Fitting Room(Gay/Straight)

You turn your head to the metallic plaque on the right door. It may have been spite that led you here, but you can't lie to yourself and say you don't feel some anticipation at the thought of swinging your dick bare in a haunted mall.

So Fitting Room it is.

You grab the knob and turn it.

The door shrieks as its unlubed hinges rub themselves for the first time in who knows how long. Must be nice squeezing all that pent-up rust out of their system.

However, what you don't understand is how the mannequins could possibly open these silently like the voice had mentioned.

So what you do to find out is you step in, shut the door behind you, and face away from it. While the magic happens behind you, you take in the room.

Ten stalls. Five on either side with a curtain each, illuminated by even more LED tubes. You just cannot escape the buzzing noise. Out of the ten, one curtain is drawn.

No way there's someone using it, right?

And yet, you're already crouching. The curtains don't reach all the way to the floor. Sure enough, you see legs. There's a pair of them. Still. Positioned neatly next to a stool. They look like nice legs too. Smooth. Hairless. Almost skin-like, if you ignore the unnatural sheen.

If you didn't know any better, you'd...

Well, you do know better.

Meanwhile, you can feel her supernatural presence behind you, as if she never opened the door.

She's looking at you. Watching your every move.

The pervert.

She doesn't seem put off by watching you change clothes.

But you're more curious about the new mannequin now. Your attention slides right back to the occupied stall.

So they do use these.

What, do they get shy? Need privacy? Little mannequin modesty?

That's adorable.

You step closer, lowering yourself again for another peek, hoping to see a little more skin.

This time, your stomach drops...

...

The legs are gone...

You blink. There's nowhere they could've...

Panicking, you shoot up and yank the curtain open, only to discover you've been played.

The mannequin stands on the stool.

It's a male. The first one you've seen. Hands tucked neatly behind its back. Hips angled forward like it's presenting itself for inspection.

Without a single speck of hesitation in its posture... Just...

And right there...

Okay, what the fuck? you breathe.

That bulge is not subtle...

You stare at it. Hard not to, really. Your brain immediately tries to brush it off as fake. A plastic crotch sticking out too much.

But your eyes tell you otherwise... That it doesn't look fake. That the bulge's got shape. The way it stretches the underwear...

But it can't be real. No way it is...

You squint. Lean in a little.

"Come on," you mutter under your breath. "No way they committed this hard to the bit."

Because if they did... Well, that raises a lot of questions. And you've noticed something about yourself since you got here. You keep brushing things off, trying to explain them away. Pretending they make sense as long as you don't poke at them too hard.

That's probably not the play. If something's weird, check it. Simple.

Your gaze flicks briefly toward the door behind you. She's still there, watching.

Yeah, yeah. Enjoy the show.

You look back at the male mannequin. The curiosity is frustrating. You feel like you really need to know.

"One tap," you decide quietly. "That's it."