Chapter 1

«I wish I was loved.»

His fingers hovered near the keyboard. Tits. His eyes gazed upon two glorious tits. Breasts. Gazongas. Gorgeous ones at that.

He moved the cursor over the “size” option, clicked the dropdown menu, and moved the little sharp icon over the many available options: C, double-C, D-, double-D, E, double-E, F, double-F ... The standard was double-C, and those were already some of the most beautiful breasts he’d ever licked with his eyes.

He’d rarely consumed porn. Too fake. Too ugly. «Porn women ain’t real women, » he thought. They were, however, much more real than that, were they not?

He wasn’t so sure. Say, those breasts. They looked so much more natural, so much more real than any real pair he’d seen in life. Only the titillating titties of old, perhaps, could compare to those breasts, those fake tits he had in front of him on the screen. And those titties, like the fake digital beauts they’d once belonged to, were now legends. Whispers in the wind, gushes on the cock.

For all purposes, those breasts there, flickering on the screen, they were real, and they were gorgeous, and he wondered ... if they would be as sweet to his touch as they were to his eyes.

He clicked on the double-D option. «Götten ... mái!» His eyes almost left his skull. Boing! His legs moved on their own, spreading out, and his posture on the chair was stiffened, and his groin caught a fire, a burn, a truly energizing shot of masculine purpose right there, blazing in the middle of his nethers. «These ... tits...!»

Yeah, the tits. Truly astounding, those melons were. «Cristo!» He was amazed by the materialness of the pair: their softness, their roundness, their hazelnut shape, the sheer touchability of their every musky inch. They seemed too good to be true—and, given his line of work ... sure. A pinch of skepticism would never be unmeasured. Those were only pictures, after all, and pictures, he knew well, were the finest conduits of lies.

Still... «They look so good.» He scratched the underbelly of his chin, where a shallow, unkept beard had been growing for years. «So good!»

Unreally good. Incredibly so. It was a beauty that invited the eyes to come out and wander—and wander they did all over her body: from tits to belly, from belly to hips, from hips to legs, from legs to...

The world. It seemed that way: eyes wandering all over the world; a world that was her body, a void that was his heart. «Perhaps... » His mind went thinking before he shut it out. «Perhaps... » He wanted to have no such thoughts, no such silly temptations, and yet... «perhaps... » So went his thoughts. «Perhaps it is the world that can fill my void.»

A globe. After wandering all over the world, his eyes landed on a globe. An icon of it. A little image of a globe shining next to the Buy me now button next to the picture of that doll. His heart beat more unsteady, trapped on the edge of hope and disappointment. «Surely they wouldn’t deliver here.» He gave his thoughts a silent beat. «Would they?»

Why was he wondering that? It’s not as if he was going to buy her anyway. Just looking at her price tag made him feel poorer and caused his mind to laugh, his soul to cry, because he was so destitute—and he knew it. He tried to forget it, yes, and yet, like all poor people, he could never really do it. Every time he looked at the price tag of something, he was reminded of it. Poor, poor, poor. His dead carcass worth more than his living being. He was...

«Quiet. Quiet.» He closed his eyes and shut his mind. «Quiet.»

His eyes returned to the screen. More real than the real deal, read the sign at the top of the page. «Not joking, they aren’t.» He whistled very softly, and so did his penis. «So ... hot!» He found himself rubbing one thigh against the other, mesmerized beyond his own self. «Heavens. If this is the reaction a mere picture of this woman has on me... »

Not a woman. A doll. A mere image of a doll.

Fake light. Fake warmth. Fake woman. Fake love.

Yet still... «Damn me.» He moved the cursor over the little icon on the screen. A little box appeared next to it, the text inside it in very small letters, and he had to strain his eyes to force those blurry words into a more discernible shape: Global delivery available to...

«Huh.»

What were the odds? Such an obscure company, a servicer of such a unique industry, niche within a niche, catering to his residence, his damned frigid corner of the world. «This ... is a sign.» In the options for the breast sizes, he selected the largest available, just out of curiosity. «Mother...!» The breasts, once big and beautiful, ballooned into a bloated and disproportionate volume, two abnormal blimps of unarousing tit-flesh, enough udder to scare off a bull and put its cows into unemployment, damned milkers so grotesquely billowing that they went down, down, down to the woman’s navel. Yuck.

He held no harsh judgments, though. «You find every type of taste out there.» Certainly, there were people for whom those balloons would have been not a repulsive, but a tantalizing sight. People for whom their enormity would have been a selling point, not a repellent. «You never know, you never know.» He shrugged. «There’s always something for everybody. Such are people.» He reasoned, himself very intimate to this truth. «To each ... their own.»

He lowered his head and his shoulders. «People will attach to anything.» He pondered. The weight within him, deep in his belly was growing, turning uncomfortable. «People will love anything. Anything.»

Except for him.

The breasts he chose were big enough. Huge, but believably so, like breasts a real woman (albeit an extremely lucky one) would have. They seemed to be his type: huge and shapely, heavy and full. Milky and... «delicious!»

The thought of their fertility aroused him. Just looking at the doll’s nipples made him pucker his lips and gently suck in the air without notice. He wanted to eat those melons, to suckle on their bountiful milk. They looked lush, hot, and delightful to touch, never for a day dry of nectar, forever replenished with life-giving cream.

He was almost kissing the screen. So long had he spent looking at that doll that he had completely ignored the darkness that had encroached on his room, the sun diving slowly, lazily into the earth with no moon to take its place. Night had risen, yet he barely noticed it.

With a yawn and short squeaks of discomfort, he pulled back on his chair to reveal an embarrassing bulge on his briefs. Embarrassing, though, not because of the tent it formed on the fabric, but because of how small that tent was. «Oh.» At the tip of such a short, puny tent, a moist, sticky smudge grew on the fabric. «Curses.»

Was he really going to do it again? Just how many times did a regular man have to do it in a single day? «A regular man?» He pondered. «A real man? Zero.» His stomach felt heavier and his heart beat incredibly hard. It hurt like it was pushing against two heavy walls that slowly closed on it, intent on crushing it, squeezing it out of his breast. «A real man would have real women to do it with.» His eyes darted again, irresistibly, back to the woman, no, the doll on the screen. «Not this plastic fantasy.»

A fantasy he could not look away from, nonetheless. «Knuk mirh, götten!» He bit his lower lip. «These breasts ... gütten mái! They’ve even got weight to them!»

Literally. He could feel their weight with his eyes. He loved how the tits arched down gently, their teardrop shape drawn naturally by gravity. Their silicon (or whatever material they were made of) made them behave just like real breasts in the real world—or at least that’s how he thought real breasts would behave.

Their fullness indicated real life: tanks immaculately designed for the rearing of many children and the comforting of many lovers. Firm and meaty. Dense and heavy. Not too solid and not too perky, nor so pointy like the breasts of women with implants. «This fake woman has breasts more real than... »

...

He needn’t complete it. He needed only to gaze.

Eyes on knockers, mouth agape, mounds of meat rubbing between his thighs, throat heaving like a starved wolf’s. Eyes wandering, wandering, wandering all over the world: from tits to belly, from belly to hips, from hips to legs, from legs to...

Oh.

A text on the screen. This beauty, it read:

... is a tall, strong, muscle-bound amazon for the fearless of heart and steely of will who love ‘em rough.

A goddess among queens, a queen among mortals, she is a natural-born leader of women and lover of men.

Endowed with mystical powers of the fertility gods, this steadfast, unwearying warrior is a match for any lad in both bed and battlefield.

An avid horse-rider and thirsty cock-rider. Are you strong enough to take on her? Nights of fire and fury await!

His head bobbed foolishly next to the screen. «Tall. Strong. Muscle-bound.» His mind browsed through the words again. Both his heart and his brain were in agreement: it was not her boobs or her height, nor her luscious hair or heavenly face that were her most attractive features. Instead, those would be her... «Muscles!»

Indeed. That woman had muscles on top of muscles, and those muscles seemed to have muscles of their own, making her stronger than any woman could ever hope to be, as well as stronger than almost any man he had ever seen.

She was no monster, though. She was much closer to a... «Valkyrie.» Indeed. She looked like the perfect embodiment of those powerful demiwarriors of the land, who guided the souls of soldiers to their final rest in the afterlife. Other folks from more distant lands, he would recall, also had their own versions of such she-heroes. «A muscle-bound amazon», he read again. Every people on his planet nurtured similar stories of such fabled warrior-lassies. Women stronger than men and mightier than gods. Women with curves and muscles. Women with the softness of an hourglass figure and the steel-hard strength of a battle-forged beast.

Masculine and feminine, all in one, both in the same. Male and female made whole. The perfect being. «Um deus.» To him, her bulking, bulging, daunting musculature didn’t detract from her femalehood. It enhanced it. «Caralho! Que linda!»

Though her shoulders were wide, her neck thick, and her hard muscles covered in very prominent, bulging veins (a sign of unmistakable virility and power), she still rocked those full and heavy breasts, very long and gorgeous legs, and a huge, round, firm ass, all bound together in a neat, feminine package by her very thin and tender waistline—thin, that is, when compared to her much wider, stronger hips.

«Que bunda!» To shoulder the heavy burden of such big muscles and massive features, her butt was fittingly enormous. Like her breasts, her cheeks were round and shapely, but also heavy and rigid as boulders. «Que bunda duríssima, meu!» So hard, in fact, they looked like not only they could withstand the direct blow of a sledgehammer, but actually shatter it.

«Now, this ... this ... is an ass!»

Her perfection unfolded at every glimpse, inch after inch of her glowing brighter in the dark. She was big. She was buff. She was a treasure, a rare gem, and her rareness didn’t go unnoticed by her makers, as evidenced by the glaring red text blinking incessantly next to her pictures:

Last units remaining! Last units remaining! Last units remaining...

Initially, he dismissed it. «Nah. Cheap trick. They’re trying to create scarcity where there is none.» Were they, though? Very few of the other dolls on sale had a similar notice. «She’s the most expensive. Of course they would be trying to nudge customers to buy her as quickly as possible.» He pulled his gaze away, yet the doll pulled it back. «This sign must be here all the time. It’s not as if there are that many people in the world attracted to a woman like this, right?» Eyes away. Eyes back. «Right?»

You never know, you never know...

The longer he tried to convince himself, the less convinced he became, and the greater grew his urge to just ... buy her, have her, love her! «Oh!» Every instinct in him burned like a sun. «No, no!» He closed his eyes, shook his head, tapped on it lightly with his knuckles. «I can’t afford it! It’s so silly! It’s just so...!»

His eyes came back to her.

Last units remaining! Last units remaining...

«Fuck!» He read her price again. «No way I’m buying her. This woman ... uh, this doll... » He gulped. «She’s basically worth the same as this place!» That little apartment he’d struggled so hard, suffered so much to get.

It still felt cheap, though. Not his apartment. Her. As if the many zeroes on the price tag were still unbefitting of her size. After all...