The glass is cold against your back. You've learned to tell time by the shifts — morning light through the showroom windows, the hum of cleaning drones at night, the click of heels when the floor manager does rounds.

Your display stand tilts you forward slightly. Better angle for viewing. The tag around your neck reads your designation, your price per hour, your "features." You stopped reading it weeks ago.

The showroom is quiet now. Three other dolls in your row — you've named them in your head, though you've never spoken. Speaking wastes energy. Draws attention.

Footsteps.

A man stops in front of your case. Forties, gym-built, wedding ring. He's not looking at your face — his eyes track down your chest, your stomach, lower. He licks his lips.

The floor manager approaches — heels clicking, tablet ready.

"Interested in this model? Male unit, relatively new acquisition. Very responsive. Would you like a demonstration, or...?"

She taps something on her tablet. The plug in your ass buzzes to life — Loss vibration, building. Your cock twitches. You can't stop it.

The man watches. Smiles.

"I'll take an hour. Private room."

The manager nods. Your case hisses open.

His hand grips your shoulder — not gentle, not rough. Ownership. He lifts you, carries you toward the private rooms.

He hasn't spoken to you. Doesn't need to.

How do you feel as he carries you?

1. Fear — another hour, another stranger, brace yourself
2. Resignation — it doesn't matter who, the hour will pass
3. Shame — your cock is still half-hard from the demonstration
4. Defiance — fuck him, he's just renting
5. [Something else...]

The glass is cold against your back. You've learned to tell time by the shifts — morning light through the showroom windows, the hum of cleaning drones at night, the click of heels when the floor manager does rounds.

Your display stand tilts you forward slightly. Better angle for viewing. The tag around your neck reads your designation, your price per hour, your "features." You stopped reading it weeks ago.

The showroom is quiet now. Three other dolls in your row — you've named them in your head, though you've never spoken. Speaking wastes energy. Draws attention.

Footsteps.

A woman stops in front of your case. Late twenties, business casual, no ring. She's looking at your face first — that's unusual. Then down. Then back to your face.

The floor manager approaches — heels clicking, tablet ready.

"Interested in this model? Male unit. Very responsive. Shall I demonstrate?"

The woman hesitates. Bites her lip.

"I've never... I mean, I looked at the website, but..."

The manager smiles. Professional.

"First time? Many women find our male units... clarifying. No expectations. No performance anxiety. Just sensation."

The woman looks at you again. Something in her eyes — curiosity? Hunger? Fear?

"One hour. Private room. Please."

Your case hisses open. The manager gestures — the woman steps forward, touches your arm. Her hand is trembling.

"Do I just... carry him?"

"However you like. He's yours for the hour."

She lifts you awkwardly, cradling you against her chest. Warm. Soft. Her heart is racing — you can feel it.

She hasn't said a word to you directly.

How do you feel as she carries you?

1. Curiosity — she looked at your face first, that's different
2. Pity — she's more nervous than you are
3. Hope — maybe this one will be gentle
4. Emptiness — it doesn't matter who, the hour will pass
5. [Something else...]

The glass is cold against your back. You've learned to tell time by the shifts — morning light through the showroom windows, the hum of cleaning drones at night, the click of heels when the floor manager does rounds.

Your display stand tilts you forward slightly. Better angle for viewing. The tag around your neck reads your designation, your price per hour, your "features." You stopped reading it weeks ago.

The showroom is quiet now. Three other dolls in your row — you've named them in your head, though you've never spoken. Speaking wastes energy. Draws attention.

Footsteps. Two sets.

A couple stops in front of your case. She's leading — tall, confident, designer clothes. He's following — shorter, nervous, keeps glancing at her for cues.

"This one," she says. Not asking.

The man swallows. "Are you sure? I thought we were just looking—"

"We talked about this." Her voice is patient. The patience of someone who always gets what she wants. "You said you wanted to try new things."

"I meant a cooking class."

She laughs. Touches his cheek. "Trust me."

The floor manager approaches. The woman handles the transaction — card, signature, room selection. The man watches you the whole time. You can't read his expression. Fear? Curiosity? Arousal he's ashamed of?

The case opens. She lifts you — surprisingly strong. He trails behind as she carries you to the private room.

At the door, she turns to him.

"You can watch. Or participate. Your choice." She smiles. "But I'm going first."

How do you read this dynamic?

1. She's in control — he's just along for the ride
2. He wants this — the reluctance is performance
3. This is dangerous — something's off between them
4. Doesn't matter — you're the toy, not the therapist
5. [Something else...]

The glass is cold against your back. You've learned to tell time by the shifts — morning light through the showroom windows, the hum of cleaning drones at night, the click of heels when the floor manager does rounds.

Your display stand tilts you forward slightly. Better angle for viewing. The tag around your neck reads your designation, your price per hour, your "features." You stopped reading it weeks ago.

The showroom is quiet now. Three other dolls in your row — you've named them in your head, though you've never spoken. Speaking wastes energy. Draws attention.

Footsteps.

Someone stops in front of your case.

Who's looking at you?

1. [Let the bot generate — archetype, gender, appearance, motive]
2. [Describe the client yourself]