City Girl on the Ranch
“It’s so beautiful out here…” Lyla trailed off as she looked out over the ranch.
It really was. Moving from the urban concrete jungle to a quiet apple farm three hours away was a jarringly pleasant and pleasantly jarring experience for the two of you. She was sick of working 60 hour weeks minimum at an ad firm, and your remote position meant that there was no reason not to move elsewhere. Her income and savings left a lot of options, and she felt the urge to put all of it in the rear view mirror and start from scratch with a childhood dream. Well, not entirely from scratch. This particular farm was closing as the owners didn’t have anyone to take over, so some negotiating later, and the two of you were off to take over a new ranch.
Well, after solving a particular issue first. As it turns out, rural folks don’t respond well to goths in latex, even “just” a catsuit that’s mostly obscured under a graphic tee, black cargo pants, and pleasers. You had considered doing all of the negotiations on Lyla’s behalf, but changed your mind once you both realized that the average farm worker
or diner employee would give you the same cold shoulder.
She wasn’t willing to change her appearance, and frankly you didn’t want her to. So you found a prosthetics company in the city and crafted an entire new person, at least skin deep. The new Lyla passed her first test with flying colors, except for the awkward moment when the old owners asked about her “scar”, while pointing at the seam of her skinsuit. Luckily, it wasn’t a particularly warm day, otherwise the seventy-year-old woman might have seen sweat leak from Lyla’s “old wounds”.
Fast forward to today, and the persistent issue of wearing a silicone third skin over a latex second skin was beginning to bother Lyla right on schedule.
“Damn, it’s so hot though”, she bemoaned, as she pulled open her flowery vine embroidered blouse.
“There’s nobody around, why don’t you cool off for a second,” you suggested optimistically.
“I’m sure you’d like that,” her coy smile betrayed her crossed arms.
After she looked around for a moment, she must have decided that the back plot, inhabited only by the remains of an old Chevy and other old Americana machinery, was sufficiently tucked away. Your four farm-hands, on contract for the season, were in the orchard, picking enough bushels to keep the doctor away for decades. After a moment, she reached down, and subsequently pulled the blouse up to her armpits. Lyla’s breasts (the wheat-color, silicone pair that was in front of your eyes, not her real chest that was hidden and bound tightly underneath two layers of rubber) glowed in the mid afternoon sun.
“Would you like to get me started?”
Without a word, you stepped up to her and touched the tip of your index finger to the point where the barely perceptible neck seam met the similarly hard to see split that ran down her chest, even splitting her two belly button piercings down their magnetic halves. Beads of sweat seeped out of the thin cuts, trickling arousingly down her torso. With a little pressure, your finger slipped into the slit, forcing apart her skin to reveal the black latex curves beneath. Now wet with her perspiration, your hooked finger ran down her entire midriff, and came to rest on her belt buckle. Lyla pulled apart her halves by tugging suggestively at her nipples, and you heard her breath quicken from the unorthodox erotica.
“Mmmm, that’s better already.”
She paused for a moment to take in the beauty of two black latex glazed tits. After a few lustful squeezes, she hoisted herself onto the hood of the truck, and leaned back, letting the light breeze at least try to cool her down in the hot sunlight.
“You know you don’t do yourself any favors by wearing black,” you remind her, again.
“True, but I’m goth, and sometimes that’s a sacrifice,” she retorted confidently, “although…”
She reached up, and gripped the edge of her loose neckline, and began peeling one artificial skin from the other
“...This should help a bit.”
The sound was a mixture of tape being pulled from a roll and the springy notes of a rubber band being stretched to its limits. She pulled downward at first until she had a bizarre double chin and her neck stretched halfway to her split navel. Then she lifted up, and for a moment, Lyla's face was flat and taut like a bed sheet, save for the bumps of her brow, nose, and lips. Then she doubled it up and over itself, rolling it over her forehead and scalp until it finally released and the entire artificial face snapped upward to hang flaccidly from her elevated hands. In its stead was Lyla's real face, a pale white goth woman with a half-shaved pixie cut the color of black cherries. Large black gauges, which had been hidden beneath her cute molded silicone ears, were now visible in the sunlight, as were the other piercings across her face, where both stainless steel and sweat slicked skin glistened in the hot sun.
"Ugh, I know it's expensive, but this waterproof makeup is so worth it" she exclaimed as she looked over the inside of the mask for any evidence of black or crimson runs or leaks. Satisfied, she gently shook the mask and droplets of sweat caught the light as they scattered into the grass. Then she lay the visage across her thigh, which was still clad in work denim that completely contradicted the top half of a goth in black latex that emerged above Lyla's leather belt.
"I was right, this is so much more comfortable"
She turned her face away from the harsh sunlight and with one finger, still clad in the rancher's skin, she poked and plucked at the hollow mouth of her newly shed disguise.
"It's so weird knowing that this is essentially a whole person that we created", she reasoned aloud.
Meanwhile you stepped in closer, and closer, until you stood between her thighs. You bent over and pressed your face against the rubber corset, which felt warm to the touch. Slowly, you slid your face up her body until your cheek lay between her pillowy rubber breasts and she pet your head for a moment… Before gently pushing you off.
"Get me some water to cool off, and I'll take care of you."
Ten seconds later you had a bottle of ice water from the cooler that you trucked around for exactly this reason. Lyla shrugged both halves of her synthetic chest back over her shoulders, and the seam resealed itself as she hopped off the hood. With a sexy little shimmy, she undid her belt and dropped her pants. She squatted low and beckoned you over, and for a moment you thought you were getting treated first. Her two gloved hands rubbed up and down your thighs before squeezing you through your pants. Then she reached up her hand expectantly and you handed her the bottle. She took a deep breath and flinched in preparation, then peeled the neckline of her catsuit away from her real neck before pouring the water down into her black latex.
“Whoo… Fuck,” She muttered as she emptied the bottle down her collar. The catsuit expanded and jiggled around her breasts and her tanned chest grew three sizes and two cups.
“Gah, that’s fucking cold,” she continued as she shook a bit.
After a few seconds, she leaned forward and reached between her legs. The water had quickly seeped down her body and was already starting to trickle out of the wet slit between her legs, oozing through the zipper on her catsuit. With practiced ease and nearly zero effort, she forced her entire gloved hand inside “herself”, and a muffled zipper noise was followed first by a patter of cold water droplets on the dried dirt, followed by a constant trickle as the entire bottle of water dribbled from Lyla’s tight, fake pussy.
“Ah, all the fun of piss-play with none of the mess,” she tittered as she made the same joke yet again. And in preparation, you set another bottle of water to warm up on the hood for a few minutes. She finished massaging her midsection as the last few spurts of “piss” hit the hot ground.
“Alright, your turn, baby.”
She pulled your pants down and quickly wrapped her dark lips around your sensitive organ. Her tongue lapped half selfishly, half selflessly, as her warm and wet mouth massaged every inch of intimate flesh, enveloping your entirety in her loving hole. You gently cupped the back of her head as she enthusiastically suckled and kneaded you until you shuddered and froze with carnal release, breathless. You took a shaking step back as she stood up, your fluid glossing her sweet lips, which she immediately pressed to yours, giving back a bit of you as she swirled her tongue in your mouth.
“Now sit.”
The authority in her voice left no room for negotiation as you preemptively lay on your back in the lush grass. She stood, pulled her pants half up, and took her false face from the hood of the truck before stretching it down and over her features. Slick sweat and slicker secretions helped ease the silicone over her face, and soon you were looking at the same cute country girl you drove out here with, minus the open slit at the top of her chest.
Without a word, she stepped over you, either boot straddling your anxious and excited face. As she kneeled down, Lyla’s firm, round rubber ass eclipsed the sun, allowing you to look deep into the molded pussy of her suit. You could see the black latex inside, and even the open zipper that revealed just a sliver of her real flesh deep within.
“I hope you’re ready,” she snickered as she lifted the now warm, second water bottle to the slit in her chest. Quickly, she squeezed the thin plastic, and the entire container of crystal clear substance gushed into her skintight catsuit. From this angle, it really looked like Lyla’s breast grew from inside, but moments later your attention was drawn elsewhere.
“Ooooh… Do you enjoy my hot “piss”, baby? Do you enjoy it when I give back to you?” She moaned as the hot mixture of water, sweat, and silicone oil poured over your face, your neck, your chest. It seeped into your shirt and stuck to you.
You could only moan in affirmation.
“That’s right, of course you do.”
She reached down and her rubbery fingers swirled the mess around your chest and face, slipping into your mouth and letting the last squirt of warm, slightly salty, slightly rubbery hydration dribble past your lips.
She let you sit in a stupor for a few moments before crouching over you and kissing your splattered face. After a few pets of your soiled hair, she gently climbed off of you. As your breathing calmed, you sat up just in time to see her bend over and massage her fingers up inside herself again. Instead of zipping up like you expected, she fidgeted and struggled, before pulling a black rubber sheathed cock, reminiscent of a black strap-on, from within her feminine slit.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind if I let this air out too.”
You mustered the energy to stand behind her, and you hooked a thumb through one of her belt loops.
“I’ll take that as a no-”
She didn’t get to finish before your hand was kneading between her legs.
“-Mmm,” now it was her turn to be speechless. You wrapped one hand around her latex-wrapped member, and gently stroked. The latex stuck to your fingers, and you could feel her shaft and head slipping around inside the slick elastic condom. As she bucked into your hand, trying to accelerate her rise to ecstasy, you slipped a thumb into the similar black latex sheath that was stuffed up her tight anus.
“Nnnng, fuck I’m gonna-!”
In moments, she stopped methodically humping and began shaking back and forth as the combination of a sensitive rubber reach-around and a strong digit massaging her engorged, hormone drenched prostate brought her to a long overdue ejaculation. You could even feel the sheath fill in your hand, coating and drenching her cock, and her tight rectum slowly squeezed your thumb out from inside her with passionate, rhythmic pulsations. She was barely able to stand, shuddering, knees buckled as her raspy breath steadied. You wordlessly helped put Lyla back together, resealing her back inside her new identity, and feeling her jerk and grunt with sensitivity as you slid her rubber shaft back inside the conservative country girl.
“You’re welcome, and I love you, too,” you whispered into her ear.
You fixed her hair as she slowly buttoned up, because she couldn’t go back to the house disheveled like this… What would the ranch hands say?
