Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 372: Erotic Blonde Sex Doll

I let my eyes widen, cheeks flushing on cue, shoulders hunching deeper into the role of the shy, overwhelmed husband. My voice dropped to a trembling whisper as I looked up at Anya through my lashes.

"But... Doctor... I don’t know about sex toys... is it safe...?"

Anya’s lips parted slightly; she licked them once, unconsciously, before regaining composure. Her gaze flicked to Olivia and Nancy—both women already breathing harder, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated from the constant reek of cum and stretched ass filling the small office.

"Olivia, Nancy," Anya said, voice low but firm, "bring the demonstration model. The one with the human-synthetic scent profile."

The two nurses exchanged a quick, heated glance—then moved without a word. They slipped out, the door clicking softly behind them.

Olivia and Nancy returned less than a minute later, struggling together under the weight of a large black carrying case. They set it down on the floor with a heavy thud, then unzipped the sides in unison.

The lid fell open.

Inside lay a hyper-realistic sex doll—blonde MILF archetype, mid-30s appearance, posed on her back with legs slightly parted in invitation.

The craftsmanship was obscene: soft, warm silicone skin that flushed realistically under pressure, full, heavy breasts with dark, erect nipples that jutted upward, a trimmed but visible patch of realistic pubic hair framing plump, parted labia that glistened with factory-applied lubricant. Even from across the room, the faint, engineered "human" scent wafted out—warm skin, faint musk, a subtle feminine tang designed to mimic post-arousal.

Olivia reached in and lifted the torso slightly so we could all see: the doll’s ass was perfectly sculpted too, cheeks firm yet yielding, with a tight, puckered anus already slightly parted as if waiting.

Anya stepped forward, circling the doll slowly like a predator assessing prey.

"This is our therapeutic aid model," she explained, voice husky despite the clinical words.

"Full-body responsive silicone. Internal heating to 37°C. Scent glands engineered to release pheromones on contact and during... use. Vaginal, anal, and oral cavities are textured, self-lubricating, and anatomically accurate. It’s designed to... redirect excessive male urges without risking your wife’s health."

She glanced at me—then at Nathalie, still bent and dripping over the desk.

Nathalie’s head snapped up. Her glassy eyes locked on the doll—wide, wet, flashing with a storm of jealousy and raw need. The blonde silicone MILF lay there like a mocking mirror: perfect tits heaving with simulated breath, pussy lips parted and glistening, ass cheeks smooth and inviting.

Anya’s voice cut through the heavy air, calm but thick with something darker.

"Nancy, Olivia... please show and help Mr. Dexter try the sex toy. It’s his first time using the sex toy. Make sure he reaches climax—properly. We need accurate data on release volume and duration for the therapeutic recommendation."

Olivia moved first. She crossed the room in three quick strides, hips swaying under her scrub pants, and twisted the lock on the office door with a decisive click. The sound echoed like a starting gun. No interruptions now. No escape.

Nancy was already kneeling beside the open case, stroking one hand down the doll’s inner thigh as if testing warmth. "She’s at body temperature," she murmured, almost reverently. "Feels... disturbingly real."

Anya turned to Nathalie, who was still bent over the desk, ass high, hole winking and leaking, red Louboutins trembling on the floor.

"Mrs. Nathalie," Anya said softly, stepping close enough that her white coat brushed the cum-smeared skin of Nathalie’s thigh, "let me do a proper check-up on you while your husband is... occupied. We need to assess the extent of stretching, residual semen volume, and any micro-tears. Stay exactly like this. Don’t move."

Nathalie whimpered—a low, broken sound—but nodded frantically. Her fingers clawed at the desk edge. "Yes... Doctor... please..."

Anya straightened, peeling off her now-sticky gloves with deliberate slowness. She gestured toward the padded recliner in the corner of the office—the one usually reserved for pelvic exams, now about to serve a far more obscene purpose.

"Please lie down here on the recliner, facing upward," Anya instructed, voice low and thick. "And lift your dress all the way up. Remove any undergarments. I need full, unobstructed access for a thorough internal and external assessment."

Nathalie’s entire body flushed crimson. She slid off the desk on trembling legs, the red Louboutins clicking unsteadily across the floor. Cum still leaked in slow, viscous trails down her inner thighs with every step, leaving shiny snail-trails on the tiles.

She reached the recliner, turned, and lowered herself onto the cool leather. The back reclined slightly at the touch of a button; her knees bent and parted instinctively as the footrest rose.

With shaking hands, she gathered the hem of her skirt—already bunched around her waist—and dragged it higher, exposing the slick, swollen lips of her pussy.

No panties covered her cunt; they were still lodged elsewhere. Her folds glistened obscenely—puffy from earlier friction, clit engorged and peeking from its hood, a steady trickle of her own arousal mixing with the remnants of my earlier release.

Anya stepped between Nathalie’s spread thighs, eyes narrowing as something caught her attention lower down.

"What... is this?" Anya murmured.

A scrap of black lace peeked from the stretched, puffy ring of Nathalie’s asshole—still half-buried, the fabric dark and sodden, clinging wetly to the abused rim.

Anya didn’t wait for an answer. She hooked two fingers around the protruding edge and tugged—slowly at first, then with steady, unrelenting pressure.

Nathalie’s back arched off the recliner. "Aaaaaah...!"

The panties emerged in a long, filthy slide—squelching wetly as they dragged against her inner walls. Thick ropes of my cum followed immediately, gushing out in heavy spurts the moment the makeshift plug cleared her rim.

The creamy flood poured from her gaping asshole, soaking the recliner beneath her in seconds. White rivulets ran down the crack of her ass, pooled in the leather crease, dripped over the edge to splatter on the floor.

Anya froze, fingers still holding the dripping wad of lace aloft. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown, lips parted in stunned fascination. "So much..." she breathed. "It’s... still coming out. Look at the volume."

Nancy and Olivia crowded closer, no longer even pretending detachment. Nancy’s hand drifted to her own breast, squeezing through her scrubs. Olivia licked her lips unconsciously, staring at the steady stream leaking from Nathalie’s wrecked hole.

"It’s... everywhere," Olivia whispered, voice hoarse. "The recliner’s ruined. And she’s still gaping... look how it’s pulsing, trying to close."