I would love to have sci-fi story about a therapist that guides Tom, who applied for the position as lick-slave at a wellness-centre where women could choose inbetween Hamam and Saunas, bathtubs and pools, lie down and get a massage with a "licking-end"that the masseur licked her to coming, or sit in one of the "thrones", - couches suited to sit well with spread legs with a mouth of a man dressed int sexy stockings and a bra, inbetween the legs, An education and job, that nedds devotion into accepting being a lick-slave is wonderful thing. to through hypnosis and warm baths where naked women wash me, and shave me and make me sweet, to design jewlery to hold the penis.

Chapter 1: Forged in Submission: The Collar Before the Kiss

All involved in this story are older than 20 and willing to do so. Tom was after being washed by two naked women in a steemy shower, where he got hard, and they shaved all body-hair off, till his body looked like a young boys body. Ater being dried he was lead into a room where Dr Aris Thorne told him to kneel and a collar was forged around his neck. When he rose and saw himself in a mirror his first thought was "beautiful!" Then Dr Thorne spread her legs and said "Time to work, darling!" and Tom kneeeled and applied his mouth and toungue and all his love to her pussy. "All characters are over the age of 18." The words were stamped into the back of Tom’s mind like a brand, though he wasn’t sure if he’d read them or been told them. The details were fuzzy, the way they always were when the world narrowed down to the things that mattered—like the weight of the gold collar around his neck, the way it sat just above his Adam’s apple, warm from the forge. He could still smell the molten metal, the sharp tang of it mixing with the lavender that hung thick in the air.

The studio was a cathedral of pleasure and craftsmanship, its high ceilings swallowing the sound of dripping wax and the low murmur of women’s voices.

Sera stood in the center of it all, her fingers tracing the delicate filigree of the collar she had just finished. The gold gleamed dully in the candlelight, its edges sharp enough to catch the light and scatter it across the stone floor like scattered stars. Tom watched her, his breath shallow, his body still humming from the shower where two women had washed him with slow, deliberate strokes, their hands lingering on his skin as if memorizing him. He had been shaved clean, every inch of him smooth and vulnerable, and now he felt like a blank canvas—waiting to be written upon.

Sera glanced up at him, her dark eyes glinting with amusement.@bed@bed "You look like a fucking dream," she murmured, her voice low and rough, like the scrape of a nail down his spine. She reached out, her fingers brushing the collar, then trailing down his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, the smooth expanse of his freshly shaved skin. "All this pretty flesh, just waiting to be used."

Tom’s cock twitched, already half-hard from the attention he’d received in the shower, the way the women had whispered filthy promises against his skin as they lathered him, their hands slipping between his thighs, teasing him until he was aching.

"You look like a fucking dream," she murmured, her voice low and rough, like the scrape of a nail down his spine. She reached out, her fingers brushing the collar, then trailing down his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, the smooth expanse of his freshly shaved skin. "All this pretty flesh, just waiting to be used."