Blue Doll, by LadyVegeets
Vegeta hated this place with every fiber of his being. Raditz and Nappa had already left him, running off to slobber over the brothel's displays like starving dogs eyeing fresh haunches of meat. He didn't know whether to be disgusted or envious of their enthusiasm. Sex had never brought him pleasure. Relief, yes, a purging of a biological need, sure, but never pleasure. He never pined away for a good fuck; not the way his two compatriots seemed to. More often than not, Vegeta found his hand satisfactory to the task, and when he did partake in carnal relations with another, he did his best to make the matter as impersonal and perfunctory as possible. Engaging with others when death wasn't involved wasn't his strong suit, and that left him feeling vulnerable in a way that sat poorly with his pride.
Yet here he was, back at another brothel, if only to shut Nappa and Raditz up, by ensuring that their energy was spent on something other than aggravating the living fuck out of him. To be fair, this was by far the nicest looking brothel that they had visited yet. In fact, the damn place reeked of exclusivity. Which only unsettled Vegeta all the more. It was too clean, too nice. Nothing good ever came of these kinds of places. It made him think of the Colds' spacecrafts, richly outfitted in their opulence, gold and silks poorly veiling their owners' sadistic intentions.
A loud, girlish squeal pierced the quiet, followed by Nappa's booming laugh. Vegeta felt his lip curl in distaste. He walked down the hall, putting distance between himself and his companions, and in doing so, headed towards the more expensive end of the brothel's wares.
They were all displayed in glass windows, like mannequins. 'Dolls', the host had called them, chosen for their eclectic beauty, and set up like porcelain figures. Vegeta could see that some took the 'doll' name more literally than others. A lot of them were sex-bots, and they sat, pretty and still as a picture, waiting for a client to 'play' with them. Or at least he assumed they were supposed to be pretty. Most represented alien species he was only cursorily familiar with. Some were Saiyan-like in that they stood on two legs, were warm blooded, but that's where the similarities ended. The differences, however small, were enough to be unsettling. 'A hole was a hole' Nappa would say, and though Vegeta agreed, he still found it hard to be excited when a girl's skin was so scaly it felt like he was fucking gravel, or when a woman looked up at him with eyes as alien and soulless as a fish's.
He was nearing the end of the displays. Nothing had caught his eye, but he had barely looked, instead making a line for the brothel's most expensive girls. He was a Prince after all. Seedy fuck or not, he deserved the best.
Finally he reached the top echelon of the sex dolls. Their displays were far more elaborate. Only one appeared to be a sex-bot, remaining still, while the other 'dolls' perked up at the appearance of a possible client. He glared at them with a critical eye, mentally weighing if any would be worth his time or his credits, and wondering if it wouldn't just be easier and cheaper to find a hotel, jerk off and pass out.
Pale skin and the flash of an usual blue caught his eye. Vegeta glanced over and, for the first time in years, was taken by surprise.
For an exhilarating, wild heart beat, he thought he had found his own kind. Female, no less. A beautiful female at that.
But just as quickly as the thought entered his mind, his rational side squashed it. She couldn't be. His kind was near extinct. And no Saiyan woman would tolerate becoming captive to a brothel. Not to mention this girl had no tail, and her hair coloring was blue when it should have been dark. No, she was no Saiyan… but Gods did she almost fit the bill. Something hurt in his chest as he eyed her over. Her features were fey, her skin much paler than his own, but it was skin like his nonetheless, not scales or fur or oozing sludge. She wore only the thinnest robe that barely hid her lithe, curvy body beneath. She was, hands down, the most gorgeous thing he had ever encountered. But she had inadvertently reminded him of the death of his species, and that bitter taste now lingered in his mouth.
She noticed him too. She stood from her chair and approached the glass, her eyes roving over him in his Saiyan armor, her gaze lingering on his spiky hair, and on his tail wrapped around his waist, the tip of which twitched under her observation. They eyed each other from across the expanse of the room, his look wary where her's was more curious. He finally stepped closer to her display to get a better look, his arms crossed over his breast plate. She was about the same height as him, but much more delicate in stature. He sensed she would break as easily as the glass she stood behind.
"Are you a soldier?" she asked, her voice muffled behind her window but still discernible. She spoke the galactic language fluently, her voice smooth on his ears. Her eyes still rove all over him, taking in his shoulder pads and hardened physique.
He narrowed his eyes at her, not bothering to answer. He didn't answer questions, he asked them. "What are you?" he asked curtly.
"I'm human," she replied, as if that was supposed to mean something to him. It didn't. And then she said something to really baffle him. "I'm Bulma."
He glanced down at the gold name plate on her display case. RANK S. BLUE DOLL it read. He pointed a finger towards it. "According to that you're not."
The faintest of scowls marred her pretty face, before she chased it away with a practiced smile. "I don't care what that says," she replied, her voice low, conspiring. A secret shared between the two of them, luring him in, her words wrapping around him like a lasso. "I'm Bulma," she repeated firmly. "Who are you?"
"None of your business," he said.
"It's very much my business if you're going to fuck me."
"Who said I was going to fuck you?"
"Your eyes did," she said, giving him a salacious smile. She let her gaze wander to his hip plates. "And if I put my hand under those, I'm guessing the bulge in your pants would too."
Vegeta struggled not to react, fighting back a blush. He was not used to such a bold approach. Or any kind of approach at all. Most whores would go about their duty with bored submission, using practiced lines he would quickly put an end to by telling them to shut up. But this was different. This woman's lewd words almost felt like an invitation. A vulgar invitation from a woman who was fucking him with her pretty sapphire eyes.
And he was annoyed at how effective it was. She was right. He was getting hard.
Vegeta was tempted to walk away just to prove her wrong. But that would be like running away, and running wasn't something coded into his DNA. Besides, wasn't that her job, to arouse him? And wasn't he here to be aroused? It was just a business transaction. He was a client with a biological urge, and she, the doll to meet it.
So why did her smile, bold words, and keen eyes rattle him so?
"So, soldier," she pressed on when he didn't reply. "What's it going to be? Can you afford me?"
He felt a tick of annoyance pull at his cheek, a remarkable feat when it usually took the idiotic antics of Raditz to rile him up so easily. "I am a warrior, not a solider," he corrected her tersely. "And I am a prince." A displaced one, sure, with only two subjects, but a prince nonetheless.
Her blue eyes lit up at his title, her smile broadening. "So you can afford me."
Of course he fucking could. Not that he was as wealthy as one might think a prince to be, but he was far from poor. He rarely had the chance to spend his credits. Frieza's army kept him adequately outfitted, sparing him the need to buy equipment. And even if he did want to go shopping, most of his missions provided him with little opportunity to do so. Not that he cared to. What would he buy? He had few hobbies or vices. When he did spend his credits, it was usually on acquiring decent food and accommodations, if the planet they were spending a lay over on could provide them with such. But such small luxuries hardly put a dent in his savings.
And so Vegeta had amassed a small fortune. Which is why now he didn't even have to look at her rate. He knew he could afford her. And even if he couldn't, who the fuck was going to stop him from taking her if he really wanted to?
"You seem awfully eager to get fucked," he commented.
She lowered her eyes, a blush staining her cheeks, before glancing back up at him. "Well, it's not every day a cutie like you walks in." Before he could scoff at her flattery, she added, "You're like me."
"Like you?" he asked, trying to discern what she meant. They were nothing alike. They couldn't be any more opposite. He was death in the flesh, hard and brutal and dark, whereas she was soft and light and made for pleasure. Or was she drawing some more abstract parallel between their lives? Did she see something in him? Did she somehow know of the servitude he was forced into? While she might be trapped behind glass, he was trapped by an invisible leash, forced to heel to a master and live a life not of his choosing.
Maybe they were more alike than he thought.
"Yes, we're bipedal," she explained, ticking off words on her fingers. "Mammalian. There's cranial Hair. Binocular vision. Pentadactyl limbs. Opposable digits. Ectodermal tissue."
Vegeta blinked, trying not to look as confused as he felt.
She gave a small smile, seeing through his act. "That basically means we have the same hair, hands, eyes, legs… skin," she clarified, her smile turning sad. Her fingers brushed over her arm. His eyes followed the gesture, entranced by how soft her skin appeared. He was suddenly taken by the desire to run his fingers over her. Something clenched and tightened in his lower belly.
So, she had been speaking literally when she said they were alike, referring to their physical similarities.
It never occurred to Vegeta that someone else might hunger for contact from their own species. Or at least, from someone close enough to pass as one, as Saiyan, or whatever she had called herself. He found himself giving the most fleeting of thoughts to what her usual clientele must look like. She was unspeakably beautiful and exotic. Rare. No doubt she attracted a wide range of rich clients. And if her quiet confession had been any indication, none of them had skin.
And neither had those he had been with, at least, not skin like his. Like hers. And he would probably never get the chance again if he walked away from her.
"Do you know how long it's been since I felt human skin on my own?" she murmured, pressing closer to the glass, her fingers still ghosting over her arm in a slow, sensual caress. She trailed her fingers up to her neck, then down her chest, between her breasts that her robe barely covered. He stepped forward to hear her words, lured in by the unspoken offer to touch her, if only the damned glass weren't in the way.
"Do you think I care about your suffering?" he asked, surprised by how low and husky his voice came out.
She looked up at him from under hooded eyes. "Isn't my suffering the same as yours? Aren't you dying to feel me around your cock, as much as I am to have you sink into me?"
"Isn't that why you're talking to me now?" she added, touching her forehead to the window, her words fogging between them. "To fuck me?"
Vegeta pressed a fist to the glass, and leaned in so close his brow rested opposite of hers. "Woman. You had better be worth it."
"Tch, we will see."
The private room was nicer than he had been anticipating. It wasn't overly gaudy. If anything, it felt cozy and lived in. The furnishings were decorated in rich earthy tones, lit with soft, warm lamp light. It reminded him of a sunset after a hard day's purge, when he sat and contemplated the newly desolate planet, fresh blood still seeping into the soil, the whistle of the wind blowing in the sudden silence of screams and explosions.
It was peaceful.
"Are you thirsty?" she asked.
His eyes slid from their careful observation of the room over to her. There was no glass separating them now, but there was still an invisible barrier that he wasn't sure how to cross. He felt more like a guest than a client here. She probably meant it to be comforting but instead it threw him off. Previous experience taught him that the whore would already be lying on her back, legs splayed, staring up at the ceiling in disinterest, or half-heartedly attempting to encourage him. This Bulma woman was an anomaly, still wearing her sheer fabrics that shifted and shimmered tantalizing over her body, smiling warmly as she held up a glass and a bottle in offering.
He thinned his lips at her drink, by nature distrustful. He glanced over to the bed.
She saw, and laughed. "That eager, are we?"
He felt his face warm, and hoped the caramel lighting would hide any color his cheeks betrayed. "I didn't pay you to drink," he snapped churlishly.
"Of course not," she replied, setting glass and bottle aside. Her hands went to her thin robe and with practiced, liquid ease, she unrobed, the fabric melting away and pooling about her feet. She was naked. A tiny, pale, curvy thing of Saiyan wet dreams.
If he wasn't blushing before, he definitely was now. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he glanced away, uncomfortable with her confidence.
Though he didn't look directly at her, he could see her approach from his peripheral vision, feel her presence as she invaded his space. He tensed when her hands alighted on his breastplate.
"How do you take this off?" she asked, her voice low and seductive.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was giving him a cute smile, her blue eyes dancing wickedly. He couldn't shake the feeling she was making fun of him. Vegeta frowned and brushed her hands away to pull off his armor. He had to unwind his tail to do so, and didn't miss the way her eyes widened with curiosity at the appendage. Vegeta let his armor drop loudly and unceremoniously to the floor, and tried not to panic now that he didn't have it on. There was nothing this woman could possibly do to harm him, and yet… he felt raw and exposed. Though she was naked and he fully clothed, he felt like he had stripped himself of more than just his armor.
"Can I touch your tail?" she asked, still eyeing it with fascination.
He hastily wrapped it back around his waist. "Absolutely not," he said curtly.
"Why not? Is it sensitive?" she asked, sounding excited by the notion.
He felt himself tense defensively. "I won't repeat myself."
She pouted, but her eyes drank in the rest of him, his blue, skin-tight suit making it easy for her. His tail curled about tight abs, his powerful chest rose and fell with his breathing, and lower down his half-hard erection was no longer hidden beneath armored plates. "You're very impressive," she said in honeyed tones.
He looked away, but not in embarrassment. He wanted to preen at her words. Of course he was impressive. He trained exhaustively for this body. Still… it wasn't often others praised his physique. Most people couldn't look past his short height, and it wasn't until too late that they realized the living weapon he was. It was hard to think this woman could be any different. No doubt she was only lavishing him with a whore's idle praises.
But he wanted to think she meant it. She certainly sounded more convincing than the others ever had.
He saw movement and his hand darted up instinctively to catch her fingers moments before they touched his cheek. He scowled at her. "The fuck do you think you're doing?" he snapped at her.
"Touching you," she said matter-of-factly. She was giving him a bemused look, but otherwise appeared unconcerned by his harsh reaction. "This will be a little difficult without touching."
She was right. Damn her.
Her expression softened. Her fingers curled around his where he still gripped her hand. "…Is this your first time?" she asked gently.
"Wh-what?" he asked, outrage quickly swelling up inside of him.
"It's okay. I've dealt with virgins before. We can take it slow."
How dare she. How dare a whore presume to know his sexual experience, and more than that, speak to him so casually about it? As if her opinion fucking mattered.
She was only a goddamn sex doll after all.
Done with playing this awkward cat and mouse dance, Vegeta leaned in, his lips peeling back from his canines in a silent snarl. "I'm no virgin. And I don't need your pity. I don't need anything from you but what I paid for."
It was meant to be intimidating, and he thought he succeeded when her breath trembled. But then she leaned closer, her soft body pressing into his, and his cock twitched in reaction. Exhilaration flashed in the depths of her sparkling blue eyes.
"Oh trust me, pity is the furthest thing on my mind," she reassured, and leaned in to kiss him. Vegeta panicked, shoving her away. He threw her towards the bed and her legs hit the edge, sending her tumbling onto the mattress and she let out a startled yelp. He was done being on the defense. He advanced towards her, ripping his blue battle suit from his shoulders and peeling it down his torso.
The woman brushed her cerulean hair from her face and stared up at him. Her surprise at his sudden manhandling quickly changed, seeing him strip down. He wanted to scare her. He needed to tip the scales back in his favor. The balance had been shifting further and further into her control, but he was putting a stop to that right now. He needed to regain dominance, and fear was his tool of choice. The woman needed to be put back in her place. But she must have had a death wish, because instead of fearing the dark, predatory look he aimed at her, she returned it with her own. Her breath quickened and her eyes darkened, not with fear, but arousal. With cheeks flushed and nipples peaked, the blue doll spread her legs in open invitation.
Something primal snarled inside of him, bucking at a cage to be set free. His blood burned, rushing through him, heating his skin and electrifying him in a way that felt akin to battle, excited for spilt blood and carnage. His pulse pounded in his ears, and throbbed in his cock.
"Turn over," he told her in a growl.
She was admiring his scarred chest and arms when he spoke. Her eyes snapped back to his, showing her surprise. "What, why?" she whined.
Done with her insubordination, Vegeta leaned in and grabbed her tiny waist. It was an easy thing to flip her about. She weighed nothing, light as a kitten next to his brute strength. It startled him. How much would he need to hold back to prevent from breaking her?
She let out a breathless gasp as he flipped her, but once turned around, she stayed obediently on her belly. She glanced over her shoulder at him, lifting her pert, perfect ass up into the air.
"What should I call you?" she asked, her voice breathy with excitement.
"Nothing," he told her as he pulled the rest of the suit off his body, his swollen cock springing free. He climbed over her on the bed, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, shoving her face down into the bed so she couldn't look at him.
"Toys don't speak."
AN: beta-read by the incredibly talented Artephile / Marcella-Duchamp.
Much love and appreciation to stupidoomdoodles who helped me brainstorm this AU idea.
This series written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by the Prince and the Heiress google community. (TPTHVegebulSmutfest)
DBZ characters are an original creation of Akira Toriyama.