by Vicki Mock
1. “I need to ask you a favor,” she said in her quiet, careful, measured way. As always, the intonation of the end of her sentence went upward, as if asking a question. I leaned forward slightly to hear her over the commotion in the company cafeteria. I forked in another bite, nodded and waited, looking at her with a concentrated gaze. I had known Molly for about ten years; my wife and I had her over for dinner many times and she and I had worked side by side on many projects. She was a middle aged spinster, quiet and very shy. Her taste in clothes was eccentric: she often shopped at vintage clothing stores but her choices always seemed a bit dowdy or conservative for my taste. I had always believed that she could be a very sexy lady–she had large breasts, wide hips, a full ass and great legs, but she did everything she could to hide her sexuality. She didn’t seem to have an especially pretty face; I have seen make-up do wonders, yet she wore none at all.
I had sensed all morning that she wanted to say something to me, but in typical Molly fashion, she was afraid. I found this to be a character trait that was very irritating, and in the past it had caused some conflict between us. My wife and I had come to refer to her as an “emotional wimp” after she backed out of a business opportunity that would have meant a lot to several of us, Molly included. Without her expertise we couldn’t pull it off, but she said she wasn’t ready. She said she had some “personal issues to work through.” I considered this to be cowardice on her part, and I still haven’t gotten over being a bit pissed off at her.
“What I’m about to ask you is difficult for me,” she said. Well, what’s new, I thought. “You know I’m in my late thirties and my body clock is ticking.” Uh oh, red flags. “I would understand if you couldn’t do this, I would understand completely.” A long pause, and I waited patiently. She had a bite of food, looking down at her plate. I looked around the room while I waited for her. Chewing, swallowing, finally looking up. “I want to have a child, and I need someone to…”
If she had dropped a load of gravel on me I would have been less surprised.
I was speechless. She continued in a hurried way, as if expecting me to interrupt at any moment. “I want to ask if you will give me a child. You won’t be responsible in any way, I just need a man to help me, and you are the only person I can ask.” I stared and was surprised that my mind actually considered the question seriously. My first thought was whether I would be able to get it up for her, and the answer was, yes, smile, if she put a bag on her head. My second thought was over issues of morality and fidelity. This really doesn’t count as cheating, I quickly rationalized, since I’m only doing a good deed for a friend. But what would my wife say if she found out I had a child with another woman? I didn’t say anything for a long while as I ate, and finally answered her as if it were a simple business proposition. “Look Mol, this is a big one. I have to give it some thought.” “Oh sure, of course, I understand..” We quickly ended our lunch with pleasantries and went back to work.
2. I heard a soft knock at my door and put the paper down. I knew it was Molly, right on time. I opened the door and she gave me her little wave and tight smile that conveyed as much doubt as greeting. “Please come in,” I said and I noted that she had a small overnight case with her. “Did you find all of the items,” I asked? “Yes,” she said, “every one of them.” She came in, head down as she passed me, and stood in the living room as if unsure what to do next. “Why don’t you go change in the bathroom, put on the robe behind the door if you want, and I will be waiting for you upstairs in the bedroom?” She nodded without looking at me and left the room. I had resolved to be very direct with her as I was not in the mood to stand around while she hesitated over every little thing.
When my wife told me she would be out of town on business for three days, I decided to tell Molly I would help her, but I made it clear it would be on my terms or not at all. “I have made love to only one woman my entire life,” I told her, laying the background for my little plan, “and I’m not sure I can do this. You will have to help me out. Men are very visual, and we often need a jump start, a spark plug. Do you understand?” I had her write down a list of things that she would need to bring–a list I had made after careful planning and much thought. I decided to get the maximum of enjoyment from the evening even if it meant pushing Molly well past her limits–after all, she was asking quite a large favor of me, and I wanted some return for taking a risk. There was something else driving my plans, but I didn’t want to think about it at the time.
Fifteen minutes passed, and she finally came up the stairs into the bedroom. I greeted her in a warm manner and tried to put her at ease, but the fact that I was only wearing a bathrobe seemed to make her extremely nervous. From the look on her face and the way she clutched her own robe, I knew it was possible that she might bolt, but I planned to end her thoughts of leaving in a creative way but shocking way. “Molly, I want you to open your mouth as wide as possible–trust me, it will be OK–that’s it, even wider, as wide as you can go, and shut your eyes tightly.”
I took the cue ball out of my pocket and quickly forced it between her teeth so that it filled her mouth completely, giving her a comical white smile, much like when children put orange peels in their mouths. Molly’s eyes went wide open and her grunts of surprise turned into muffled shrieks, her nostrils dilating as she began to hyperventilate. Her hands, covered with black satin shoulder length gloves, were completely useless to pull the slippery ball out of her mouth as she backed away from me. Her robe came open and I saw that she was dressed as I had asked her to. She was naked save for red stiletto heels with ankle straps, black fishnet hose and a garter belt, a black corset cinched tightly, and the gloves. Her large breasts swayed as she staggered back on her high heels, and I became aroused by her incredible figure. The corset forced her into a tiny waist which complemented and exaggerated the rest of her natural endowments in a breathtaking way. She bent over, breasts hanging, perched awkwardly on her lipstick red heels, and continued her frantic clawing to remove the ball with gloved hands. Her attempts to talk or scream were muffled by the gag, and I was definitely getting hard.
3. I once read that the practice of putting a billiard ball in the mouth of fraternity pledges was a favorite form of hazing before hazing was banned. The angle of the teeth and the lack of room for fingers made it virtually impossible to remove the ball without a doctor administering a shot of muscle relaxant to each side of the jaw to finally release it. For a while, the victim felt gagged without hope of release, and it secretly titillated even those who wouldn’t admit to at least a passing fancy for B&D. Earlier in the week I had devised a spoonlike device that enabled me to easily pull the ball out. So confident was I that I decided to try it out on myself, but after forcing the ball into my mouth, I found the device didn’t work. It took two hours of panic at my workbench with the ball firmly locked in my mouth before I devised a prototype that finally removed it.
While Molly screamed a muffled “Take it out!”, I calmly told her that it would remain where it was until I was done, and that she would not be able to leave until I said so. Her eyes went even wider, but when I asked her if she understood, she only stared at me without comprehension. She continued to try to communicate to me her displeasure but I told her to please be silent. I went into my closet for her second surprise. I knew from the beginning that I wouldn’t be able to make love to Molly–I would need to change her into someone else, and the easiest way to do that was to change her face.
I had a friend in college who made me three masks during his apprenticeship at an FX school. Two of them were direct casts of the heads of my wife and I, done in exquisite detail with hair and makeup, and very lifelike. The third was done specifically at my request. It was the head of a beautiful Oriental woman. The mask, made of latex and silicone, fit me like a glove. It was made from the cast of my head, and a black pageboy wig was attached to it. The lips were soft, full, and extremely realistic, the face flat in appearance, and the cheekbones high. The nose was slightly flat: it was the only thing that didn’t fit me absolutely perfectly. My friend had insisted on realism and declared no Oriental would have my nose, so mine was flattened when the mask was on my face. The eye holes were very small and the epicanthropic folds depicted in rubber were undetectable frauds. When I first peered out of those eyeholes I no longer recognized myself. Touching the rubber skin, so smooth and warm, was like touching another person’s face. It never failed to turn me on, but my wife wouldn’t wear it, nor did she want me to wear it during our sex. I wore it only in secret, but today Molly would put it on–she had no choice.
4. When Molly saw the mask, she began breathing loudly through her nose and shaking her head form side to side, hands in front of her, her muffled shouts barely recognizable as “no.” I took off my robe, and her eyes went wider still as she viewed my erect member. “Without this,” I said pointing to the female rubber mask in my hand, “you can’t have this,” pointing to my erection. She shook her head again. She seemed to be saying, in her muffled grunts, that she would have none of it, and began to leave. “You’ll need to go to a doctor to get that thing out of your mouth–how will you explain it? You agreed to do this, remember–on my terms.” She stopped at the door and put her gloved hands to her face, tears beginning. I had no sympathy for her–at that moment I realized that there was some anger behind my actions–that I wanted to shake her up just a little.
I took her by the wrist to the center of the room and told her to look up. “You’ll be fine,” I said, “this will be fun, and in no time you’ll be a mommy!” I took the mask and widened the opening over her head. It had a thin, fine edge that circled under the wearer’s jaw where the chin met the neck, circling under the ears to the back where it was hidden by the hair. The edge was difficult to detect while worn as it folded into the wearer’s skin like a neck wrinkle. The opening was capable of stretching fairly wide to admit the head, but it returned to it’s original shape quickly.
“Shut your eyes,” I said in a whisper, trying to calm her, “you will now be transformed into a sex goddess. In a moment, you will have total control over me!” I laughed to myself knowing that she had no idea how true that would be.
I brought the rubber mask over her head, stretching the opening as I pulled it down over her hair. The mask fit tight against her facial features. I thought it would be a little big on her as it was made for a man, but the ball in her mouth had lengthened and filled out her face. The mask’s soft lips were slightly parted but immobile in a doll-like expression due to her gag. I adjusted the nose and eyes, and tugged downward firmly one last time and let go of the bottom edge, the rubber softly slapping against her skin. The feather light edge slowly contracted to finally form a fine line where her chin and neck met.
Backing away, I looked at what I had created. She was incredible–a vision of erotic pleasure, a dream I had had but never realized until now. She stood silently, as in shock or resignation, I couldn’t tell. From outward appearances she was now a beautiful and sexy Oriental woman, eyes dark and recessed, black pageboy slightly tousled, her face immobile, inscrutable. I asked her if she was comfortable in the mask, and she began touching it with her gloved hands, her senses dulled by the coverings she wore. I knew that feeling of being covered and I loved it, but her doll’s face showed no reaction. She turned to the mirror and grunted, startled, as she gazed on her new face. The impression of real flesh was only marred by the fact that she couldn’t talk or show emotion. She stood for a long while looking at herself, perhaps a full minute. She then began touching herself and moving in a clumsy parody of a strip show dancer. I did not expect this of her–it made me slightly uncomfortable. It seemed that Molly the mouse was getting into her role. Her movements became more erotic and practiced, as if a stripper was now inhabiting her body, as if she was turning into someone else. She was assuming a new personality—that of the face she wore.
5. She came toward me and began to touch me seductively, and in a moment I could not imagine that this was the shy, dumpy, unattractive woman I worked with. She murmured and moaned through her nose, a siren call of lust and desire, and I became enflamed with erotic feelings. I looked into her face and saw myself, in my memory, masked and looking back from a mirror. Myself, but now with the body of a voluptuous woman, as I had fantasized so often. She was the embodiment of everything that turned me on. She took me by my hand to the bed, looking at me, a Japanese mannequin, inviting me to lie with her. I caressed her shoulder and neck, the skin smooth and warm. I touched the place, almost invisible, where her skin met the rubber edge of her false face, and realized that the mask was an inseparable part of her now. Molly would never be the same person to me, or to herself, after this. Like a magic spell, the mask had fused itself onto her psyche. The intensity of this experience would imprint on her, and the mask would become part of her, as it was part of me. I did not know how our relationship would change, or if we could make the adjustments to go back to normal. Right now it didn’t matter. We were both caught in a bubble of lust. All of her inhibitions were gone–she was no longer Molly.
I had wired law enforcement grade handcuffs to the four posters of the bed, but I couldn’t bring myself to put them on her–she was totally absorbed in exploring my body with her satiny fingers. I began kissing her soft and scented breasts, eventually moving down her body with kisses. I opened her thighs and made love to her with my tongue. She moaned and writhed on the bed as I buried my face in her, occasionally looking up to see her head, gagged and tightly bound in a prison of rubber. I pushed her to the edge of orgasm and then backed away again and again. I slowly entered her, her muffled moaning growing excited, her quickened breath wheezing through the mask’s small nostrils. She moved her rubber face against mine, trying to kiss me, frantic and frustrated. I pushed my full length into her, pressing her large breasts against mine, her heavy thighs scissoring my body tightly. Her muffled screams gave me thrills through my entire body. I held my position, not daring to move, wishing I could be in this place forever, a pulsing current running between us, ebbing and flowing with pleasure. Finally it grew so strong that neither of us could hold it. We burst in a long, wrenching, incredible orgasm, my moans mixed with her muffled screams.
I pulled out of her and grabbed tissues, feeling the magic quietly drain away leaving us to face reality. I looked at her and felt ashamed of what I had done–a fantasy that she wanted no part of, that my lust and anger had forced her into. She lay back, exhausted, ministering to herself with the tissues, silent save for the sound of breathing through the mask. We both lay there for an uncomfortable eternity, wishing that I could skip the next part and go back to my life without this woman involved my intimate life, but I had to pay for my decision. I had to face the person under the mask.
6. After a long, uncomfortable period of silence in which neither of us dared move, I turned to her. “Let’s take that thing off of you now, OK?” I looked over at her, and watched her slowly sit up and began to smooth the shiny black pageboy with her black gloved hands. I sat up, moved close to her and reached over to find the feathery edge of the mask, almost invisible now that the mask had conformed to her own features through heat and sweat and prolonged wear. She muffled “unh uh,” a clear and surprisingly commanding negative, and I brought my hands away. A twinge of lust shot through me: the emotionless rubber mask, immobile but completely real, her black stockings and corset, her manner of complete detachment, seemed so erotic to me. She unbuckled her shoe and massaged her sore heel. I waited and watched, but she acted as if I wasn’t even there. “Do you want to leave the mask on?” I asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of my voice? She turned and looked at me, the dark Oriental eye slits permitting only a gleam of the woman hidden beneath the rubber face.
I began to get hard again, and she noticed the erection immediately, taking hold of it as if it belonged to her. “No, my dear,” I whispered as kindly as I could, “we’ve got to quit–you must go now.” She stared at me, and without letting go of my member, crawled over to me, and spreading her thighs, climbed atop me. She slid my penis in, slowly, and I groaned, both because it felt so good and because I could see that this situation was getting to be trickier than I had planned. As she slowly moved up and down, I was filled with intense pleasure. Looking up, I could see the thin edge of the mask at her neck by the slight change in skin tone. The movements of her head produced wrinkles in the rubber that gave away her disguise to the practiced eye, but I could see that it fit her very well. I wondered how she would look with her mouth freed, her lips encased in the soft rubber lips of the mask, her tongue and mouth able to express the pleasure she obviously felt. I slipped away into the physical joy of the moment. As if from a distance I became aware that she had taken my arms, and caressing them, pushed them above my head. I heard the click of the hand cuffs before I could react. I was alarmed, but she continued to move up and down slowly as if nothing had happened. I had a vague feeling that this might be a problem, but at the moment I simply couldn’t move. Within a few moments she had put the cuffs on both of my ankles, but I allowed it to happen: I figured that since my arms were cuffed, I wasn’t going to be going anywhere until she released me anyway. I came in a torrential wave of pleasure, my body arching to push further into her, the cuffs rattling and restricting my movements, her weight pinning me down. I moaned and sighed, and lay still. Slowly I opened my eyes and smiled at her, but she was strangely silent as she climbed off and stood at the end of the bed looking at me
“Molly, the key to the cuffs is in a bag in the closet–would you please get it for me?” She went to the closet, looked in the brown paper grocery bag, and hesitating, pulled something out. It was the rubber head mask of my wife. She examined it carefully, placed it on the ground, and then found the tool that I made to remove the ball from her mouth. She silently held it up and I told her what it was for, and once again requested the key to the cuffs: I was beginning to feel a little vulnerable stretched out across my bed.
Instead of unlocking me, she took off her gloves and began to search for the edge of the mask, trying to get her nails under the rubber with the intent of peeling it up with her fingers. The rubber was stuck to her skin, and her attempts to remove the mask were unsuccessful at first, eventually reducing her to pull and tug at the skin and hair of her rubber disguise in frustration. She finally worked her fingernails under the edge and bending over, grunting and moaning, she stretched the neck opening out and slowly peeled the mask off of her head. Her skin was clearly stuck to the rubber as the mask’s adhesion very reluctantly let her go. As she pulled it free, the mask’s features were inside out and deformed from stretching. Pulling it off her head with relief, she dropped it to the floor and turned away from me. Hiding her face, she began to use the spoon tool to dislodge the ball from her mouth. She ignored my entreaties to help her if she would just free me, and after some time the ball and the tool dropped to the floor. Without a word, she unfolded a knitted throw rug off of the rocker in front of her and holding it across her face, advanced on me. She threw the blanket over my head, and completely ignoring my questions and demands, she left the bedroom.
7. I don’t know how long I waited on the bed, but my anxiety grew the longer I lay there. When I heard her leave the house, I knew I was in big trouble. Although my wife wouldn’t be back in town for two days, I couldn’t imagine what kind of story would cover up the mess I was in if Molly didn’t come back. With my masks lying around the room, and me cuffed to the bed, I would have to tell her the truth–that is, if Molly didn’t tell her first. I couldn’t dislodge the blanket from my face, so I did what I could under the circumstances: I took a nap.
It seemed like hours before I awoke to the sound of the door downstairs. It’s Molly, I thought–she just wanted to teach me a lesson, but she couldn’t stand to leave me here in this condition. I heard footsteps come up the stairs, and into the room, accompanied by the rattling of shopping bags. “Molly,” I said as contritely as possible, “I’m so sorry. Please accept my apology. Please–please let me up.”
I heard her walk to the bed and then she pulled the throw aside. In the dim light of the bedroom I saw my wife standing beside me, a look of incomprehension on her face. My blood ran cold and I wished I could be anywhere but in this room right now. She looked at the cuffs and the room in disbelief, her mouth slightly open in shock.
“I’m sorry, I know how this looks, but I was only doing a friend a favor.” She looked at me, blinked once, and then smiled. Only it wasn’t my wife’s smile. “And I’m going to do you a favor in return,” said Molly.” It was my turn to be in shock. She was wearing my wife’s sunglasses, one of her dresses, and her face. The mask fit her perfectly–I hadn’t even noticed a difference until she smiled. The thought of Molly putting my wife’s rubber face over her own filled me with wonder and some feelings of arousal. I needed to understand what was going on.
“Molly, what is this? What are you doing with that mask on?” She stared without answering–I could feel tension in her stare–so I lightened up the moment. “You really had me going–you look just like her with that on–you two could do a Halloween gag in that get-up.” “We just might,” she said, her voice changed, full of confidence, even sexy. “But right now I want to return you your favor.” “Thank you”, I said, “my arms have gone to sleep and I have to go to the bathroom.” “I’ll let you free soon enough,” said my wife’s face and Molly’s voice, “but not just yet.”
She took a shaver and several cans of cream out of her shopping bag and without a word, began to shave me from the feet up. My cries and protestations went unheeded, and every time I shook my leg, I got a cut, which taught me to hold still. I was particularly good when she began to shave me between my legs. I lay there without a word, anxious to see what would come next. I was not prepared for it.
Silicon breast forms, jiggly and substantial, were placed on my chest after she spread some kind of jelly across the contact surface. She then picked up the Oriental woman rubber mask and spent a few moments spreading the same jelly inside of it. “Molly, don’t do this to me,” I said with a little edge in my voice.” In a moment”, she said, mimicking my earlier words to her, “you will be a sex goddess.” Her smile, so strange on my wife’s face, had a quality I couldn’t identify. I think it was anger. She was going to give it back to me in spades.
8. The mask slid on easily with the jelly inside it, and despite my desire to the contrary, I became hard again. The mask was tight on my face, but very comfortable. I looked out of the small eyeholes, breathed out of the small nostrils. My lips were sealed in soft, full rubber lips, my cheekbones and the planes of my face now altered. The skin tone of the mask had been matched with my own skin, and the thin edge was aligned with my own neck creases–it was virtually invisible in normal wear. My friend once told me that I could eat, sleep, swim, or make love in this thing and even my lover wouldn’t know I was wearing a mask unless I took it off. Of course, a man wearing a woman’s head kind of gives it away. I lay my head back after she had pulled the mask on me, and felt the strange feeling of the hair of the wig against the pillow.
Molly took full notice of my erection and began to disrobe. She was no longer wearing the corset and stockings, but she looked incredible. She was a different woman, not herself, and not my wife–a perky, almost pointed nose, long blonde hair billowing around her prominent cheekbones, her eyes slightly slanted up at the corners giving her an elfin quality. Her lips were well defined and shapely. She touched my hairless legs, a very strange feeling, and spreading her thighs, she guided my erection into her.
She stroked my latex face, a detached look on her new face, and bent to kiss me. Kissing her soft rubber lips while both of us wore female masks was something I had fantasized about, but now it was happening. Even as I was completely absorbed in the joy of the moment, I knew that Molly had something rather special planned for me. After much grinding and grunting, we both came in an explosion and she cried out with passion, her blonde hair tossing about as she writhed in pleasure. She collapsed onto my chest against my new breasts. Breathing hard, I whispered into her ear, “Molly, let me go.” She sat up, a smile on her altered features, and began to disengage herself from me. “I will,” she whispered, “but not quite yet.”
Within the next hour she began to transform me into a woman. It did not resist for two reasons. First, it did no good. Second, I had always fantasized about being turned into a woman, but it remained in my mind, never shared with anyone. Now I was wearing a realistic mask, and my breasts rested in a lacy bra. My hips and ass were so much larger with the padded garment that held me tightly, and my maleness was hidden away as if it never existed. Around my waist, cinching me to a perfect shape, was Molly’s corset. My smooth legs were encased in suntan nylons–I was relieved when she unlocked the cuffs from my ankles–and she had purchased red high heels with ankle straps very much like the ones I made her wear earlier. Seeing the shoes and nylons on my legs knocked me out–I was surprised at how good my legs looked–but this was nothing compared to the sight of my reflection in the mirror when she let me up. I had worn the Oriental woman mask many times in the past, but now, for the first time, I looked like a woman from the neck down as well. She looked me over and whistled appreciatively. I was embarrassed but highly turned on by the whole situation. It was if Molly had divined my secrets and had forced me to face them. As if this were all a big joke, I asked her, in a breathy female voice, what she planned to do now, and she smiled her hybrid smile, Molly and my wife. She said that right now I would have to do whatever she asked or I would never, ever, remove the breasts and mask. Molly had glued them on with an adhesive that required a particular solvent. I wasn’t surprised or upset; in fact, I found I was turned on by my forced bondage–turned into a female against my will just like some of the transvestite stories I had read. This was not forever–she would let me go after she had her fun, and I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.
She glued false fingernails on my hands and the length of my fingers made me use my hands in a different, more feminine way. The mask itself, with its soft, thick lips, altered the pronunciation of my speech, as if a dentist had numbed my lips. Her first request of me was that I would not speak unless with a woman’s voice. With her insistent coaching, I started speaking in a softer, more female tone. She ordered me to put on a short black skirt that showed off my tan legs, a tight sleeveless top with a high, zippered neck in black that showed off my full breasts, and a little bolero jacket that was almost too short in the arms for me.
I looked from my pageboy hair down to my red heels–I was a sexy Chinese girl, a little tall but very shapely.
“And now, my dear prankster, we are going out.” I looked at her, a malicious smile on her face, and knew I was in for some trouble. Right now, I didn’t care:
this experience was incredible so far, and I was going to go with it.
9. We went out to her car, but the short trip to the driveway proved to be very difficult as I had never worn heels before. The jiggling of the silicone breasts, glued securely to my chest, was unbearably exciting, but my manhood was bound securely between my legs and I was unable to respond to the stimulus. My hips and ass were full, and I found myself moving them quite provocatively despite myself. I was shocked and aroused by my reflection in the car window as I got in the passenger side. I realized I had no apprehension about going out because I knew that no one would know who I was. As long as Molly didn’t tell…
We had lunch at a local restaurant–we were both starving from our long afternoon–and I found no trouble eating and conversing in my lady voice with Molly in this public place. No one knew I was a man in disguise except the two of us. My first trip into the ladies room was memorable. Though I had difficulty getting my erection back into my padded gear, I was thoroughly excited about “passing” as a female so easily. I would never have had the courage to do this on my own. Molly’s game was about the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.
We went shopping and Molly forced me to try on several items of “Hollywood” style hooker clothing which she made me buy with my credit card, and we walked the mall for more than two hours. I was quite expert in my high heels by then, but my feet ached from the new shoes. I was so incredibly horny that I kept asking her when we would go back to my place. She generally ignored me as she ordered me around the mall in a quiet, firm voice. Such a changed creature she was! I could hardly contain the erotic feelings I had: Molly wearing a mask of my own wife; my own body transformed into that of a woman’s against my will; and the rubbing of my manhood, firmly strapped between my legs, as it brushed against my nylon clad inner thighs, trapped inside feminine silk bikini panties. I could hardly believe my image in the many mirrors and windows. I drew stares from men and women alike. I told Molly I couldn’t hold it any longer, that I wanted her. She looked at me, her face lacking expression, completely unreadable. I couldn’t wait until we were alone…
The afternoon sun was drawing long shadows from the trees as we left the mall and went back to my house. I was a little worried that my neighbors would see us and ask my wife later about the attractive Chinese girl she was with. We quickly went in and I stood, so tall in my heels, and began to posture provocatively like a hooker, hand on hip. “Let’s go upstairs,” I suggested in my breathy lady voice. “You go upstairs and get undressed–take off whatever you can take off.” A sardonic smile grew on her face. “‘I’ll be along shortly. Show me your computer and then go away,” she said rudely but with her little smile.
I was encouraged–I knew she felt she had finally given me enough of my own medicine and I could see that she was as interested as I was in another kinky session. The day had truly been a mind blower. I never would have imagined that dreams could come true, but I was living it now.
10. I did my sexy walk up the stairs, wagging my big butt and full hips, and spent a long time admiring my woman’s body in the mirror. I couldn’t imagine my male face and body, so natural was the image before me, this Chinese goddess in the mirror. But the mask was beginning to feel a little tight, my nose definitely felt numb, and I had been trying to adjust the eyeholes for the last half hour. I knew that as soon as I had an orgasm, I would feel ridiculous in this outfit and I would want it off immediately. So I resolved to really enjoy these moments as this would probably be my last hour as a Chinese hooker.
I slowly took off all of my clothes in front of the mirror, reveling in the illusion of womanhood until I was finally naked. As much as I tried, I could not remove the prosthetic breasts and the rubber mask. I decided to leave the nails on until Molly showed me how to remove them properly. So this is what a shemale looks like, I thought.
I went to the bed and as I lay waiting, I wondered what Molly was doing at my computer. I enjoyed the sleek feel of the sheets against my shaved body, the coarse hair brushing my neck and shoulders, and the erotic feel of the mask and breasts stuck tightly to my skin. Molly came in the room with a piece of paper and a pen.
“I want you to sign this,” she said, still wearing my wife’s face and hair. She handed me what looked like a contract with two lines at the bottom for our signatures. She began taking off her clothes, rubbing her large, soft breasts. She wore only her panties and her mask, and I was stimulated beyond belief. ” Sign It,” she said. “Later,” I said, pulling her toward me. “Now,” she whispered, running her hands over her ample thighs. “Do you like my mask?” she said, knowing she was really pushing my button. I was caught in her web and she knew it. “Sign,” she said, kissing the Chinese lady with my wife’s lips. I took the pen and signed on the dotted line.
11. It was dark out when I woke up. Molly was gone as I knew she would be. On the bedside table was a note that described how to remove the breasts and mask. (Simply showering softened and released the glue she explained.) She had taken the mask of my wife–it was her alter-ego now, she said. On my fax machine was a copy of the note I had signed. In it I agreed to meet with Molly whenever she asked and to do whatever she asked. If I refused, she would tell my wife everything, and prove it by showing her my signature on the original note. I groaned, knowing that I was responsible for creating this monster. She knew exactly how to turn me on, and she had the power to do it whenever she wanted. I was enslaved: I could not say no even if I wanted to.
As I showered, I rubbed and yanked the silicone breasts, and worked at the bottom edge of the mask, but they remained, stuck tight. I was beginning to get tired of this game–I wanted the mask off. My wife would be back in one day and I still didn’t know what I would tell her about all of my missing body hair.
I stepped out of the shower and saw the Chinese whore looking back from the mirror, her pouty lips and flat face turning me on and angering me at the same time. I called Molly, and before I could tell her my problem, she told me that if I wore the face of a woman, I must speak as one. I was angry and began to argue, but she interrupted by saying, “Do you ever want to see your own face again?”
Furious, I asked her, in my breathy lady voice, how to remove the mask and breasts, please. “I’ll show you tomorrow–if you are good. I’ll be over at ten, so be ready for a little fun.”
I slept all night with the mask and breasts on.
12. It has been four months and we have met six times. Sometimes I am the Oriental lady, sometimes she is. I have even been my wife, though that mask is a bit small for me. So happy is she with this game that she has abandoned the desire to get pregnant. Molly is having other masks made, all women, and is investigating a female body suit. I don’t think she realizes how completely I am in her power. My wife doesn’t know about us. When will it end? When we both tire of it, but I know I never will…