From the Kerberus and powered by brain diesel!
Disclaimer: This work contains adult materials including sexually explicit activities, strong language, and depictions of rape. This work is not suitable for minors. Reader discretion is advised.
Random #011-1: My Master; My Suiter
I took in a deep sigh, filling my lungs with humid air as I impatiently glared at the crosswalk. Cars passed by at a moderate rate and there was nothing for me to do but patiently tap my feet while the music filling my ears was drowned out by the sounds of bustling vehicles.
“Maybe I should’ve splurged on taking a ride back to the dorms,” I thought to myself. “Nah, the last thing I want to do is spend the night in some stank-ass car with a sleazy guy. Besides, I may as well enjoy the weather before everything gets hot and horrible.”
I impatiently plucked my phone from my shorts as the light before me refused to change, reading the time 20:42 and the date “Thursday, May 18”. It’s a date that marked a momentous occasion for me, as just three hours ago, I took my last final, and walked off my campus for the last time. After spending four years and nearly $80,000, I was done with school. All I had to do now was wait for my grades to be finalized, ship out the dorms, wait for my diploma to arrive, and that’s it. I could finally put school behind me and move onto the next step of my life.
It was something I had hyped myself up for so damn long… and either I’m still in shock, or the act of completing yet another semester for the 11th time simply lacks much luster. I turned in my exam, double-checked that I submitted all my papers electronically, and went out for dinner alone to celebrate. …Specifically alone, as I didn’t want to mark an academic achievement by getting wasted at a local bar, unlike those who I have come to call my friends.
I sighed dejectedly as I looked down at the doggy bag in my free hand, containing leftover Indian food that I was planning on having for breakfast before leaving tomorrow. When my parents will take me away from this bustling ‘city’ with a population of 60,000 to a town with half as much, where I will begin a summer finance internship that will hopefully turn into a full job once fall rolls around.
A small smile appeared on my face as I looked up at the orange-hued sky above.
“This is what I wanted, right? To have a secure and stable life. A job I enjoyed decently enough that paid the bills. And enough know-how to make me valuable to a multitude of employers. I know my mom and dad would’ve killed for an opportunity like this, but did I truly do everything I should have? I mean, I tried. I maintained a 3.5 GPA for a goldarn decade, but I COULD have done more. …Which is the same for everybody. Even the top of the top could’ve done more, and I should be happy about what I did accomplish, instead of worrying about what I didn’t do, like some bitter old crone ”
As I lost myself in the miasma of my own thoughts, I looked ahead to see cars slowly moving across the street before me. The light had changed while I wasn’t looking and changed back. I brought a hand to my face, brushing it against my finer features and into my coiled hair.
“…Screw it, I’ll just take the long way back to the dorms.”
I swung my body 90 degrees and began walking in that direction, knowing that traffic lightened in a few blocks, and taking one last opportunity to allow the sights of this college town to sink in. Though, admittedly, there was not much to look at. It looked like any other midwestern city, with brick buildings that doubled as apartments and streets that were in dire need of a fresh coat of pavement. Still, having spent so much time around this place during the spring, summer, and fall for these past few years, I grew accustomed to the minor details found around these streets. My usual go-to spots for groceries or general goods, the curious shops that I visited once or twice, and the enigmatic storefronts that I could have wandered into… but never had a good reason to.
It was as I looked over these storefronts that I passed by a large window, catching a brief glimpse of myself. A young black woman with almost overbearingly long coiled hair and a cute face, dressed in a bright top, dark shorts, and running shoes. It was a casual look, but it was easy, comfortable, and I was feeling pretty good about the girl I saw in the glass. A 22-year-old woman by the name of Vita Velasquez.
I shook my head about, messing up my hair further, as I caught myself getting distracted once again before pulling out my phone to turn off my music, hoping that doing so would help clear and focus my mind, if only until I returned to my room.
But that’s when it happened. As I was passing by an unassuming alley, my eyes on my phone, I felt something wrap around my neck, shoving me away from the artificial light of the city and into a shadowy crevice. I tried to scream, but could not release anything more than a grunt. I kicked, I failed my arms, and lurched backwards in a vain attempt to unnerve or strike my assailant, but before I could so much as brush a finger across this person, I felt something pierce my back.
Something cold, sharp, and metallic. Something that tore through my clothes and what laid underneath. I gasped, releasing what little air remained in my lungs before my legs failed to support me. My body crumbled onto the cement below.
As my face was rubbing against the well-worn stone and my hair robbed me of my vision, I did not feel pain. I felt no internal injuries building up, and I could not feel the wetness of blood pouring out from a newly-made wound. Instead… I felt a lack of sensation.
My brain failed to register and recognize any sensation from my back. I felt no skin, no heat, nothing beyond a circle of numbness. One that grew the more I focused on it. It moved from my back to my shoulders, crawled down to my butt, and rapidly wrapped itself over to the front of my torso. My mind went into a flurry, a panic, a state of unfettered mania as I felt sensation leave more and more of my body, but try as I might, my body refused to move more than a centimeter. I could do nothing but lay there, my breathing staggered, and my perception of the world around me lessening.
“Is this death? If so… why? Why now? Why me? Could I have avoided this fate if I just waited for the light to change again?”
As seconds ticked by slower than they ever had before, I eventually lost all sensation. My body produced no heat. My skin felt nothing. The scent of not-so-distant garbage no longer brushed against my nostrils. I could hear neither my music nor the sound of cars passing by. And while I had previously only seen darkness, what I saw now was somehow… less than darkness.
My thoughts went into a flurry as I began to feel true and utter nothingness for the first time in my life. Yet before my thoughts could expand beyond fear and furor, those too were culled, my mind was blank, and I assumed I died. But that didn’t happen. This was the night where I lost countless things, but this was not the end of my story.
May 19th, 2017
From darkness came nothingness, and from nothingness came darkness once more.
After an imperceptible amount of time, I felt my vision return, my ears picked up the quiet sounds of ambiance, and I felt a slight chill brushing against my skin. From that chill, I could tell that I was unclothed, my body laid bare, with nothing covering it. I was not laying down, the tips of my toes only slightly brushed against a hard surface below, my arms were left dangling at my sides, brushing slightly against my torso, with something propping up my shoulders… except I felt nothing against them.
I had regained a sense of place and form, but where I was and how I was positioned were both mysteries to me. Mysteries I planned to solve by moving around and examining my surroundings in more detail. The only problem was that I… couldn’t move. I tried to raise my arm, yet it remained against my side. I attempted to wiggle a finger, yet they all remained stationary along my hips. I exerted as much will as I could muster into kicking my head at whatever was in front of me, only to be met with no response. My body was static, stationary, and as I came to this realization, another soon followed.
My body was cold and quiet. The natural heat of my body was missing, causing my form to cool to the temperature of the room around me, and the sound of my beating heart had ceased. I focused on the quiet and towards my own inner being and felt something stir within me as I failed to feel these two essential sensations for all human beings. I tried to calm my anxiety by taking a deep breath… only to realize that I could not breathe. My nostrils did not flare up with air at my whims, and I could not force air to escape from my sealed lips.
I was static. I was immobile. And as seconds passed, I became increasingly convinced that, despite whatever my brain and its stimulation might say, that I was dead.
I had no respite for my worries, no way to dismiss my blossoming concerns, and as I sank deeper into this domain of dread, I could not contain it internally. I needed a release, and even though I had a mouth, I could not scream.
I wailed as loudly and viciously as I could from within the confines of my own mind. I expected nothing to come from this vain exercise other than momentary relief before I began to steadily accept my new predicament. But then, my quiet world erupted with noise, as a voice began to cross my mind, speaking to me from a medium not of sound, but of the mind.
“Jeepers, why do the new girls always need to be so loud?” A chipper and friendly female voice asked.
“Because being robbed of your senses, autonomy, and waking up in a goldarn closet isn’t most people’s idea of a good time.” A second female voice said, this one more mature and jaded.
“H-Hello? Who’s there?” I asked, my voice quivering even in my thoughts.
“Hiya! My name’s Milky and this is my good friend, Ara,” the chipper voice replied. “And you were lucky enough, or unlucky enough, to be The Master’s latest pick of the litter! Don’t be shy, tell us your name, what your life was like, and we’ll give you the gist about what your future will now hold!”
“…Milky, this is your sixth time doing this, and you are still so UTTERLY awful at it,” the more mature voice, presumably named Ara, replied.
“Eh, does it really matter if I suck beans on toast?”
“It matters about as much as anything does in our predicament.”
“Um, excuse me,” I said, “my name is Vita, and I’m… confused about what is going on? Who are you? Where am I? Why can’t—”
“Milky, I’ll just explain it to the girl, okies?”
“Marvelous. Well, Vita, the last thing you likely remember is being physically assaulted by some unseen assailant, correct? Normally stories that start with that involve a murder, attempted murder, or at least a dick being shoved in one of the holes. But for you, that was not quite the case.”
“Then what happened to me,” I barked in response, “and why can’t I do anything?!”
“Well… Vita, your body was robbed of life. Condensed and converted into something known as a bodysuit, a sheath of skin that another person may enter in order to assume your form. Or to use His preferred terminology, a Skin. You are no longer a human, or even an autonomous lifeform. You are now an object to be worn and used in accordance with the desires of the person who did this to you. Your new Master.”
Partway through Ara’s explanation, my mind no longer recognized her words. I still lived, but I was no longer a human, but an object. I knew that was impossible. That it went beyond modern science. Yet I could not retort her words based on what I was experiencing. She was speaking of fantastical nonsense, yet it gelled with the reality before me… and that horrified me. I wanted to hyperventilate, to cry, to release my frustration and anxiety, yet all I could do was stew in my thoughts as I began to accept Ara’s words as the truth.
“Why… Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?”
“Deserve? That’s not how life works, sweetie. And you’re definitely old enough to understand that. You were a target chosen arbitrarily. The right girl in the right place at the right time, who was hot enough for Him to stab with His knife and turn into a husk He can wear you.”
“How the hell is this even possible?”
“MAGIC!” Milky shouted with splendor. “We don’t know how it works, just that it most certainly does!”
“Not how I would have put it, but thank you for the succinct explanation, Milky,” Ara said in a dejected tone. “Yes, the Master is in possession of a knife that allows Him to transform individuals into Skins. While we have both been worn and experienced him using this tool to rob women of their life and humanity, I am dubious that even He understands its inner-workings. But so long as it works, it matters not.”
“I… Why would he do something like this? How… how do I return to normal?”
“Because He can, and no way in Hell. I understand that you are scared, Vita. But there is no hope, no salvation, and nil chance that you are gonna get back to whatever your life was beforehand. The sooner you forget about your life, realize that you are just a persona that will be used, and learn to start loving Him, the better. Just know that, no matter how much you love him, he doesn’t love you as a person. Because even though you can talk to us… you’re no longer a person.”
I could not fathom a response to Ara and simply remained as I was, allowing her words to seep in. I really did die in that alley. I lost my humanity and my life. I still thought, I still felt, I still lived, but that was all. And that was all I would and could ever do. My life was over. Vita Velasquez was no more. I would not be there when my parents come to pick me up, I will never get to attend my internship, or be able to set my eyes on my degree. 22 years of trying to forge a good life for myself… and then this happened to me.
I attempted to reconcile the proper emotional response to something like this. Was it anger towards the Master who robbed me? Misery over the future that I would not live? Or horror over the fact that I was no longer able to do… anything on my own? I suppose this conflation of emotions was not uncommon amongst those who get in life devastating accidents, robbing them of that which they took for granted. But this… somehow felt worse. Would my friends and parents know of my fate? Will they assume I abandoned them? Will they dismiss me as dead? If I were merely comatose, it would ruin my parents, but at least then they would know where I was. They could end my life with my humanity still intact.
As I wallowed in this vicious mental cocktail, unsure whether or not I would sink or swim, I heard the distinctive clicking of a door handle and was met with light for the first time in what felt like days. It was soft, artificial, and only partially illuminated the room. I tried to crane my head towards this light, but my immobile neck remained where it was, limiting my vision to whatever was placed directly in front of me. And what I saw was a person.
Her face was only half-illuminated, but she was a tall 20-something woman with fair skin, blonde hair bunched up into two ponytails, blue eyes, exceptionally large breasts, and a trim waistline. However, I was less interested in her appearance as much as I was in the state of her body. Her head was looking down, eyes were devoid of life, shoulders looked like they had a metal rod shoved through them, her arms were clenched up near her sides, and her fingers were flattened surfaces. It reminded me of a balloon with no air or a latex glove… but with human skin. All of which was dangling from above the ground, placed onto a horizontal pole through the use of an obscured hanger that poked out from behind her head.
It was something I had been warned about, described to me by Ara, but seeing it for myself… was horrifying. It was a human, but it wasn’t. It was a husk of a person, and even from such a distance, I could tell it was devoid of life as I had come to define it. And I knew I was in a similar state, drained of bone and flesh and reduced to what looked to be a hollow human-shaped object.
Before such a revelation could settle within my mind, the room was further illuminated with another click, brightening not only the entirety of the woman before me but allowing me to catch a glimpse of another. An Asian woman with black hair that went past her shoulders, dark eyes, a slim form, and a body that had been made into a husk, or rather Skin. I could only assume that these two were the voices who spoke to me earlier, Milky and Ara, but before I could speak to them further, another woman entered my fixed field of vision. One who walked up in front of me, craning her neck up to look at me in my immobile eyes.
She was short, chubby, Hispanic, looked a few years younger than me, had ruffled dark hair that rested upon her head, and much like everyone else in this room, she was completely naked.
As I found myself looking into her dark green eyes, this woman began to speak to me in a high-pitched, cutesy, and lispy voice, one that juxtaposed the crass words that escaped her mouth.
“You know, for a random snatch, I really did luck out with you. Let’s hope you feel at least half as good as you look and don’t have, like, chronic back pain or some bullshit like that. And considering the size of your tits, I doubt it.”
After making her comment, the woman before me then brought her hands to the back of her neck, fluttering about her hair as if she was trying to unhook an invisible necklace. As her search continued, her face ceased to move and her expression locked into what it once was. Her eyes lost the same life they had nary a moment ago, yet her hands and arms still moved, latching onto the light brown skin adorning her back and pulling in two, effortlessly. Once a sufficiently large hole was created, she brought her hands to her head, pulling it forwards and downwards while a flash of darker skin emerged from her split neck. She… pulled off her head not unlike how one would pull off a helmet, and from it, there was a head of a man. A young black man with short hair, his face covered in a light layer of moisture.
Once his face was revealed, he continued to remove the Skin of the woman, pulling his arms out of hers, pushing down her torso, and pulling his legs out of hers, until she was little more than a sagging sack of skin that rests on the floor, and outside of my vision. With a blank expression, he leaned down and picked the Skin up, grabbing her by the shoulders and putting her onto a hanger next to me. Or at least that’s what I assume happened, as he escaped my vision partway through the process.
He sighed as he looked over the Skin of the other woman before bringing his eyes to my face and his hands to my shoulders, grabbing my person casually, and causing my empty limbs to flop about. The sense of air fluttering into the recesses of my torso and legs caused a twinge of panic to stir within me, but it was nothing next to what he did with me as he pried my person from the hanger placed between my shoulders, flopping my body about until he was facing my back.
As I was moved about with such ease and carelessness, I felt a hole within the back of my neck, one that the man placed his fingers into, causing my skin to tear open across what was once my spine and creating a hole large enough for this man to stick his limbs into me. While I felt no pain as this hole grew, I was flushed with worry due to the sheer size of the man. He was tall, and though he was lean, he was larger than me in just about every way. I knew that someway, somehow, that his body would be condensed once it was encased in my Skin— he was able to fit himself inside that Hispanic girl despite being a good 25 centimeters taller than her— but I dread to think what it would feel like as he prepared to place one foot into the sheath that my left leg had been transformed into.
He eased into my person quickly, filling my tepid body with warmth as the inner section of my skin rubbed against him, going in deeper and downwards until his large toes reached my own. I felt my skin momentarily expand before it condensed itself rapidly, pressing myself deeper into his form, until… something happened. The sense of emptiness I felt as I hung along the rack vanished within this leg. Instead, it felt… normal, like it always had. I could feel the heat of my body in my left leg, I did not feel as if somebody was inside me. And as he wiggled my toes against my will, it felt as if I was wiggling my own toes.
A wave of reassurance and calm doused my panicked mind as I felt this, and an eagerness developed in me as I felt him do the same with his right leg, pushing it through my person, and up against my toes, where my body condensed around his. Satisfied, he began to twist about my ankles, bend my knees, and feel my body move around. The refreshing sense of movement cured me of the unrest that had been building up within my mind, and I found myself eagerly awaiting as he continued to dress himself within my form, starting next with… my crotch.
In a single motion, my crotch and ass were thrust upwards and against his. I felt his ball plop against my person and felt his semi-erect dick dig into me. Creating an indent that poked out from my skin, and out into my vagina. For an instant, I was consumed by panic, terrified that he would burst through my person due to the tenacity and power of his growing penis, only for the indent to flatten as my body pressed against his, melding us together.
What initially felt like a foreign being with foreign parts entering me compressed and comforted itself into something indistinguishable from the flesh I had what I assumed to be mere hours ago… and I found myself cheering for him to continue. As his torso filled mine, as my arms were encompassed by my skin, and as he slid his head into the floppy mask that was once my skull.
My face sank down into his, my features stretching and contorting slightly while his own were repressed, my vision blurring as our eyes connected, and once I felt the insides of my lips sink into his own, I felt a gust of air fill my reformed lungs. From a blink of my eyes, clarity returned to my surroundings, and in the moment I spent standing there, I felt like I had returned to normal.
My body did not feel like I was compressing or hiding another person. It felt like… me. The hair falling onto my face, the way my fingers touched my skin, the way I stood, and the automated processes of my being, from my breathing to the beating of my heart, nothing felt wrong or out of sorts. …With the exception of a blank spot in my bodily perception, a hole in my back, and one that was soon sealed by my hands as they pressed against my open folds, sealing them and making me whole once more.
Yet, from that motion, I was reminded that I was not back to normal, for I was not in control. Everything felt right, but as I willed my body to move, I received no response. Any and all motions my body did perform were driven by the man inside me. My so-called Master.
“Testing, check one, two, three,” my voice said, though its words were not my own.
“Hello world, my name is Vita Vava… darn, did I seriously forget this girl’s name already? Ughh! Fuck! Fuuuuuck! Shit! Bitch! Big-Ass-Motherfuckerz! Heh. Alright, it seems like we’re working with a good voice here, a bit deeper than I expected, but it’s aight, it’s sexy, I can dig it— and ya’ll better believe I will!”
While hearing my voice be used to say such crass language sent a shiver throughout the recesses of my mind, it was marginal next to the uncanny feeling of having my face move and contort against my will. My tongue, jaw, cheeks, and everything I used to express myself verbally has been stripped from me and puppeteered by another whose speaking patterns and intonation were different from my own.
As I heard myself talk, I knew that it wasn’t me on myriad levels, but as I recoiled, I found myself unable to do anything about it. I could not, as far as I could tell, communicate with the man under my skin. I could not move my mouth on my own. I could do nothing but remain as I was, following the man as he turned my body, swung my head and hair about, and left the closet I woke up in, turning off the light and leaving the three other Skins that rested within.
After discarding this room for another, my head was turned to reveal a spacious living area that doubled as a bedroom, which I looked at rapidly, unable to focus or move my vision as my head swiftly turned around, granting me a 360-degree view of the room before me. I made note of a large bed for a single person, adorned with fluffy sheets and numerous pillows. Walls decorated with framed anime-aesthetic art, ranging from the cute and wholesome to the lewd and extreme. A desk adorned with a large tower PC, two monitors, and a cushy chair. And a series of thick curtains that presumably hid away a series of windows.
It was a sight not dissimilar to many I had seen during my time at the co-ed dorms, and as my rapid visual tour of this room concluded, I found myself looking upon a mirror adorning the back of the closet door. My eyes moved against my will, moving from my feet and up my naked body before resting on my face, which wore a playful expression. He twisted and contorted it against my will, grunting and snickering as he forced me to adopt different expressions, before shifting his vision and moving the rest of my body.
The woman in the mirror moved mannishly, perversely, and gawked at her own body parts, including her modest breasts, less modest behind, and the privates between her legs. It was as if she was performing for a partner or pornography, cooing as if to better sell the sexual delight she was in. I felt insulted, if not disgraced, as I saw myself behave so lowly. I wanted to shut my eyes and end this obscenity before things escalated… or at least that’s what I told myself.
I felt every motion. The soft rubbing of my chest, the slow motions of my legs, and the hot air escaping my lips. But I also felt whatever he was feeling. His sense of arousal and lust were part of my biology, and as I felt my body grow hotter and more eager, I found myself searching for justifications to not look upon this scene with outrage and disdain. Then I began looking for ways to remain impartial and indifferent about this experience. And as he brushed two fingers across my labia, I gave up any and all pretenses and found myself rooting for him to fasten the foreplay and get on with the fapping. …Wait, is fapping a genitalia-neutral term?
I fell backwards and landed atop a cushy mattress and a light blanket. My eyes stared up at the ceiling, but my hands continued to move, venturing beyond the folds into what laid beneath. My fingers moved slowly and delicately, carefully exploring what my body held, and filling it with a warmth that caused my heart to accelerate.
Every time I previously sought an experience like this, where I explored my privates and sought out the pleasure they could provide, was tinged with a sense of unrest. When I was home, I knew I could be caught, and could never embrace the sense of intimacy I had craved, as no doors within my home had locks. Not even the bathroom. When I was at my dorm, I had a roommate, and the walls were thin. When I was with another, I felt the need to perform, focusing on their pleasure above my own. But now, my body was moving with no reservations, no fears, and while its actions were slower and more deliberate than my own, the actions they provided were on a different level. My blood was pumping, but I was calm. I was relaxed. And I had nothing to worry myself over, for there was nothing I could do.
The man wearing my body continued to sink his hands into me, rubbing and messaging what lay within using my index and middle finger, before bringing my thumb to the area above, where he brushed a finger through the light layer of hair before finding his next destination. Though he did not know my body, my hands, or my privates on any level of intimacy, he moved like he did, pleasuring myself as well, if not better, than I could.
I asked myself where this understanding came from, and how this man, this young man, could know so much about female masturbation. Yet such thoughts were swiftly swept away as I felt something building burst from my body. As he hastened his pace, he caused me to orgasm, with a small trickle of fluid dampening my crotch and the sheets below. As I found myself awash in the respite, he continued, propping my panting body upwards and pressing my back against a pillow pressed against the wall.
In this new position, he continued to sink my right hand deeper into me, using the lubrication my fluids provided as a justification to move more recklessly. I welcomed it. My left hand, meanwhile, was brought upwards and against my chest. My breasts were no more than a handful, having stopped growing shortly after tissue began developing, and having remained the same size since age 15. I was bashful about them, would often wear a padded bra, and had never even thought of using them in a sexual capacity. Yet my hands drew closer to the soft tissue, and my fingers began to pinch the nipple that laid in the center.
My nostrils flared, eyes shot open, and a moan escaped my mouth as my fingers clenched my body harder, filling my chest with a desirable pain. As I winced, my body laughed from the sensation, bringing a similar level of intensity down to my lower regions, as my fingers were rammed into my vagina, while my clitoris was slammed like a stubborn button by my right thumb. This caused a wave of sensation to wash over my body, rushing through every facet of my being before culminating in a rush of fluids that sprayed across my right hand.
My breathing was heavy, yet my hands remained as they were, pressed against my parts, and ready to continue at a moment’s notice. Despite the exhaustion I felt, I wanted to keep going, to take my body further and further, but the man within my skin had other ideas and removed my hands from my sensitive areas.
“Yep. You’re a keeper, alright. Let’s just hope you can walk straight after that.”
As my lips spoke the words of the man wearing me, I felt myself rise from the bed, standing upright where, after looking at the wobbly world before me for a moment, I began to move effortlessly from the bed, through a door, and to the kitchen. He casually moved me over to the refrigerator, where he pulled out a bottle of water he opened with a discerning crack, plopping the cap onto the counter before chugging the chilled water, coating the inside of my throat and stomach with a cold that calmed the very core of my being. A refreshed gasp escaped my lips once the bottle was emptied, and it soon found its way flying through the air, aimed at a recycling bin, where it bounced off the rim and onto the floor below.
“Tch! Okay, I guess this body doesn’t throw like a girl. That’s a first. If you were a bit weaker this wouldn’t have happened, Vita.”
As the man rambled while picking up the water bottle, I found myself responding to him, saying that I was on the baseball team in middle school and developed a good throwing technique, but he did not hear my words, even as I pestered him for a response.
I mentally sighed as I realized how one-way my situation was while my body washed its hands, only to then move to the center of the kitchen, where he brought a hand to my chin and stood there, contemplatively. I waited attentively as my eyes drifted throughout this home, wondering what he could be wondering to himself, before a sinister grin appeared on my face, scrunching up my eyes as a developing chortle began to escape my throat.
In a swift motion, my body spun around, took a step forward, and swung open the large freezer of the refrigerator. Through the cold air, packaged and non-packaged frozen meals, and assorted bags of side dishes, I saw an initially innocuous salmon-hued tube near the back of the freezer, something that my hand drifted towards, wedging it out from everything else and bringing it closer to my face. I failed to register the object as anything other than ‘cold as the ninth circle of hell’ when it first entered my palm, but as it stood inches away from my face, I knew what it was all too clearly.
It was a fucking dildo.
My first thought was: “What kind of twisted degenerate keeps their sex toys in the freezer?” While my second was: “Oh God, he’s going to put this inside me!”
My mental self quivered in horror as I felt the chill of the plastic penis flow up my arm and to my shoulder, while my physical self struggled to contain its laughter. My body sprinted from the kitchen back to the bedroom, where I found myself flopping carelessly onto the bed, planting my ass into the lukewarm remnants of a minutes-old masturbation session.
I chided the man within me, cursing him for this flippant and deviant behavior, but my words fell on no ears or minds other than my own, leaving my will unrequited as a dildo, frozen to a crisp ten below Celcius, was thrust into my vagina. My mind and body were in sync as a staggered shout escaped from my lips, while my hands quivered from the sudden cold applied to such a sensitive area. Not that it dissuaded him from taking a hand to the cold sexual aid and thrusting it in and out of my person, causing my nipples to peak upwards, like growing icicles desperate to escape my body.
With every thrust and deeper insertion, another pulse of cold covered my body, but within that pulse was something else. Something stronger and more forceful than the comparatively delicate session I had last time. It was harsh, it was mannish, it was deviant, but I still found myself discarding any and all resistance I had as I committed myself to enjoy this sensation.
Time contorted into an immeasurable miasma as the trusting continued, my body grew cold, and my hand grew numb. I began questioning if it was even possible for me to finish from such an act, only to have my body make a release beyond anything I had ever experienced. By desensitizing my body with ice, it only raised the high or my orgasm, causing my eyes to seal themselves as a liquid flushed from within me, and onto the apparatus penetrating my insides. My tongue laid outside my mouth as my eyes opened again. My body was cold, my breathing was slow… and I wanted little more than to embrace myself in the blankets around me, siphoning whatever warmth they provided.
Instead, I found myself grabbing the dildo with my unused hand before walking to the sink, my legs stiff yet shakey. Upon dousing the toy, it found its way into the dishwasher below, where it was placed near a damp frying pan. I lacked the mental wherewithal to question why anyone would choose to clean a plastic penis in such a manner, and even if I did, I soon found myself walking towards another door in this hope, one that led into a bathroom. One with a full bath, a washer and dryer placed on top of one another, and an expansive collection of bottles adorning a shelf, from lotions to moisturizers to shampoos.
My eyes then directed to a large mirror, where I saw my face once more. Exhausted, but smiling, before a hand drifted up into my coiled hair, which caused the smile to turn into a frown.
“Let’s see shower or bath, shower or bath… Yeah, no, she’s taller than 170. Gonna have to be a shower then!”
I then found myself reading a shower with bottles of shampoo and conditioner in one hand. As I stood under the water, I let out a satisfied sigh as the heat flushed over my being, ridding it of the chill that had lingered within it for the past few minutes. I relished in this feeling for a brief moment before grabbing the liquid soap and lathering it over my body. Unlike before, my actions were reserved. He kept my hands where they needed to be, did not fawn over my bodily parts, and cleansed my person expediently. But right after taking care of my face to my toes, my mouth released a sign as I could feel his gaze centering around the hair products that hung from a shower shelf.
He limply squeezed shampoo out onto my hands and began to run them through my hair, grunting as he tried to manage my mass, reach my scalp, and sift through my tight curly strands. It was an act that I had grown accustomed to over time, but one that the man wearing my body was struggling with. Not that I could have blamed him. Most men do not need to think when washing their hair, and most people would not know what to do with hair like mine. He tried for several minutes, only to release a dejected sigh from my lips, groaning how “this isn’t gonna work.”
He cleaned out the shampoo, did a quick set with the conditioner, let it sit while doing some quick facial exfoliation, not that I really needed it, before doing a final rinse and ending this shower with a sign.
“Yeah, I’m defo gonna need to do something about this hair. Sorry Vita, love the do, but it’s not worth the trouble.”
As he said this, still naked and dripping wet, he latched onto a tower adorning a wall drying my body quickly before moving to the sink, my face damp and hair dripping. He plugged the drain, searched in a drawer, and pulled out a pair of scissors, holding them high before grabbing a random chunk of my hair and cutting it with ease.
“ …Should I go all the way? Eh, probably. I’ve got plenty of wigs and could just get another if I wanted a more ‘authentic’ black girl look.”
From this flippant statement, he went about using my hands to remove the majority of hair that was covering my head, working close to my scalp while snipping rapidly, all while I was left to watch myself in the mirror. The apathetic expression coating my face did not describe the emotion I felt as I saw my body be stripped of its hair so liberally and carelessly. It was a pain, I wanted to get rid of about half of it off for the summer, but it was still a part of me that was being discarded, left to accumulate in the sink while the woman before me in the mirror adopted a different look.
My head was now covered by an uneven mesh of hair that ranged from 2 to 3 centimeters in length, and if I had control of my tear ducts, I would be crying. For as vain as it might have been, my hair was something I took pride in, spent untold hours on, and used as a means of expressing myself. But, much like everything else I once claimed to be my own, it was taken from me by the man who wore my body as if it was his own.
“Yeesh! That’s not a good look. But I’ll make it better.”
As the man’s words escaped my lips, my hands drifted to another drawer, pulling out an electric razor. Within moments, the uneven clump of hair was reduced to a thin layer no more than a millimeter or three. With a satisfied grin, he put the razor away and grabbed a bottle of lotion from the nearby shelf, coating my head with it while admiring the texture of my now shaven head.
He was happy, but I wasn’t. I did not agree to this. I did not want this. If I could communicate, I could have found a balance that would work for the two of us, but my voice meant nothing to him. In fact, he might not even be aware that I still existed. That I still thought.
“Hm, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been a bald woman, but… nah, I’m still not a fan. I’ll just dig out a wig and start accessorizing myself a look… but that should wait until tomorrow. Hold up, what time is it?”
After swiftly drying my body and hanging up a towel, he moved out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, looking at the digital clock, which read 12:13.
“Yeah, this is definitely a tomorrow or tonight project. Sorry Vita, it’s streaming time, and Milky Doki Doki Sunshine can’t afford to be late.”
As he said that, he drifted my eyes over to the computer setup from earlier, where I noticed both a webcam and a microphone placed throughout the desk. From what he said, he clearly did streaming of some sort, and from within the Skin of Milky, the blonde woman I met earlier. But I could not ask him any questions about what he streamed or why he did it in her skin. All I could do was wonder as my body moved back to where I woke up. Back to the closet.
With a turn of my head and a flick of a switch, I was looking at Milky, her empty husk of a body as she hung limply off a common hanger. She said nothing to me, and as I tried projecting my thoughts outwards to her, she did not offer me so much as a groan of acknowledgment. Upon taking note of this, I felt my hands rise to my neck, which they rubbed in search of a flap of skin positioned along the center.
This flap grew into a hole, and from that hole, he left my body. It began with the head, and continued with the torso, the arms, the crotch, and the legs. All I had gained when I was worn by this man was now lost. The sense of warmth, the fullness, and the simple joy of being a creature that could move itself. Within less than ten seconds, I was an object once more. A human skin with a large hole along its back and a hanger rammed across its shoulders.
My senses twisted and bent as I was contorted into the same position I was in when I awakened, and as he looked at me, he offered a small grin, before turning his back to me and taking Milky from her hanger. He put his feet into her legs, and hands into her arms, before plopping her pretty blonde head over his, sealing the back with a professional level of efficiency. Within a flash of movement, he was controlling Milky’s form for himself. Once he confirmed this, he let out a small laugh, testing his voice as he stretched his arms and legs, and jumping once, gawking downwards as his large breasts jiggled from the sudden motion.
After donning his new Skin, he left this small closet behind, flicking the light switch and shutting the door. Meanwhile, I was left hanging on the rack. Unable to move, unable to look at anything, and unable to express myself to the outside world. My body generated no warmth, so I was cold. My body has a massive hole in it, so I felt hollow. And my body was static and unmoving, so I felt as if something was innately wrong with it.
I hated and despised him initially, but now that he was no longer within me, I missed him and what he provided. From the greater movements such as exploring my innards or taking a step, to the small comfort to be found when breathing air through my lungs. Yet, now I had no lungs. No organs. No bones. I was a mere sheathe of skin once more, and that realization brought me sorrow.
As I mentally signed, submitting myself to this upset, I heard the voice of another enter my mind, it was squeaky, high-pitched, and feminine. Though I could not see the speaker, I remembered well enough to know that she was the Hispanic girl I saw him emerge from.
“So, how was it? Do you… love Him?”
“Who are you? …And where are you?” I replied, my mental voice quivering.
“My name’s Patti. And you are The Master’s latest catch, now aren’t you?”
“Um, yes, I suppose?”
“And what is your name?”
“Vita, huh? That’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? You’re somebody whose name means life, but you lost your life so prematurely. How does it make you feel? Knowing that everything you were is gone, and this is your life? Are you excited? Or are you terrified? Both answers are perfectly valid, y’know.”
“Patti, quit being a puss-riddled cunt to the new girl!” The more mature and dignified voice of Ara shouted. “She’s been through a lot today— lost her life, lost her future, lost her autonomy, lost her hair— and it will take her some time to adjust, okay?”
“I was just getting her in the right mood. The sooner we break, the better. Or at least that’s what you told me, oh exalted one.”
“There’s a right way to break somebody, and then there’s being an asshole. And you are most definitely being an anus right now. So shut up and allow me to finish the introduction before you fill her mind with your fear-mongering guff. We had a matter of minutes before Michael came in to see her.”
“Don’t call Him that! He is our Master. Our—”
“He is some degenerate who kidnapped us, murdered us, and rapes us regularly. No matter how much you love Him, you need to keep that in mind, okay girl?”
“I still like to consider him my Master.”
“I do as well, Patti, I know devotion brings you joy, but, please, cool it around the new girl.”
“Um, I’d ask if I should leave, but I can’t very well do that, now can I?” I said, trying to ease the tension and redirect the topic.
“Nope! We’re here and have zero ability to leave through our own fruition!” Patti shouted.
“Anyways, back to the whole explanation, what were your impressions of your time with Michael,” Ara asked calmly.
“She can call him whatever she damn feels like. Michael, Master, Mr. Keikaku, Keikaku-sama, I don’t care, you shouldn’t.”
“I, um… I really liked the way he made me feel, even if his methods were a bit… unorthodox. He used a… frozen masturbatory aid on me, and… before that he used my fingers to…”
“Vita, I mean you no disrespect with this question, but are you a virgin?” Ara asked.
“N-No. I just don’t really talk about that kind of stuff, and it’s embarrassing to talk about this sort of stuff in front of others. I mean… I never let somebody else stuck in a finger in my vagina, and I never thought anybody would fuck me with a frozen dildo, but this guy did just that… and I actually kind of liked it. A lot.”
“Congrats on admitting that so soon,” Patti said with glee. “The Master is a true master of the female form, and every session I had with Him has been on another level from whatever I managed to do on my own!”
“It is preferable to repressing it for weeks like a certain somebody I could name.”
“Oh hush, you hussy! I had a puritanical upbringing and never—”
“Left your small home town until you went away to college. Two weeks later, you were taken in by the Master, and either due to your devout nature or how fragile you were, you became His number one fangirl,” Ara exhaustedly exposited.
“I’m happy to hear you recognize my love for what it is,” Patti boasted.
“Whatever floats your boat… just please pipe down for a moment while I finish explaining our current life predicament to Vita.”
“Freaking weeb… anyways, Vita, allow me to offer you an explanation as to what your life is going to be like going forward. Now then, where was I prior to this?”
“Um, you were talking about how I had no life and should just learn how to love and admire… Michael,” I recalled.
“Yes, and that is very much true. There is no escape, discard all hope ye who find themselves placed within the confines of this closet, but so long as you remain a sentient entity in this world, you may as well strive to maximize the pleasure one feels, keeping a passion for that which one may be passionate about, i.e. being worn by Michael, and avoiding any pitfalls of this passion giving way to a detrimental obsession that only harms yourself and everyone around you.”
“Which, for the record, I’m not even close to doing,” Patti proudly declared.
“Uh-huh, sure. You do realize that Lizzie was just like you when she started out. I’m glad that girl started getting back pain and her Skin was destroyed.”
“You vouch for the murder of the irregular minded, yet you still profess yourself as being the voice of reason— the mother hen— of our merry troupe?”
“I vouch for the death of those who only inconvenience themselves and those around them through their own existence. That’s lawful neutral at best.”
“…Are you guys always this scatterbrained when it comes to explaining things, let alone doing… anything?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” Ara and Patti said in unison.
“Anyways, let me think of the details important to a newcomer like you… um… Okay! As Skins, as bodysuits, we require no sustenance to function, no sleep, and do not biologically age unless you are being worn by Michael. We are effectively objects, and while we can get damaged, torn, or destroyed, we do not decay over time.”
“When Michael wears us, we are operating off of whatever sustenance was in His body, and when He eats while wearing one of us, that sustenance is transferred and retained by His body once He takes us off. This is also the only time we age, so you don’t really need to worry about your body getting old just by hanging around here.”
“Now, why does He wear us in the first place? Well, two reasons. One, by wearing us, he becomes us, and it prevents his body from biologically aging, thus granting him an immensely longer life than any human should be granted under most circumstances. This is why he looks like he isn’t even 25-years-old, despite the fact that he has been harvesting and wearing Skins for over 40 years at this point. Two, He just enjoys being in the female body and using it for Himself.”
“So… Michael spends the majority of his time as a woman… is there a reason why he doesn’t have bodysuits, or Skins, or whatever, of other men?”
“He likes girls’ bodies more, and despite whatever we have debated here as part of the MCC— the Master Closet Club— we don’t think He considers Himself anything more than a He. Especially after a few external monologues, we’ve cumulatively overheard over the few years. So no, Michael does not want to be a Michelle, is not transgender, at least not in any traditional manner. As for why He does not wear the Skin of other men, in the past, He has denounced the idea many times in the past, calling it ‘gay’ and other pejoratives, but I have reached the conclusion that He simply prefers the exoticism of a female body over a male body.”
“That’s… weird, but so is literally everything related to this situation directly, indirectly, explicitly, or tangentially.”
“Next, you probably want to know why Michael feels the need to have a total of four skins with Him. The answer is that he simply enjoys the variety of being a different person physically, but wants to also have an intimate relationship with the Skins in his collection. He has experimented with his collection size over the years, but it tends to fluctuate somewhere between three and five. And after disposing of Caroline following decade long tenure, he abducted you as his new skin.”
“…I guess there is a kind of logic to that, but I still have a few more questions if that’s okay.”
“Vita, baby, we could do this ALL NIGHT! We don’t got nothing else to do, so fuck your 20 questions, and bump that shit to 20k if you are that much of a kimyona neko.”
“Patti, I’m pretty sure your weeb-anese is garbage, and I can’t wait until you start forgetting it,” Ara groaned.
“Bite me, bitch.”
“I would bite you until it bled.”
“Until what bled?”
“Blood on the floor?”
“Blood on your face!”
“You would grant me such a disgrace?”
“Sever your arm with a FUCKING mace!”
“Ha! Know your place! I’ll punt yo ass into outer space!”
“Truly, in what case? Do you—”
“—Hearing you talk reminds me of the time I worked at a summer camp for spectrum kids. Can you just tell me how the hell Michael can sustain this lifestyle? I mean, does he have a job, a trust fund, how is—” I interjected, only to be interrupted by Ara.
“In 2002 He stole my body, divorced my husband, who sold his company before the dot-com bubble burst, and made out with three million. He bought and renovated a small house for Himself, put His money away into various funds, and has been investing it well over the span of years. He lives a very conservative and isolated lifestyle, has no IRL friends, and only assumes his original form when need be. He does just about everything he can do online, and only really leaves for walks, shopping trips, and in the rare event He needs to handle legal matters. Because this house is technically in His name.”
“That actually seems kind of sad,” I said, “but I guess when you are in a position like Michael is, the fewer people that know the truth, the better. Though, that still doesn’t really answer my question. If he has no job and rarely leaves the house, what does he do all day? Masturbate, mess around on the internet, watch anime, play video games, and stream?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“That’s not true, Ara!”
“It’s true, like, 92% of the time. He cooks elaborate meals on occasion, puts on day-long fashion shows every season, and He works out twice a week in Milky’s Skin, but those are exceptions to the rule that Vita so carefully deduced.”
“Really, he does that while wearing Milky? Isn’t he bothered by her boobs?” I asked.
“Nope! Milky isn’t even bothered by her own boobs,” Patti chipperly answered.
“Seriously? She had to be at least a D-cup at a minimum.”
“I’m pretty sure that Milky is some freak genetic anomaly.”
“Interesting theory,” Ara replied. “Do you have any evidence to support it, or are you just saying that just because you know He loves Milky immeasurably more than you, number four?”
“…I can’t tell if you two want to gnaw each other’s heads off, or screw each other’s brains out,” I quietly commented.
“If given the opportunity—” Patti began.
“—We’d probably do both—” Ara continued.
“At the same DAMN time!” The pair said in unison.
“Yeah, I figured as much… Am I going to wind up like you two in a few months?”
“Hm… I’d give you a few weeks,” Ara answered. “I’ve seen dozens of girls get thrown into this profound fuckery, and either they go bonkers and get disposed of, or they learn to vamp and look on the bright side of their cold dark lives.”
Just as those words escaped Ara’s mind, I heard the bubbly voice of Milky echo from beyond the hollow closet door. Michael’s streaming session had begun, and he was talking to an audience of fans, making idle banter as he started up a video game. While I could see nothing beyond darkness and the faint glow of light coming from under the closet door, the door was hollow, and I was able to hear and make out just about every word he said with his current voice. His commentary was cheerful, his language was wholesome, and as I heard him talk, I struggled to mentally reconcile that this individual was the same one who wore my body earlier today.
The stream went on for hours, with Michael bouncing between talking about the game he was playing, random nonsense, and about the “lovelies in the chat” that were watching the stream. All while the colorful banter that once filled this closet was culled down to stray comments and intermittent side remarks. And I understood why. They spent most of their existence locked in this closet, forced to spend untold hours in darkness with nothing to do but ‘hang’ out and talk to each other. They wanted something, anything, to break up the doldrums of their lives, even if it was just the sounds of a talkative person as they talked about and reacted to a video game.
I realized this as the stream went on, and began to ease myself into the experience, casting away my vision as best I could as I imagined what might be happening beyond the door. All until the stream finally ended and Michael came back, hanging Milky up before grabbing Ara’s body, leaving me with Milky and Patti for several more hours before Patti was grabbed again, and the room beyond the closet door was wrapped in darkness.
As what I could only assume to be night carried on, I burned the proverbial midnight oil with Ara and Milky as I talked about my childhood, until I finally stopped sometime talking about the Hellscape known as middle school. It was only then that I felt something within my mind click. When whatever vain hope I had about my situation dissipated, and I realized what my existence would consist of going forward.
I would never see my friends or family again. I would leave the lives of all who knew me. My social media pages would become bereft and barren. And I would become a distant memory of a person who was. As I realized this, I wanted to cry. I wanted to die so that at least my life could conclude, rather than wallow in the unknown until those I loved gave up any and all hope.
However, that was not going to happen. Even if I were to die somehow, my body would not be recognized as a human. They would never know. And it is the ultimate folly to focus on something that can never happen and will never happen. As such… all that I can do with my time as a sentient being is to find joy in what I can, to try and bring joy to those with me, and reap in the joy of the man who uses and abuses my body to his liking.
It was with that thought, that revelation, that the first day in my life as a “Skin” came to an end. But of course, it would be the first of many.
In my Afterword on TSF Series #010: The Island of Doctor Bitz, I mentioned how that story was originally envisioned as a bodysuit story, but gradually mutated into something more as I let the idea gestate. However, I still felt like I should give a genuine bodysuit story a try, put the idea in the backburner, and took it out rather quickly, as just a few weeks later I stumbled across a textless 8-page comic by the name of Ideal and Reality by Kerberus TSF.
The comic sees a young man give his seat on a bus to a pregnant woman before shifting focus and following the pregnant woman as she returns to her apartment, disrobes… and takes off her head to reveal that they are actually a male character. Once the male character is back in his usual clothes, he takes the naked bodysuit of the pregnant woman and brings it to a closet, where its walls are lined with the bodysuits of young women, all hanging limply off of hangers, their eyes vacant and devoid of life. The young man places the bodysuit of the pregnant woman onto a hanger, which he looks at with a sinister grin, surrounded by the husks of women. From there, the story ends, leaving the reader to ask… several questions.
I did just that, and in examining this work, I happened across the questions of “what if a bodysuit was fully cognisant of the fact that they are a bodysuit, but could not control any part of their body” and “what is all these bodysuits in this closet could communicate mentally”. It was from this initial line of questioning that I laid the groundwork of ideas for TSF Series #011, which laterally evolved into what you saw here. A bodysuit story from the perspective of a bodysuit.
Also, I recycled Vita Velasquez from TSF Series #002: Doctor Decagon – Deep Diver and Milky from TSF Series #005: Ghost Milky in… The Cookie Crumbles. Mostly because I wanted a larger cast than normal for this story, and I like recycling characters from time to time.
Anyways, I originally wanted to have this idea billow and grow all the way up until its logical conclusion, but I ultimately decided to cut my original ideas into two halves. The first of which was to follow the first day in Vita’s life as a bodysuit. And you can find out what happens in the second half by reading TSF Series #011-2: My Master; My Suitor.