an amazing story from imp merlin

which is also his sl name if anyone wants to say hello in there.

it has been posted before on a website a long time ago and was lost in time till he spotted me in sl and emailed me.

please post comments and support and hopefully he'll do more.

xx


Rumplestiltskin
by imp merlin

She went to the mirror again, and looked. She hadn't imagined it, though she had been drunk and tired, it was still there. Her fingers rubbed at the back of her left wrist, frantically trying to peel it off, but it was as if it was part of her skin, the salmon pink circle of soft plastic. She didn't know what it was, had something spilt on her while she was drunk? What the hell had she been doing last night? A look at the clock told her it would have to, somehow, wait. She cursed her memory and she wore long sleeves.

She got back from work, that night, aware of an insistent itch, though not an irritating one. She unsheathed her arm, rather scared. Though she didn't know how, or how she knew, it was as she had suspected, the patch had spread, coating everything up to her elbow with the soft pink plastic. As she tried to pick at the edge, to slide a nail underneath it, her mind raced, trying to find some clue as to how this could be happening. It didn't hurt, but it ached, as if hungry for some sensation. She tried scratching at it, but the coating was amplifying her senses, and the graze of her nails was too intense. She stroked it, she stroked it all evening. As she drifted off to sleep, she decided she would have to go to the doctor.

Yawning, wishing she could go back to bed, she went to the mirror again, and looked. The soft warm plastic had reached the shoulder, but not moved down over her hand. Although part of her mind was trying to convince her she was in shock, the rest concluded that, well, maybe this wasn't so bad. It didn't seem harmful. Perhaps it was a protective coating. It was utterly inexplicable to her, but then so were many things that the world asks we take for granted. She went to work, with an unexpected spring in her step. All she had to do was work out what had happened two nights ago...

She had a sudden flood of sensation at 2:13pm. Stepping away from the customer she ran to the toilets and locked the door. She realised she was panting and tore open her blouse. The plastic had taken her breast. Fumbling through her brassiere, she caressed the huge shiny mound it had left her, with its pink plastic nipple, and waves of pleasure shot through her. She went weak at the knees. When the hammering on the door got too loud she ripped her hand away from her crotch, and smoothed her skirt back down. She noted the plastic had made a neat ring around her neck, slightly below her collar line. Good, she thought, as she opened the door and professed to have fainted, no-one will notice. The voice in the back of her mind said "But then we won't be saved!" but it was getting quieter - it wasn't hurting, she thought, so I don't need to see the doctor until it's hurting, he'll just say I'm being silly, and that it's only plastic...

She got back from work, that night, and stripped as soon as she was in the door. She padded softly around the flat in the dark, closing all the curtains and turning the heating up. Then she turned on the lights and looked. The plastic had stretched across, and although it had yet to cover it, was encircling her other nipple. As she slid onto the couch she realised it had moved down her back slightly further, and was about to start down her other arm. She spent the evening studying the spread with a magnifying glass, making little dots on her skin with a marker pen, writing careful notes with a notepad, taking measurements with a tape and wanking with a huge pink rubber dildo.

The last was in fact faintly shocking to her - she had suddenly stood bolt upright on the bus back from the tube station and got off at the sex shop from which she usually averted her eyes. The assistant had been female, much to her surprise, and didn't notice the look of awe on her face wasn't the look of disgust she'd been striving for. She'd walked straight up to the biggest dildo she could see, slid her sleeve up to match the colour and then marched it to the till. She actually wished she'd had the courage to see more...

Oblivious to the post on the mat, or the flashing from the answering machine, she spent her entire evening in front of the lounge mirror. The sensation of masturbating with the dildo was new to her, and she flew at it with an uncharacteristic gusto - thrusting the pink cock in and out of her frantically, while caressing and kissing her new firmer plastic tits. As she shuddered through one orgasm, then another, then another, she wondered why she had never bought one before. And as she drifted off to sleep, sticky and curled up in the sheepskin rug, she felt slightly disappointed that her new attire hadn't covered her second nipple yet.

In the bedroom the alarm clock sounded, but in the lounge she didn't hear it. Lost in a deep and strange dream, she was in rapture, a plastic sex warrior, a rubber slave, a vinyl goddess. The images and scenarios and roles, never before considered, whirled through her mind, and when she finally awoke, it was in a wave of ecstasy. She writhed for a moment, her weight pressing her plastic nipples, two of them, into the soft hairs of the rug before realising where she was. She slowly opened her sleep filled eyes, to find herself face to face with the clock on the video recorder. The store had opened an hour ago.

Swearing, not to herself but to the entire flat very loudly, she struggled into the clothes she had scattered the previous night, aware only vaguely that the coating had covered both her other breast fully and her right arm down to the wrist and was starting across the expanse of her stomach. As she ran for the tube she realised she hadn't had breakfast, and it was only when she was on the train that she realised she hadn't eaten for 3 days, and that she wasn't hungry. Bemused, she handed the emergency chocolate in her handbag to a beggar.

She arrived in the building still arranging her hair. Her supervisor glared at her, the horrid little shrew telling her she'd have words with her later. She didn't care. She spent the day lost in a dream world, barely noticing the time fly by. One customer actually had to prod her with the shopping basket before she realised he was there, but luckily these lapses went more or less unnoticed. As she rang up the purchases she returned again to her fantasy world, populated by plastic whores. On the train home she awoke from the daydream and she smiled to herself, a week ago she would never have entertained the idea of kinky sex, let alone with another woman, but now... As her mind wandered on, she was torn with the need to rush home and check her progress and the desire to return to the shop, to ask the woman there if she knew of this strange phenomenon, to browse further through their rails. She gave in, and got off the bus a little later, in the rain.

The bell clattered as she pushed through the door, and the shop was just as she had remembered, dingy and seedy and welcoming. She realised that assistant was not the woman she had seen, so she just flashed the overweight older man a worried nervous smile, and stepped up to the nearest rack. At least she was the only customer. As she browsed through the wares she saw many things that she could neither name nor guess at the purpose of, though there were a lot of dildos and vibrators. Some seemed different, misshapen and narrowed towards the base, only to flare out again, and she picked one up, curiously. The assistant must have noticed her puzzled look, for he croaked over "Butt plug" only, before returning to his newspaper. She felt a little light bulb go on in her head, not just of comprehension but also of longing. She selected one she felt would be as big as she could cope with, and then paused. Thoughts fresh and new were piling atop one another in her libido, and she replaced it, going instead for the size just above. This is, after all, an adventure, she concluded.

As she paid for her new toy, she looked at the leaflets and flyers on the counter, picking up and studying one which caught her eye. On it was a woman and a man, in a cage, dressed in immaculate black rubber, and this sent a shiver of pleasure through her almost as total as the dildo had done last night. She turned it over and read that this was for a nightclub, a fetish nightclub, being held just a few days away. Such events, she realised, mustn't be that uncommon, but they hadn't occurred to her before. But now she wanted to explore this strange new world that was abducting her, and she handed it to the fat man to put in the bag. He looked amused.

"Nah, strict dress code that one love, they don't let no tourists in!" and he chuckled a foul bubbling chuckle from deep in his throat. She was incensed and, reaching up, ripped open her blouse to reveal her pink plastic breasts, pert and shiny, buttons flying off. The fat man's cigar fell out of his mouth as he stammered apologies about how he hadn't realised, about how convincing her street clothes were, about how you can never tell, and she had grabbed the bag and marched out before the realisation of what she had just done hit her. She held her shirt closed and ran all the way home, in itself an unheard of exercise.

She stripped, the curtains already closed from before, and went to the mirror again and looked. The plastic had spread into a neat collar line, down her arm and stopped at the wrist. But although the sides were creeping over her hips, it seemed to be making no move to flood over her vagina. She stood for what seemed like hours, staring at the shape in the mirror, before she realised she was crying, and it really had been hours. She felt cheated, deprived, and as she fell to her knees before it she wished with all her heart, praying to whatever goddess was reshaping her that it would take her cunt.

Wiping her eyes, eventually, she unwrapped her new toy, and turned it over in her hands. It was heavy, a similar stark pink and quite quite wide. Scrambling to her feet she darted into the bathroom and, having coated it in lubricating jelly, squatted on the floor, lining it up with her anus. Clearing her mind, she tried to sit down on it, but it was too short, and so she stuck the scales under it and tried again. The feeling of pressure on her was intense, and even though she was frustrated that it would not yield, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. As she stood again, feeling stupid and humiliated, she wondered what was stopping her taking it, after all it wasn't like there would be any shit up there, she hadn't eaten for... She froze at that point, turning to look and study her face in the mirror, When was her last meal? What had it been? She didn't look drawn, or pale, but she did look thinner, and as she looked down she realised her waist had tightened. Gingerly she stepped onto the scales, ten stone. Ten. She stared down at it, dumbfounded. It was dieting her. Something she had never been able to do. Somehow this thing had come to her, from who knows who or what or where, and it was making her thin. She stared at the dial, the number burning into her eyes.

Later that night she lay on her bed, and was about to reach for the massive pink dildo when a realisation came to her. It was all in the position. She retrieved the lubed-up butt-plug from the sink and climbed back on the bed. Lying with her shoulders down and her arse in the air, she moaned softly at the sensation as the fabric of the sheets, starched and coarse, rubbed against her nipples. It felt so good, she sighted to herself, please may it never come off. In her new canine pose she re-aligned the plug, and started to slowly nudge it at her anus, pulsing it at the seal like she was knocking at a door. To her intense delight she felt it start to open, slowly, and the plug ease its way through, little by little. Her other hand snaked between her knees, when she finally managed to tear it away from the nipple she'd been pinching, and flickered at her clitoris, winding her slowly into a steady moaning. Although she realised the plug would not go all the way in, she pushed it as far as she could, pulsing and slamming it at the cut-off point, and pinching and prodding herself through a stream of wet screaming orgasms. As she collapsed onto the bed again, she wondered if she'd be able to take it back...

In the morning, the alarm clock hijacking her from a harem of vinyl geishas, she dressed quickly, running her fingers over the smooth almost silky surface that now stretched down to her knees. She cupped her hands round the rubberised buttocks, noting with great sadness that the advance had halted some way from her anus. No progress had been made over her crotch either, and it remained in a ring of skin surrounded on all sides. She pulled on a pair of trousers, dropped the washed plug into her hand bag and headed for the bus.

Her day at work was a living hell, and an utter heaven. She could feel her soft new skin spread down her shins as she worked, and the sensation of actually being aware of its progress was such a distraction. But her supervisor had her beady eye on her, and she knew she couldn't risk another long and exhausting visit to the toilet. But she did go to the scales in the pharmacy, and was thrilled to see she was down to nine stone. Several of her colleagues, previously aloof and superior made an effort to talk to her, realising something was going on. They remarked on how happy she'd looked the last couple of days, and how much fitter too. Could she tell them her secret? She shook her head, smiling, there's no secret, she told them, she didn't know what was causing it. When they looked worried and mentioned doctors she quickly improvised a diet she was supposedly on. No doctors, she thought, no doctors.

On the tube she took off her shoe to massage her toes, and it wasn't until the little old lady opposite her snorted and looked pointedly away that she realised they felt of plastic. She looked down to see her foot had gone, replaced by a seamless shape like a stocking foot. She hadn't thought of the texture as unnatural, and as she quickly pulled her shoe back on, she wondered if she would do when she touched skin again? She stopped herself from reaching down her front and checking, as that might have provoked a more stronger reaction, and instead just glazed over until her stop.

The woman was back at the shop, which was a relief, but unfortunately she was having none of it. She realised that Rosie, as her badge identified her, was rightly quite insistent. Firstly there was no receipt, this had been lost in the flat. Secondly, and here she rapped a large sign on the wall behind her, no 'intimate' products were returnable anyway, for hygiene reasons. Rosie shook her head, waving away her protests about it being unused, and even those about unsuitability, but eventually suggested a compromise, and produced a small bottle containing a liquid she called 'poppers'. She sniffed back her earlier protests and handed over her money. Rosie gave her the bottle, and some advice. As she watched her work the till, she realised Rosie was actually very attractive, stern, cute, with her flame red cropped hair, shaved at the sides, and pierced nose. Her libido took several minutes to notice what was occupying its time, but by the time it did she was back on the bus and heading away from Rosie, but towards the mirror.

She went to the mirror immediately, and looked. From her toes to her collarbone, all was plastic, save for a rounded stretch at her groin. It was seamless, smooth over her arms, across her armpits and down her back. She turned in the light, admiring the grace she now had, the curves. Was this some sort of radical weight loss programme? She didn't remember reading about it, or signing up for anything, but maybe memory loss was one of the side effects. 'Mammary loss' certainly wasn't, and she cuddled and caressed her breasts, admiring their new pertness and how much better and bigger they looked with a trimmer waist. She forced herself to go to the kitchen and look in the fridge. None of the food inside made her feel the least bit hungry. Serene she pushed the door shut and padded back to the mirror to continue her stroking.

Later that night she uncorked the bottle of poppers and dropped to all floors on the bathroom floor. Carefully positioning it under her nose, she inhaled deeply as she lined the lubricated plug up with her arsehole once more. The chemical tang soaked into her lungs, heady, and she felt a haze descend. Quickly she sent her free hand down into her crotch, to strobe at her clit, and sharply drew the vapour in again. A warm, heavy, clogged fog was enveloping her brain as she started to push the plug against her hole. As her heart swam in her ears she timed the shoving at her ass and the flicking at her clit to it, her body convulsing in harmony. She felt the plug start once more to ease in, and she sucked in the fumes from the little brown bottle again and again, her head feeling like it would explode, her crotch feeling like it was burning, and the cold tiles feeling like ice to her nipples. As the pounding continued, she gasped with exaltation as the orgasms hit her like waves on a beach, and the insistent plug slowly spread and dilated her now willing hole. After what seemed like an eternity, and as the final orgasm was about to peak she felt her anus grab at the plug, as the thinner neck was pushed in, and it sucked it in and it slid up to the wider hilt. She screamed long and hard with the rapture as she slammed it, and her orgasm home. She screwed the lid onto the bottle, panting breathless, and slumped to the floor, falling asleep almost immediately, and so missing the migraine that she had been warned the chemicals could give her. Her dreams were legendary, and so she forgot them.

She woke up with a start, realising she'd done it again. As she clambered off the bathroom floor she felt the weight of the plug shift inside her, and a ripple of delight ruptured through her. Stumbling into her bedroom she silenced the alarm, and noticed she was even later this time. Quickly she pulled on her blouse, and reached down to pull out the plug. The base had gone. It was impossible that it could have pushed in any further, but she knew it hadn't come out, she could feel it inside her, a weight pressing against the other side of her ass, strangely pleasurable but slightly uncomfortable. She felt for her anus and realised it had gone. Just plastic. Her entire arse was now vinyl. Her mood was fractured when she looked down and saw her pubic hair and bare vagina looking back at her, but the plastic had advanced to just a tiny way past where she figured her anus had been. The edge she figured, would be as secure as the others. So there was, of course, no point in trying to pick it away. Of course. Starting, she realised she was wasting precious time and fell into her trousers and shoes, and out to the bus stop.

She was, she was told, to see the boss after work. But though she had been told this with a glinting glare and a stern voice by the little gnome who made her life hell, she didn't care. All day she walked around with a smile on her face, appreciating the looks she got as her rediscovered hips swung about. And with each step the plug inside her swung like a pendulum, ticking her hips one way and tocking them back again, a quiver of sexual pleasure riding on the shock wave of each. At lunch time she weighed herself again, now she was eight stone. This coating, this suit, it wasn't a problem, a burden, it was, she concluded, a miracle, a gift.

She watched the miserable little woman, sat behind a huge oak desk, as she went on and on about attitude and targets and being part of a team. She decided she looked like some shrivelled crow. Squirming now and then on the seat, to shift the plug and keep her mind off the ranting, she didn't realise she was inadvertently giving the impression of paying no attention. Of course, she was paying absolutely no attention, but she wouldn't necessarily have wanted Mrs. Gambol to know that. She was brought back to Earth with a bump when she asked,

"What do you think about that?" and realised she was being glared at. She felt her cheeks flush with humiliation as she knew her bluff was being called and, lowering her eyes, came clean.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Gambol, I wasn't listening. What did you say?"

"I had said, young lady, that I needed one more reason and you were out on your rear. I'm not saying it again, because you've just given it to me." She drew herself up to an impressive 4 foot 9 and pointed a gnarled claw at the door and bellowed at her, "Get Out!"

Tearful, she stumbled out and into the rain, pushing her last pay packet into her coat pocket. Her hand brushed against something in there, and she pulled the flyer for the fetish club out again. It was tonight. She checked the address. It was nearby. She checked the time. Though it did open strangely early, it wasn't for an hour and a half. Cursing that last observation softly, she wandered into the shopping mall, absentmindedly.

After spending a while admiring the red rubber dress on the record shop's poster girl she found herself outside a large late-night chemist, and wandering in she made an important decision. She was, she was certain, going to go to the club. But she had no desire to walk around naked. Wryly noting with a smile that she didn't consider her second skin as anything but skin, she strode over to the razors. It was the patch of natural skin that was the shameful part, and this she would cover with a thong. Never would she have dreamed of such a garment before, but now she would go for it, and this would mean a little tidying beforehand. She bought a packet of razors and a can of foam, with a huge grin that scared the check-out boy witless.

She rushed into the lingerie shop, assuring the woman who had been thinking of shutting up early that she would be very quick, and once inside realised that she may have lied. Such emporiums had been forbidden to her only a few days ago, her usual choice being large, cotton and grey. But now sparkling and shining wisps of every description and brevity danced before her. As her eyes struggled to take it all in, she heard herself say that she was after something shiny, in PVC, rubber or plastic, and she tore her attention back to see what the woman was producing with a sly look from under the counter:

"Well, I do have these, but only for people who ask for them..."

The cardboard box held a wonderful range of treasures, sandwiched between layers of tissue, and she admired each of them with wide eyes. Eventually she shakily picked up the last one to emerge, a red latex thong that would just about cover her remaining skin, once shaved, and tore open her pay packet to hand over the cost. She felt her head dumbly nod as she was asked if she wanted some spray for them, and once she was back on the street and the rain woke her from her daydream, she realised she didn't know what she actually needed the spray for.

Home was too far away, so she went into a nearby pub and headed straight for the loos. Locking the cubicle door she was relieved to see it was of the old design, with no gaps beneath or above, a little room shut off completely. She quickly dropped her trousers and stepped out of them and her shoes, and then shrugged and stripped totally

Sitting astride the seat, with a leg tucked back on either side she stroked at the soft hair that was already damp from the thoughts racing through her head. It was no use, she realised with a delighted but evil grin, and started to stroke down further, her nails grazing across her lips. As she dragged her nails over the moistening flesh she shuddered with delight, and filled the entire area with the billowing white cream from the can of foam. Faster and faster her fingers sped across the end of her clit, her clean hand clamped across her mouth to silence the grunting. Finally she shook with her orgasm, taking the rapture as it broke upon her. Panting softly she pulled her hand from her face and smoothed the mixture of foam and juice down, reaching for a razor from her bag.

Within very few minutes she was done, surprisingly quickly. Her new naked pussy gleamed up at her, the skin delicate and strange, surrounded by plastic of only a slightly different shade. She suppressed another moan as the tiny rubber knickers slid up into place, cool and glossy. The sensation was strange, they felt colder than her new skin, and as the rubber touched her shaven mound she whimpered. At that point she heard someone enter the outer room, and she refilled her bag in a hurry, unlocked the door and scampered past the rather surprised girl in a panic.

Back on the street she stalked through the pouring rain. Though her clothes were slowly getting soaked she realised her new skin was protecting her and she didn't feel cold at all. The feel of the soft rubber thong on her pussy combined with the rocking of the plug were driving her wild, and her thoughts were drifting dangerously. The roads round here were sometimes used by prostitutes, she could find one. The roads round here were sometimes used by prostitutes, she could be one. She was reflecting on how hard it would be to get another proper job when she rounded the corner and saw the club.

From the junction, where she stood beside a barbers, she could clearly see the building ahead of her. A stark grey concrete slab, it was devoid of any colour save the splash of black at the base that held the door. There was no windows, and no sign. If it hadn't been for the queue she might have thought she was in the wrong place. But no, there they were, the people of her dreams, bedecked in shining latex, warm sensuous leather, surreal costumes and designer evening wear. Some of the queue were already in costume, others wore coats over their scanty garb. She wondered for a second if she had the nerve to stand with all these beautiful people, the gall to pretend she was one of them. When her hands rested on her hips she jumped, surprised, and turned to look at her reflection in the barber's window. She had a narrow waist. She pushed her coat away, incredulous. She was now an hourglass figure. Admiring her reflection, she realised that if she was going to have the courage to go in, she'd have to do something about her face. Physically it was fine, but as she looked back at the queue she noticed more and more the range of modern haircuts and beautiful make-up. And then she saw Rosie.

Rosie was standing in the queue, resplendent in an ankle-length black latex skirt. She wore a white shirt (was that latex too, it shined?) with a riding crop under one arm. When she moved tall boots were visible through a spilt up the side of the skirt, but what had attracted her attention was the peaked military cap. Without knowing why, she concluded Rosie was a lesbian, decided Rosie would be why she would definitely go in, and realised Rosie was who she wanted. To love her, to need her, to fuck her. Her mind swimming she put her hand to her head, and steadied herself. Then she pulled herself together, and walked into the barbers.

Ignoring the protests of "We're just closing up love" from the man with the broom she dropped into the seat.

"It won't take long, I just want it shaved." He dropped his broom.

"I don't shave ladies' heads, sorry love."

Her blood boiled, no way was she going to be thwarted, no way would he get away with calling her 'love'.

"Oh just get on with it, I'm no lady. I'm a, a lesbian!" she declaimed firmly, stunning herself with the ferocity and veracity with which she spat the words at him. Perhaps she really did now mean them...

Grumbling in Italian, the man turned the clippers on, and pulled her head back with perhaps a little too force. She met his eyes, narrowing hers, and he set to work. She had to force herself to keep still when he pulled out the straight blade, but he was indeed a professional. Once again her skin met warm soap, and then this was scraped away again. Perfect.

The club was warm, and she was grateful for that. She had paused and used the barber's mirror to do her make up, before handing the poor bemused terrified man her payment. Now as she stripped in the changing room she was glad, the feeling of cold air on her head was a strange one. It felt good, and the skin felt good too, even though it wasn't plastic. She realised she was probably glad she hadn't become coated all over , though it was a grudging realisation. Back in her shoes, with her purse in her hand, she was about to enter the main club when she remembered the spray. Looking blankly at the can, a soft voice beside her said,

"Shall I do that for you, you won't be able to reach", and as she whirled round she saw it was Rosie. Up close she realised that everything Rosie wore was rubber, the shirt, the skirt, the boots, even the clear stockings. The hat was too. A vision in rubber.

Her eyes wide, her knees weak and with a huge lump in her throat she nodded yes meekly, and handed over the can. Rosie directed her to stand with her legs apart and arms spread, and before spraying walked slowly around her.

"I love the suit! I had no idea when you came in the shop you would have this sort of thing. You look absolutely fucking wonderful in it!" She blushed, gave profuse thanks and a mumbling similar slice of praise for Rosie's own outfit. Rosie tapped the cap badge with her crop and grinned,

"Mmm, yes, well I like to put the cards on the table, if you know what I mean" and it was then she noticed that it wasn't a regiment at all, it was the Venus symbol, and her suspicions and delight was confirmed.

She stood still as Rosie sprayed her in long slow strokes, the cool silicone spray transforming her into a shining gleaming android. The red rubber thong was brilliantly shiny, but the skin had shone up too, and it shimmered in the multicoloured lights of the club. Rosie grinned evilly as she stepped forward, one finger teasing at the thong, giggling, "Shall I do under here too?" and then she giggled too, partly out of nervousness but mainly to allay the pent-up animal desire to drop to all fours and proffer herself to Rosie like a cat on heat. She held her head up away from the fine spray as Rosie pulled the thong away and doused her crotch in the glistening mist. It didn't feel wet like water, and Rosie's only comment on the contents of the thong was a slightly puzzling "Intense! Wow!" and then it was done.

They both put their bags into the cloakroom, and Rosie asked her what she wanted to drink. Realising she was not thirsty she put aside her usual request for a beer and asked instead for vodka, figuring it was the alcohol she needed, and not the fluid. Rosie grinned, and told her to wait for her over by the door to the playroom, she'd be right back.

Looking in at the door, she was amazed. People were cavorting in manners she couldn't put words to, wearing clothes she would once have assumed degrading, and having more fun that she once would have thought possible. But now she looked at them in a new light, with a fervent intensity, drinking in their activities and wanting to be a part. In one corner a man was being whipped by a woman wearing just heels. On a bench a guy dressed as a school girl was being tied tightly down by two women in rubber cloaks. And in the corner, crouched unable to stand in a low cage, was a woman in a skin-tight glossy black latex suit. She stepped in.

When Rosie wandered in a while later with the two drinks she was kneeling before the woman, both pressed up against the bars, hugging and caressing and kissing each other on the breasts, on the neck, on the lips. Rosie watched for a second, smiling, and then, unhooking a collar from her belt, stepped up behind her. She felt the hand on her neck and paused, pulling away from her caged friend. The collar was wrapped round her neck, and shut with a soft click. Rosie pulled her gently to her feet.

"You're mine. Okay?" She nodded, her mind racing, oh yes she was! But what would this mean, where would this go? Oh how she hoped, how she prayed.

They danced a lot, downing many vodkas. Eventually she found herself pushed up against the wall by Rosie, pinned. Impishly she wrapped one leg up round her waist, and Rosie grinned, her hand slipping the thong aside at the invite. Their lips met, and she was surprised how much different it was to kissing a man. There was no harsh invasion, no abrupt assertion, instead their tongues caressed and swam, she wrapping her fingers round Rosie's head, until they were pulled away and instead tucked behind her own back - pinned to the wall and trapped. She decided she liked that, and the kiss was unbroken. Rosie darted her fingers into her crotch, stroking the plastic, and sliding over the warm mound. Her nerves blossomed with every touch, every stroke, as the plastic intensified the sensations. It was only when Rosie slipped a hot finger into her, diving and stroking at her clit almost immediately, that she realised that now (finally!) her vagina was coated with plastic too.

Fireworks went off behind her eyes and as the probing continued she realised she was a slightly different shape there too. Her clit seemed to be almost separately covered, and it was sending spasms of orgiastic delight throughout her shuddering frame. Her head was too firmly pinned against the wall to move, or stop the endless moaning kiss. As Rosie worked an adept hand in - adding finger after finger but still keeping her thumb-nail plucking at the plastic bud, she felt herself give up all concerns, cares, worries or thoughts of any sort. This, this was all she would ever need.

Later that night they parted, briefly, Rosie apologising that she needed to say hi to some old friends, and suggesting she wait in the play room, offering to put her in the cage, but she declined, smiling. She said she'd visit the bathroom and then be on the dance floor. They kissed again, and she was gone. Both knew the other would be back, their smile, their eyes had said so much, so there was no problem.

In the deserted toilets she removed the thong and looked. Sure enough the plastic had flowed over the same skin it had once been shy of, but it was only when she felt the warmth on the back of her neck that she realised why. It was the hair. It was the shaving. It had been the only place she had had it, and she'd shaved it off. It was no longer in the way. Stepping out of the cubicle, to stare entranced at the mirror, she watched it ripple up over her scalp, up her neck and chin, settling down over her ears, leaving just her face like a mask. It stopped, pushing a few air bubbles out, and then lay still again. She no longer thought of this as strange, this was her. It was as if her every desire had come true, and her body was rebelling against every law of nature to please her. She reached up and stroked her new plastic head with her skin fingers, and smiled. She knew this was right.

Back on the dance floor she stunned Rosie, who looked at her open mouthed. She grinned, and made up some lie about saving the hood for someone who'd appreciate it, and the look on Rosie's face told her she wasn't wrong. They danced long, and slow, and she eventually whispered in Rosie's ear, "I want to come home with you. I need to come home with you. But I won't take this off for you."

Rosie held her in her arms, and said, "I wouldn't want you to take it off. Ever. You're perfect." She agreed, and they got their coats.

She was impressed by Rosie's flat. Every available surface was covered in rubber, or leather. They fell into the couch, a flurry of arms and legs and breasts and hands, kissing and licking and biting and cuddling, and the sexual scrum continued unabated for a very hot and tiring while as they both explored every scrap of the other's body. She discovered the plug had changed shape, there was now a sheath inside it similar to the one which lined her vagina, bound to the walls, enhancing her senses. Rosie's dextrous fingers slid into this too, expanding it, probing, pushing, fucking.

Eventually she could take it no longer. She pulled herself away in tears. Rosie, shocked, hugged her and asked what was wrong, was it her, what she could do? And so, sobbing, she told Rosie the entire tale.

Overwhelmed, Rosie searched the wrists and the face line for a gap, to pull the rubber away, but she told her no, that wasn't what she meant. She loved her new skin, and didn't need to eat or drink. All she wanted was to be someone's plastic toy now, and she wanted it to be Rosie.

All this and the vodka made Rosie's mind reel, but she agreed and asked,

"What do we do next, love?"

 

Her last week was a frantic whirl of beautiful romance, complex discussions and unbridled feral sex. On the Friday she retrieved her deposit on the flat. Handing it to Rosie, and piling the suitcases into the back of the car, they drove through the town centre. She had been worried the make-up might run, and the plastic been seen, but both it and the wig seemed believable. In the back seat, she pulled them off, adding the clothes and wig to one of the cases, and curled her synthetic form up under a rubber sheet Rosie had laid out for her. Once Rosie had banked the money into her own account, and dropped off all her clothes at a charity shop, they headed home.

After much re-assuring that she really did want to do it, she knelt before Rosie as she carefully removed her rings and she held her hands still, the fingers deliberately curled. They both watched in amazement as the rubber flowed over her hands, binding her closed fingers together. She turned her hands over, feeling the fingers themselves combine. Perfectly smooth vinyl paws.

And then, with their eyes locked and saying a thousand words, Rosie carefully shaved her eyebrows clean away, whispering, "From now on, I'll call you Doll."

They went to the mirror again, and watched.