Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 372: Erotic Blonde Sex Doll

I widened my eyes on purpose, letting my cheeks turn red just right, while hunching my shoulders even more to play the part of the timid, flustered spouse. My tone fell to a shaky murmur as I peeked up at Anya from beneath my eyelids.

"But... Doctor... I’m not familiar with sex toys... is it safe...?"

Anya’s mouth opened a bit; she ran her tongue over her lips once, without thinking, before pulling herself together. Her eyes darted toward Olivia and Nancy—both ladies now panting more deeply, faces rosy, eyes wide from the endless stench of semen and expanded rear end permeating the tiny office.

"Olivia, Nancy," Anya commanded, her tone deep yet steady, "fetch the demo unit. The version with the human-like synthetic aroma."

The pair shared a brief, intense look—then hurried off silently. They exited, the door latching quietly in their wake.

Within moments, Olivia and Nancy came back, heaving together with the bulk of a big black transport box. They placed it on the ground with a solid thump, then pulled open the zippers side by side.

The top swung wide.

Nestled within was an ultra-lifelike sex doll—blonde MILF style, looking about mid-30s, positioned supine with thighs a touch spread in welcome.

The detail was downright lewd: supple, heated silicone flesh that colored true-to-life when pressed, generous, weighty bosom with shadowed, stiffened peaks pointing skyward, a neatly groomed yet noticeable tuft of lifelike pubic fuzz bordering full, separated folds that shone with pre-applied slickness. Even from afar, the subtle, crafted "human" fragrance drifted forth—body warmth, light earthy note, a gentle womanly sharpness crafted to echo after-excitement.

Olivia leaned over and raised the upper body a fraction for our view: the doll’s rear was flawlessly shaped as well, globes solid but pliant, featuring a snug, wrinkled entrance already faintly open as though anticipating.

Anya approached, walking around the doll gradually like a hunter eyeing quarry.

"This serves as our healing support model," she described, her voice gravelly even amid the medical phrasing.

"Complete-body reactive silicone. Built-in warmer set to 37°C. Aroma emitters built to emit pheromones upon touch and in the course of... operation. Vaginal, anal, and oral passages feature varied textures, auto-moisturizing, and precise bodily likeness. It helps... channel surplus male desires without endangering your spouse’s well-being."

She looked my way—then toward Nathalie, who remained folded and oozing across the desktop.

Nathalie’s face jerked upward. Her dazed gaze fixed on the doll—huge, teary, blazing with a whirlwind of envy and desperate craving. The fake blonde MILF rested there like a taunting reflection: ideal breasts rising with fake respiration, intimate lips divided and shiny, rear curves sleek and alluring.

Anya’s words sliced the dense atmosphere, even but laden with a deeper edge.

"Nancy, Olivia... kindly demonstrate and assist Mr. Dexter in testing the sex toy. Since it’s his initial encounter with the sex toy. Ensure he achieves peak—thoroughly. We require precise measurements of output amount and length for the treatment plan."

Olivia acted swiftly. She traversed the space in a few brisk steps, her hips rolling beneath her uniform trousers, and secured the office door’s bolt with a firm twist. The click rang out like a race’s beginning shot. No disturbances anymore. No way out.

Nancy had dropped to her knees by the unpacked container, trailing a palm along the doll’s inner leg like checking heat. "She’s warmed to body level," she whispered, nearly in awe. "Feels... eerily authentic."

Anya faced Nathalie, who stayed curved over the table, backside elevated, opening twitching and seeping, scarlet Louboutins quivering against the ground.

"Mrs. Nathalie," Anya spoke gently, moving near enough for her lab coat to graze the semen-stained flesh of Nathalie’s leg, "allow me to perform a full examination on you as your husband gets... engaged. We must evaluate the degree of dilation, leftover semen quantity, and potential tiny rips. Remain just as you are. Don’t shift."

Nathalie let out a soft cry—a quiet, fractured noise—but bobbed her head wildly. Her nails dug into the desk’s rim. "Yes... Doctor... please..."

Anya stood tall, stripping away her now-tacky gloves with careful leisure. She pointed to the cushioned lounge chair in the room’s corner—the sort typically used for intimate checks, now set for a much raunchier role.

"Kindly settle onto the recliner here, facing up," Anya directed, her voice hushed and heavy. "And hike your dress completely upward. Take off any lingerie. I require complete, clear entry for a detailed inner and outer review."

Nathalie’s whole frame turned deep red. She eased from the desk on shaky limbs, the red Louboutins tapping unevenly over the surface. Semen continued to dribble in thick, sticky paths along her inner legs with each motion, creating glossy tracks on the flooring.

She arrived at the recliner, pivoted, and eased onto the chilled hide. The support tilted back a bit with a switch press; her legs folded and separated naturally as the leg support ascended.

Her unsteady fingers clutched the skirt’s bottom—already wrinkled at her midsection—and pulled it further, baring the damp, inflated edges of her intimate area.

Nothing shielded her core; the underthings lingered in another spot. Her petals gleamed lewdly—swollen from prior rubbing, nub swollen and emerging from cover, a constant flow of her excitement blending with traces of my previous deposit.

Anya positioned herself amid Nathalie’s open legs, gaze sharpening as an item drew her notice below.

"What... is that?" Anya muttered.

A bit of dark lace showed from the widened, bloated circle of Nathalie’s rear entrance—partly embedded, the material stained and soaked, sticking damply to the battered edge.

Anya skipped any reply. She curled two digits around the sticking-out part and pulled—gently initially, then with consistent, firm force.

Nathalie’s spine bowed from the seat. "Aaaaaah...!"

The lingerie slid free in a drawn-out, dirty drag—making wet, squishing sounds as it scraped her inner lining. Dense strands of my semen trailed right after, surging forth in thick bursts once the impromptu stopper left her border.

The milky torrent spilled from her widened rear, drenching the recliner under her in mere heartbeats. Pale streams trailed along her cleft, gathered in the hide’s fold, trickled past to patter onto the ground.

Anya halted, digits gripping the soggy bundle of fabric in the air. Her gaze stretched wide, eyes enlarged, mouth agape in shocked intrigue. "Such quantity..." she exhaled. "It’s... keeping on flowing. See the amount."

Nancy and Olivia pressed in nearer, dropping all pretense of neutrality. Nancy’s palm wandered to her chest, kneading beneath her uniform. Olivia moistened her lips without notice, fixating on the nonstop drip from Nathalie’s damaged passage.

"It’s... all over," Olivia rasped, tone rough. "The recliner’s wrecked. And she’s still open... see how it’s throbbing, attempting to seal."