by Vicki Mock
I was out in my yard the other day working on the lawn when I spotted a brown paper bag. It was near the road, far from the house; I guessed that someone had thrown his garbage out of the car window, and I went to pick it up. The bag was full of something rather heavy–certainly not burger cartons and Styrofoam cups. Opening it was a shock: inside was hair and skin. It was a mask.
I dumped it on the lawn and examined it closely. This was not an ordinary mask: it covered the entire head and had a wig attached. I turned it face up to examine it closely. Looking back at me was the face of an attractive middle aged woman with thick, shoulder length black hair with bangs. The face was full and heavy–rather feline looking–with prominent cheekbones and small, heavily lidded, almost oriental eye holes. The lips were also full and soft looking, with a small beauty mark to one side of the sensuous mouth. The face, I decided, was that of a woman slightly past her prime–slightly too fleshy with small jowls and a double chin. I noticed the skin was about the same shade as my arm. I detected a strange odor–unpleasant at first, but then I couldn’t stop inhaling it. I put my face part way into the neck opening of the mask and sniffed deeply. It made me feel titillated, almost sexually aroused. How did one put it on, I thought? It has no zipper, and the neck opening was too small to admit my head. I stretched the opening and found it easily widened to over a foot, yet when released, it returned slowly to the same diameter as before. I put it in the bag, and went to the house.
When I showed it to my wife, she was interested, yet cautious, as if knowing what I would say next. “Please, put it on,” I said in a coaxing voice. “No way–I don’t know where that thing’s been. If YOU want to try it, be my guest,” she said firmly. “I just may,” I said with humor. “Please,” I said with a sly smile, “I’ll make it worth your while…” “No!” she said, clearly angry, “I won’t put it on, and that’s final!” “All right,” I said, a bit put out by her attitude, but too aroused to stop, “how about this: you let me do you while I’m wearing it?” “I’m not making any promises,” she said, returning to making dinner.
I felt a stirring of erotic current when I first saw the mask, but that was nothing compared to the thought of putting the mask on. I went into the bathroom and washed it carefully with warm water. It was quite slimy inside, as if something coated the rubber on the interior that I could not rub off. Nevertheless, I was satisfied that it was clean. I stretched the opening and pulled it firmly down over my head, still dripping water. It slid easily into position; the slimy inner coating allowed me to position it. As I pressed my hands over the head and face, I felt it sticking tightly to conform to my features like a second skin. The neck opening slowly closed as I adjusted the eyeholes, nose and lips. It was very snug; I supposed it was designed for a woman, but the material it was made of stretched to fit me without being uncomfortably tight. The bottom edge of the mask was very thin; it formed a crease where the chin and throat met that was difficult to detect. The edge extended all the way around the throat to the back of the head, but most of it was hidden by the thick black hair. I lifted my chin and could only barely make out where my skin ended and the mask began as the edge was buried in the rubber double chin. I looked into the mirror and was amazed to see a woman looking back. I smiled and stuck out my tongue, admiring the incredible realism. The lips were so soft and real that I was fooled by their touch as I experimentally kissed the back of my hand. The cheekbones were highlighted with rouge and a light line extended from the corners of the mouth to define them. The nostrils were wide yet feminine, the nose ever so slightly turned up at the end. The small eyeholes were uncomfortable at first, as they pushed my eyes up at the corners in an elfish fashion. I grew accustomed to only being able to open my eyes part way, and I could feel my nose being pushed up inside the mask as it tightened against my face.
I couldn’t contain my erotic feelings. I walked into the kitchen to show my wife, and she looked carefully at it from every angle. “Let’s go to bed,” I suggested, knowing how strange that request would sound coming from the face I wore. “I can’t do it–please take it off!” she said. “I rather like it,” I said trying to coax her with a smile, even though not my own. The lips felt strange as I spoke and my speech was slightly altered by them. “I won’t do it with you until you take it off,” she said adamantly. My urges were too strong to be denied, and I was furious at her denial. “Well I don’t like ultimatums any more than you do, ” I said, in as calm a voice as I could manage, “so here’s one for you: I won’t take it off until we make love.” I said it half kidding, yet still seriously hoping that it might convince her to relent. I waited, knowing that as far as my wife was concerned, someone else–a stranger—was looking at her. “Well I guess you’ll have to buy a whole new wardrobe, pal, because you’ll be wearing it for a long time!” The ugliness of her attitude angered me, so I dug in for a fight, not knowing where it would lead.
I lay in bed reading, naked save for the rubber mask on my head. It had been three days since our argument, and I had remained indoors, unable to go out. I refused to remove the mask, and it gave me a thrill to be forced to keep it on, as if I was in some bondage fantasy. The mask was absolutely comfortable, and I often forgot I had it on, sometimes surprising myself as I passed a mirror. It seemed a part of me now, and I found it hard to remember how I looked without it. The incongruity of a beautiful woman’s head stuck on a man’s body never failed to stimulate me. Erotic feelings rippled through me with the strength of electricity and my body begged for relief. Without an alternative, I took myself in hand numerous times.
Finally my wife came into the bedroom. “All right, let’s get it over with,” she said sullenly. “I don’t want to twist your arm,” I said, savoring the moment and smiling at the prospect of the pleasure to come.
We had an incredible time–it surpassed anything we had ever known, and she was transported. Kissing her was touch and go, as she was uncomfortable making love to a woman, but she closed her eyes. When it was over, she remarked on the soft, erotic quality of my kisses and the strange feeling of my hair cascading down upon her face. When we lay back, I knew it was time to remove my rubber disguise. Despite the tight fit, it was still fairly comfortable, but I needed to take it off. I felt under my chin, found the edge of the mask and tried to get my fingers under it. It was stuck tight, and for a moment I was alarmed that it was on for good. Finally I pinched it away from my skin and after I had a grip on the edge, I began to slowly peel it off my face. So good was the adhesion that my face would not easily release it. After some tugging and stretching, I pulled it off. I tossed it aside, enjoying the fresh air on my head, now released from its pleasurable prison of rubber. My wife asked me the process I had used in putting it on, and I told her. We both slept soundly.
I awoke the next morning to find her gone. I got up, intent to clean the mask and put it away, but it was not on the floor by the bed. I went downstairs to look for it, praying she had not destroyed it. She was at her desk writing, absolutely naked, and she was wearing the mask. I almost swooned from lust. “Hi” she said in a sexy voice, immediately knowing the effect she was having on me. “Do you like me?” she asked, and struck a provocative pose. With one hand she pushed the black hair away from her exotic face, her tongue slowly licking her half parted full lips. Her voice was so familiar, but even so, everything about her now seemed so strange, so different. If I hadn’t known, I would never have recognized my own wife this way, even naked. Smiling seductively, she spread her legs, sucking provocatively on her pen. I came to her and began kissing her soft thighs…
We finished up on the living room carpet. Lying there in on the floor, I looked at her. She was still wearing the mask. “Let me help you take that off now,” I said, expecting that she would be happy to remove it from her face. “No,” she said, shocking me, “I’m going to leave it on for a while–who knows, maybe a few days. I rather like what it does to you.” “You’re kidding,” I said with disbelief. She rolled over and kissed me with her soft, rubber lips. I looked at the almost oriental eyes–was this really my wife of twenty years, or an impostor? I felt myself stirring again. She smiled, knowing she could have anything she wanted from me…