I'm Maid to Order

Building up the nerve to get out of your Buick hadn’t gotten any easier in the last six months. You looked in the rear-view mirror for the third time and put your hand on the door handle. As far as you could tell, nobody had followed you into the lot in the last twenty minutes you'd been sitting parked with the engine off. It was 8:57PM on a Saturday night and the last thing you needed was to be identified walking into the "clinic". With one last nervous sigh, you forced yourself out of the car. You locked it, but you didn’t turn on the alarm for fear that the quick beep would draw the attention of someone you knew, sealing your fate. You made a bee-line for of the Starbucks next door, but at the last second you pivoted left and walked towards the non-descript door of the “Breaking Boundaries Stress Clinic”. If anyone had seen you, you might be able to pass it off as an unlikely, late-night, mid-weekend counseling program. They might believe you when you say that it’s to cope with the stress of your job, but any real research into the “clinic” would reveal the true, perverse nature of your evening. With one last peek over your shoulder, you pushed through the door and into the darkened lobby. The room was styled like any modern clinic lobby, except that there was a smoky haze and minimal lighting to help assure patient privacy. The light musical notes of an Asian string instrument echoed from well-hidden speakers. A young woman took your coat off your shoulders and placed it on a hook as usual.
“Welcome back Mr. Boyd.”
“Thank you, Allison. Are classes still going well this semester?”
“Yes, thank you. If you go talk to Tanya, I think she said that Johanna is getting ready for you now.”
She knew you wanted to get to your session, so she didn’t keep you with small-talk.
“Perfect, thank you.”
Allison had been working here for the last six months and every time you walked in, she had been just as professional and courteous as the last. Her tall, thin body looked elegant in the black, V-neck dress that was clinic-standard. She went to college in the area and needed an extra source of income to fund her non-academic excursions. Why she chose to spend her Saturday night’s doing this, you couldn’t figure out.
You walked across the dim lobby to Tanya’s desk. A gorgeous black woman in the same black dress looked up at you with a brilliant smile. After a flurry of clicks on the keyboard and the press of button on her ear-piece, she spoke at you, but not to you.
“Your nine o’clock is here, Johanna.”
A moment’s pause and a few keystrokes later she addressed you.
“She’s ready for you, Mr. Boyd. Door number twelve, as usual.”
“Thank you, Tanya.”
You turned to the right and looked down the hallway. The hall was 30 yards long, with a pair of opposing red doors every fifteen feet. Each frame was illuminated by the orange glow of industrial looking ceiling lamps. The building was deceptively small from the outside, because each of these rooms was quite large, allowing them to house all manner of… Equipment. You passed a shadowy figure waiting in a chair to your left. Courtesy dictated that you respectfully ignore their presence and avoid even looking in his or her direction. Your shadow rippled across the wall in arcs as you passed under the lights. The sound of your dress shoes on the hardwood floor died out as you traveled further down the hallway, casualty to the noise-dampening material that lined the walls. In all your visits, not once had you heard a sound from one of the closed rooms. You approached the red door with the metal numbers ‘12’ in the center, just below the peephole. You pressed the illuminated button of the bell and waited. Looking back down the hallway, Tanya’s desk looked miles away, and in the darkened haze you couldn’t even confidently discern if she was behind it. Gazing back to your doorway, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, and a warm numbness filled your legs. Even after so many visits, your nerves tried to get the better of you.
A shadow passed by the faintly glowing peep hole, and a moment later the door creaked open. You almost stumbled as you forced your lead feet into the room. You were momentarily blinded by the white light that reflected off every surface. The white tiled walls and floor threw the light into every corner of the room. The only shapes that stood out were the studded black leather bench in the corner, and the woman who had let you enter.
Johanna stood over six feet tall, wrapped in a gray bathrobe. Her magenta lips and chocolate locks contrasted with her pale skin. Though she was thin, she had wonderful curves, her bust and hips still made an hourglass profile through the heavy fabric of the robe. She pursed her lips and looked you up and down. With a smirk, she addressed you.
“Well dressed as always, Mr. Boyd. You didn’t specify hawk or dove over the phone when Tanya confirmed our appointment. I have the equipment for either request on hand, I’ll just need a moment to prepare. Have you made a decision?”
You had felt like a “dove” all day. Being nervous all morning and afternoon, travelling here with your face hidden, and constantly peering over your shoulder like a prey animal had done that to you. However, something caught your eye as you looked over your host. Beyond the sleeves of the robe, you could see that her hands wore transparent latex gloves with metallic blue frills at their cuffs. Looking below the lower edge of the gray cloth, you could see the same clear latex wrapped around her thighs, calves, and feet. Her rubbery toes disappeared into the gleaming blue stilettos that gave Johanna such a commanding presence. She was hiding her kinky garb from you. A part of you knew that she had just thrown it on to walk down the hall from the changing area, but now you wanted to expose her secrets. Your heart jumped to life as you imagined forcing your will upon this fetish queen and giving her the same treatment that she had given you so many times previous.
“I feel like a hawk today, Johanna.”
Her eyes widened a little as her smirk became a little less brazen. It was a nearly imperceptible change in attitude, but it made every bit the difference in the upcoming session.
“Very well, Mr. Boyd. Shall I help you strip?”
“You first Johanna.”
Without breaking eye contact, she undid the knot on the front of the robe. As she opened it, she shrugged the modest article off her shoulders, and the mass unceremoniously fell to the floor. In its place, Johanna’s body filled a transparent blue latex maid’s uniform. Black rubber frills adorned the edges of the short sleeves and deep neckline, while her imprisoned breasts spilled over the top of a glossy black corset. The light glinted off the meticulously polished steel busk, and the hinge traced a line from her cleavage to the latex skirt that draped her hips. If you had felt like a “dove” today, she would have taken a powerful stance: hands on her hips and her weight centered between two feet set firmly apart, with her back straight, despite her bound midsection. Her head would have been tilted back just enough to peer down her nose at you in contempt. Instead, you were in charge, so she placed on hand across the corset as her other partially covered her impressive cleavage in an attempt at modesty. Her weight was on one dainty foot and her knees were pressed together. Her tilted head and expectant pout showed it: she was taking the submissive role today. Still, she made sure to articulate one last point before becoming your play-thing.
“Red is our safe-word. Saying yellow, orange, or green will indicate whether to decrease intensity, remain at the current level of intensity, or increase intensity as desired at and between status checks. Now, shall I help you out of your clothes now, Mr. Boyd?”
You furrowed your brow at her as she realized her error. You corrected her.
“No, I will remain clothed until I tell you to do otherwise. Now, open the chest, Johanna.”
“Yes, Mr. Boyd.”
Her heals clicked on the tile as she turned around and bent to open the bench to reveal a box of “toys”. Her round buttocks lifted the frills of the skirt high enough to get a peek underneath. You followed the fake, printed seam of the rubber pantyhose from her heel, up her leg to the gap between her thighs. The latex panties that cradled her mound glistened from the shadow. You were half-tempted to walk over right now, pull out your cock, tear away the thin elastic barrier, and fuck her right there. A deep breath calmed you down, but only a little. She stood back up and turned around. She walks towards you, her hands outstretched, presenting a tray with a ball gag, cuffs for her wrists and ankles, a spreader bar, lube and straps for the bench. You took the platter from her as she looked at her feet.
“Well I’m not going to bend over, go sit down.”
“Yes, Mr. Boyd. Sorry, Mr. Boyd.”
She turned back and sat on the bench. Many times, in the past, you had been the one tied to it, arms and legs spread with your ass in the air. Even when Johanna had been violating you with her toys, sound proofing wasn’t necessary because of the gags that had been jammed between your teeth. However, it probably was necessary to dampen Johanna’s bright yet maniacal laughter at your torture.
You approached your soon-to-be victim and stood with your belt buckle inches from her face. You placed the tray of toys on the bench and plucked the gag from the bunch. She took a deep breath and looked up at you with blue eyes full of cautious expectation. You held the straps of the ball gag as she dutifully wrapped her mouth around it, then tilted her head down so you could fasten it. She let out a quiet whimper as you tightened the gag just a little extra. She looked back up, saliva already beginning to accumulate around the red rubber ball. You chose the wrist restraints next, so she lifted her hands from her lap. She presented her wrists to you willingly, but as you wrapped the leather around them and turned the key, you could feel the nervous stiffness in her movement. Johanna could have won an award for her performance. Every action, expression, and word, drawn out or barely perceptible, convinced you that she was an anxious submissive. If you hadn’t been at the receiving end of her dominant side, you’d think her incapable of taking charge.
You picked up the ankle cuffs and spreader bar. Johanna raised one leg as high as she could, but with the corset it only came up to your knee. You let out an exasperated breath and stooped to grab her ankle. With a yank and a smothered yelp, she fell backward onto her elbows as you jerked her foot up to your waist. Her shoe clattered to the ground, so you rested her foot on your erection as you closed and locked the restraint. She must have felt your package, because she started moving her feet and toes, eagerly stroking you. For a moment you gave in, and grabbed her foot with both hands, grinding forcefully against her explorative movements. Then you regained control and dropped her foot to the floor. She grunted as her heel made a soft slap against the tiles. This time she raised her other foot properly, so you placed the cuff on uneventfully. She raised both feet this time, and you locked them together with the bar. She gave you a somber look as you carelessly dropped her feet again. You looked down at her shoes strewn across the floor and considered making her crawl around and try to put them on. With the spreader bar, she would have to struggle just to get them, much less to put them on. You liked the idea of her regal form humiliated on the tiles.
But your soft side took over. You picked the heels up and got down on your knees at her feet, to gently coaxed them over her toes. You couldn’t help kissing her on the knee before standing up. As much as you enjoyed torturing each other in this BDSM relationship, you felt there was a little something beyond the professional courtesy she showed you. The thought of her having other clients made you question that, but when you looked into her eyes and saw the gratitude for this simple action, you felt butterflies in your chest like you were staring at a high school crush. You smirked a little, then regained your composure.
“Now you may undress me, Johanna.”
With a quick nod, she stood up and shuffled to you, the links rattling as she moved. You kicked your shoes off as she reached up to your collar and pulled your tie through. She undid the knot, carefully folded the expensive silk, and placed it gingerly on the bench. Then she leaned against you for stability while carefully undoing your shirt buttons. When she finished, she carefully removed the shirt from your stoic shoulders. Setting it aside, she lifted your arms over your head to remove your undershirt. You could feel her gloves drag up your stomach and chest. She moved so close when she undid your belt buckle that you could feel her breath on your shoulder. She squatted down and unbuttoned your pants, opened the zipper, then slid your pants, briefs, and socks off with one professional sweep. She was now on her knees, inches away from your erect manhood, but she couldn’t orally pleasure you with the gag in. Instead, she stood up and guided you to the bench. She sat next to you and draped her right leg over your knees, her left dragging behind on the floor because of the bar. She took the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount into her palm, then worked it between the gloves until they were slick with the fluid. You inhaled sharply as she wrapped her hands around your cock. The room was just a little cold, most likely to make Johanna’s nipples perky, but after a few seconds the cool latex warmed.
She was expertly working you with each stroke. Her fingers were winding and weaving as her thumbs swirled around your head. You looked up at her. Your authoritarian glare was fading away under her masterful massaging, and her purely submissive eyes were showing a hint of enjoyment in playing with you. You could have taken back control in an instant by demeaning her somehow, but you chose not to. As much as you knew that playing the submissive was literally half of her job, you’d enjoyed the sessions better when you had toned it down. Days like today didn’t leave you with the desire to torment someone for two hours by tying them to a bed and having your violent way. On the other hand, you also weren’t in the mood to have your hole reamed, your ass whipped, and your predicament mocked by Johanna the dominatrix maid.
You made the slow realization that without the focus on BDSM, this was no longer a fetish session. Instead, this was a weekly date with a prostitute. In the moment you didn’t mind that. With Johanna’s hand edging you towards orgasm, just to bring you back down again and repeat, you were okay with the arrangement. It was the rest of the week when you were trapped with the thought that what had started out as a unique expression of extreme sexual tastes was becoming a crutch in your sex life. You didn’t date as often, because you were going to see Johanna. Going out three nights a week had dropped to two, now one because you knew you would see Johanna. You didn’t even look at porn as often because it didn’t compare to Johanna. But in this moment, looking again into her playful blue eyes, you didn’t mind the arrangement. She gave a smirk, as best she could with her mouth sealed with a gag the size of a golf ball, then turned her attention back to working your rod. As she continued stroking, you decided to give her something in return. You had pretty much given up on the idea of dominant roleplay tonight, in exchange for some mutual pleasure. You lubed up a hand as she continued blissfully stroking you. You ignored the surprise on her face as you lifted her skirt with your dry hand, because you were still technically in charge. She was breathing faster with anticipation as you pulled at her latex panties. She looked down just as you snaked your arm around her compressed waist and dropped your slippery fingers into her pants. She let loose a restrained moan as she felt your fingers squeeze her wet mound. You could feel her heat warm your hand, so you must have just draped icy-digits over her womanhood, but judging by the renewed enthusiasm of her hands, she must have enjoyed it. She tried in vain to press her knees together, but the spreader bar kept them far enough apart that you could continue as you pleased. You couldn’t resist bending over and taking a handful of her impressive bust with your free hand. You stretched the frilly neckline down and underneath one of her tits, just so you could lick and suck her perked nipple. You could feel the tense point soften as you warmed it in your eager mouth. Her breathing became heavier as you started pushing boundaries down below. You forced a yelp from her as your middle finger pushed past her wet lips. She tried to distract you by cradling your sack with her free hand, but after you inserted a second finger into her slit, she had to grip your wrist instead, in a half-hearted attempt to stop the barrage of her pussy. She raised her head to you, and while her expression said that you were torturing her, her eyes said “Don’t stop”. You could feel the fresh stubble of pubic hair recently shaven. The texture gave your hand something to grip as you squeezed her, rolling her clit between your penetrating fingers and oppressive palm. She threw her head back and cried with pleasure, finally letting go of your shaft. She shook in your embrace as you pushed her over the edge of pleasure. Saliva and tears dripped down her face as her gag restricted her breathing and slowed her recovery. She shook violently as you removed your digits from inside her and, in one last sadistic move, dragged them over her oversensitive clit. Once you let go of her waist, she weakly fell onto her side, exposing her dripping slit to you. When you leaned over and kissed her shoulder, you could hear her ragged breathing. You stroked yourself a few times and stood up, facing her vulnerable backside. She had almost recomposed herself when you pulled her by her spreader bar. A fleeting shriek escaped from around the gag, but it turned to giggling as you dropped her legs on top of the bench, leaving her face down on the leather. Your hard cock tensed with the sight of her: splayed out over the padded surface, trying to get up as you held her ass down with one hand. She struggled to get her hands underneath her, but before she could you were on top of her. You forced a hand between the leather and latex to seize her tit again. With a hard squeeze of her rubbery flesh, she finally stopped struggling. You felt the heady high of dominance as all the fight left her. Her struggling had stopped the instant you willed it, and you literally got off on that feeling. Her grunts of effort turned into simpering moans as your other hand traced from her shoulder, down her back, and between her cheeks. You kissed her neck, pausing to savor the sweet scent of her hair.  Her fragrance mingled with the chemical smell of the latex and some other rubber you couldn’t discern…
You breathed down the back of her neck as you put your lips to her ear.
“Now that you understand that I’m in charge, I’m going to make you cum as many times as I please. I’m going to leave you a quivering mess in a puddle of your own filth for my enjoyment. Then, if I want, I’m going to use you to finish myself, because you’re just a sex toy that I use to vent my urges. Do you understand?”
She nodded meekly. You felt a pang of guilt looking at her. Something about the curt affirmation made you feel like you just crossed a line. In all honesty you were just trying to maintain the BDSM aspect of the session. You didn’t want her to think… No… To know that you were starting to feel for her.
The thought was bothering you, so you rolled onto your side, carefully lifting your weight off her. You reached behind her head and carefully undid the gag. It slipped from your fingers once you got it loose, and it fell to the bench, splattering her drool across the leather. She lay motionless for a second, catching her breath as more saliva spilled from her red lips.
“Johanna, are you okay to continue?”
“I’m fine Mr. Boyd.” She was still facing down with her eyes closed. You leaned in close.
“Are you sure?” The care that was trapped in your heart must have carried in your voice, because the words got her attention. She turned her head to face you, her eyes a little glossy. Her spit-glossed lips curled into a faint smile.
“Green, Mr. Boyd” You thought the words had caught in her throat, but you brushed it off as a consequence of the gag.
“Alright then. Please present yourself, Johanna.”
“Yes, Mr. Boyd.”
You picked up the gag and placed it back between her brilliant teeth, then she propped herself up on her left arm and knees. Straddling her legs, her vulnerable slit faced you, ready for your girth. You got behind her and traced her lips with your tip before pressing your cock deep inside her. A drawn-out moan escaped her mouth as you thrust into her. Within a few stroked you both had found a rhythm, bouncing against each other in synch. The sound of thighs colliding got louder as you grabbed her corseted waist and started pulling her into each plunging stroke. Each deep drive forced more ecstatic chirps from Johanna’s squirming form. In an attempt to take more control of your session, you gripped her arms and pulled back, suspending her upper body off the bench as you threw your pelvis into hers. Feeling her weight bounce on your lap was exciting you. You wrapped your arms around her, one cradling her throat, the other gripping her bound tits. You started to grunt as an orgasm loomed on the horizon. Your thrusting became shorter and sharper, and her moans became a constant note interrupted by a few sharp inhales. Your bodies moved as one as the feeling came to a head. Streams of hot semen filled her hole as her leaking fluids washed down your groin and trickled onto the leather below. You both sat for a moment, enjoying the feeling of true human connection. She started to lean forward off you, but she was still weak. You grabbed her arm to catch her successfully, but something felt weird.
You opened your hand and saw what appeared to be Johanna’s flesh, rolled up like a shirt sleeve from under her latex uniform. Your heart missed a beat before you realized that she wasn’t hurt. There was no blood, it just looked like there was another layer of darker skin over Johanna’s peeled flesh. When she looked back, all eyes in the room shot open in terror. Johanna saw her “injury”, and you saw her neck. It was as if the skin across her collarbone was peeling itself away from the rest. You got off the bench and backed up a few trembling steps, disturbed and perplexed at the sight in front of you. She sat up and reached behind her head to expertly remove the gag in a few seconds. She threw it behind her and raised her hands to calm you.
“Mr. Boyd, please, stay calm.”
“That’s a little difficult at the moment, but… I’ll try. You’re not hurt, are you?”
She smiled lightly at your concern.
“No, I’m fine. This isn’t my skin.”
You tilted your head at the implication of it being someone else’s, until she continued.
“…or even real skin for that matter,” she quietly assured you as she tugged lightly at the fleshy seam on her arm. She tucked it back under her latex sleeve, and in a moment, Joanna’s arm had returned to normal.
“See, right as rain! Could we please continue like nothing happened?” Her smile told you that she clearly didn’t know about her neck, so you kept it to yourself for a moment.
“What did I just see?”
She paused for a moment, nodding.
“For sanitation purposes, we wear full gloves that look almost identical to our real hands. We can sterilize them between sessions to maintain hygiene. Additionally, the fingernails are made of a stiff rubber. That protects our gloves and clients from punctures during… Internal activities.”
You would have bought it if her neck didn’t look like it had been slit and exsanguinated.
“I suppose doing the same for your neck, face, and head wouldn’t be a bad idea either?”
She looked at you as a hint of her confidence faded. You continued.
“That way you could protect your face from exposure to fluids… So long as the neck seal holds, right?”
Her eyebrows lifted as your point drove home. Her gloved hand traced up her cleavage until her fingertips caught on the open seam.
“Well, fuck.”
“So who lies under Johanna? Some strange woman? Many strange women that alternate weekly?... Are there men in the mix?”
She sighed deeply before responding to your pointed questioning.
“Johanna the Scandinavian fetish maid is actually a fourth-year college student named Valerie who needs to express her fetishes and make some money.”
The Swedish accent had disappeared, but her posture remained, due in no small part to the tight corset hugging her mid-section.
“Valerie also has a budding crush on one of her clients.”
Well that made this entire situation more complicated. You were planning on simply walking out, paying and setting up a new host for your next session. A new host whose skin you wouldn’t pull on. You suddenly realized how entirely naked you were. You reached down to grab your drawers and pants. She put out her hands to stop you from leaving.
“Don’t worry,” you waved her off, “I just don’t want to stand here buck-ass naked while we have this talk.”
She shuffled over anyway to help you balance. Once you were clothed from the waist down, she returned to her spot in front of the bench.
“Well, let’s see it then.”
“What’s that, Mr. Boyd?”
“I think it’s alright if you call me Leon, at this point.”
“Okay… Leon, what did you want me to do?”
“Take off the mask. It’s about time I meet Valerie.”
She hesitated a moment, but when you nodded at her she found the seam again with her fingers. She teased the corners of the slit, working her way around her neck. You watched, transfixed, as she pulled the edge of the mask off her skin, leaving a fleshy skirt under her jaw. You felt anticipation building inside, and a confused erection growing in your pants. She dug her fingers into the gap between her jaw and mask, beginning to distort Johanna’s sleek face. You could see Valerie’s digits working under the rubber skin, stretching the maid off the college student underneath. With a few wet snaps and the sound of crinkling rubber, she pulled up, the fake features freeing Valerie’s real ones. Valerie stood up, her hands in a mocking ‘I surrender’ pose, with Johanna’s artificial visage draped over one hand.
The neckline of the suit separated your usual latex housemaid, in all her kinky splendor, from the blushing, sweaty face of Valerie. Her shoulder-length, chestnut hair had partially fallen out of her tight bun, covering one of her bronze eyes. Compared to Johanna, she was at least 12 years younger. With the spreader bar, she tried fruitlessly to close her knees in an attempt at modesty.
“So now what happens, Leon?”
You hadn’t asked yourself this question yet.
“I’m not sure… Am I the client you mentioned?”
“Yes, Mr. Boyd,” she answered playfully, smirking and blushing at the same time.
“Are you going to get in trouble if we continue our sessions, in light of this new information?”
“I can keep a secret if you can. Do you mind that I’ll have to keep doing…This, as a job?” She gestured around the room.
“No, you have your fun.” You must have hesitated, just a little, because she followed up with some comforting news.
“Over the last month, as I’ve realized how I feel…About you…I’ve been trading clients with the other girls. At this point, you’re the only client with permission to play ‘hawk’ with me…”
She looked a little anxious, afraid that her response wasn’t good enough.
“So you’re saying that you dominate every other man you have sessions with?”
“Yes, women, too. Mostly women, actually; this week will be one male client’s last week, so I’ll only have one gentleman left, and five women.”
That raised your eyebrows for a moment, but you recovered.
“You tie them up and fuck them like you have me?”
“Yes, torture them to a finish and give them some aftercare.”
“Alright. I guess I’ll just call it practice for your time with me.”
She laughed a little and nervously played with the mask. You stepped towards her slowly. She threw the mask on the bench. You stood, half a foot apart, staring into each other’s eyes. You pushed the hair out of her face and leaned in. She grabbed you and kissed deeply. It started slow and passionate, but after a few carnal lunges you were groping every inch of each other and swirling tongues. She pushed away from you with a mischievous grin and sat on the bench. She picked up the mask again, stretched the neck wide, and pulled it down over her head, remembering to tuck the edge under her fake cleavage. Once Johanna was back, she rolled onto her stomach on the bench.
“Mr. Boyd, you may continue using me now.”
You dropped your pants and were lying on her before they hit the floor. Reaching behind you, you grabbed the straps. She cradled your erection in her hot crack, made wide by the spreader bar. Meanwhile, you tied her arms to opposite corners of the bench. Once she was securely bound, she pulled on the restraints; the leather and straps creaked quietly as she tested them. You whispered into her ear again.
“I hope you’re ready for this, Johanna.”
She gave a quick nod in affirmation as you returned the gag to her waiting lips. With a generous squirt of lubricant between her buttocks and a few strokes of your shaft, like a painter’s brush over a canvas, she was ready. You pressed your tip against her puckered anus. It wasn’t until you eased off a little and gently kissed the back of her neck that she relaxed enough for you to gain a little entrance. She whined as your head pressed halfway into her. With all the lubricant, she didn’t stand a chance. In one deep, slow thrust you felt your cock slide entirely into her ring. She screamed through the mask, and you were almost worried until it ended with an exasperated chuckle. She was squeezing the engorged invader with such force that you couldn’t back out for another lunge, so you reached a hand between her legs and rolled her hooded clit between your fingers. She moaned loudly as your handiwork made her relax her muscles a little.
“That’s it, I’ll go real slow and gentle. Just relax for me…”
As if on command, you felt enough pressure relief that you could begin sliding into and out of her. Short distances at first, but after a few minutes you were pumping her rear with your entire, slick length. A few more minutes and she was moving with you. She was making a high-pitched note that was interrupted with the impact of each deep thrust and her own ragged inhales. You decided to pop the gag out, just to hear her whining unfiltered. As soon as you did, she spoke in a voice tortured by pleasure.
“Spank me! Cum in me! Use me, Leon!”
Not wanting to disappoint her, you leaned slightly to one side and started smacking her silicone ass with a cupped palm. She let out a shrill cry with each crack of your hand. Taking charge again, you held her gag back in with one hand as you continued punishing her tender rear. The feeling of power and her tight hole brought you to the edge. With violent thrusts, you grunted to a finish, squeezing muscles in your groin with each pulse in an effort to fill her deeper. You caught your breath for a second, but realized that Johanna still needed your attention. You let go of the gag and reached down between her legs. She let out a shocked gasp when you continued spanking her with each massage of her slit. She leaned back into your chest as much as she could while restrained, so you gave her another mix of pleasure and pain as you sucked her neck and spanked her at the same time. As soon as the sensation registered, you pressed two fingers deep into her wet cunt. She screamed as you rolled her g-spot between your fingers inside her and your palm, pressed deep over her mound. She screeched louder and louder as your hand brought her to a long-awaited climax. She shivered and screamed as waves of pleasure washed over her entire body. She went limp as the waning sensation left her body exhausted.
You were resting with your chin on her shoulder when she regained the energy to speak.
“Take off my mask…”
You pulled a hand from its resting place beneath her ample breast just as the feeling of pins and needles was setting in. The edges of the mask, around her eyes and mouth, had slipped, giving a strange peeling look to Johanna’s face. You pinched it near her collarbone, and a seam appeared just below. You slid your hand into the gash, moist with Valerie’s sweat, and the mass of your hand travelled under her skin and up her neck. Her hot breath kept the void between skin and silicon warm as you splayed your fingers out, behind her head. With one sweeping pull over her head, Johanna’s features stretched and deflated off, and Valerie’s sweat drenched face reappeared. With a dull, wet slap, Johanna’s artificial face fell to the bench, a slick puddle leaking from its many holes. Valerie opened her makeup smeared eyelids to look at you, her face resting on the soiled leather.
“How about… Coffee tomorrow… With Valerie… And an extra session on Wednesday… With Johanna.”
You nodded. That would be nice.

Workplace Boundaries

WARNING: This story contains BDSM and one character forcing(non-physically) another character into sexual behavior. Reader discretion is advised.

You couldn't help but notice that the sink was spotless as you ate your apple. However, it looked like your maid, Stella, forgot to clean the spigot, along with the inside of the refrigerator handles, the front doorknob, and the living room windows. This was the third week she had been doing a half-assed job cleaning. You reminded her twice to clean the same way she has been for the last six months, but all of the sudden she's been phoning it in. You decided to confront her.
    "Stella, I need to talk with you."
    You rounded the corner into your master bathroom to find her cleaning the sink. She was bent over, wiping the drain with a sponge. This position made her already perky butt look incredible as it stretched the bottom of her collared, button-up dress. The navy blue fabric contrasted nicely with the white collar and apron she wore, but you couldn't help but wonder why she had chosen today to dress so conservatively. She usually wore low cut dresses under her apron, ones that showed off her distracting cleavage, but this conservative look was nice, too. She looked up from the sink with innocent eyes.
    "Yes, Mr. Jones?"
    You lost track of your thoughts in a daydream of pushing her against the wall and fucking her brains out with your hands firmly around her throat. In your fantasy she drooled and whispered 'More'... You snapped back to reality just before the pause got awkward.
    "I told you last week, and the week before, to go back to how you were cleaning last month. You did a fantastic job your first six months and took half the time. Can we do that?"
    "I don't want to clean that way anymore." She turned back to the sink dismissively.
    Her flippant response bothered you a bit. You were paying her a decent sum to keep this house clean so you could focus on the rest of your responsibilities, and now she was telling you that she wouldn't clean the house the way you like. She deserved to be punished: thrown over your knee and spanked until she teared up and her bare cheeks turned cherry red.
    "What do you mean? I'm asking you, as your employer, to clean it the way you used to."
    "I don't want to," she said matter-of-factly, still focused on the sink. Her pink latex cleaning gloves moved furiously up and down the faucet. The back and forth motion teased you as you imagined her stroking your stiff cock. For that comment she deserved to be gagged, bent over the sink, and reamed until you finished or she learned a lesson, whichever came last. You took a deep breath and came up with a more meaningful and professional response.
    "If you can't clean the house the way I need you too, then I'm going to have to fire you, simple as that."
    This perked her attention. She shot up so fast that you saw her chest bounce a little, even through her dress. She wringed her hands, and sounds of crinkling latex echoed of the stone and tile. She looked terrified.
    "But Mr. Jones, I need this job! You can't fire me!"
    You almost felt sorry for her. You certainly would miss seeing her seductive curves every Tuesday, but you needed a properly cleaned home.
    "You either need to do what I'm asking of you, or I'll find somebody else, Stella."
    "But I can't do that!"
    "Then I'm sorry, but you're fired."
    "Mr. Jones, please! I'll do anything!"
    Now the word 'anything' got your attention. She dragged out the syllables just enough to make you nervous. Day dreaming about BDSM fantasies with your maid was one thing. Taking sexual advantage of a young woman by forcing her to have sex with you to keep her paycheck, that was criminal and morally deplorable. You reached in your pocket and immediately hit the power button on your phone three times. Silently, an audio recorder app started listening to your conversation. You weren't about to lose your life in a courtroom because of an upset ex-employee.
    "Ms. Jelinski, I'm not sure I like what you're implying with the word 'anything."
    You made sure to repeat the offending phrase to establish what the microphone missed. You also referred to her as professionally as possible. Stella leaned forward and squeezed her breasts together with her wet, pink rubber hands.
    "I'll do whatever you want, Mr. Jones. Just don't fire me, please..." She licked her lips slowly as she started working at one of the buttons on her dress.
    You felt a little movement in your pants. As awful as this situation was, watching this gorgeous woman offer herself to you without a second thought was involuntarily exciting you. You needed to neutralize this situation immediately, otherwise she might be able to use an evolutionary response against you.
    "No, this is inappropriate, I am not going to... No, no. Ms. Jelinski, you're fired, please take your things and leave, now."
    She straightened up, and her long dark hair draped down down her chest. The blonde tips formed a wave across the blue dress.
    "Even if our safe-word is 'ice cube?"
    She said it with a know-it-all voice, because she knew it would shock you. You furrowed your brow as you tried to think of an explanation as to how your maid of half a year knew the safe-word you used with your college girlfriend, unless...
    "You didn't...?" This was bad.
    "All of them. Seriously, who leaves memory cards of that sitting in around without at least password protection? Anyway, I'm going to keep this job, and I'm going to do it my way, because if you don't let me, all the partners at your law firm are going to receive an email. Imagine their faces when they see their rising star getting tied up and pegged when he should've been studying. Don't worry, I'll tag you in it so that your cute little ass shows up as the first link every time someone searches your name looking for a lawyer."
    You could feel the heat in your cheeks. She had the ability to ruin your entire career with one click. This was now a hostage situation, and the gun was to the head of your dreams of a family, a massive house, a massive yard for your purebred, and two Jaguars in the driveway. You thought about the recording you have, but it wouldn't do any good once the video was posted.
    "What do you say, Mr. Jones?"
    It was bargaining time.
    "Fine, you have your job for as long as you want it, just don't post the video."
    She giggled like a school-girl and clapped her hands.
    "Oh goody, thank you Mr. Jones! Oh, I know just the thing to celebrate!"
    She started eyeing you up and down while biting her lip while her normally doe eyes took on a predatory focus. You didn't like where this was going.
    "Take off your clothes."
    "What!? Like hell!" You yelled in shock.
    "What? I see the way you look at me, you want me, you want this."
    She slapped her ass, hard, and let out a moan. Another erection began to form in your pants, despite the fear in your gut.
    "Do it or I'll ruin your life," she continued. Her sing-song way of saying it gave you a chill. You thought about the tape in your pocket. If you let this happen, you could use the tape to get the police to arrest her. If you told them about the blackmail material, maybe they could get her in handcuffs before she could post it, assuming it wasn't set to auto send. Handcuffs... What you wouldn't give for a good pair to chain her to your headboard right now. Go to her house, ransack it until you were sure you had all your shameful videos, then come back and teach her a lesson-
    "This is blackmail and sexual battery." The sentence sounded weird out loud, but having it explicitly stated on tape was very important. You began undoing your belt as she giggled again. You thought to yourself about how many times you fantasized having sex with Stella. The idea of being forced to have sex with her didn't really make sense in your head. Your body was more than willing to fuck her brains out, but the situation made you severely uncomfortable. Trading sex for your potential future didn't sound twisted in your head, but it didn't feel right, so you began looking for a way out. You could grab her, restrain her with your belt and call the police and let them deal with her right now. You had 40 pounds and four inches on her, so she couldn't physically force you into anything you didn't want to do. It was very confusing, but a part of you wanted to go through with this. The tape would have to tell the story of the other part of you that hated this scenario.
    "I don't mind." Her bubbly responses were freaking you out.
    You had taken your clothes off on auto-pilot, and now you stood on the cold tile in just your boxers. She looked annoyed.
    "I figured that you would try and be modest about this. Here, let me get those..." She walked over, her pumps clicking with each step. She crouched down, and her rubber gloves left cool, wet paths as the dragged them down your chest to your underwear. She grabbed the waistband and yanked them down. Your half erect member sprung into her face. She got so close that you could feel her warm breath teasing you. She opened her mouth to take you in and... Then she backed away.
    "Nah, I have a better idea!" She bounced up and grabbed your hand, leading you to your own bed."
    "Stella, stop playing these fucking games and let's get this over with." She didn't like that response.
    "Mr. Jones, we are going to do whatever I want to, remember? And now, I want you to lie down on the bed, hands around the headboard."
    Oh the irony. She wanted you in the exact position you wanted her, and the handcuffs she produced from your 'toy' bin meant that she also wanted you bound the same way, too. She had apparently been snooping around to know where you hid the bin in the back of your sock drawer. What else had she found? She clicked the cuffs into place and giggled, before returning to your closet. You tested your binds with a small tug, but nothing gave, not that you expected it to. After a moment she returned... Now sporting a large, neon green appendage between her legs. You stared in shock at the strap on as she gave it a slow, mocking handjob.
    "Wanna recreate my favorite scene?!"
    You gave her a defeated stare.
    "Rhetorical question?"
    "Yep!" She jumped onto the bed, straddling you. You could feel the heat of her groin on your engorged shaft, but the plastic toy pressing against your stomach drew most of your attention. She teased you with a wiggle.
    "Not yet, silly. Oh! I forgot to show you..." She undid her apron, then pulled the buttoned seam of her dress apart, shooting the plastic bits everywhere. Under the conservative fabric was a blue and black latex halter dress. You raised your eyebrows in surprise as she pulled off the pink cleaning gloves. Her hands were coated with a different set of rubber, this time a matching pair to the dress' metallic color scheme. She had hid this entire outfit under her conservative clothes, and while you didn't know why, you couldn't help but notice how nicely the elastic dress hugged her curves.
    <SLAP>
    It wasn't the hardest slap you'd ever felt, but it certainly surprised you.
    "Don't stare, Mr. Jones, it's rude!" She giggled at her own words, "Oh, you know what you could use?"
    She reached under the latex and produced a black swath of fabric from between her breasts. She folded it lengthwise and wrapped it over your eyes.
    "There we go, we have to get every detail right or I might send the original just for funsies!"
    Not being able to see what was happening made you anxious. You focused on your other senses, and the scent of the scarf wrapped over your eyes became more apparent. It was a mix of Stella's sweet sweat, her perfume, and the heavy aroma of latex. You felt her lean forward onto your chest. Cool rubber touched your lips as she gently lay her hand over your mouth. You felt a rubber fingertip trace along the length of your erections. She giggled again as she took a handful and squeezed hard. You grunted in surprise, so she gripped your face until it hurt.
    "Shhhh... You only make noise when I say it's okay." That felt familiar. She must have studied those videos, because that's exactly what Zoey would tell you when her torment became unbearable. However, her death-grip on your privates eased a bit.
    "Now, how do you think I knew your safe-word?..."
    "You watched my video-Ow!" She twisted a nipple until you cried out.
    "Nope... Try again." You couldn't think of another answer for a moment. How else could she know 'ice cube'.
    "I don't know, did Zoey tell you?" This was ridiculous, but you were worried that not guessing would hurt more than a wrong answer. You inhaled sharply as she twisted again, but not as hard.
    "Warmer, keep guessing," she chided.
    "Did she send you the tape?" She slapped your exposed side. The noise echoed in the room as you cringed in a vain attempt to shield yourself from the second slap.
    "Ah, dammit! What do you want?" Another blow shut you up.
    "To keep playing, silly!" She responded in a baby voice while caressing your undoubtedly reddening side.
    "Fine," You were at wit's end, "Maybe you lived with Zoey and it just came up one time." You were worried this answer was too close to your second answer. You were right. She flicked the head of your penis, and you nearly bucked her off in reaction. Not seeing it coming was what made it so torturous.
    "Calm down Mr. Jones, that wasn't even that hard. Here, I'll give you a hint: how could I know about something that happened without anyone ever telling me?"
    "I dunno, were you fucking there?!" You braced for the incoming pain, but nothing happened for a moment. You jumped a bit when her warm tongue circled around your nipple before her lips tenderly sucked it. She let go with a quiet pop.
    "Very good, now elaborate."
    "You were watching us-Ow!" More pain as the swatted your stones.
    "You heard us through the wall-Dammit!" A hard slap across your stomach.
    "You're Zoey in a fucking disguise!" You braced for pain as you reconsidered delivering such a stupid response out of frustration. None came. You were blinded by a moment as the light of the room replaced the blackness of the scarf. Your latex-clad maid had an index finger on her nose, another pointing at your face.
    "On the nose, Mr. Jones!"
    You managed an impatient, "What the fuck...?" There's no way your Zoey was your maid for the last six months. She was away on an international collaboration with her sales firm. Besides, you would have noticed if Stella had all the mannerisms as the woman you dated for three years. Three wonderful years before the mutual agreement that long-distance just wouldn't work between you two. It was strange, being able to mourn the breakup from your ex, with your ex. The sex was amazing, and you took turns fulfilling each other's fantasies. You cuddled in each other's arms every night, and even cried together towards the end. You promised to stay in touch and meet up once she was back stateside. You were still texting once or twice a week, but it felt distant. There was no way that the woman in front of you was the one you missed every hour of every day.
    "Well, prove it then." No way in hell was she about to pull off a mask or show you a zipper down her back, or so you thought.
    "How's this?" She put her fingers in the corner of her mouth and stretched. You gave her an impatient look. You thought that she was going to stretch and scrunch her face for a second then laugh at you for being gullible. Her fingers reached a normal limit, then kept pulling. By the time she stopped, her hands were almost a foot apart, and her stretched lips spanned the gap between them. She opened her jaw and it looked like the entire inside of her mouth was rubber. She stretched her the edges of her mouth wide and tall, pulling the oral sheathe from her mouth. Her tongue deflated, and sat like a fleshy condom on the bottom of the wearer's mouth. There was a hole above her tongue that led down the throat of whoever was underneath "Stella". The gums had holes in them too, assumably so that the wearer could chew with their real teeth.You were at a complete loss of words.
    "See, cool mask, right?" The muffled words came from behind the... thing... in front of your face. That sounded like Zoey's voice, but you weren't sure. You could only conclude was that the stranger underneath had freed her mouth from the Stella mold, and now she could speak normally.
    "Watch this!" The membrane vibrated when she spoke, and stretched with her breath. She readjusted a bit, then in the throat hole of the mask, lips appeared. A second later and a tongue was flitting around, which made the empty tongue sheathe bounce.
    "I was sticking my tongues out at you, haha!" She was having too much fun for you to be entirely disgusted with what you were seeing. With some wet slurping and a low moan of pleasure, Stella's face was back to normal. She used her finger to realign her gums like she was picking food out of her teeth.
    "Tadaa! What, aren't you happy to see me? Well, more like hear me, and see me as Stella." She looked at you expectantly, smiling.
    "I'm not sure what I just saw, but if all... This," You pointed up and down her body, "Can be fake, why should I believe it's Zoey based on a handful of words?"
    "Ugh, I'm pretty sealed in here, so it's not like I can just show you my face without messing up the mask. Quiz me."
    You thought for a moment, then asked: "What did we do on the one year anniversary of out first date?"
    "We walked around the mall while you tortured me with wireless, vibrating panties. You made that old lady at the candle shop worried when you cranked it to ten while I was buying a... I wanna say... Something-blossom candle? That sounds right. Then you made me scream the whole ride home, and when we finally got there, I made you try them and you didn't last two minutes. We were so impressed that we cancelled our dinner reservation, went back to the sex shop, bought a second pair and vibed each other all night while watching horror movies. Believe me now?"
    You turned a little redder thinking back on that. It was a cherry blossom candle, for some reason that detail always stuck in your head. You looked up at Zoey's eyes, set in Stella's face, and she smiled at you.
    "Hi, Zoey."
    "Hi, Ash."
    She fell forward onto you and your lips met. The familiar movements came back quickly, and soon your reunion kiss felt as natural as it ever had, except for the occasional feeling of Stella's lips sliding free of Zoey's, and the strap on between your pelvis'. Without pulling away, She produced the key to your cuffs and freed your hands. The instant you could feel them again they were perusing Stella's figure. You gripped her hard to make sure Zoey felt your touch through her new skin. One of her gloved hands took a hold of your manhood and guided it to her silicone lined cavity. She leaned back, and soon you were engulfed by what felt like a sex toy with a pulse. The inside didn't feel quite natural, but her movement and the fact that this was Zoey on top of you more than made up for it. Her toy bounced on your stomach with the rhythm of her movement, creating a steady drum beat. After a few minutes of gentle riding, she stopped.
    "This doesn't feel right."
    "What's wrong?" Was she having second thoughts?
    "I can't feel your dick that well through the sheathe in my pussy." You felt immediate relief.
    "Well, what can we do about it?"
    She shrugged: "This, I guess."
    She reached down her hand and slid your shaft out. Then she inserted four fingers into the silicone slit. Her brows furrowed as she tried to get a good grip through the lube and fluids down there. It looked like she was furiously fingering herself as deep as they would go. With a grunt of effort, she yanked hard. Stella's glistening mound stretched unnaturally, then,with a wet ripping and sucking sounds, it came lose. Zoey moaned as a 10 inch long, ribbed and textured mold came out from between her lips. She jiggled the sheathe around playfully, even laughing and licking it a little. You couldn't help but laugh as she toyed with Stella's fake, dripping box.
    "That should -mmph- do it." She made a noise as she reinserted your member. Now she felt real, like you were actually inside the woman trapped in false skin. There was a small click and the strapon fell away.
    "We'll get back to that in a minute."
She grinded her pelvis back and forth in long, slow strokes. She worked your entire length with her movements, from base to head. When you both started breathing faster, she started truly riding you. She bounced so hard that the headboard battered the wall. You remembered when the people in the apartment next door would bang on your wall because you were making too much noise on or tied to the bed. It's a good thing you lived in a house now, because you two were going at it. In a few minutes of passion you could feel the building urge to release. Zoey finished first, screaming into her shiny gloves as her body shook in waves of carnal satisfaction. Still breathing heavy, Stella leaned forward and pushed her breasts into your face.You could taste the sweat and latex, but you could also distinctly recognize a taste of a different kind of rubber. Stella's artificial exterior tasted like a sweet chemical, almost like antifreeze smells.
    "Don't worry, I'm not going to leave you with blue balls... Here." She reached down and barely pulled you out of herself. She pressed your tip into her hood above her clit. You gave her a confused look until, with a sound of stretching rubber, you cock slid between the inside of Stella's skin and the outside of Zoey's. Looking down, you could see the distended silicone of the skinsuit tightly hugging your shaft against Zoey's shaved mound. She drew a sharp breath of surprise before smiling at you.
    She leaned back and seductively traced her hands down from her neck, around her chest, and down her breasts. She paused to pinch and pull her nipples until they stretched unnaturally. She let them go with a painful 'snap' that made Zoey jump a little, then moan. Her hands continued down her stomach until the tips of her finger prodded at "her" skin that wrapped around your head. You tensed a muscle and watched as your cock strained against the fleshy prison. Taking the hint, Zoey took you in her hand, through the skin, and began jerking you off. The air trapped between her flesh and Stella's form made wet, kinky sounds as her moist skinsuit massaged your shaft. In just a few minutes of noisy and vigorous pumping, you were about to finish. You groaned and she purred as your hot semen filled the gap that separated the two women that simultaneously rode you. She tortured you like she always did by continuing to stroke you after you were finished. She laughed as you squirmed beneath her. After a minute or two, she spoke.
    "Come on, let's clean up." She stood up and the skin begrudgingly released your member with one last slurping sound.
    "Wait," you grabbed Stella's arm and felt it slide a little on Zoey's skin underneath.
    "It must be super sweaty under there, under Stella..." The thought turned you on. Zoey trapped in the hot, dripping skin of your maid: the maid that needed proper discipline.
    "It is, but don't worry, I'm cool enough to use this." She had re-donned the strap on.
    "Heh, okay, but first, why are you here? And how did I not know you were..." You trailed off as something clicked in your head.
    "Go on, Ashley" With Stella's mouth, you heard your maid's voice, but the kind and caring tone was all Zoey.
    "You took over three weeks ago, didn't you. That's why your cleaning has been-"
    "Shitty?"
    "I was going to say 'different'. How did you get rid of her?"
    "I paid her three week's worth in cash to drop you as a client without informing you. Then I had a skinsuit commissioned from the SFX place around the corner from your firm." She was smiling, clearly impressed with herself.
    "How did you get her measurements, her curves, so... Perfect?!" You were stunned at the craftsmanship of "Stella".
    "You know her curves pretty well, huh?" You blushed. "That's okay, I think she's a sexy little thing, too. That's why I chose the maid over my original idea of showing up as the mailwoman. I was going to reveal myself my first week as Stella, but the last two times I got here, you were headed out the door to important meetings. I didn't want to get in the way of work."
    Zoey's downtrodden expression showed on Stella's face. She fell forward onto you.
    "And then when you were unhappy with my cleaning, and I felt like I was pissing you off, but I knew if I was patient, this would all work out!" She gave you a bubbly kiss on the cheek.
    "Don't worry, it was definitely worth it. This is the craziest, coolest thing I've ever seen." You tugged at the mask and it made a small sucking sound as it released Zoey's cheek. "I'll just have to make sure they send someone different next time. I wouldn't want Stella to stumble upon her own skin in a drawer." You both laughed at the idea of accidentally emotionally scarring this woman. Zoey sighed.
    "Alright, now turn the fuck over and put that cute ass in the air, or I'll show your bosses and clients your after-hour hobbies, Mr. Jones."
    Stella was back, and she was pissed. You got into position, and she yanked your hands into place, handcuffing them again. She pulled a bottle of lube out of the bin and applied it to the toy around your hole. Then, with little warning, she pressed a finger into your ass.
    "Ooh, shit-ow!" She spanked you for hard.
    "Shut the fuck up!" She giggled at her own snappy response. The unique sound of latex gloves coating a sex toy with lube stopped when you felt it press against your puckered hole. With barely any effort, the shaft slid into you. You muttered a 'fuck' under your breath, then a yelp when she thrust into you as punishment.
    "Mr. Jones, you can either take it quietly, or I can punish you again, your call." She was not playing around.
    Slowly, she a built a rhythm. The toy was sliding with ease, so she pressed deep. Your toes curled as your rectum stretched for the plastic invader. "Stella" was working fast, and soon you two were shaking the bed again. Her rhythmic pounding started to bring you both to the point of orgasm.
    "Take it, take it Mr. Jones or I'll ruin you," She hissed in your ear, "This is your punishment for all those times you stared at my ass, or thought about tying me up with BDSM-bullshit.Fuck you, take it..." She trailed off into low moans and grunts as you bit the pillow. She was battering you prostate on each thrust and you were about to come. Your girlfriend you loved, disguised as your maid, was reaming your asshole for being a dirty pervert, and you were loving it.
    "Come on, come on, ahh, Mr. Jones, oh Mr. Jones!" She cried out as pleasure washed over her. You grunted as you emptied yourself in pulses all over the bed spread. Your leg muscles gave out and you fell forward, lying down in your own mess. Zoey, who had draped herself across your back, came with you with an 'oof". You laughed together at the ridiculous situation.
    "That was nice..." She trailed off in the afterglow. You both lay their, enjoying the old, familiar sensation of your bodies touching, even if hers was new.
You both realized how nice a hot shower would be as the cold air chilled your sweaty skin. She pushed herself off your back with sticky sounds. She started the shower as you peeled yourself off the used bedding. Once the water had warmed up, the two of you stood under the water, enjoying an embrace for some time before actually cleaning yourselves off. Zoey pulled the latex dress fully off of Stella's body and cleaned the pocket that had filled with your jizz. You looked over "Stella's" curves, and thought again about tying her to something and doing as you pleased to her. You imagined fucking her silly and stopping only for a moment to gag her once she got too loud. Instead, you stepped toward her and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. She noticed your growing erection and dropped to her knees.
    "Sorry to deceive you Mr. Jones, I hope this will make up for it..." She gently lifted your length and sucked tenderly on your sack. In a moment she moved her rubber lips to your tip, and sucked your head into her mouth. Slowly, she engulfed your whole cock down her throat, then released. Stella's face looked up at you, but it was Zoey's tear-filled eyes that you were staring at. The woman you loved was back, and more mischievous and sexually depraved than before.
    She reached behind her head as you were starting to get into it. You heard the faint sound of a zipper over the cacophony of water on marble. Through the hazy steam, Stella's features shifted a little bit. With one hand gripping the open seam on the back of her neck, she reached her other gloved hand around the base of your manhood. She took you fully into her mouth and throat, then she wrapped her little finger around Stella's stretched lips, sealing them around the base of your cock. When she pulled her head back, her rubber lips stayed where they were pinned, pulling the oral sheath of Stella out of Zoey's mouth. It engulfed the entire length of your shaft, so she closed the rest of her fingers around the fleshy sheath and started to jerk you off with it. When the tip of you rod slipped through the throat hole in the mask, Zoey's lips gave it a warm home. The sensation as incredible, even if the stretching of Stella's face was surreal to look at. You were being jerked off by your love, but she was using a rubber replica of your maids mouth as a sex toy, while wearing the skinsuit it was built into. This was insane, and in a few minutes you were about to finish.
    "Uff, I'm gonna cum!" At your warning, Zoey let go with her other hand and the strained mask made a noisy, sucking sound as it released her head. Between seeing Zoey's cute face and the feeling of the rubber mouth jerking you off, you climaxed. Zoey's face was sprayed with water and semen, and she was loving it, laughing as you coated her real face in your seed. With one last stroke, Zoey pulled the mask off of your cock, wiping it clean. She slowly stood up and stared at your panting frame as you leaned against the shower wall. Stella's face lay deflated across her cleavage.
    "So after I clean up, I'm gonna put this mask back on. Then we're going to watch our highlight reel off your pervy littleSD card until you're ready to really abuse Stella. Cool?" You nodded as Zoey wiped your love off her face.
    "Hey," You stopped to catch your breath, "I thought you said the mask was hard to remove. Another deception?"
    "Yeah, I just wasn't ready to show you 'Zoey' yet. The buildup made it better, right?"
    "Oh yeah, fuck yeah."
    Once she finished cleaning herself, you leaned in and kissed her. You were so focused on her lips that you didn't feel your fingers trace over a second, barely noticeable zipper seam on the back of Zoey's neck.

To be continued?... Yes, eventually.

Exquisite to Exotic

This was easily the strangest situation you'd ever found yourself in. The runner up (that time you took a stripper home and ended up dating her) doesn't even compare to this. You were staring at your 10th grade English teacher, Ms. Willows. She looked exactly the same as she did when you had a crush on her over half a decade ago. Her pointed features were wearing natural looking makeup (besides her eye-shadow). Her golden wheat locks framed her trademark judgmental expression. Everything was the same... Except she was wrapped in a semi-transparent latex dress. A form-binding dress that showed off every curve that you used to trace with your eyes waiting for the lunch bell. Oh, and her face was missing. Yeah, completely missing. Face, hair, attached jewelry, and all were casually hanging from her hand, her features still stuck in their 'Oh really Mr. Smith?' look, if a little saggier. In place of her head was the face of the bizarre-shit-that's-actually-happening silver medal winner: the stripper you dated. No, wait, are dating. Currently. Besides this whole situation being bat-shit, the three (double)whiskey sours you'd put down (in the last hour, on an empty stomach) weren't making this any easier to figure out. You opened your mouth to say something, then closed it again. You've got nothing. "Ms. Evelyn Willows"/Claire looked less than thrilled.
    "You said you were going out for a few drinks at the bar, not a strip-club."
    She was always so calm when she was angry.
    "They..." You waved your hand in the general direction you last saw your friends."...Changed the... Venue."
    She tilted her head farther to show extra-disappointment. In contrast to your pale-skinned, blonde-haired teacher, Claire had olive skin, dark ombre hair, and a cute nose ring. Even pissed-off she was cute. Maybe cuter.
    "You could have said no."
    "I could've, it juss would'n've... Looked good?"
    You hoped that stumbling through the excuse would earn you some pity.
    "If you wanted a lap dance from a stranger, you could have just forced one of my masks over my head and demanded one at home. You know I like it when you take charge occasionally"
    That got your attention. Not because she just gave you permission to surprise her with a rough, masking and BDSM session, but because:
    "I din't want a lap dance!" She tilted her head the other way, half because you slurred that sentence to hell and back, and half because she didn't believe you.
    "Then why did Liam give me 100 dollars to come give you a private dance?" She pulled the bill out from between the bodysuit's rubbery skin and her own latex dress to prove the point. Benjamin Franklin's portrait looked especially disappointed tonight.
    "Ohmagod... he heard me talkin' about her... I mean you-er... Her!" You finally just pointed at the teacher's silicone frown. "I din't ask fur it, I swear, and I just sat down for a sex... Uh, sec... The room was spinnin'!"
    At this moment, by sheer luck, a specific synapse in your brain sobered up just long enough for two hard-working neurons to form a great question:
    "Wait, dafuq are you doing here?" you skillfully articulated.
    Claire straightened up and crossed her arms. She was clearly unprepared for your realization.
    "This is my second job. I quit the bookstore a few weeks back and came back here"
    Your booze-addled mind took a second to remember where 'here' was. It was Schooley's Gentleman's Club, the same place you had met Claire a year ago. How you managed to score such a beautiful woman who was just trying to earn money for college, you still haven't figured out. You were just the right amount of drunk to be funny and confident through the two, three-minute songs you could afford. You still remember the shock when she, in the middle of your second dance, produced a pen out of nowhere (she was straight up naked, where did she hide it?), plucked off her pasties, wrote her number on one and slid it into your pocket. She made sure to dig around a little to make sure it was really in there, much to your pleasure. Looking around the walls, you might have been... Yes, you were! You were in the same booth where you had met her. Scratched into the wall next to your head were the words 'JT wuz here'. You still haven't got any clue who JT 'wuz', but you remembered him.
    "Heh, same booth," you stammered, pointing over your head. Claire giggled a little as her cheeks got a little less red. Red cheeks... Oh, right! Claire was working here again without telling you. Okay, it was time to hit her with a real tough question, to figure out what was really going on.
    "Why?" Even in your state, you were underwhelmed with yourself.
    Her cheeks went red again as she opened her mouth.
    "I got sick of the dumb customers, the dust, and the looks my boss gave me. I can do what I want here."
    What was that about her boss?
    "I'll fuck your boss... Up. Fuck 'im up." You were combative and inarticulate at this point.
    "No, don't bother, he gave me a good excuse to leave, if nothing else. Now I can do all of this."
    She gestured through the curtain. She had closed it when she walked into the booth, to get a little privacy. As the strobe lights flickered on the stage, you could see the sporadic shadows of other people moving around. The brutish patrons cast motionless silhouettes, while the outlines of the dancers were constantly moving, jumping and bouncing, mesmerizingly, in unique attempts to squeeze a few more dollars out of their prey.
    "I missed being able to do this," she continued, moving toward you. She put her knees together and crouched down, throwing Ms. Willows' mask on your lap then running her hands up her chest. The sudden, sexual, turn of events sobered you up a bit. You were still drunk, but (slightly)more attentive at least. She dropped low and bounced a little bit, biting the tips of her gloved fingers with a fake look of innocence. Then she stood up, placed her hands on your hips, and sat on your lap. You looked down to see the imprint of her glistening mound being squeezed by the tight latex pants she wore under her dress. That was like a shot of espresso for you, and you felt about half as drunk as when you started your exchange.
    "Liam paid for three dances plus a tip, so I guess we better get to it."
    She pressed a few buttons on the wall mounted tablet and generic club music started resonating through the booth. She spent the song grinding herself all over you and lightly guiding your hands on a tour of Ms. Willows' rubber body. She playfully slapped your wrist when you tried petting a little too heavily. When you tried slipping your hand under her skirt and up her leg, she pushed off of you. Claire picked up the mask by its edge and turned it upside down. She stretched the opening between her hands and peered inside to align herself. She brought the mask to her face and pulled it tight over the back of her head. Ms. Willows' features slowly rendered themselves out of the elastic mask, and soon your teacher was staring at you with the same frustration as usual, minus a hint of bemusement in the slightly upturned corners of her mouth.
    "Mr. Smith! I think you're a little too inebriated to enjoy what 's happening here! I'll be right back with some coffee to snap you out of this drunken doltishness. You wait right here and think about your behavior."
    By the time she finished her scolding, she had a full and mischievous grin on her face. She stood up and tucked the frill of her mask under the deep neckline of the bodysuits bosom, and just like when she had walked in, there was no way of knowing this was a counterfeit of your favorite educator. She disappeared through the curtain, which gave you a moment to think. You fumbled for the ice water on the table and took a long swig, chewing a couple chips while you were at it. In a few seconds it felt like a layer of haze had lifter. You were still drunk, no question there, but you were hazily in the moment. You stood up and stretched a bit. You felt like there was a question in your mind that you had forgotten. It was on the tip of your tongue when Ms. Willows walked back in, who made you forget it.
    She passed you a Styrofoam cup full of burnt smelling blacker-than-tar coffee. You burnt your tongue in an attempt to drink some, but that was a good thing, because it was easily one of the worst cups of coffee you'd ever had. At least it was strong, so you kept going, jerking it away from your mouth only when the heat became unbearable. "Evelyn" was punching something into the tablet. In a brilliant design choice, the person that installed the tablet put it at belly-button level and over a fixed end-table... So every person that used it had to bend over. Much to your sex-addled joy, Ms. Willows' latex enveloped cheeks were right in your face. You leaned back and admired the familiar curves, sipping the half-full coffee. She spent a full five minutes doing something on the tablet, bouncing ever so slightly to the beat of the stage music. She peeked over her shoulder and smirked, then went back to the tablet, but not before spreading her feet and jiggling her ass a bit more. You nearly choked on your drink when you looked between her legs: through the skirt you could see the cleft where the latex separated the lips of her pussy. She heard you cough, and without turning around she reached back with a hand and pulled the skirt from her knees up to her waist. Before you could react, she started tracing the rubbery slit with her fingers. You forgot that this was Claire for a moment and became fixated on the womanhood you daydreamed about for a year. You threw back the last bit of coffee, grounds and all, and feeling almost entirely sober you placed your hand on the inside of her leg. Surprisingly it didn't get slapped or pulled away. You rubbed your erection with your other hand as you slid a hand up the latex. When you reached the top of her leg, you gently massaged the inside of her thigh, squeezing the shiny surface until it dimpled then watched it reform, over and over again. She instinctually squeezed her knees together around your teasing hand. With your fingers you traced the latex wrinkle between her lips as you buried your thumb between her ass cheeks. She was purring gently, but you wanted to really tease her. You gripped hard and lifted, firmly squeezing her rubber-encased genitals.
    Ms. Willows caught herself against the wall with her arm as she yelped into her hand. With a full-body shake she turned around again.
    "Mr. Smith, how dare you! I have half the mind to come back there and teach you a lesson on how to properly treat a woman!"
    She would have actually looked angry if she wasn't biting her bottom lip so hard.
    "That might be a good idea Ms. Willows," you taunted her. Smartass.
    She let out an indignant scoff, pressed a few final buttons, then turned around, pausing only to pull your hand out of her hot, slick crack. She pushed you against the back of the seat and sat on you with her legs spread. She started undoing your belt and zipper as Claire's voice left Evelyn's lips.
 "I just spent the last five minutes shifting around scheduled private dances and stage performances to make sure that all three of your friends would be well entertained for the rest of the night. Then, if that wasn't enough, I put in the manager's key and bought you private dances, with me, through the next four hours. That's nearly three thousand dollars’ worth of this."
    She squeezed her breasts together. They made a rubbery squeaking sound as she pushed your head into them. Even through the latex you could feel the heat emanating from her heaving chest. The smell of rubber was so strong you could almost taste it. Then you literally tasted the bitterness on your lips as you gently sucked her nipple.
    "And all that was on top of using Facebook vacation photos from your teacher's trip to Spain to literally recreate her body as a perfect skinsuit that, if I may, looks fucking amazing on me."
    The question you couldn't remember came back to you now.
    "Hey, wait, how did..."
    Coincidentally, she had just answered all of your questions.
    "Why are you..." You stammered like an idiot. Maybe you were still kind of drunk
    "Wow."
    What an articulate sentiment.
    "Yep, I've been planning this for a while now. I wanted to get you something special and when you turned red while we were going through your yearbook, I got this idea. It's a good thing she still has a body made for two-piece bathing suits, otherwise I would've never known to put this cute birth mark on her ass."
    You looked over her labor of love with a dumbstruck expression.
    "This is incredible. How did you replicate her voice?"
    "Three episodes of Downton Abbey and two calls to listen to her answering machine message. Pretty smart right?" She nodded to her own question.
    "This is the sexiest and, in really a strange way, the most meaningful gift anyone's ever gotten me."
    "And how do you thank me Mr. Smith? By groping my rubbery cunt."
    Claire had morphed back into Ms. Willows. Along with the voice change, her expression had returned to persistent, mild-disappointment instead of Claire's mischievous grin. She had opened your pants, and now reached under the band of your boxer-briefs. You tensed up a bit when her hand took hold of your shaft to pull it out and stroke it. Her other hand pulled the tablet to the side, revealing a small shelf of random club-appropriate necessities. Condoms, rubber gloves, bottles of strawberry lube. For afterwards, there were cigarettes and a lighter, a few tiny bottles of mouthwash, and sanitary wipes. She plucked the lube out and shut the hidden toiletries cabinet, then turned on the music again with a single button press.
    "It seems I'm going to have to show you proper etiquette, Mr. Smith."
    She pulled the glove off one hand, threw the discarded latex at your chest, then poured some of the strawberry flavored lube into her realistic silicone palm. She clenched her fist for a moment, warmed the lube with a seductive breath, then wrapped her slick digits around your rod. You tensed again, then relaxed as the coated your member in the clear substance. She stroked your shaft sensually as she leaned in.
    "Always start slow Mr. Smith, build the experience... don't force your hand into someone’s crotch." The deadpan remark made you blush with embarrassment.
    The wet, sucking, sounds of her hand rapidly churning lube around your cock was louder than the music. Without releasing her grip, she got down on her knees before you.
    "I am now going to demonstrate how to properly take your time satisfying someone orally, Mr. Smith. Pay attention to the pacing, not my expert fellatio skills, if you can manage."
    She gently kissed the head of your cock, and you tensed in response. She was still jerking you off when she placed her lips around your tip. She sucked gently for a moment, before pulling back to lick the sweet, strawberry ooze from her lips. Finished, she placed her pursed lips on your tip, and slowly suck your entire head into her mouth. The feeling was making you groan quietly, but then she started running her tongue around your dome. You grunted with surprise, then again when she teased your urethra with the tip of her tongue. She was still sliding a hand up and down your shaft, two fingers and her thumb bouncing between base and lip. She reached her other hand up for yours. When she found it, she intertwined your fingers and looked directly into your eyes. You could see into Claire as she made your shared fantasy come true. You got to fuck your Mrs. Robinson and she got to fuck you as someone else, and all in this sex fueled environment. The best part for you was knowing that even though you got to enjoy these diverse women, their different bodies and unique behaviors, behind, or rather under, it all was the same, stable woman. Through Claire you had a connection with every one of her personas that you wouldn't if you were in bed with the real person. It allowed you to freely and comfortably experiment with them in ways that would otherwise take months or even years of trust building. If she weren't in the middle of a lesson right now, you would feel comfortable placing your hands on the back of Claire's head, and with the slightest of nods from her, you could force your entire cock down her throat.
    As if she was reading your mind, at that exact moment she breathed in and dropped her head, taking your entire length into her hot mouth. She gagged a little while you let out a strained gasp. With drool and lube dripping down her chin, she began thrusting her head back and forth, raking the head of your dick against every fleshy surface in her mouth. She was doing such an incredible job that you didn't notice her gloved hand slip low between your legs. She lubed it up and slid it between your buttocks. She was gently teasing the outside of your hole when she took you base deep with her mouth and stayed there. You were so focused on that sensation that you cried out in surprise when she penetrated you. The tip of her finger had slid into your puckered anus. With all the lube she barely had to push to slip the rest of her middle finger inside you. You let out a high-pitched "ooh" with every twitch of her finger, then a full groan when she found your prostate. Between the deepthroating and the internal messaging, you didn't last long. You lifted yourself off the bench as you rose to a shaking orgasm. She pulled her mouth off of you with a sucking 'pop' and continued jerking you with her other hand. You squirted cum into beaded strands across her chest. As the streams died down, you leaked more of the milky liquid down her skillful fingers. She placed your hypersensitive head between her lips again, causing your entire body to cringe as you sucked in air through clenched teeth. She left your cock dripping with her saliva, then licked the semen off her fingers with deft ease.
    "I hope you learned something new, Mr. Smith," she chided while pulling her finger out of you. You had just gotten used to it, and now your hole felt empty without her.
    "I think it's time we move to the more traditional definition of sex."
    She was standing now and pulling the glove from her hand. She dropped it to the floor and opened the hidden compartment again. The lights outside were flashing for a stage show, so you couldn't see what she grabbed until she turned back around. In one hand was a wipe that she used to clean your seed off her latex-sealed chest. The other had pink, fuzzy handcuffs and a red ball gag. She threw them onto your lap.
    "Do keep that clean Mr. Smith; it's going in my mouth once I'm done explaining how you need to fuck me."
    You tucked it into your breast pocket and placed the handcuffs next to you. She tossed the wipe, closed the panel and stepped toward you. She pulled her skirt up again and looked down at the rubber casing that blocked her mound.
    "Well, that just won't work," she declared dismissively.
    With one primal motion she reached both hands to her groin and grabbed a small handful of her pants. She pulled the the material to its limits, so thin that it looked perfectly clear, like the film of a bubble. When she dug in her fake nails, the material tore open with an audible 'pop'.
    "Ow!" The rubber had snapped against her sensitive lips when it gave way. It must have hurt Claire through the skinsuit, because Ms. Willows gently rubbed herself to ease the sharp pain. When she removed her hand, you could see the perfect, frayed opening through which to fuck her. She sat down on your lap and teased your cock for a few minutes, waiting on you to harden for another round. In the meantime, she reapplied lube to your member while kissing you. She started gentle, but soon she was trying to suck your tongue out of your mouth or jam her tongue down your throat, from moment to moment. When you got hard again she leaned to one side and pressed your head against her silicon slit.
    "If this were any other woman, Mr. Smith, you would be wearing protection and, ideally, she would be on birth control pills, understood?"
    You gave an innocent nod.
    "However today, since my vagina is actually a mold made out of a polymer blend, you may ride me 'bareback', as they call it."
    Her tone was one of mild curiosity. She sounded like this was her first time trying such outlandish behavior. With her English accent, you imagined her regaling guests at a tea party with the tale of "that one time she had risky intercourse with an unsavory ruffian". For that reason, you wanted to make it memorable for her.
    She lowered herself and onto your shaft, bending it like a spring before the slippery rod shot into her warm slot. The surprise made her lose her balance for a moment, and she fell the rest of the way until you were base-deep inside of her. She let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a moan while you grunted.
    "Well that's one way to start. Oh well, on with the lesson Mr. Smith."
    She began slowly grinding her groin up and down your lap, churning the depths of her pussy with your engulfed member. Her breathing hastened as she transitioned to gently bouncing on you. Her insides didn't feel fake to you. Whatever Claire had used to form Ms. Willows' cock-sleeve, it felt perfectly real.
    The motion became more eager as she got comfortable. In a moment she had leaned against you, hands on your shoulders to steady herself as her pelvis bounced up and down your length.
    "Now you'll have to start following my rhythm Mr. Smith, in order to- Mmmph!"
    Her eyes showed surprise, then annoyance, as she realized that you had shoved the ball-gag in her mouth. Before she could react, you took hold of her wrists and put them behind her back. You smirked at her as you both listened to the ratcheting clicks of the fuzzy cuffs. Her grunting protests became a muffled scream when you threw her onto the table, face-up, without even removing your dick from inside her. Standing, you were perfectly lined-up to thrust into her, and soon you were fucking her to the beat of the music. The uneven table rocked with you as you pumped harder. The rhythmic sound of wet rubber and slapping skin drowned out the song as you fucked her as hard as you could. She locked eyes with you, moaning incessantly into the plastic gag. Something felt a little... strange. You looked down and saw that the mold of Ms. Willows' vagina had separated from Claire's tight slot. With every thrust, your cock was pulling the silicon fabrication out of the real flesh, only to drive it back in a second later. It looked as if Ms. Willows' wet hole was refusing to let go of your cock, so it stretched unnaturally to keep its loving hold. Her entire mound was being pulled four and five inches away from Claire's skin, and she loved it. She was starting to cry out each time you forced the artificial organ back inside her. The extra resistance in the motion told you that Claire must have put some crazy texture on her side of the rubbery box. Her eyes rolled back, and her fingers clenched the table with each thrust. You bent over and grabbed her shoulders, so you could thrust even harder. The urge to release started growing and somehow you could feel, even through Ms. Willows' skin, that Claire was almost ready. Your motion got wilder as the feeling welled up inside. Your muscles strained themselves. The rocking, moaning, jiggling body of your favorite daydream was bound in latex and gagged in front of you, her elastic cunt engulfing your entire shaft with each stroke of your hips, but the eyes of your true lover stared into yours. She was experiencing true carnal pleasure while trapped in the restrained body of a stranger. Claire was being fucked like a stranger through two layers of bondage. This realization pushed you both over the edge. Your bodies tensed as you moaned and grunted in unison. Your strokes were short and powerful as you emptied yourself into her with each throbbing squirt. You could feel Claire's fluid leaking inside her suit, making sounds like a wet sponge as you pressed your pelvis into her. Her body was shaking with pleasure as you finished with one last, hard thrust, forcing cum out from between your cock and her lips. You pulled her upright and removed her cuffs. Instead of going for the gag, her hands grabbed the back of your head and pulled it into her chest. She squeezed your face into her rubber tits. The smell of latex returned, but this time it mingled with the sweet scent of Claire's fresh sweat as it oozed from the seam in her neck. You pulled away as you reached up and undid the buckle on her gag. You pulled it away, forcing her lips to release their death-grip on the ball with a wet, sucking pop. She breathed out her mouth in long ragged breaths, Claire's eyes still a little teary from her bound pleasure. You pulled Ms. Willows' dripping lips to your mouth and felt the wet heat of Claire's familiar tongue. The way her lips gripped yours, eager and deep, made it very clear that her mouth ached for the gag. She finally calmed down after a couple minutes, and Claire's heaving form transformed into Ms. Willows' perfect posture, minus the occasional shiver and gasp when you moved inside her.
    "While unexpected and entirely-gaah-uncalled for, I must say, that was rather im-mmm-pressive, Mr. Smith."
    That's the highest praise 'she' had ever given you. You had to peel her tight cock sleeve off of your shaft with your fingers. You couldn't resist making 'Evelyn' jump one more time by forcing it back into her sensitive cunt. You went to pull your pants back up,  but before you could re-buckle your belt, Ms. Willows’ gloved hands stopped you.
    "It seems only fair that I thank you for that display, Mr. Smith."
    Before you could even tell her that it was your pleasure, she had your entire length in her mouth. It was so hot and wet from being sealed with the gag that you were fully hard in a moment. She reached behind her head and yanked the mask forward and off, revealing Claire's red face, glistening with sweat. Her hands squeezed your ass and pulled you cock into her face. She made a choked gagging sound with each bob of her head while drool and semen poured down her chin. It didn't take long for Claire's fellatio skills to finish you. This third ejaculation in less than an hour left you in a stupor.
    She cleaned up with a towel from the cabinet then sat next to you. She wrapped your arm around her shoulders and kissed your still-hot cheeks.
    "So did I do good picking our new date night option?"
    You let out a small nod, too drained to manage anything more grateful.
    She wore the mask on her hand. Ms. Willows' hollow, slack features swayed gently.
    "Maybe I'll wake you up one of these days as Evelyn. You're so groggy in the morning that you'll really think it's her."
    Your smirk didn't do justice to how lucky you really were to have Claire. At that moment, a shadow stopped at your curtain and pulled it aside. Liam, borderline blackout, peaked his head in.
    "Heyyy man, howwzit goin' with-watdafuq? Claire?'
    Before you could answer, he turned around and stumbled away.
    "Let's hope he doesn't remember that," Claire nonchalantly wished aloud as she closed the curtain again. She turned back to face you.
    "So we still have two hours left..."
    You took a deep breath as she reapplied Ms. Willows' face.