-the-art, and many important people began coming here, including Art Donaldson and Tashi Duncan.

They came early almost every day, except when Art had a match. It was clear she was in charge, always leading him around. When they left, he always looked dejected. She often looked mad at him, and you hated to admit that you liked it, secretly wishing she’d get mad at you too.

It took exactly one month for Art to start talking to you, beyond the usual hello when they came in. Now, he always had some excuse to flirt, like needing a towel or asking about the schedule.

Of course, Tashi noticed. She probably saw him watching you before he even realized himself. But what you didn’t know was that she wanted you too. She thought he could use someone like you, someone younger and eager and not like her; it might make him better at tennis. And perhaps, she just needed to use you to blow off some steam.

Tashi devised a plan to draw you into their orbit. She began compliment you every time she came in, which always made you nervous. She was beautiful, and her husband was really attractive too. You noticed a glint of jealousy in his eyes whenever she praised you, prompting him to up his own game, unaware that Tashi had orchestrated the whole thing.

One morning, Art had lingered at your desk, striking up a casual conversation about a tennis match he had recently watched. He mentioned they were hosting a small gathering at their place that weekend and insisted you joined them. Tashi, who had come to find him, chimed in with agreement, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Flattered and curious, you agreed to come over.

Little did they know, the man they deliberately avoided at the tennis club-adjusting their schedule to avoid overlapping with his, even resorting to bribing you for information on his court reservations-had already had his hooks in you from the day the club opened.

Patrick Zweig had a different style than Art and Tashi. While Tashi was more calculated, taking her time to make her moves, and Art appeared nervous but likely had a hidden strategy, Patrick was fast and direct. On the day the club opened, he wasted no time in making his intentions known. Coming close to you, he reached across the desk to grab your hand and compliment your nails, asking for your number right then and there. You couldn’t help but say yes. How could you refuse, especially when he looked at you like that, with sweat glistening, only adding to his appeal. There was something about his rawness that drew you in.

He came to your apartment that night, and it only took 20 minutes until you were on your knees, tits out, taking his thick cock into your mouth. His head dropped back while your head bobbed up and down. He got around a lot, typically hopping from tinder date to tinder date to get a free place for the night, but he still hadn’t had anyone sucking on him with so much vigor in a long time. You were practically choking yourself on it, tears streaming down your face while he looked down at you slack-jawed.

After a few minutes you pulled off, prompting a “W-what are you-,” from Patrick that was immediately silenced when you took his balls into your mouth, moving them around with your tongue. You could tell he showered right before this, which you appreciated, but would like to experience him after he practices one day.

The gobs of spit flowed out of your mouth, getting all over your face as you nuzzled yourself into his sack. You moved back up to his cock, taking it in your hand and slapping yourself in the face with it. He grunted with approval, the spit strung out in between slaps, you went insane for it, slapping it on your tongue while you looked at him with wide eyes.

He can barely take it anymore, watching you do all the work to defile yourself on him. He takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you off, bending down to your level, whispering in your ear, “Use your words, what do you want me to do?”

You catch your breath, “Take control, Patrick, use my mouth, make me cry, be mean, hit me, spit on me, please.” You meant it all, wanted him to use you however he saw fit, wanted to be the perfect girl for him.

“Get the fuck back on my dick then,” he shoves your head down, holding it in place. He jerks in and out of your mouth, you feel the tip hit the back of your throat over and over. Your tears coated your face, spit pooling around the sides of your mouth. The gagging sounds echoed in your bedroom, it was disgusting. Patrick loved it.

Once he pulled you off for a break, you start to move your mouth further down, shifting your body under his legs, and pulling your mouth away for a second, “Can I-,” before you can finish, he eagerly interrupts with, “Yes, yes please, baby, oh my god.” He loses himself when you put your lips on his puckered hole, licking up the earthy taste, reaching around to jerk his cock at the same time.

“We haven’t even- fuck- we haven’t even kissed yet and you’re already making out with my ass, huh, dirty girl.” He says between moans. You let out a whimper at his words, your wetness pooling in your underwear. “You know, when I complimented your nails today it was because I was- fuck- picturing them wrapped around my cock.” You hum in agreement, pumping his slick cock faster, sending another jolt through his body.

He laughed at you, thinking it was a joke when you showed him your surgery goals, when you said you wanted to be a sex doll in real life.

It wasn’t until you cried that he really got it, it wasn’t a joke to you. He came around to it eventually, more than that, he encouraged you.

He moved in right away, saying you were too dumb to be on your own, and who were you to argue with that?

He took care of you after your surgeries, paid for every size up you wanted on your boobs, told you to get more lip filler because he liked the way they looked around his cock.

He fucked you the way you wanted, like the fleshlight you wanted to be. Facefucked you until you were braindead, used your asshole until it got sore.

“It’s just a decoration, you know that right?” Tashi whispers while looking at your pussy, dripping, clit throbbing from not being touched.

You squirm and whine against the restraints she has you in, desperate for some sort of friction. Her hands rub along your thighs, not giving you what you need.

“You can use your words.” She says, a statement, not a question. “Yes… my pussy’s just a decoration,” you reply in between tears.

She laughs before guiding your shaking legs up, knees almost up to your chin so you’re on display for her.