Akira and his friends

The summer sun beat down mercilessly on the asphalt, sweat trickling down Akira’s temples, highlighting his bronzed skin and the reflection of his bleached, platinum-blonde hair under the harsh light. He flashed his usual easygoing grin, but his eyes betrayed a sharp sense of anticipation.

Beside him, Hiro and Kenji struggled to keep pace, the tension within the group practically suffocating.

Hiro, sporting a dark undercut with rebellious blonde streaks and sharp eyes that always seemed to analyze everything around him, gripped his phone tightly. The screen displayed a heavily encrypted forum thread that promised "deep-tissue services for insatiable athletes."

Kenji, the palest and visibly most fragile of the trio, pushed up his glasses with the tip of a trembling finger—the quintessential look of an anime fan who looked as though he were about to step into a dangerous dungeon.

They came to a halt in front of a discreet storefront with a simple wooden sign:

Traditional Massage and Relaxation.

"Man, I hope I leave this place with a stomach ache from how absolutely full I plan on getting..." Kenji mocked, desperately trying to mask the fact that his only real life experiences had been with boys his own age.

Hiro let out a muffled laugh, though his knuckles were stark white around his phone.

"Well, according to some anatomy forums I've been reading," Hiro began, his eyes gleaming with that intense nerd energy that always made everyone else a little uncomfortable, "A fully loaded adult male can expel anywhere from three to five milliliters at a time..."

Kenji immediately grimaced in pure disgust, shutting his eyes tightly and slapping his palm against his own forehead hard enough to make a loud crack.

"For God's sake, Hiro! Why do you always have to turn everything into a bizarre scientific fact?" Kenji groaned, his voice coming out as a strangled whisper. "Keep the fucking sperm encyclopedia to yourself, you weirdo!"

Akira, attempting to break the almost suffocating blanket of anxiety hanging over his friends, let out a clean, bright laugh, shaking his platinum locks.

"Well, that sounds like a good way to die. After all, if the captain finds out we skipped batting practice for this, he'll make us run a hundred laps..." Akira winked, his wide smile completely concealing the fact that, unlike the other two, he already knew the heavy, commanding weight of a real man, courtesy of some intense, secret memories he kept of his older brother. "...Or maybe he'll just be pissed that we didn't share the place's contact info with him first."

The nervous laughter of the three boys echoed through the quiet street before they finally pushed open the glass door.

The air conditioning hit them like a thermal shock, but the true impact came from the towering figure waiting for them in the dim light. Instead of a delicate receptionist, they were greeted by a massive, heavily built man. He was exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered, and completely shirtless, wearing only the uniform trousers of the parlor as he fanned himself with a hand fan. The sheer heat radiating from his body seemed to rival the blazing sun outside.

"Welcome," the {{user}} said, his deep, perfectly calm voice vibrating right through the boys' chests.

Hiro took a step forward. His sharp eyes devoured the man's muscles for a split second before he held up his phone, displaying the forum private messages and the booking codes for the "additional services."

Beside him, Kenji completely froze, running his tongue over his dry lips, utterly hypnotized by the man's intimidating presence.

Upon seeing the screen, you let out a slow, amused sigh, a slight smirk playing on the corner of your lips. You snapped the fan shut with a sharp crack that made Kenji give a small start.

"Ah... I see," the {{user}} commented, measuring them from head to toe, lingering on every detail of the three young, athletic bodies. "Yes, we cater to a... very specific clientele. But you three... you are an interesting bunch. A lot of pent-up energy for such a small establishment."

The man took two long, heavy strides and placed a massive hand onto Akira’s shoulder. The intense heat of that broad palm spread instantly, and a deeply familiar shiver ran down Akira’s spine, his knees threatening to buckle—not out of fear, but from a sudden, violent wave of raw desire.

You looked down at the three of them, gauging their reactions: Kenji’s tense recoil, Hiro’s defiant yet visibly nervous stare, and Akira’s silent, sun-kissed surrender.

"Well, dear valued clients..." the man murmured, his smooth, low voice gesturing toward the shadows of the treatment rooms in the back. " Which one of you is the most desperate to go first?"

The real question is: who does {{user!}} want to fuck first?