Robe Troubles

The blonde on the sofa is still smiling at you when the top magnetic clasp of your robe abruptly gives way with a soft click.

The fabric falls open, exposing your bare chest and the hard lines of your stomach to the cool Atrium air. You gasp, scrambling to snatch the lapels and yank them back together, fumbling to re-align the magnet. The blonde's smile widens into a smirk. She takes a slow sip of her champagne, her eyes lingering on your torso before you manage to seal the fabric shut.

---

"Oh, he's got reflexes," Chloe purrs.

The studio audience giggles as Chloe holds up a sleek, black remote control with two glowing red buttons.

"Our prop department spared no expense on this little resort robe," she explains, tapping the top button with a manicured nail. "But honestly, ladies? The chest is just an appetizer. We all know which button really matters."

Chloe’s thumb hovers over the bottom button. She winks at the camera. Click.

---

You’re halfway to a secluded lounge chair when the bottom clasp pops open.

You drop into a frantic crouch, catching the edges of the robe just before it flaps completely open, shielding your groin by a fraction of an inch. A collective, disappointed sigh ripples through the women lounging nearby.

"Nice save, handsome," a redhead murmurs as she strolls past. She leans in, her perfume washing over you. "I’m in suite 412 if you get tired of fighting that thing." She winks and glides away.

Mortified, you spot a staff member in pale green silk arranging towels nearby. You hurry over, clutching the robe closed with both hands. "Excuse me," you hiss, keeping your voice low. "This robe is defective. The magnets keep failing."

The attendant turns, her expression a mask of calm professionalism. "I apologize for the inconvenience, John. Sometimes the clasps just need to be seated properly. Can you perform a quick tension test for me? Just stretch your arms behind your back."

It sounds logical. You cautiously let go of the lapels and reach your arms backward.

The hip clasp instantly pops.

With your arms pinned behind you, there's no way to catch it. The fabric falls open. But before you can even register the cool air hitting your groin, the attendant gasps and lunges forward. Her hands grab the fabric, yanking it shut—but not before the back of her knuckles drag firmly, unmistakably, up the length of your semi-aroused shaft.

You let out a strangled breath. The attendant freezes, her hands still holding the robe shut over your crotch. She doesn't flinch. Her expression remains a mask of serene professionalism as she steps back, totally unbothered by what she just touched.

"My apologies, John," she says smoothly, her voice completely even. "The fabric caught. Secure now?"

---

"Give that girl an Emmy!" Chloe shrieks over the roaring crowd.

On the massive screen, the replay shows the attendant’s 'accidental' grope, zooming in on the shock and immediate, involuntary twitch of John's hips.

"But you know what they say," Chloe smirks, raising the remote again. "If at first you don't succeed... try both at once."

She presses both red buttons simultaneously.

----

Click. Click.

Both magnets fail at exactly the same time. The robe practically falls apart, sliding off your shoulders and parting completely down the middle.

"Whoa!"

"Let it drop, stud!"

Laughter and catcalls echo across the Atrium as you frantically wrestle with the fabric, twisting yourself into a knot trying to cover your chest and your groin simultaneously. Two women on nearby loungers sit up entirely, watching your struggle with naked, unapologetic hunger.

"Is everything alright here?"

You look up to see Suki, your attendant from the pod, gliding toward you.

"The robe," you grit out, clutching the fabric in white-knuckled fists. "It won't stay closed."

Suki stops in front of you. She listens, tilts her head, and smiles with genuine, terrifying warmth. "You know, John... you don't *have* to keep it on." She lets the silence hang, her dark eyes dropping deliberately to the heavy, obvious bulge straining against your fists. "I'm just saying. The women here? We're all adults. No one's going to be offended if you—"

"Just fix it, please," you cut her off, your face burning.

Suki shrugs with a maddening little smile. She reaches up, her cool fingers brushing your collarbone as she snaps the top clasp into place. "There. The chest is secure."

Then, she sinks to her knees.

The two women on the loungers lean forward, practically holding their breath.

"Let's see about this bottom one," Suki murmurs. Her face is inches from your groin. You can feel the warmth of her breath ghosting through the thin terrycloth, right against your cock. "Ah. I see the problem. It's... a tension issue. The fabric is catching on your, um. Anatomy."

She looks up at you, maintaining intense, unwavering eye contact from her knees. "For guests with... pronounced physical tension, we recommend the upward tuck to prevent magnet strain. May I?"

You are completely paralyzed by her gaze, and the pseudo-medical justification traps you. You give a jerky nod.

Suki doesn't break eye contact as she slides both hands under the edges of the open robe. Her cool, soft palms cup the heavy, hardening length of your cock. You let out a shaky exhale as she deliberately rearranges you, pushing your throbbing erection flat up against your stomach and holding it there with one hand while she pulls the fabric over it with the other.

She snaps the magnetic clasp shut over your trapped erection.

"There," Suki whispers, finally letting go. "That should hold. Give it a little shake to check?"

Trapped in her dark eyes, your brain short-circuits. You awkwardly shimmy your hips. The clasp holds. Your cock throbs painfully against your stomach.

"See?" Suki smiles sweetly. "It's staying still. Well... at least something is."

The two women on the loungers let out a synchronized, delighted gasp. The sound snaps you out of your trance. You look over at them, realizing exactly what this looks like—you, standing there trembling, while a gorgeous attendant kneels at your crotch.

The sudden spike of adrenaline and embarrassment is too much. Your chest heaves, your body jerks, and the tension is too great.

Click.

The bottom clasp fails again.

Your erection, freed from its trap, springs forward, bobbing heavily in the open air directly in front of Suki's face.

Suki's eyes widen, her lips parting in a soft "Oh."

You don't wait. You grab the fabric, crush it over your exposed cock, and practically sprint away, towards the less crowded front desk

----------

The studio is absolute bedlam.

"Replay! Give me the replay in slow motion!" Chloe demands, laughing so hard she has to lean on her podium.

The giant screen obliges. In glorious slow motion, the clasp pops, the fabric parts, and John's impressive, fully rigid erection springs free, practically brushing Suki's nose. The audience screams, fanning themselves, a few women standing up to get a better look at the screen.

"Oh, ladies, that might actually be the perfect cock!" Chloe shouts over the noise. "Time for another poll! Who wants to see Suki finish what she started, and who wants to see him try to explain this to the manager?"