Amy took off her eyemask, but nothing else, sitting cross legged on the edge of her bed while Steve sat in a chair against the wall. At first the two of them just talked – about comics, about movies, whatever stupid nerdy shit came to their minds. Amy did most of the talking. Steve mostly just watched. She didn’t mind, though. After all, nobody had ever given her much attention when she talked like this before.
It was only when Amy paused for more than five seconds that Steve chimed in.
“So how long have you been doing this?” he gestured to her body.
“A few years” she said “Only really got attention recently though.”
The flattery caught her off guard, but she just shrugged her shoulders, playing it cool.
“Well what about you, Mister Parker?” she deflected “How long has...” she gestured to his body like he did to hers.
Ryan seemed embarrassed “First time, actually.” he tried to seem nonchalant, but failed “Normally I’m not really into this kind of stuff but my brother roped me into it so I thought ‘what the hell’ and...” he waved his hands towards himself.
“You like Spider-Man a lot?” she planted her chin in her upturned palm.
“Pfft...you kidding? Yeah! Watched the cartoon all the fucking time when I was a kid.”
For some reason Amy didn’t quite believe him.
“Your costume’s really good” she said, realizing she wasn’t as good at complements as he was.
Still, Ryan seemed touched by this “Thanks, you too.”
Silence again. Amy could feel the hormones flaring in her veins, surging through her brain, begging her to just go for it already. He was ready. He was willing. He’s just waiting for you...
“So why Black Cat?” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair “All the latex and masks. Are you really that big a fan of Black Cat, is like some sort of sex thing or...” Amy’s eyebrows raised and her breath came short at his forwardness. Ryan seemed to interpret that as offense “I’m so sorry” he sat up, holding his palms out apologetically “I didn’t mean--”
“No, it’s fine.” Amy smiled, perhaps to ease his conscience and not scare him away “I mean yeah, I do love Black Cat. She was, you know, kind of my idol growing up.” Amy had never really thought about this before, but it seemed right “I wasn’t exactly...the prettiest girl when I was younger” Amy’s normal, mumbly way of speaking began to slip through “so seeing her on the page was sort of like this unattainable ideal.” Amy sat up, eyes blazing, her arms gesticulating “And it wasn’t just the looks either, it was her personality her...her feistiness, her independence. She could just do whatever the fuck she wanted, take whatever she pleased. One time I told my mom I wanted to be a cat burglar when I grew up and, you know, she obviously was very supportive of my career choice.”
“Oh, of course.” Ryan said, enraptured.
“Then of course you grow up and start hating yourself, and I mean now it’s socially acceptable to go out in public and dress up in a catsuit if you’re hot enough, so just be hot and you’ve pretty much got the next best thing, right.” she was rambling, she had to wrap it up or she’d show too much of herself “And I mean it can be SO...intoxicating, just slipping into another persons skin...not having to worry about all these hang-ups and consequences normal people have, because really at the end of the day you can always take the costume off, right? You’re you, but also...not you if that make sense.”
The silence made Amy feel somewhat uncomfortable.
“Yeah, totally.” Ryan said, finally.
He wasn’t taking over, she had to find a way to tie this up...
“So yeah, maybe there is a sex thing to it” she settled back down in her chair, her voice back in her control “but...I think there’s more to it then that, it’s just...” her eyes zoned out, and a weak, mischievous smile crept into the corner of her mouth “...transgressive.”
She looked at Ryan, who now seemed completely and utterly spellbound, like the little speech she’d given had moved him so much that he couldn’t speak. Without a reaction from him, Amy’s senses fixated on the low hum of the hotel’s cheap electric ceiling lights. ‘It couldn’t have touched him that much’ she thought to herself.
She shifted in her chair, which seemed to break the spell. Ryan gave a “not bad” sort of look while nodding his head in approval.
“Huh...yeah...” Amy took a deep breath, like she’d just finished putting on a show.
Ryan reached into a bag he brought with him and pulled out his phone. Amy’s immediate thought was that he’d open it and find a message that would force him to leave.
“Mind if I...” he held his phone out and up above him and Amy realized he was asking if he could take a picture with her. Before she could respond he got up and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her to her left.
“Uh...sure, sure” she got into position to take the picture, pressing the side of her face lightly against his.
Ryan got cozier, holding up the phone with his left hand while taking his right arm and wrapping it around Amy’s shoulders with his hand hanging down and just grazing the side of her breast. His flank pressed against hers and in an instant her heart fluttered again.
Just as Ryan pressed the button and the flash went off, his stray hand lifted up, pressing Amy’s chin so that her face faced him. Before she realized what was going on, Ryan’s hand grabbed the back of her head and pressed her dumbfounded face into his and kissed her.
It was invasive, shocking, absolutely wrong on every level.
Almost on instinct, Amy flailed her arms and broke away, bolting to her feet and glaring down at him. Ryan, who for a moment was still lost in la la land, glanced around before snapping out of his daze, realizing in an instant what he’d just done.
“Fuck” he said “Fuck!” he said louder I’m so fucking sorry, I...” he stood up and began walking towards the door.
‘No! Don’t let him get away with it.’ an indignant voice in her head screamed ‘That wasn’t o.k. You have to tell him. You have to tell him how wrong that was.’
Amy moved to scold him when...
‘or...’ another voice in her head said, sultry and soft like smooth melted chocolate. It’s presence felt foreign, caressing her subconscious and easing her out of her rage. This was what she ultimately wanted, right? Even if it came before she planned it. Her mind put up a feeble rebellion, but quickly gave way.
“Wait, no, it’s o.k!” she blurted just as Ryan reached for the doorknob.
Ryan stopped, frozen, then turned, an animal hunger still apparent in the way he looked at her – though he tried to hide it behind guilt. The attraction between them tugged hard, their passion simmering, ready to erupt from every one of their pores.
She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, so instead she simply nodded.
Faster than she could prepare, Ryan was on her, pressing his lips against her, snatching the back of her head greedily and holding on to it for dear life, and Amy did the same. Their mouths devoured, slobbering, seeking every last inch of each other’s mouths. Amy mewled, feeling 13 years of repression spill out of her with every breath. Ryan groaned, reciprocating.
Then he stopped, breaking off.
“You’re on the pill, right?”
His face was so close it felt like an interrogation. She scoffed “yeah, of course.” She wasn’t, but vaguely remembered the manual saying suits had built in birth control. It didn’t matter to her either way.
As Ryan moved in to resume their oral dance, Amy put one of her clawed fingers against his lip. “Mind if I put my mask back on first?”
She stepped backwards, turned at the hips and snatched at the mask sitting on the bed behind her. With practiced ease she slipped the mask on and approached Ryan again, who snatched at her hips and quickly pulled her close.
At first Amy couldn’t think of what to do other than press her mouth against his. She tried nibbling on his lower lip, which made Ryan smile. Something press against the back of her mind. At first it just whispered like before, but the more she ignored it, and the more she persisted in her way of doing things, the more it seemed to insist itself in. Almost on it’s own, her right hand dove from behind his head and to his crotch, where with kneading fingers she caressed the quickly expanding mound which was only separated from her touch by a layer of spandex.
Amy looked into Ryan’s eyes pleading and he instantly knew what she wanted. With both hands he reached behind his neck and pulled apart the velcro seam that held the back of his suit together. Amy wanted it off now, so she kneeded harder, which seemed to do the trick as Ryan seemed to speed up his undressing. Once his back seam had opened, Amy grabbed at the fabric on his shoulders and yanked down, practically tearing the costume away. Luckily it came off without a hitch beyond Ryan fumbling with the arms. As the waist and legs of the suit came down, Ryan used his thumbs to bring his grey boxer-briefs down with it, and out it popped.
Amy had seen plenty online, but never this close and in person before...it looked really fucking weird.
Ryan slipped his fingers underneath the fabric of her bodysuit along the chest window and peeled back. As Amy’s breasts came out, they bounced briefly, retaining their shape. As Ryan brought the suit off her shoulders, Amy shimmied trying to get her arms out of their sleeves, walfway there realizing she needed to pinch off the fingers of her gloves before they’d come off.
Once her hands were finally free, she yanked them out, letting the arms of the garment go inside out. ‘You’re taking too long’ she thought ‘he’s going to lose interest’. As soon as her arms were totally free the suit slipped off her upper body, held up tight and hanging on her hips, Ryan pressed her hard backwards, and within four steps pressed Amy against the wall and went in to kiss her again.
Amy’s mind drowned in a sea of lust, her lungs so filled by it she barely even noticed Ryan grabbing the suit at her waist and pulling down – just far enough to leave her open...
“Oh God...” she muttered feeling Ryan press himself against her.
“Wait, hol--” but before she could get the words out she felt something push apart her folds, wider and wider until it was unmistakable. Amy couldn’t move, her desire for it clashing with her desire to slow down.
“Ahh! AHH! Oh My God!” She couldn’t see it, but she felt it, slipping deeper and deeper inside of her. Every sensation streaming through the suit and multiplied. Her walls spread, and she could already feel the warmth building inside her abdomen.
And then it slipped out, and the feeling vanished. Before thrusting into her again, Amy felt a goopy, viscous liquid dribble against her thigh, thinking he came before realizing the strange fluid was hers. His second entry went smoother, aided by the natural lubrication. By the third it seemed effortless.
Amy felt lost, out of control, but still her bare fingers clung desperately to his back, her face pressed bracingly against his muscled shoulder. The thick, sour odor of his sweat subsumed every other scent, normally repulsive, but here something else entirely.
Something awoke inside her, pressing it’s advantage in her sex addled brain, sending electric charges through her limbs and lifting her off the body of her quickly slowing lover.
“Don’t worry sweety” she said in a voice not her own “I’m taking control now.”
Planting her palms on Ryan’s chest, she shoved him backwards. His eyes went wide, only making it two steps before tumbling with a yelp onto the matress. Wasting no time, Amy peeled off the rest of her suit and leapt onto the bed, standing over him smirking before slowly kneeling down, bringing their bodies close. It was strange, to Amy it felt like her body was on autopilot, like something outside of herself drove her – the hormones maybe?
Once on her knees she grabbed his dick, feeling it’s rough, veiny texture in her soft hands, and pulled it roughly towards her. Once aligned, she sat down slowly, inch by inch swallowing it within herself. She flexed her pelvic muscles, massaging his captive organ while Ryan, helpless, gasped and groaned beneath her in rapt satisfaction.
With every bounce Amy’s ass slapped against Ryan’s thighs in a way that sounded almost comically. Ryan tried feebly to grab at Amy’s waist, but she ignored him, grinding faster and faster in desperation. She screamed, feeling her body inch closer and closer to orgasm but not quite reaching it. Ryan’s breathing grew more labored, his chest visibly bulging with every strained heartbeat. His hands gripped the sheets, letting his masked lover do her work.
Suddenly, his eyes shot open.
“Wait! Slow down I’m gonna --” but it was too late. Even in her frenzy Amy could feel the first eruptions spilling into her. She stopped, but that didn’t keep the next wave and the next wave of ropey goop from shooting into her womb. Ryan’s face contorted, his hands leaping up to grab her waist again in primal instinct to make sure his seed got inside of her.
Amy, coming down from her dizzying haze, quickly realized her chance was slipping away.
“No! Wait!” she says adjusting herself “I have to finish!”
Without hesitation she brought one hand up and pressed it against her clit and rubbed in tiny circles. She wasn’t even looking at Ryan anymore, whose muscles at this point were already slacking. Suddenly, without even thinking, Amy felt something blossom in her abdomen, and before she even realized it she felt a quick shudder run through her body, then another one. This was it.
Lurching forward, Amy gave an ugly grunt. Another one tried to force it’s way out with the next contraction, but it got caught in her throat. Starbursts flashed in her brain, she didn’t even realize she had propped herself up on Ryan’s chest. Even with her eyes closed she could tell her arms were shuddering, just barely holding her spasming up. Tears welled up in her clenched eyes as wave after wave of chemical cocktails crashed into her brain, drowning her thoughts in ecstasy.
She couldn’t even remember tumbling off of him.
Amy could feel the leftovers of their mess as she shifted position in bed, but she didn’t care. Her whole body hummed with the clear tingle of pure satisfaction.
Touching herself, Amy laughed, loud, clear, and totally unrestrained.
“Ah! I can’t believe I just did that!” Amy said, as she threw her arms wide spread eagle, the back of her hand landing on Ryan’s chest. She let the soft breeze of the spinning ceiling fan lap lazily against her still unblemished naked skin. It seemed cliché, but she wished that she could bottle up that moment and keep it forever.
For a while, it was just the fan, the hum of the lights, and their two breaths rising and falling in sync.
“So...” Ryan said turning on his side and propping his head up “now that we’re on a familiar personal basis, could you maybe tell me what your name is?”
“I told you” she said not moving “it’s Felicia Hardy.”
“Haha, very cute.” he rolled back over onto his back.
Amy paused. Maybe he actually interested in something more.
“Amy.” Ryan said wistfully “Nice name.”
Amy said nothing back. She just laid there, her commitment to her fabricated personality slipping by the second. Should she do it, she wondered. An impulse in the back of her mind urged her not to, but then again...
“Ryan” she rolled off the bed and stood up, cum still leaking down her leg “I want to show you something.”
She turned to face him, and Ryan sat up, confused but clearly intrigued.
Amy’s hands went behind her head and felt around for the seam, the tips fumbling excitedly at her smooth skin, finding it only once she pressed hard enough to pierce the suit’s binding membrane. No turning back now. She crowded her fingers into the widening gap. “Just don’t freak out o.k?”
Amy could hear the grotesque liquid snap of the membrane as it parted and soon her perfect vision began to fade. The last thing she saw before things went black was the mixture of confusion, horror, and terror on Ryan’s face as her features crumbled, and her face detached.
By then Amy knew she had made a mistake.
With a snap the mask detached, and the tube that had found it’s home down Amy’s throat slid out with a liquid slurp. Her head free, she coughed and gasped for breath, as if the exertion had tired her out. She looked at Ryan, his mouth agape in abject horror.
“This is...me.” she said confidently “The real me.”
A car alarm went off in the parking lot outside. Ryan’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.
“Wow” Ryan said flatly “I mean I knew those suits were a thing but I didn’t know something like that was exactly budgeted for cosplayers.”
Maybe it was just the shock. Maybe he’d learn to love the real her.
“Soooo...” her voice lilted playfully “Wanna maybe...” she tried look at him lustfully, but her eyes wouldn’t focus “go again?”
“Uh” Ryan slid down against the headboard “Sure”
“Great” Amy reached for her back “Let me just get this thing off...”
“Wait, uhhh...” Amy knew what was coming and her heart sank “could you maybe keep the suit on?”
A dozen voices whispered in her mind:
‘You ugly bitch of course he doesn’t like the real you.’
‘You’re lucky he still wants to fuck you after that little stunt.’
‘Awwwww poor little unfuckable Amy!’
Ryan moved to stand ‘Maybe I should just go.” he said, seeming to sense her dismay.
“No, please stay!” Amy blurted, clutching the mask “I’ll wear the suit, see!”
She stopped short of putting it back on in hopes he’d change his mind.
“You know this isn’t something serious, right?”
The comment seemed so out of nowhere. She must seemed desperate.
She gripped the back of the mask, the inner tubes already primed for reinsertion. She glanced at Steve one more time, hoping beyond hope that maybe he’d change his mind, but he just watched her, observing the spectacle cautiously. She slipped the synthetic skin over her head and in an instant it clamped down. Soon her eyesight returned, and as her mouth found its place she moaned.
Looking back at Steve’s head – both heads – looked happy to see her.
“Tah-dah!” she said accompanied by mini jazz hands.
As she climbed back on top of him, she realized again that she was barely controlling her actions. It felt rote, like she could have slept through it. Her body shimmied and swayed, and her hands rubbed along her body like she was putting on some kind of show – and Steve, eyes aglow with lust, seemed to eat it up, like he’d forgotten what had happened just minutes before. She winced a bit as he slipped back inside her. It felt good, really good, and it seemed like she came again in no time at all. Once he came inside her, he got up, walked into the bathroom to wash his dick off, then put his costume back on and left.
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Amy had been in the shower for nearly an hour, curled up in the corner with her arms wrapped around her knees, still encased in her Felicia skin from the neck down. Her suit, wig, and mask lay on the tile floor nearby. Her eyes listlessly, exhausted of their capacity to produce tears, hung listlessly open as she watched the water spill from the faucet onto her prone body.
Seven times. That’s how many times she’d masturbated already. The constant pleasuring had made her quivering muscles weak but she didn’t care. Not anymore. Whenever she managed to get enough strength she’d go again, taking her middle and forefinger and pressing them against her clit, desperate to rub out another one to numb the pain.
She closed her eyes, heels slowly kicking against the tub’s plastic/fiberglass floor. There was no easing into it this time. Instead of building the pleasure up slowly she pressed her pointer and middle finger hard and ground it into her clit with furious urgency. When the first contraction came and her body lurched forward, she screamed. She wanted this, her body craved it, but every time her sleep deprived brain came down and the electric tingle faded all that was left was the shame – but not for what she just did.
She didn’t want to get up – or rather she couldn’t. It wasn’t her body, it was her lack of will that kept her down. It was warm in there, curled up in the tub. The water was both a blanket and a distraction, washing away the remnants of her indulgences and tapping her skin, keeping her thoughts away from anything except the splashes across her supple, fetal form. All she had to do was stay there, just herself and her other all alone together without the judging eyes of the world.
Her shoulder slipped and touched a cold spot on the tub surface, causing her to wince and rouse from her stupor. She groaned, expressing her displeasure. Her hands worked their way across her belly, her fingers tracing around her abs. Her mind began wandering between her legs again, but drifted indecisively. She needed something new, something longer lasting. The orgasms weren’t enough for her, she needed more. She was too weak, she’d never be able live with herself after that little stunt.
That’s when she felt the will of the suit take hold. That’s what it was, she realized, the feeling at the back of her mind. She’d heard of suits’ AI asserting themselves over their hosts, but apparently that only happened to the weak minded, which was what she was. At this point, she practically welcomed it.
On their own her hands fumbled up to the rim of the tub, finding purchase in what little dryness was left and hauled her limp body up. The bathroom carpet was soaking, since she never bothered to pull the curtain closed. Shambling towards the mirror, her back hung hunched, bouncing with each step, filling her with a sudden awareness of the weight on her chest. The mirror was only five feet away, but it seemed like it had taken a solid minute for her to reach it. Once there she straightened up slightly, just enough to get a good look at her face.
Her jaw was quivering, eyes half open. Emotions came rushing back, and a heaving sob erupted from her throat, which quickly morphed into laughter. Brutal, cruel laughter.
She looked into the eyes in the mirror.
“Don’t have to get into character if you’re always the character” she said, with a twisted smile.
She gave herself a bitter mock pout “Buh-bye, little Amelia” she gripped the side of the mask with both hands “buh-bye.”
Her tongue met the tube first. She teased it with her mouth, wrapping her lips around it, attempting to slide it in and out before the suit’s sensors detected it’s host donning it and forced it’s way in. After that she feverishly tugged the skin on, almost like she was trying to face fuck it back.
The back snapped closed again, and as soon as her voice returned Amy belted out a deep, guttural moan as the mask wriggled and writhed against her face in it’s quest to latch itself to her.
“YES!” she pleaded “CHANGE ME! CHANGE ME!”
In her mind she thrashed out at herself, desperate to drive whatever was left of poor Amelia Duncan from her personality forever. With her fingers she chose to baptize her rebirth with sex, rubbing as fast as she could until the searing light of sweet sweet release bathed her mind in nothingness. As far as she was concerned all boundaries between her and the suit were gone. It was a part of her now.
Her eyes opened, vision sharp and clear again. She saw her face, her beautiful, beautiful face in the mirror, and it looked back at her, it’s expression soft, loving, as if it were reuniting with a long lost lover.
“There you are” she reached out with one and stroked her reflection’s cheek “I was wondering where you were.”
This was her. This was her real skin now and she would never lose it again...and it was perfect, perfect in every way.
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In full regalia, Felicia Hardy strode onto the convention floor. All eyes snapped to her, some confused, some admiring, some immediately aroused. Her steps, rhythmic like the sway of her hips, bounced with flamboyant confidence, her face contorted in a confident smirk freed of the inadequacies of her old self.
Gliding through the booths she scanned the wares again, stopping at one with a chibi black cat drawing. She noticed the artist wasn’t looking, so without skipping a beat she plucked the print from the table, held it up to look at it, then tossed it away. She did this three more times, never getting more than a disapproving glare from a teenage girl in a hobbit costume.
With a click and a hiss, a speaker high overhead crackled to life. “Attention con-goers” a nasally man mumbled over the intercom “The cosplay contest will begin in exactly ten minutes, so be sure and make your way there – or don’t, up to you I guess.”
A few people laughed, but not her. The cosplay contest! She’d forgotten to sign up.
‘Oh well’ she thought ‘no problem.’
Felicia glided to the cordoned off area behind the stage, waiting in line with the rest. As she approached, a woman with the clipboard spotted her and immediately looked at her clipboard. Felicia put on an affect of cluelessness, prepared her lie. When the time finally came for her to check in, the woman looked over her list again, brow furrowed.
“Doesn’t look like you’re here” she said, flipping the page yet again.
“Look, I swear I signed up” Felicia said holding her hands up reassuringly “Jesus, I spent so long working on this costume I can’t just not do the contest. Isn’t there something you can do?”
Felicia gave her best puppy dog pout, and knew when the clipboard woman sighed and flipped another page what her answer would be.
“Fine” she said “but you can’t be entered for a prize, all right?”
“Thank you soooooo much” Felicia said holding her palms together in mock prayer.
When Felicia was fourth in line she craned her neck to see who was on stage. The cosplayers were coming from both sides of the stage, so she couldn’t see half of them. As she craned, her breasts grazed up against the back of a Tenth Doctor’s head, causing him to freeze up. Felicia wasn’t paying attention, though. Her attention was firmly fixed on the person flexing and posing on stage.
It was a Spider-Man, punching and kicking imaginary foes to the tune of eye of the tiger. It was corny and silly as all hell, but Felecia knew as soon as she saw him that she needed to get in on the action. Like the cat she was, she slunk and slipped between people with purposeful grace, most not noticing her passage until she’d reached the front of the line. With a deep breath and a shake of her body, she pounced on her prey, striding out onto the stage, her head held high.
Immediately the crowd whooped and hollered, thinking she was a part of the show. The few seconds the Spider-Man thought the cheers were about him came and went in a flash. He turned and noticed Felicia walking towards him and froze, which only made the crowd laugh more.
“Uhh” was all he could get out before she was on him, her palm on his pecs, her mouth planted on his mask.
Just as Spider-Man reached out to grab her shoulders, she broke off, back flipping three times before landing in a super hero stance, flipping up her hair to reveal her smirking face.
“Hello there, Spider” she said loud enough for the audience to hear.
Spider-Man was getting into it now. He walked up to her, and she rose to meet him. Putting her hands on his shoulders she began to grind against him. Her hand went down to his crotch and felt him up. The guy spasmed once, then twice – disappointing, Felicia thought, but not surprising.
“Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up, big boy?”
Ashamed, the man scurried away off stage. She didn’t know who was under the mask. She didn’t want to know. For all she knew this could have been Ryan, but that didn’t matter now. In fact she could be barely bothered to remember him. Just another fling for Black Cat, that’s all he was.
The crowd roared, hands clapping wildly with approval. A few men howled. This was all they wanted from her, what all these lonely souls like her wanted – sex and the indulgence of their fantasies, and she was going to give it to them. Felicia stood, arms spread eagle, luxuriating in the cheers of her admirers. The hollow high gnawed at her insides, driving her to stay on that stage even as the stagehands moved in to usher her off. They loved her – no they didn’t love her, they loved Felicia. But she was Felicia, so it didn’t matter. The notion that she might not be sent a wave of terror through her mind, but it soon passed, and at least with her mask on they couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes.