Author’s Note: This work of fiction is the sole property of Necromancer Publications. Any reproduction without the express written consent of the author is prohibited by law. If consent is given, all rights, both primary and proprietary, remain the sole property of the author and the author reserves the right to request that all reprinting of this work be removed or discontinued at any time. All reprinting or use of this work must contain this entire note, under penalty of law.

I. Encounter

An excited tingle ran down Mark’s spine, electrifying each individual vertebrae as it passed, ending at his pelvis and thrilling his groin with a satisfying jolt. Tonight. He repeated the word over and over until it achieved a talismanic quality in his mind. Mark knew what tonight would bring. Tonight was his first encounter with Her.

At first, his wife, Emma, was skeptical about the whole idea. She was rather conservative in her desires, limiting their play to the most conventional of games. But, seeing how much he had wanted this, she had finally relented.

“But WHY, Mark?” she had asked, her eyes and voice conveying her obvious disbelief, if not disapproval. “Do you WANT another woman? Or is it something else?”

Mark had sighed and tried to explain, finding the words would not come easily, as though they were mired in black mud.

“No, well, yes…..well, not exactly. The attraction is the mystery, the illusion that is created. It isn’t that I don’t want you, I want something that is unfamiliar, something that is beyond my control to understand and beyond my ability to reason out. I want…..” The words finally failed him.

The hurt in her eyes was evident, mingling with her obvious, if unwilling, curiosity. A dangerous cocktail at best.

“Fine,” she snapped, “but you arrange it. I don’t want to have to do anything. I don’t want to have to see…….” she broke off, mid-sentence and stormed out of the room.

Now, as Mark drove the few miles from the office, he thought about that scene and wondered if tonight would be worth it. His mind raced with all of the things that might go wrong, the little things that, if not done perfectly, would ruin the experience. He also thought of his wife, what she must think, and the effect that this might have on their relationship. But something far inside him, something that knew nothing of such civilized conventions as marriage and relationship, something that still had claws and bared its fangs at the full moon knew that, if tonight was what it should be, it would be worth any price.

He parked his car in the garage, turning the engine off and smelling the mingled fumes of exhaust and the burning fan belt that he never quite got around to replacing, and walked inside.

Emma was sitting at the kitchen counter, reading a magazine. She looked up at him, her ice-blue eyes luminous and bright even with just the barest hint of make-up, and smiled slightly. Her body was lithe and feline as she perched on the hard wooden stool, her legs parted slightly to allow her to grip the stool legs and maintain her balance. She wore a simple dress with a floral print, her honey blonde hair done up in a bun. She looked as though she were going to a friend’s house to play cards and talk about the trials of living with their respective husbands.

“Hi, dear. Have a good day at work?”

Mark walked to the living room and set his brief case down next to the couch. Then he walked back into the kitchen to join Emma, stopping at the refrigerator for a cold drink. “Not really, but does one ever? Going somewhere this evening?” he said, trying to remain casual in his tone, though each word was filled with strange, fierce desire.

He took a sip of the liquid, letting the fruit juices swirl around in his mouth, the carbonation teasing his tongue and making his eyes water slightly.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I know that tonight is your special night, and I really don’t want to be here when She arrives. Besides, I am sure you will want the house to yourself?”

Both her tone and the look she gave him were strange, he could not place her mood. It set him on edge, like a storm waiting just beyond the horizon.

“Will you be late?” Mark tried to sound accommodating and interested, when he was really just trying to find out how long he would have alone….alone with Her.

“Why? Will you miss me? I doubt it….and I will probably be rather late. I am going over to Helen’s house. She rented some movies and we are going to sit around and eat Haagen-Dazs until we can’t see straight. I wouldn’t want to burst in on anything you don’t want me to see, now would I?”

Emma’s mood was getting stranger and stranger, as though she were taunting him about his planned evening with some specific intent, rather than for the pleasure of watching him squirm. He tried to smile wanly, to put her at ease, all the while analyzing her, trying to place her words and her reactions.

“Of course not, dear. Come and kiss me goodbye before you leave…I will be in the study, reading.” Mark walked toward the doorway, dreading the upcoming wait and knowing that it would be one of the best parts of the evening.

“Well, you might as well kiss me now, darling. I am leaving in a few minutes. Have a nice time.” She smiled viscously as she crossed the room to where he stood.

Emma kissed him goodbye, just a light brushing of lips across his cheek, but he could feel the warmth and the moisture of her lips, the slight trembling associated with living flesh. Then, she walked back to her seat at the counter, no longer acknowledging his presence.

Mark took his cue and left the room for the comfort of his study. At least here he was not confronted with this stranger that had taken his wife’s place, this woman that he didn’t really know. He shook his head to clear it and took out a volume of poetry, escaping into the dark beauty of Milton’s Paradise Lost.

At first, he noticed the tick of every second as it sounded from the clock on his mantle. He waited, waiting to hear footsteps in the hall, a knock on his study door. But as the seconds transformed into minutes, he heard the ticking less and less. Lost in his reading, he almost did not hear the sound of an engine in the driveway.

Startled from his reverie, he could not tell if it was coming closer or traveling away before the sound fell away into silence. Realizing it was probably just his wife leaving, he returned to his reading.

Then, a few minutes later, he heard a sound coming from the kitchen, the clink of ice being dropped into a glass, of something being poured. Knowing that no one was supposed to be in the house, Mark clenched his teeth in anticipation. It had to be Her, who else could it possibly be? He wanted to rush into the kitchen to find Her, but he forced himself to remain seated, prolonging his agonized waiting for a few moments longer. As the last of the fading sun fell behind the mountains behind him, leaving the study dark except for one lamp, he heard a light knock on his door.

Before he could stand and open the door, before he could even force a response through frozen lips, the door began to swing open. His first thought, as She appeared in the doorway, was:Wait, something isn’t right. This can’t be Her.

In the darkened doorway, he saw the most beautiful creature he might imagine. Black, lustrous hair fell from down to her shoulders, cascading down her back like silk. Piercing green eyes stared at him, framed by long, mysterious lashes. Even in the half-light, he could see her figure, her proportions nearly impossible to even the most callused eye. Perfect, round hips narrowing to a waspish waist, then widening to a pair of jutting breasts that seemed to defy gravity with ease. She wore a red minidress, the fabric appeared to have such a shine that it appeared wet if touched, the latex enticing him further. Her legs were sheathed in silk stockings and ending in red pumps with six-inch heels, her arms covered in velvet opera gloves.

She took a tiny step forward, stepping into the light. Mark expected the illusion to be shattered, expected the light to expose some tiny flaw that would reveal this vision as nothing more than a fraud. But the flaw did not come, the light served only to illuminate and to flatter Her more. The soft light of his reading lamp fell on Her face, warming the flesh tones of Her cheeks and the glistening ruby of Her lips. The light flickered momentarily, and it seemed She smiled for an instant, Her lips twitching.

Then, not allowing him to admire Her any further, she walked to where he sat. She took extremely small steps, seeming to know what this did to her body, and what the resulting jiggles did to Mark. She closed the distance and stood before him, staring down at him with green eyes that shone with a strange gleam. Mark waited for Her to blink, knowing that this was one of the easiest ways to dispel the illusion, but She moved Her head just when he thought She might blink, so that any movement of Her eyes was hidden from his, maintaining the suspense.

He found that he could speak, that he wanted to force Her to try to talk….he would find a way to explain this enigma before him….

“Hello….I have been waiting for you. What is your name? Mine’s Mark……” He knew the dialogue was rather lame, but it didn’t matter….as long as She tried to answer…

She placed a gloved finger on his lips, the velvet teasing the sensitive skin as She brushed it across his mouth and down to his chin. It silenced him, as was intended, while sending him to the brink of madness with desire. He stood slowly, wanting to feel Her lips with his own……

Mark cupped Her face in his hands, and the mystery deepened. Where there should have been warm, pliant flesh, he felt something distinctly different. It felt synthetic, strange….while Her face was warm and the skin gave beneath his fingers as it should have, the texture was not quite the same, it was a little too slippery to be real. But she was real enough, moving beneath his touch…..

As he bent to kiss her, she lifted a glass to her lips, barring the way. He had not noticed that she was carrying anything as she entered, but his mind was far from its normal state. She lifted the straw, using one gloved hand to guide it between Her lips. There was a slight sucking noise, and Her lips pursed around the straw as She sipped the drink. Mark watched, unable to explain this, unable to explain the contradiction that stood before him.

The liquid slowly drained from the glass, leaving red-tinted ice cubes half submerged in juice. She set the glass down and, without hesitation, gripped his head with Her gloved hands. Mark could feel velveteen fingers run through his hair, their super-softness massaging his scalp. She brought his face slowly down to Her’s, allowing him to smell Her perfumed skin, mixed with a slight hint of chemicals…..polyurethane…..

Strange….Mark thought. But before he could contemplate it further, Her lips were pressed against his. Mark was completely stunned by this experience. He felt hot breath spill out from Her mouth as well as her tiny nostrils, brushing his face like warm lace. He could feel his lips crushed against Hers, could feel his flesh as each ridge and wrinkle passed over Her mouth….but there were no answering features on Her lips. They were as smooth as a doll’s skin, though warm and moving just slightly as She parted them.

Then, a new dichotomy to add to his growing list……from between Her lifeless lips, a fleshy, squirming, undeniably normal tongue. Startled as it entered his mouth, he pulled back. She took a small step back, licking Her lips once and withdrawing the tongue back into its hiding place, returning the beautiful, expressionless face to its undisturbed passivity.

Then, She maneuvered behind him and sat in his chair….lifting Her right leg and gesturing to Her shoe. Mark knelt on the carpet to give himself a better grip on the shoe, as well as to perhaps catch a glimpse between Her lovely legs. But She had Her knees locked firmly together, denying any unauthorized peeking and She shook Her foot as it rested in his hand, signaling Her impatience.

Mark slipped off Her shoe, dropping to the floor. She wriggled Her toes in his hand, encased as they were in Her black stockings. Then, just as Mark was beginning to enjoy Her wriggling, She removed her foot and replaced it with the other, waiting to have it divested of its shoe. Mark willingly obliged, and She rewarded him with another wriggle of Her silk-enmeshed foot.

Then, placing both stocking feet firmly on the floor, She stood and walked toward the open doorway. As She passed, her thigh brushed Mark’s hand. He was surprised to feel, instead of flesh, the fabric tingle of nylon. He puzzled over this as he stood, following Her….wanting to find the secret to Her, the secret that would return things to normal, that would give her some place in the natural order of things…..He glanced outside as he passed the window, looking out across the front lawn to the driveway. Parked there, he saw a strange car, a Mercedes-Benz, where his wife’s car should be.

Mark glanced at Her and found Her staring at him, hands on Her hips as She waited, impatient. He hurriedly walked toward Her as She left the room and minced toward his bedroom. He entered behind Her, his impatience and desire reaching a fever pitch. She closed the door behind him as he walked toward the bed.
Throughout the next few hours, Mark tried to feel for a zipper or a seam…..but She managed to position Herself so that she was lying on her back or was just out of his reach. He could not find the secret, she would not be explained.
Hours later, as he dozed on the bed, Emma crept into the room quietly. She undressed and crawled into bed beside Mark, turning out the bedside lamp as she did so. Even with his eyes open, Mark would not have seen her secret smile in the moonlight.

II. Transformation
An excited tingle ran down Emma’s spine, electrifying each individual vertebrae and ending in her pelvis, sending a satisfying jolt through her groin. A month before, she had reluctantly given in to her husband, Mark’s, strange proclivity for masks. She had wondered what he found so interesting about them, until she had actually tried one on. Mark had promised to arrange everything, so that she would not have to be bothered with any of the details of the encounter, but the truth was, she had insisted that he take care of it because she knew nothing about where to acquire masks and less about what he might want in a mask.

The mask that he had given her was made of semi-thin latex, with painted lips and long false eyelashes. It had green eyes, with small holes where the pupils should have been to allow the wearer some visibility. When she had first looked at the mask, she had been sure that she would be nearly blind in it, but the mask was surprising in that respect. After a few minutes, she did not even notice any limitation in visibility at all. The nose on the mask fit tightly over her own, the nostril holes fitting up inside her own nostrils to allow for better breathing and added realism, both for the wearer and for any onlooker. The lips also fit over her own, but did not cover hers, a slight flaw that she would make sure was not part of her next purchase…..Next purchase?, she thought. What am I thinking?

Emma examined her feelings about wearing masks. She remembered the feeling of freedom and power she had had, driving her husband wild with the simplest gestures and becoming someone, or something, completely different from what she was. She loved those feelings and she knew that she wanted to feel them again. Besides, hadn’t she already bought quite a few things for the next time she transformed?

Instead of the long black wig that her husband had provided her, she now had several that she could choose from: a short black pageboy that went well with her new rubber catsuit, a long blonde Godiva wig that she wanted to try with something skimpy…..lingerie maybe….and her newest, a beautiful red wig, done all in loose curls. She had also purchased a few other surprises that would help complete the illusion….she couldn’t wait to try them out. And tonight would be the perfect time.

Her husband was taking her out to a new nightclub, where there would be drinks and dancing. He thought that he would be taking his wife….but Emma had other plans. She had already left a note for Mark, explaining that she would be out for the evening, an emergency that could not wait. She had said she was very sorry that the evening was spoiled, but she was sure that he would find some way to amuse himself.

Now, a close friend of hers was coming over to help her get ready, and it would be several hours before her husband returned home from the office. She could begin the transformation immediately. She began, mentally, to change. Her husband had picked up on this part of her transformation last time, noticing her distance and her strange humor. She began to see herself as an object, as a lovely creature that could not be explained by any normal philosophy. Half-real and half-synthetic, she was a contradiction capable of driving men and women insane with desire with the smallest gesture or the slightest hint of a revelation that would serve only to deepen her mystery.

She stripped and stepped into a bath that she had drawn, feeling the warm water and scented bath oils soaking into her skin. She took a razor from the edge of the porcelain tub and began to remove all of the hair from her body. She reached the hair on her head and hesitated, unsure of whether she should take the next step. She treasured her honey-blonde hair and knew that her husband would never want her to even cut it, let alone do what she was now contemplating. But she thought of the illusion she was creating, thought of how her new skin would feel against her scalp, and knew what she would do. Locks of honey-blonde hair soon floated around her in the tub, sinking slowly beneath the surface.

Stepping from the now-tepid water, she took a vial of hair-removal creme from the counter and covered herself from head to feet. She felt the tingle as the creme started to work, admiring her new shaved head in the mirror. She looked like an exotic alien, her finely-shaped skull seeming inhuman in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Finally, she stepped into the shower, washing off the remaining hair stubble along with the creme.

Toweling off, Emma walked to the bedroom to where she had her costume laid out on the bed. In the past few weeks, after her first masking experience, she had made some improvements on the costume, adding features to make the illusion even harder to penetrate. First, she took the flesh-colored lycra bodysuit and sewed her mask onto it, making the stitches so small as to appear seamless, even to touch. Unless someone knew exactly what they were looking for, they would never be able to discern that the mask and the bodysuit were separate pieces.

She took a deep breath, readying herself for the final stages of transformation. First, she put her right foot into the right leg of the bodysuit, drawing it up her calf. Here, the next modification on the costume became apparent. During her first transformation, the feet of the bodysuit had been much like that of stockings but, with the help of her seamstress friend, she had articulated each toe, sewing on a dainty nail for each toe that could be painted, just as a real nail might.

Now, she pulled on the toes as one would put on a glove, pushing the fabric between her toes and making sure the nails conformed with her own to prevent slippage as she wore the bodysuit. Doing the same with her left foot, she drew the bodysuit up to her knees. Standing, she slid the suit up to her waist, feeling the fabric slide up her thighs like a wave of silk. Here, she paused to adjust her next modification. This modification would definitely be appreciated by her husband, though no one else would ever know. Now, the suit conformed to her genitalia in every respect, with a delightful thatch of hair sewn into the fabric to simulate a real woman’s groin. She felt the little indentations and ridges slide home and knew that everything was in place.

Drawing the bodysuit up her torso, she put her hand in the right arm of the suit. Drawing the fabric up in the same manner as with her feet and legs, she adjusted the arm and hand to remove any wrinkles in the fabric and complete that illusion. Though the fingers were already articulated in the bodysuit, she had added a one-inch fingernail to each, which could also be painted. She donned the left arm of the bodysuit, straightening out the fabric and adjusting the nails on the fingers to ensure that everything would stay in place.

Then, her hands went to her new breasts. These were added to the inside of the bodysuit and could be interchanged with any number of breast sizes. For her first transformation, she had used two heavy-duty rubber balloons filled with a water-based skin ointment. Now, she had purchased a number of silicon breast forms which would be much more realistic, from the texture under the lycra bodysuit to the way that they transferred body heat to the touch. She had even used a super-adhesive to attach some ultra-realistic nipples and aureole that she had stumbled across in a recent transvestite magazine to the outside of the bodysuit, adding to the plausibility of the illusion.

She selected a pair of D-cups, knowing that they would be an irresistible thrill to the people that would see her in the club this evening, coupled with her natural curves. The stretchy fabric was already tight against her body, so the breasts would perch beautifully on her chest, defying gravity and any daring person to try and mar their perfect placement. With her body in place, Emma began the final step.

Placing her thumbs on the sides of the neck, she drew the mask over her newly shaven head. The latex slid over her skin, kissing it with synthetic lips. She inserted the nostrils into her own, breathing in. Running her hands over the mask, she sealed it in place. Puckering her lips to test their mobility, she was pleased to find them still reasonably pliant. She admired herself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror, seeing a gorgeous, hairless doll. She stared, unable to blink, at this creature. But before she could really admire herself, there was a noise behind her.

“My, my… really look amazing.”

A young woman stood in the doorway to the bedroom, looking at the creature with obvious admiration. The woman was dressed in a seamstress’ apron and had a large sewing kit with her. She set the kit down and walked over to stand next to the creature admiring itself in the mirror. She looked over the bodysuit, at the new additions she had helped add, and admired the handiwork. Then, she looked at the open back of the body suit and frowned.

“You took off the zipper? Now how do you intend to close yourself up?”

An unintelligible murmur came from the creature, as it turned to look at the woman.

“What?” The woman leaned closer, to hear the creature.

The creature placed its pouting, smooth lips on the woman’s ear, letting them tickle her. She whispered in a breathy voice, one completely unlike the person who had once inhabited the body it now used. “Sew me in….”

The woman looked at the creature sharply. “You sure? You realize you won’t be able to get out until I let you out? If you have to use the bathroom, or get tired of wearing all of that, it will be too bad. Are you really sure?”

The creature nodded once, completely committed to its decision. The woman returned to the door for her sewing kit and sat on the bed, motioning for the creature to sit next to her. The creature jiggled its way to the bed and flounced down, waiting for the woman to begin.

“Hope you aren’t in a hurry…..This will take a while, especially if you want it done right.”

The creature amused itself by painting its lovely fingernails and toenails, waiting for the woman to finish sewing up its skin. Choosing a lurid red, it carefully applied the polish to each nail, delighting as the color dried onto its nails. It felt the skin tightening up further and further, felt the cessation of air blowing lightly across its innards as the woman continued to sew. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the woman sighed, signaling the completion of the job.

The creature felt a strange tingle as the next stage of metamorphosis began. I crossed the room, back to the mirror. Admiring itself from all angles, the creature looked exotic and beautiful as it posed for itself. Its lycra skin had a faint sheen in the lamplight, its eyes glittered with unblinking ferocity. It knew that it was finally completely alive, freed from the last vestiges of the person that created it.

The mirror bore out that fact, showing no seam, no opening that might mar its perfect skin. The creature arched its back, making its breasts jut out proudly, and put a smooth hand to its soft, smooth lips. Silently, it blew itself a kiss, the lycra rubbing against the latex just slightly. The creature could feel the contact in her fingers and her lips, her skin seeming to have a new sensitivity.

Then it looked across the room, at a strange woman staring at her with a strange look on her face. It did not know this woman but it knew why she was there. She had come to help complete its final metamorphosis. The creature did not mind knowing that its existence spanned only a few minutes more. It knew that its destiny lie in the change….and it was excited to continue.

The creature walked to the closet, opening the doors and bringing out three wigs. The person who lived here had needed to hide them from her husband, but the creature giggled silently at the notion. Who had ever heard of hiding hair?

It selected the red wig, the loose curls bouncing slightly as it turned the mass of hair around in its hands, making a final decision. Deciding to use the red wig, it brought the wig over to the mirror and placed it on its head, adjusting it to fit firmly. The woman stood from the bed and walked to the creature, helping it adjust the wig further. After a few seconds, the wig was so firmly placed, even vigorous activity would not make it fall off. The creature touched the woman’s arm in thanks, feeling the delicious friction of her lycra skin on the woman’s flesh. It knew the touch was also a goodbye, it felt itself being submerged under a new personality that was coming to light.

Going to an underwear drawer, the creature selected a strapless red satin brassiere and French-cut panties. The bra was much larger than the others in the drawer, made to fit breasts that were just the creature’s impossibly tantalizing size. It stepped into the panties, drawing them up to her pelvis. The creature felt a thrill of pleasure as the satin caressed her new parts, ticking her tiny hairs. It put the brassiere on carefully, not wanting to disturb its nipples, and was delighted to feel the fabric tug on them slightly, sending tiny chills through its torso. Cupping its breasts in its hands, the creature sauntered over to where the woman stood, turning its back to her. Understanding, the woman did up the clasp of the bra, stretching the satin over the creature’s luscious curves.

It turned once again to the mirror, realizing that the metamorphosis was complete. No longer existed the hairless, exotic creature with feminine features and lycra skin. In its place was a stunning woman with elegant red curls and piercing green eyes. This new woman was unblemished and lusciously formed. Turning around to admire her lovely behind, the woman wiggled it playfully, noticing how each cheek was defined perfectly. Somehow, she knew the other woman in the room was responsible for this addition. She wiggled her behind again, and pressed a strangely textured hand to her mouth to suppress a gleeful giggle. She tried to remember her name, and the answer floated deep from the recesses of her brain….Emmanuelle.

Turning back to face the mirror, Emmanuelle waved hello to herself, glad to finally have become her whole self. She took a wide stance, placing her hands on her hips, and nodded to her mirror image. She was here for a good long while, if she had anything to say about it. This thought brought another stream of giggles. Of course, she had nothing to say about it, she couldn’t speak….but she didn’t mind, she wasn’t very talkative anyway. Gestures spoke more loudly and, sometimes more softly and seductively, that words ever could.

As she stood, legs spread apart, she did not notice the other woman approach her from behind. She felt an excited shock as a hand went between her legs, feeling her crotch. Emmanuelle suppressed a gasp of pleasure as her delicate parts were explored through the satin of her panties. She looked at her reflection to find the other woman standing behind her….Feeling her warm hand, Emmanuelle found the touch comforting rather than intrusive. As the other woman noticed Emmanuelle was watching, she withdrew her hand and smiled slightly.

“Some new modifications I was not aware of…….but I certainly approve.”

Emmanuelle could feel a hot blush within her cheeks and hoped that it was not showing too much. She quickly walked to the closet, selecting a black PVC minidress that laced up the back, having a corseting effect on the wearer. She knew that most people did not wear such clothing, but she would not wear anything else. After all, since she had such a gorgeous body, why not let everyone have a glimpse? She knew she was a tease, but she enjoyed it too much to be remorseful.

Stepping into the dress and drawing it over her curvaceous body, she motioned for the other woman to come lace her up. The other woman complied, perhaps just wanting an excuse to put her hands on Emmanuelle again. But Emmanuelle would brook no more of that nonsense…..Time was swiftly passing and she wanted to be ready when her toy, Mark, came home.

Gripping the laces firmly, the woman tightened the dress once….twice…..three times, until Emmanuelle could barely breathe. The woman tied the laces and stepped back, admiring the effect. Emmanuelle herself could see the effect clearly in the mirror, even from across the room. Her breasts jutted even more proudly from her chest, her hips seemed to have a bit of added flare, and her waist was now impossibly tiny. Emmanuelle guessed it might even be 16 inches in diameter and marveled at that figure.

Walking to the bed in bare feet, she wiggled her toes in the deep carpeting, savoring the feel of synthetic fabric on her unique skin. Next to the bed sat a pair of knee-high leather high-heeled boots. She put her dainty foot into the right boot, wriggling it to get comfortable inside the tight leather sheath. Then, she zipped the boot up, firmly encasing her lower leg in black leather. Doing the same for the other leg, she stood slowly. The heels were precariously high and not suited to walking in carpet. She fought momentarily for balance and walked slowly into the adjoining bathroom, knowing that the heels coupled with the corset-dress did wonders for her posture and enhanced her curves immensely.

Emmanuelle stood in front of the bathroom mirror, objectively surveying her appearance. All seemed in place, her unblinking green eyes stared seductively from dark, mysterious lashes. Her eyes were already tinged with just a hint of color and her long lashes needed no mascara to delineate them. But, seeing something she might improve on, Emmanuelle gripped a lush red lipstick between her fingers, careful not to smudge her nails. She applied a thin coat of lipstick to her soft, red lips and nodded satisfactorily as they took on an erotic sheen. These lips are made for kissing, she thought.

As an afterthought, she walked swiftly back into the bedroom and rummaged around in the underwear drawer. Brushing the satins and cottons away, Emmanuelle uncovered the item she had been seeking. Without stopping to examine it, she returned to the bathroom, snapping the item in place.

She looked in the mirror at the addition and was pleased. Around her neck was a delicate collar, made of black leather and studded with faux emeralds. The collar had two other adornments, the clasp which ended in a metal loop and a metal ring that hung from the center of the collar, just above the clasp. Emmanuelle took a tiny lock from a secret container in the bathroom and fastened it onto the clasp ring. There was a jeweled key inserted into the lock, a dainty mechanism perfect for the tiny lock. She took the key out of the lock and set it on the counter. Now, only the key would allow her to remove the collar.

Then, she took the other item she had retrieved from the drawer, a length of slender chain, and grasped it by the end. It was actually a dog chain for small dogs, but it suited her purpose wonderfully. Hooking the end of the chain to the ring on her collar, she took the end of the leash in her left hand. Now she was ready.

The other woman, forgotten, stirred behind her. She had been watching Emmanuelle’s transformation with interest, wishing she had been there to see it from the beginning. Now, she found herself irresistibly drawn to the strange woman that stood before her, admiring herself in the mirror. She approached the bathroom counter and placed a gentle hand on Emmanuelle’s shoulder.

The skin of her shoulder was not skin at all, but some sort of lycra mesh. It fuzzed and tickled her hand, and she was entranced, even though it was she who had helped design the costume. Emmanuelle stirred beneath her touch, the woman looked at a face beautiful, yet expressionless. Large, liquid eyes stared at her, not blinking or betraying the slightest hint of humanity. The woman found herself aroused by Emmanuelle’s stare, by her impossibly smooth face and pale skin.

Emmanuelle took the woman’s hand in her own, letting the woman feel her entrancing touch, so unlike flesh and yet so dynamic and alive. The woman gasped in wonder as Emmanuelle drew the hand to her face, allowing the woman to touch her cheek lightly. The feeling was different from her hand and her shoulder, more solid, more pliant. Her cheek felt like thick skin, warmed only slightly to the touch.

The woman ran a finger down Emmanuelle’s inhumanly smooth cheek, brushing it across her lips, careful not to disturb her lipstick. The woman’s breath caught in delight as she felt a jet of hot breath from Emmanuelle’s nostrils, ticking her hand. Here, the flesh seemed a bit warmer, a bit more moist. The woman briefly wondered what it would feel like to kiss those lips….

Wait. she thought. What am I thinking? I have a husband and several children. I have no interest in women…..Then why is this creature exciting me so?? I……..

But her thought was cut short by the sound of an engine in the driveway. Hurriedly, she gathered her things and rushed for the front door. But before she left the bedroom, Emmanuelle caught her, stopping her for a moment. Tenderly, she felt Emmanuelle’s lips brush her cheek, the soft moistness not moving at all as it touched her flesh. She nearly melted from desire right then. And then she was gone.

As Mark entered the house from the garage, he did not hear the front door swing swiftly shut. He had wondered why his wife’s car was missing from the garage, she knew they had plans this evening, and had walked in the house to investigate. Had he looked back out the door, he would have seen Emma’s friend, Helen, scurrying down the block to where his wife’s car had been secreted earlier that day.

But Mark knew nothing of these things, and as he read the note his wife had hurriedly scrawled on her way out the door, his heart sank. He had been looking forward to tonight for several weeks, wanting to spend an evening flirting with his wife, pampering her and repaying her for her wonderful understanding of his love of masks.

He slouched out of the room despondently, wondering if there might be anything worth watching on television. Setting his briefcase on the floor of his study, he looked out the window at the setting sun, admiring the orange and pink canvas that Nature had painted with such bold strokes. He remembered a line from Hamlet…

“this most excellent canopy, the air…..this majestic o’erhanging firmament fraught with golden fire….”

Well, it was something like that, anyway…..he found that even poetry could not soothe his depression. The house seemed completely empty, and he, the only living being watching as darkness approached. Then, he felt a hand snake around and poke his stomach………

Smiling mischievously, thinking his wife must have been able to make it home in time to keep their date, turned around and swept her off of her feet…..

But something was not the same. Instead of feeling his wife’s soft flesh in his arms, he felt a strange fabric, something entirely synthetic. As he held her up, he felt a body encased in a dress made of shiny, liquid-like rubber, something his wife would never wear. And, not least, he felt the press of two breasts that were certainly too large to be his wife’s…..all in all, too many discrepancies to go unnoticed….

Mark put the figure down and tried to examine her in the twilight. But the light was too swiftly fading to make out anything but the barest outline. Mark crossed the room and turned on the overhead light, letting the 100 watt bulbs tear away the shadows and reveal this person who was impersonating his wife.

But the sight that greeted him was not one that he could have expected, and one that seemed cut from his most passionate fantasy. He saw a beautiful creature, with latex features and lycra skin, standing in front of him with one hand on her hip in a suggestive pose. She had green eyes, and luscious red lips, with crimson hair that cascaded down to her shoulders in moist, loose curls. Wearing a tight black dress, Mark could see every detail of her figure, her tiny waist, perfectly rounded hips, and her breasts that seemed to float on her chest like globes of water. His gaze drifted downward, devouring her as he went. Her dress ended at mid-thigh, leaving a portion of exposed flesh on each leg, before they were swallowed up by her black leather boots. She was his perfect dream and he let himself be carried away by her, not caring if she really existed or if he would cease to exist if he believed in her……..

Emmanuelle watched Mark, drinking in his disbelief and his desire with equanimity. Her unblinking green eyes betrayed no emotion and for a moment, she seemed like an extremely life-like doll, watching him with painted eyes and a painted smile. She watched as he drew nearer, incapable of restraining his desire to touch her, to feel her strange skin. But Emmanuelle had other ideas, other plans for tonight. Mark would not touch her until she was ready to allow it.

As Mark reached for her, she stepped out of reach, taking his arms in her silky hands and pushing them down. Chastised, Mark did not reach for her again. She nodded with approval, folding her arms below her breasts. The weight of her chest brushed her forearms, caressing them with rubber-covered softness. Emmanuelle resisted the urge to play with them further, knowing that it would be too much for Mark to stand. Instead, she took the end of the leash, the Master’s end, and proffered it to him, staring at him expectantly with her doll’s eyes.

Mark’s breathing stopped, his excitement making his heart pound as though it might explode. This was more perfect than he could ever dream possible. His trembling hand reached out, grasping the leather strap that served as the grip for the leash. As she handed it to him, Emmanuelle stroked the palm of his hand with one silken finger, suppressing a giggle as her touch caused him to fall into paroxysms of desire.

If Mark thought that the leash would transform her into an obedient creature, he was completely wrong. Gesturing to the bedroom, Emmanuelle led him to the bed, where a suit of clothing was already laid out for him. Simple, yet stylish, the clothing would flatter his spare figure without seeming overly padded or large. Emmanuelle pointed a red fingernail toward the shower.

Finishing the shower in record time, Mark hurriedly dried himself and donned the clothing she had chosen for him. Splashing on a bit of bay rum, he checked his appearance in the mirror, satisfied with the trim, youngish man that looked back at him. He ran a brush through his hair and walked back into the bedroom.

He stopped in the doorway, however, staring at the vision that presented itself before him. The woman lay on the bed, limbs askew, her head lolling to one side. Her eyes were open and staring at him, as always, but if she saw him, she gave no indication. She did not move, her chest no longer undulating with her breathing. She looked like someone’s Barbie doll that they had played with and cast aside on his bed, forgotten until the next play session.

Mark walked softly to where she lay, alert for the slightest movement. But there was none, she was his doll now. He stood over her, staring at her body like a child at a candy store, unsure of what to sample first. As he bent down to kiss her, she brought a hand up, swiftly pressing it against his stomach and knocking the wind out of him. She quickly stood, waggling a finger at him as if to say…Naughty, naughty….She once again handed him the leash and Mark took it meekly, sure, now, that he was completely at her mercy.

Emmanuelle smiled to herself, congratulating herself on a lesson well taught. She had known that the dolly act would be too tempting for her playmate to resist and had taken full advantage of that knowledge. She would tease him until he could not stand it any more, and when he begged to be allowed to touch her, she might relent. But that was a long way off. Besides, Mark had a date to keep, and he would enjoy it even more in her company. She sauntered toward the door, allowing him to follow behind and admire her from that angle. She may have even put a little extra wiggle in for his benefit.

Reaching Mark’s car, Emmanuelle allowed him to open the passenger side door for her. Sitting down in the seat, she checked her appearance in the visor mirror, making sure everything was still in its proper place, which it was. Mark crossed in front of the car, never taking his eyes off of her. In fact, so entranced was he that he almost injured himself on the hood ornament, barely averting a painful accident at the last moment. He opened the car door and sat down, jumping slightly as Emmanuelle took advantage of his exposed bottom and pinched it with her satiny fingers. Mark looked at her, trying to look pained. Emmanuelle covered her mouth with a dainty hand, suppressing a laugh at his expense.

On the way to the club, after she made sure that Mark knew where she wanted to go, Emmanuelle began to plan out possible scenes in her head. She wanted this evening to be special, her first night out among people. While she new a lot about what turned people on, she was worried about what others might think of her, with her skin and face that was so different from theirs. But, she relaxed, realizing that Mark would be there to take care of her if she got into too much trouble.

Pulling up to the valet entrance of the club, Emmanuelle flounced out of the car as soon as the young attendant opened the door, blowing him a kiss as she passed. The mystified expression he wore as he gaped at her made her smile to herself….there was one boy who would be puzzling over her for a long time to come. She waited for Mark to come stand beside her and handed him the leash, pressing it firmly into his hand as she did so, to make sure that he knew to hold onto it. This was her game, and she wanted him to play by the rules.

The music pulsed and writhed in her ears as they entered the club, the strobe lights and color cells dazzling the most accustomed eye. Only Emmanuelle was able to keep from blinking at the confusing array of illuminations, but only because her eyes did not seem capable of such movement. Now, she let Mark lead her, to give the impression that he was the one in charge. While there was not a general uproar at their entrance, a few heads turned, a few voices whispered. Within minutes, the whole club was looking at Emmanuelle, wondering who she might be and what sort of man Mark was, to have such a gorgeous creature on a leash and collar. No one appeared to be staring, but Emmanuelle could feel their eyes on her and every once in a while, caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes that were not quite quick enough to avert their gaze as she turned her head.

Mark led her to a booth, motioning for her to sit as he walked to the bar to get some drinks. Emmanuelle watched as he took the drinks from the amazed bartender, seeming not to notice the stares of the other clubgoers seated at the bar. Then she turned her attention to the dance floor, watching the bodies bump and grind to the driving beat that the DJ spun.

Mark returned to the booth, a drink in each hand. He set one in front of Emmanuelle, a dark, smoky concoction with a straw and chose a glass of clear liquid for himself. Probably a vodka and tonic, Emmanuelle thought, wondering how she knew that. She guided the straw between her lips and tasted her drink, the flavors of fruit and exotic spices mingling with a hint of alcohol to tease her mouth and throat. She took another sip, letting the liquid seep down her throat. She looked up to see Mark staring at her again, his drink untouched. He watched her imbibe the drink, obviously mystified as to how she accomplished it. Emmanuelle decided to give him a little clue.

Taking his hand in hers, Emmanuelle stroked his palm with her red-tipped nails, teasing the skin with tickling caresses and the strange texture of her own skin. She raised the hand to her mouth, pressing it to her lips and leaving an imprint of her lips in red on his palm. An involuntary shudder passed through him as her soft, smooth lips touched his skin. Then, selecting his index finger, she placed it against her lips, moving it just slightly inside her mouth.

Teasing the finger with a flick of her tongue, she drew it further inside her painted lips. His face went white as she sucked on his finger as she had done with the straw, his expression a mixture of shock and ecstasy. Giving the finger a final lick, she let his hand fall back to the table.

Before Mark could dwell on the experience, however, Emmanuelle stood and beckoned him toward the dance floor. He readily agreed, leading her to the center of the floor as the DJ changed the music to a fast dance beat, with synthesized keyboard harmonies melding and flowing together interchangeably. Interspersed between beats were sounds of childish laughter and a voice that reminded Emmanuelle of a doll she had seen advertised on TV, saying “Mamma” in syncopation with the beat. She could feel the music start to move her body and she let herself surrender to it.

She turned around and pressed her behind against Mark’s pelvis, wiggling it to the beat. He countered by matching her wiggles with his own, on the off-beats instead. They continued in similar fashion, matching each other beat for beat, the DJ keeping the melody the same, but varying the beat in time with their dancing. Emmanuelle used each movement to her advantage, jiggling her chest seductively at each beat, or grinding her luscious hips against him as he fought to keep up with her energy. Soon, Mark was so spellbound that he did not notice anything but her, burning with the desire to touch her and explore her strange body.

As the music changed to a deep House groove, Emmanuelle motioned Mark back toward their booth. Nodding, he led her off the dance floor as if in a trance. Her chest heaving with the exertion of dancing, she glanced at the clock and realized that she and Mark had been dancing for the better part of two hours. Her heavy breathing was obviously arousing some serious discussion as they walked back to the booth and she noticed that several groups of young men and women were looking at her with interest.

Flouncing down into the booth, Emmanuelle paused to catch her breath. Mark mumbled something about having to visit the facilities, and she found herself alone. Feeling suddenly very self-conscious, Emmanuelle tried to control herself. Inwardly, she groaned as she watched a young man walking toward her. Trying to appear nonchalant, Emmanuelle toyed with a curl of her crimson hair, wrapping it around her slick finger.


She turned to look at the young man, appraising him within moments. He seemed barely old enough to be at the club, his hair was cut in the current trends and his clothing was not too extreme, but with just a hint of rebellion. He looked like a student, out for the evening with friends.

Emmanuelle continued to stare at him, her unblinking green eyes making him uncomfortable. She continued to play with her hair, waiting to see if he would go any further.

“Uh……My name’s John. I just wanted to come over and tell you that you look fantastic. I mean, I haven’t ever seen anyone that looks like you….you’re strange….uh, I mean different…..Wait, that doesn’t sound right either…..Um…..I couldn’t believe my eyes when you walked in tonight, at first I thought you had to be some sort of mechanical mannequin or something….not that you don’t look real or anything…..unless you didn’t want to look real….ur……”

The boy trailed off, embarrassing himself too much to continue under the weight of those bottomless green eyes. Thinking that she would have a little fun while Mark was gone, she stood up, closing the distance between her and her would-be admirer until she could feel him tremble without touching him. Curtsying in thanks for his ham-handed compliments, Emmanuelle did a slow pirouette to allow him to see all of her stunning figure. The boy’s eyes bulged until she feared that they might burst from their sockets, his mouth hanging open just slightly.

Emmanuelle giggled slightly, unable to suppress them in time. He just looked too comical as he stood there, ogling her as though she were an object. At the sound, he jerked his gaze to her face, unsure if he had heard her make a sound or not. As he opened his mouth to say something more, a voice from behind her startled them both.

“Now, now. Didn’t I tell you it isn’t nice to tease the little boys, especially the ones that want to come over and play with you?”

Falling easily into the role, Emmanuelle put her hands behind her back and scuffed her boot, acting the part of the recalcitrant girl-child perfectly. She hung her head, avoiding Mark’s gaze as she came to stand beside her, grasping the leash firmly in his hand as he did so.

The boy took one look at the leash and began to back away slowly. “Uh….Maybe I had better……”

Mark spoke again, his voice that of an authoritative parent. “Wave goodbye now, dear.”

Emmanuelle raised a cupped hand and opened and closed it slowly in the quintessential sad gesture of goodbye used by young females the world over. The boy saw this and looked stricken, unable to resolve the strange feelings this living doll was provoking in him. He turned swiftly and nearly ran into a pillar in his effort to get away.

Emmanuelle smiled, both at the boy who, she knew, would be fantasizing about this night for many months or years to come, and at Mark, who was obviously aroused by the scene and by her acting the part of a little girl. She filed it away for future reference, knowing that such things always came in handy.

Mark began to lead her out of the club, but she stood still, letting him pull gently on the chain. When he realized she was not following him, he turned back and looked at her quizzically.

“I don’t know what to call you, Madame…..but I don’t really want to be here right now. You have been teasing me all evening and I don’t think I can handle much more. You are the most entrancing creature I have ever seen and I want to explore every inch of you, to unravel your secrets and revel in your mystery. I can’t wait any longer…..Please…I am begging you….”

Emmanuelle folded her arms, not budging. She wanted more. Her green eyes bored into his soul and her glistening lips seemed to pout just slightly. She motioned to the ground in front of her.

Without hesitation, his only thought of her and how best to please her, Mark knelt before her. “Please……may I touch you?”

Emmanuelle, hearing the words that she had been waiting for, felt the first stirrings of desire within her. Up until this point, she had been playing with Mark, toying with his emotions and his desires, dangling him on puppet strings. Just as she had appeared a doll to him, so he had become for her. But now, she wanted to take it a step further. She wanted him to touch her, to feel her special qualities and unique skin. She wanted him to try and explain her, the unexplainable and to worship her for the contradictory creature that she was. Striding out of the club, she forced Mark to jump to his feet in order to keep up with her.

As Emmanuelle stood in front of the club, three valets fought for the chance to open the car door for her. One finally broke ahead of the others and rushed up to stand beside her as the car pulled up to the door. The valet promptly opened the door for her and she stopped before getting in. Wanting to reward the valet for his interest, she pressed one lycra finger to her red lips and then, pressed it to his lips, rubbing her finger across the sensitive surface of his skin. Then, as he stood gaping, she quickly sat down in the car and shut the door. Mark was already in the car, waiting for her to finish tipping the valet, and he sped away, leaving the valet speechless and staring.

As Mark drove home, Emmanuelle slid the zipper of her left boot down, withdrawing her foot from its leather prison. Her toes wriggled, glad to be free, as she shifted in her seat, turning to face Mark. She placed her foot in his lap, wriggling her silken toes against him. Mark’s face flushed with obvious arousal, and she continued to tease him with her dainty toes, using each toe to poke and prod at his leg and groin. Mark looked down once, surprised to find five toes sitting in his lap instead of a stocking-encased foot. As he drove, he found concentrating on the road more and more difficult.

Emmanuelle thought ahead to the coming night, eager to let Mark find out about her and her mysteries. She couldn’t wait to see him try to find out what lay beneath her dress and beneath her lingerie. He might even try to get beneath her skin, which was impossible. Eventually he would find out that she was what she seemed, which was nothing, if not a mystery.
As the sun’s first rays seeped through Mark’s window, he awoke and prepared to for yet another day at the office. He smiled at the lump of blankets on the other side of the bed, knowing how lucky he was to have a wife that understood him so well. As he rustled about the room, getting his clothing together as quietly as possible, the blankets shifted.

A curl of red spilled out, resting against the pillow like a wisp of bloodwine. Mark stared at the hair, mesmerized. Unable to help himself, he crossed to his wife’s side of the bed. Holding his breath, he placed a trembling hand on the blankets and slowly drew them back….

Green eyes stared out at him, unblinking and doll-like. A pair of red, pouting lips sat motionless on a face pale and unblemished. She was still here….and his wife was no where to be found. Tearing the blankets from her lifeless body, Mark looked at her, aghast at what he found. Instead of a doll’s costume, replete with flaws, he saw a woman’s body, perfect in every detail. She had pert, fleshy breasts, articulated fingers and toes, even her genitalia was correct in every aspect. Mark searched her for a zipper, a seam, something to free her and bring him back to reality. Such things were fine for one night’s illusion, but they could not last. This woman, this strange creature could not exist in a rational world, she made no sense. But Mark could find nothing on her body that would break the spell, nothing that would return the world to sanity and his wife to her place in bed. This is just a dream……if I make it to work, I’ll wake up…

Mumbling incoherently, Mark lurched out to his car and drove away.

Emma smiled silently. She had been sleeping when Mark had first discovered her still in costume. A good night’s sleep had allowed her mental transformation to wear off, but she wanted to give Mark a little thrill. So, even after she had awoken to find her husband’s hands roaming frantically over her body, searching for a seam that was no longer there, she had remained lifeless in his arms. Tonight, he would return and find everything as it should be, and he would remember that morning with longing, wishing he had remained with her to play with his lifeless playmate.

But now Mark was gone, and it was time to get on with the day. Walking into the bathroom, she yawned inside the mask and looked in the mirror. Emmanuelle’s marionette features stared back at her. Emma was seized by the strangest sensation, and it terrified her. She tried to remember what her face looked like behind the mask, a face she had seen a hundred thousand times in the mirror, and found that she could not. Each time, her mind called up the latex features of Emmanuelle instead.

Emma forced her breathing to slow, forced herself to think rationally. All that she needed to do was to take the mask off. Once she was able to see her own face, this feeling would go away. She searched the counter-top for the key to the emerald collar that sat around her neck. But the key was no where in sight.

Originally, Emma had planned to wait until Helen came over later that day, so she could carefully remove the stitching that sealed Emma into the bodysuit. But now, she was willing to do any amount of damage, wasting week worth of sewing, just as long as she could see her face again. But with the collar still on, she could rip the bodysuit to shreds, and the mask would remain on her head.

The collar was fastened around Emma’s neck just tightly enough to hold it in place, while not restricting her mobility or breathing in the least. But there was no way that she could draw the mask up over her head with it around her neck. Without the key, she was imprisoned in the latex, condemned to the life of a doll forever.

She searched frantically for the key, rifling through every drawer and secret box in her bedroom and the bathroom. She tore the house apart looking for that tiny jeweled ticket to freedom, but to no avail. The key had disappeared. Emma sat in front of the bathroom mirror, her tears invisible behind the staring green eyes and her sobs muffled by the latex lips of the mask.

“Looking for this?”

Even though the voice was familiar, Emma started, not expecting to see anyone at this hour of the morning, much less Helen. Emma did a double take, doubting her eyes the first time. But a second look revealed nothing new, nothing more sane. Helen stood in the doorway, clad in a simple dress, dangling the jeweled key by a length of gold thread.

“Now, didn’t I tell you that you wouldn’t be able to return to your old self until I let you? Sometimes, even the smartest people can forget little details in times of crisis. But none of that matters anymore, now that I have come to set things right…..”

“Now, I suppose you are a bit upset, aren’t you Emmanuelle? After all, you have had a raving lunatic inside you all morning, tearing you apart in an effort to get out…..but she will quiet down, given time. Do you feel better now? Little toy girls can get so confused, especially when there is no one around to guide them. Come and give your new owner a kiss, Emmanuelle…….I want to see if you are as obedient as the last doll I owned……”
Dark Angel