STRAWNERRY GREENHOUSE
The inside of Dr. Kaoru Hayashi’s special greenhouse was hot. Wet. Alive. And the strawberries weren’t just any strawberries — they were Strawnerries: big, juicy, genetically jacked-up fruits that craved one thing.
Men.
Not just any men, either. Sweaty, ripped, testosterone-dripping studs. That’s what turned them on — literally. Their shiny red skins would pulse and glow when a real man got close. And that’s why the guys came in every day, barely dressed, bulges bouncing in their briefs, sweat glistening on their hard pecs and cut abs.
Kenta stepped through the doors, his swim trunks already riding low on his hips, goggles fogged from the heat. The air inside hugged him like a needy lover, thick and warm, and the Strawnerries started reacting right away — their vines squirming, their fruits darkening to a sexy, throbbing crimson.
He dropped to his knees between two thick rows, brushing against the sticky vines. They clung to his thighs like they didn’t want to let go. The fruit sprayed a sweet mist that made his skin tingle and his blood rush. Kenta groaned softly as he picked one, juices running down his arm.
“Already working up a sweat?” Hiro said, walking by, his broad chest heaving. Daichi followed, licking strawberry juice off his fingers like it was something else entirely.
The guys were all jacked, and they knew it. They moved like they were on stage, muscles flexing with every motion. Every fifteen minutes the greenhouse shifted, the plants going still — that meant it was time.
Time for the Receptacle.
It sat in the center of the dome like a throne made of vines and heat. It pulsed, warm and ready. The moment they knelt before it, the scent hit them — musky, sweet, intoxicating. Kenta couldn’t hold back. None of them could. Their chests rose and fell, their skin flushed deep red. The Receptacle needed seed — and they were more than happy to give it.
One by one, they stroked themselves, offering thick, dripping loads into the waiting, quivering vines. It drank them up greedily, sucking it all down, feeding the next crop of hungry, sex-starved fruit.
Dr. Hayashi watched from above, sweaty and half-hard under his loose lab coat. He was taking notes, but his other hand wasn’t exactly idle. This was his masterpiece. Science, yes — but so much more. It was a full-body ritual. A symphony of muscle, scent, cum, and fruit.
Kenta stood when it was over, legs shaking, a basket full of glowing red Strawnerries in his arms and a slick sheen of juice — and sweat — covering every inch of him.
“You coming back tomorrow?” Hiro asked, biting into a warm, dripping berry.
Kenta smirked, muscles flexing as he wiped his mouth. “You kidding? I’ll be hard all night just thinking about it.”
The strawberries in the greenhouse pulsed brighter, almost vibrating with remembered pleasure.
They knew the taste. The touch.
And they were starving for more.
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