Hard as a Rock

Hard as a Rock
Second Edition
Sara Jay
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Sara Jay

Canna lounged in the fluffy softness of a tiny dandelion pod, luxuriously basking in the afternoon glow. Stretching, she yawned, watching the sun tilt toward the Earth. As it kissed the horizon, she stood and brushed off bits of pollen from her wings.

Time to hit the club.

The Pleasure Club was nestled between two other respectable businesses as if it housed a simple everyday company. In fact, upon stepping into the building, one would think that it might be a small hotel.

The giant decorative phalluses past the lobby gave the real purpose of the club away to any who ventured farther in.

Canna remained willfully invisible, coyly fluttering into the club with the sunset at her back. Though she enjoyed playing after the patrons left -- and sometimes stayed all day -- her favorite activity was haunting the humans during the night.

It was early. Only two patrons enjoyed the services of the club at the moment. One man buried his body between two giant, hanging breasts on one wall, while another sighed as six hands, attached to constantly circling arms, massaged his cock, balls, and ass. As with all of the other Pleasure Providers, both sets of realistic parts were soft, warm, and resembled true human anatomy down to the last detail.

Skintex, a revolutionary polymer made from latex and synthetic skin, was to thank for the realistic objects. Stuart Anderson, the club's original owner, had financed its development in the mid twenty-second century. His great grandson, Rand, owned the club now.

Sighing contentedly, Canna approached the man at the revolving arms station. A popular attraction, the Handler was normally one of the first and last contraptions occupied every night. Extending her body to human size while still remaining invisible, she reached down and added her hand, a seventh to the mix.

The man's eyes widened instantly, her fairy touch much more pleasurable than the synthetic human hands, no matter how realistic they were. "Sweet ghost," he whispered, groaning.

Canna giggled, the sound barely brushing the man's face like a sweet, cool breeze. Most of the people believed the Pleasure Palace to be haunted due to her nightly shenanigans, which suited her just fine. The sex thrilled her, but serving as the establishment's resident pleasure poltergeist was fun, too.

She ran her long fingers along the underside of his balls, delightfully watching goose bumps trail his naked thighs. He jerked again, moaning as she continued her ministrations.

Thumbing the tip of his rigid cock with one hand, she drifted the other farther below his balls and over his perineum. She circled the soft area slowly with her index finger, etching invisible swirls of pleasure onto his sensitive skin.

He gasped when she spiraled the finger around the opening of his anus. Canna drove it into his body with a small, shallow thrust. Then she drove her finger deeper, past her meadow-colored knuckle, and twisted gently.

Jerking upward, the man's body shot a thick rope of cum into the air. Canna's green eyes glowed as she impishly grinned, watching the fluid fly. The liquid immediately and silently dissipated into the chemical filtration system of the modern sex club. The developers had, of course, thought of everything.

"Thank you," he moaned, leaning back in spent ecstasy.

Canna leaned over and licked the tip of his cock once in reply, causing him to jerk his hips up again, groaning. She giggled, stood up and stretched, already seeking another companion to play with.

Humans were so much fun!