The Sensitouch Challange by AutumnUnbound
What do university labs and Taobao have in common? Strange things come out of both of them. Now imagine, what if we put the two together…
Kelsey’s heart skipped a beat when her watch vibrated to announce the arrival of a message. This happened dozens of times every day without attracting her notice, but today she was waiting more eagerly than usual for a message. She tapped the watch and saw “Avalon Concierge: Package Received.” She scrolled, and saw the number she was hoping to see, confirming the arrival of her Sensitouch suit—assuming of course it was real, and not a scam. She messaged her boss that she was feeling sick and needed to leave early for the day. Her boss replied immediately, “Not a problem, you’ve been doing great lately, hope you feel better soon!”
“I hope I will,” Kelsey thought, smiling to herself, as she hopped in an Uber to get home as fast as possible. “Just maybe not for the reason she thinks…”
——
Every day, Ph.Ds around the world publish thousands of papers that get read by two or three peers and quickly forgotten. The 2012 paper, “A novel synthetic fabric exhibiting unique tactile properties” published by one Josephine Shivers, Ph.D. candidate at Canisius College in Buffalo, NY, seemed no different at first glance: yet another no-name academic at a no-name institution publishing a paper of interest to nobody. In fact, it was a bit more curious than that. While the first 35 pages, which described the synthesis of what Dr. Shivers initially called “Fabric J”, were entirely inaccessible to anyone without considerable knowledge of organic chemistry, quantum-scale photolithography, and advanced origami technique, the Test Results and Conclusions sections were rather more interesting.
Fabric J, it turned out, possessed several unique properties: The fiber strand could be drawn over a hundred times thinner than the finest nylon ever previously made, while being nearly as strong. Furthermore, the shape of the strand, viewed under an electron microscope, looked like a protein strand folded in on itself, allowing it to stretch in length by a factor of ten or more without any strain. These properties made Fabric J threads almost impossible to weave or knit using conventional techniques or equipment, so Dr. Shivers had resorted to doing so by hand to create a single square of Fabric J all of 6.7 centimeters across. But while small, it was eye-catching as it glowed with a sheen somewhere between satin and chrome.
And if you picked it up—well, that’s where it got interesting. In the hand, Fabric J felt like pure pleasure, soft and slippery and warm and buttery in a way that felt like it short-circuited your brain. When handed to a person, they would first touch it lightly, running their fingers over it, then make a “WOW” face as the hairs on the back of their neck would tingle. Then they would pull on it, realizing it could stretch to nearly half a meter square, while giggling like a little kid at the wondrous absurdity of it. Most would rub it up and down their cheeks while purring like a cat, then Dr. Shivers’ paper noted that about a third of test subjects would take the stretched out square of Fabric J and pull it over the top of their head, encasing it like a balloon while expressing amazement at how nice it felt. “Getting these subjects to return the fabric sample to the researcher was typically difficult,” the paper noted.
All of which is to say, Fabric J—Dr. Shivers later named it “Sensitouch”—was something quite fascinating that quickly became the talk of the Materials Science department, at least until spring break. Like many other promising discoveries, it turned out that Sensitouch was simply too problematic, not only to manufacture, but to clean, as it could only be washed in laboratory-grade distilled water at precisely 67 degrees celsius without losing all of its unique properties. Having successfully defended her thesis, Dr. Shivers accepted a job offer from a large defense contractor and disappeared from the academic world, her entertaining discovery soon forgotten.
Or so it seemed.
On the other side of the world, in a small industrial park in Shaoxing City, China, Hong Li, the owner of Keqiao Number 3 Athletic Apparel Specialties downloaded Dr. Shivers’ paper and stayed up all night in his office reading it. He was looking for some breakthrough to transform his small factory into a giant like Nike or Lululemon, and this fabric could be just the thing. Thought to be sure, Li’s interest was more than purely commercial, as one might infer from the fact that he was sitting in his office chair in the silent, empty factory, wearing a neck-to-toe Amoresy spandex catsuit in bright pink. Amoresy was in fact a competitor of Keqiao #3 Athletic Apparel, but Li was a fetishist of the the highest order, and as the saying goes, “game respect game.”
It took four years just to produce the first spool of Sensitouch thread, and five more to design machines that could knit it reliably. Hong’s workers and friends and family alike thought he was mad, as he plowed nearly all the profits from his otherwise moderately successful business into something he refused to even explain fully. But he paid and treated his workers well, so they were happy to play along, until finally late one night in January 2020, Li stood by his latest machine, wearing a blue satin Hiro Gato zentai, watching as the first full meter of Sensitouch fabric slowly emerged. The zentai was not merely for fun, as Li had discovered that touching and working with the fabric with bare hands was… too distracting to say the least. The machine continued to run, until the tube of fabric was nearly ten meters long, before a loud popping noise announced the machine’s failure.
But far from disappointment, any external viewer would have noted that Hong Li was jumping up and down with joy, as ten meters proved his concept was possible. With a few adjustments the weaving machine, which was made in Italy and cost most of a year’s profit, could knit a seamless tube of Sensitouch in the shape of a person, with a tiny hole in the back just below the neck. With the incredible stretch of Sensitouch, Hong Li imagined that a person—him—could easily open the hole, step in, pull the suit over him, and be covered from head to the tips of his toes and fingers in pure, seamless Sensitouch. At that moment, he didn’t care if he made billions from Sensitouch industrial belts, designer dresses, protective gear, or any of the dozens of other applications that seemed possible. If he got that one suit, he could die as the happiest fetishist in the world.
Li took the tube of Sensitouch and let it spill through his hands like water as it rippled and sparkled in the harsh light of the factory. There was much more work to do, but surely, he thought, a quick test couldn’t hurt? He walked back to his office, noting carefully that the factory was empty, and shut the door just in case. Faster than Clark Kent walking into his phone booth and emerging as Superman, Hong Li’s clothes hit the floor and he stepped inside the fabric tube. While it was only ten centimeters across, the incredible stretch of the fabric and his special knitting technique allowed it to easily stretch over him comfortably. No, not comfortably: unimaginably pleasurably, as he luxuriated in a sensation no human being before him could fully conceive. It took three orgasms over the next hour before the fatigue started to break through the trance-like state he was in.
A fourth, and then a fifth followed, the last devoid of anything except muscle spasms and sparks going off behind his eyes, and he realized what a ridiculous mess he’d made of himself—but he didn’t mind. In fact, he could have laid there, waiting to pass out from exhaustion and get up and try again in a few hours, except for one thought that entered his mind: this could be even better. As nice as it felt, just being wrapped in Sensitouch, a proper zentai suit would have to feel even better. That thought motivated him to somehow, painfully disentangle himself from the fabric tube, put his normal clothes back on—they felt like sandpaper on his skin now, almost painful—until he could make his way to the shower and make himself presentable to go home and get some sleep.
Hong Li had thought that it would take just a few days—a week maybe—to get the knitting machine restarted and configured to produce his masterpiece: the Sensitouch seamless zentai. In fact it took over six months, and it took every bit of his fetishist’s obsession with reaching the Mount Everest of his kink to push through one unforeseen obstacle after another, tens of thousands of dollars of broken parts, so many that the Italian manufacturer offered to send a technician to find out what he was doing wrong (and make sure he wasn’t reverse-engineering the machine), before it finally came to life once more, and this time, he saw two legs emerge from the feed rollers, the satiny shine unmistakeable, followed by a torso, two arms, and then, holding his breath, the head.
A soft chime and a blinking green light announced the program’s end. The suit looked perfect. Hong Li reached down and gently tugged on the suit, the hairs on his arm standing up as he felt the fabric glide through his fingers. Holding it up, he smiled, then turned it around, and looked for the opening in the back. At first he couldn’t find it, and worried if he had forgotten it in the weaving code, then wondered if the machine had failed, until he tugged hard, as if to rip the suit open—not that the fabric could easily be ripped, given its immense stretchability—and he saw the tiniest gap in the fabric: it was there, practically invisible, utterly perfect. And in a moment it would be covering him.
He had his shoes and shirt off before a thought crossed his mind: “maybe I shouldn’t be doing this alone.” Remembering how hard it was to separate himself from a simple sheet of the fabric, his mind began to swim with the possibility that lay before him. What if he passed out, had trouble breathing, or simply began to lose his mind in unimaginable pleasure? One time, five years ago, he’d gotten himself badly stuck in self bondage, and had managed to barely free one arm that, along with a long crawl across his apartment, got him to his mobile phone, where he sent a message to a kinky friend, who managed to talk her way into getting herself let into his apartment where she found Hong Li sprawled across the floor with the most pathetic and grateful look on his face. After cutting him free and waiting for him to clean himself up—the panic and very real helplessness of the situation had proven particularly stimulating to his imagination—she simply said, “if you ever want to do something like this again just tell me, your mother could not survive the shame of finding your corpse like this,” and walked out the door without another word.
So Hong Li took out his phone, and began typing in her name—Hui Ying—and her number came up. “You said if I ever did something like that again I should tell you, so here I am.” He hit send and waited several minutes until his phone buzzed
“Who is this?”
“The guy you saved five years ago,” he replied with a blushing emoji.
“What are you up to, Hong Li?”
“My old tricks,” he replied, with a photo of the Sensitouch suit attached.
“Curious,” the reply came. “What is that?!?”
“The most wonderful thing you could imagine.”
“Ok! You’re in luck, I just left my parents’ apartment and I’m free tonight. Don’t do anything stupid, wait for me.”
Two hours later, Li heard the bell at the main gate ring, and saw Hui Ying standing there on the CCTV camera. He buzzed her in, met her at the front door, and walked her up to his office. She was wearing a short pleated skirt that peeked out from beneath her coat, black tights, and chunky Mary Jane heels trimmed with lace, like an anime character. He wondered if she’d worn this look specifically to wind him up, or if it just came naturally to her. He’d always crushed on her, but figured himself too shy and average to be anything besides friends.
“Still a workaholic I see,” she said.
“Yes, but this time I’m motivated by something other than money.”
“Good boy,” she said, a whiff of dominance peeking out. “Hobbies are healthy for people like you, especially sexy ones. You’re still too tense for your own good. Now show me this stocking you made or whatever it is.”
Hong Li handed the suit over to her, and watched with a huge grin as she reacted.
“OH MY GOD,” she squealed, “What even is this, this feels amazing?”
“It’s a fabric called Sensitouch. A researcher in America invented it, but couldn’t figure out how to make more than a small piece of it. It took me ten years of work and millions of yuan to figure it out and produce this. Hui Ying was barely listening as she rubbed the fabric against her cheek and pulled and stretched on it.
“I can’t stop touching this, it just feels so good!”
“I told you it was something special.”
Hui Ying took off her purse and coat and set them down on a side table, and continued to pull at and marvel at the suit, pulling the arms out as she held it up. She pulled on them and it just kept stretching.
“I’m not sure I understand this,” she said, examine the head and shoulders, “are you supposed to put this on?”
Hong Li stepped over and felt for the tiny opening, pulling it apart to show her. “Right there, it will stretch over ten times its length so you get in through there.” Hui Ying held the head up and pulled it over her face, letting out a breathy moan as she reveled in the feeling and took a deep breath in. “OK, you can breathe through this like nothing but it feels so thick and warm, even though it’s so thin. Hong Li, you are a genius.”
Hui Ying put the suit down, reluctantly pulling her hands away from its seductive touch, and bent over to unbuckle the straps on her shoes. She stepped out of them, and then began pulling her shirt off before Hong Li, dumbfounded, could react.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think, dummy, I’m trying this suit on.”
Hong Li didn’t know what to say. As much as he couldn’t wait to feel the suit stretched over his body, encasing it in a perfect layer of sensory bliss, the idea of seeing Hui Ying in its embrace was hardly less attractive, and he wondered if it would have the same effect on her as him. Years earlier when she became the first person to whom he fully confessed his fetishes for soft and shiny spandex, leotards and catsuits, tights of every kind, he asked how they made her feel, and she said, “how does a pair of pants make you feel? I’ve been wearing clothes like that since my mother sent me to a ballet class. Mostly I like them in winter because they keep me from freezing to death. I guess I do like the way they feel though, but I never gave it much thought.”
“OK, but hold on for a second,” he said, motioning as if to stop her. She paused, a slightly annoyed look on her face. “I need to warn you, the effect this has… it’s overwhelming. You may not be able to control yourself.”
“Silly Li, what do you mean?”
Hong Li blushed and said, “I tried a test, something like this, six months ago, and I came five times before I took it off.” Hui Ying laughed as she stripped down to her bra and panties.
“You don’t think I’m a lost little fetish boy like you, do you Li? I just want to see how sexy I’ll look in this, maybe you should cover your eyes so I don’t give you a heart attack.”
Hong Li shrugged. “Be my guest then!”
Hui Ying picked up the suit, paused for a moment, and then turned her back to Hong Li as she slid off her panties and unbuckled her bra. “Don’t look you perv!”
“I’m a perfect gentleman!” Hong Li lied, as he admired Hui Ying’s lithe form. She groped around the suit until she found the tiny hole. “So you’re saying I just pull on the hole, until I can get though it?”
“That’s right, I can help if you want.”
“Turn around you creep,” Hui Ying teased, and pulled open the suit. “Wow, this is pretty amazing,” she said, as she stretched the hole until it was almost a meter across. She bent over, repeating a motion she’d made thousands of times in her life, and began pulling one leg of the suit up over her own. But it had never felt like this before, tingles of pleasure running up her back and neck, her lips clenched to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. She stepped the other foot in, pulling the lower half of the suit up and over her hips, before she paused a moment to let the feeling soak in as she pondered what to do next. She bent forward, then balled up her left hand and pushed it into the arm of the suit, pulling on the fabric until it reached the end. It terminated not in a glove with fingers, but just a sock, though the stretch allowed her fingers to move pretty freely. “Weird, this doesn’t have hands, huh?”
“I got lazy,” Hong Li replied, “I figured I would add those on later, I wanted to see if I could make the basic shape.”
Hui Ying repeated the movement for her right arm, and then stood upright as she pulled the suit up over her torso, until only her head was left uncovered. Her body seemed to be buzzing with pleasure and satisfaction, like waking up under thick piles of satin on a cold morning when you had nowhere you needed to be, like the hottest person in the room was staring at you, their facial expression loudly declaring their desire to fuck you. She was right: the suit made her body look amazing as it squeezed her and smoothed out her few imperfections under its smooth and shiny coating. She ran her encased hands up her hips, over her tummy, and finally over her breasts, squeezing them like a jealous lover as she giggled and moaned out loud.
“I told you,” Hong Li said, both enjoying the show and envious of the performer. “Pretty amazing, huh?”
“This is so good–” Hui Ying bit her lip as she pulled her hands off herself–“OK, now or never,” she said, as she gathered the edges of the opening and pulled the hood over her head. As she did, the two sides of the opening slipped out from between her encased fingers, and the opening drew itself shut, until it seemed to disappear, Hui Ying mmmphing in delight as it did.
“Whoa, this is so wild,” she said, as she ran her hands over her upper body and stretched and twisted in an erotic dance. “I thought I’d be able to see, but I can’t really.”
“I was wondering about that,” Hong Li replied. “How do you like it?”
“Like it, I LOVE it,” Hui Ying replied, though the way she was rubbing her crotch and pinching at her nipples made her answer redundant. A spasm of pleasure ripped through her, and her knees nearly buckled as Hong Li sprung to steady her. She fell into his outstretched arms as his body sang with surging endorphins as his hands slid from her shoulders down to her lower back. She happily snuggled into him with a giggle, the outline of a huge grin visible through the fabric of the hood as the outline of another body part began to appear on the front of Hong Li’s pants. Horrified Hong Li somehow pulled his hands off the girl and began to step back, but she leaned into his body. “Don’t you dare, Li,” Hui Ying said as she grabbed at his wrists and pulled his hands back until they cupped her butt. “You have no idea how good this feels. Hold me, Hong Li, feel me up like you do with your eyes.”
Hong Li’s shyness crumbled quickly before the sensory assault of Hui Ying’s body in the suit combined with her lusty moans and words of encouragement. His hands roamed up and down her back, appreciating the curves of her butt and thighs, as he felt Hui Ying’s arms slide around until one hand rested between her legs and another cupped a breast, and then both began to work furiously. Hong Li began to feel dizzy as blood rushed to both of his heads as one of his all-time top five crushes, a girl with a dominant streak he always fantasized about submitting to, squirmed like the neediest of submissive sluts in his completely unremarkable arms. She mewled and gasped as he felt her hands moving faster, and as her body began to jerk he pulled her in tighter, as if to restrain her, and she responded with a breathy “yes, yes, hold me down, I can’t stop, I can’t sto-OPPPP OHMIGOD OHMIGOD I’M CU–”
The sound that came out of Hui Ying was not of this earth, and the shock of the guttural scream nearly caused Hong Li to drop her, but something in him told him to hold on as the girl jerked in his arms like a puppet whose puppeteer got sucker-punched in the middle of a performance. Conveniently for Hong Li, the movement of Hui Ying’s hand rubbed over his crotch as well as hers, and he realized if this continued much longer he might join her. Hui Ying lurched and stroked once more at her erogenous zones triggering another volcanic orgasm as she screamed and cried and wet spots began to appear over her lips and between her legs, the sight of which sent Hong Li over the edge with an embarrassed but pleasure-filling groan. Another, slightly less earth-shaking orgasm rippled through her, and the screams turned to laughter, and finally sobs. Suddenly concerns, Hong Li carried the girl towards the couch in his office, and sat her rag doll-like form down as gently as he could.
“Ying, Ying, are you ok, do you need a doctor?” The girl shivered, sniffling and shaking and crying and laughing at the same time. Hong Li reached around, and felt for the seam behind her head to lift the hood off her. While his dominant feeling was concern, that didn’t prevent his hands from coming to rest subconsciously cupping her boobs. Hui Ying’s face was a mess of running makeup and drool and tears and hair going every which way, and she opened her eyes lazily, like someone waking from a dream they weren’t ready to leave.
“Doctor? I think I need a priest,” she replied.
Back in Brooklyn, Kelsey thanked her driver as he pulled up in front of her building and she bolted from the Prius like it was on fire. Dashing through the front doors of her building she was glad to see the concierge there.
“Home early today, Ms. Meyers?”
“Boss let me off early,” she lied. “I think you have a package for me?” The middle-aged man tapped on a keyboard and disappeared into a back room, emerging a minute later with a small padded mailer covered in scuffed shipping labels.
“Enjoy your afternoon,” the concierge said. “Planning on it,” Kelsey said with a smile as she headed towards the elevators. ‘If only he knew the half of it,’ she thought to herself.
Much like the package had circled half the globe to land in Kelsey’s hands, so too it had been a long journey that had brought her to this point. Outwardly, the 24-year-old graphic designer was just another introverted creative who’d sold out and joined a tech company whose product made her friends’ eyes roll when she tried to explain what it did. But unlike them Kelsey didn’t have rich parents so she needed the money. That was especially true one year earlier, when she got laid off with no warning and two weeks’ severance pay in April 2020. While her friends said she could just stop paying rent and not worry about getting evicted, everything Kelsey had seen in her life had taught her that deals like that always came with hidden catches. That’s how she, like so many of her peers, found herself one day signing on to OnlyFans as a creator.
Actually there’s a bit more to the story than that.
So, people see a quiet young woman minding her business on the subway, who mostly wears big sweaters and long skirts and other things that don’t generally reward the male gaze, and if they think of anything at all, it’s “asexual” if they’re not some Newsmax-watching boomer, or “dyke” if they are. What both miss is that there’s a difference between enjoying sex and wanting sexual attention from others, especially the general public, especially if you look like something other than the prom queen from a wealthy suburb of Atlanta. If the testimony of the collection of toys Kelsey accumulated by the end of college didn’t suffice to demonstrate that she took a deep and penetrating interest in exploring her body, the testimony of the girls who lived in the apartment next to her bedroom would eliminate any further doubt.
But while she could easily ride her magic wand vibrator to at least three or four screaming orgasms when the mood was right, attraction to other people was, well, complicated. Depending on the day she might fantasize about laying on a blanket in the park next to Zendaya’s Rue Bennet or being bent over her kitchen counter by Tom Holland, preferably dressed like the time he performed a lip-sync version of Rihanna’s Umbrella on TV. Just because she didn’t want to be some dudebro’s Becky didn’t mean she never got off to the image of kneeling in front of a gorgeous cock as it slid between her lips, but on a day to day basis her mind was more likely to wander looking at the woman sitting across from her on the subway, wondering if her partly-shaved head meant she was a top, or just mad at her father.
And more to the point, having grown up in a community where romantic relationships seemed to invariably be the thing that derailed the life plans of seemingly most of the adults she knew, from her father to her favorite teacher in high school, Kelsey had largely resolved to avoid them herself until, well–later. Then the pandemic hit and suddenly Kelsey’s already-socially-distanced world came almost completely unglued from the rest of humanity.
It started–as it often does–with feet. Like everyone she’d heard the stories of women who made six figures online without ever showing anything above their knees, and like everyone she quickly realized that even a fresh coat of nail polish and great lighting wasn’t going to make her more than the odd buck or two tip. So she did what she’d done all her life, and started looking for angles, and she quickly realized the sweet spot was weird fetishes. The audience for, say, stepping on cakes wasn’t as large as the one for skinny girls with Barbie-pink hair making the ahegao face while pounding their pussy with an 8-inch dildo, but it seemed like there were better odds of finding fifty subscribers willing to cough up ten bucks a week without seeing her in full frontal nudity, and that was all she needed.
But in fact, there were dozens, if not hundreds of girls stepping on everything–cakes, pies, ice cream sundaes, 12-piece KFC dinners–so she had to keep looking. Starting with a Google search result for “the top 100 weirdest fetishes” she began working her way down from the letter A, looking for something that she could safely do in her apartment, didn’t require magic, advanced technology, or xenobiology, didn’t require her to show her face, and seemed to have a following but didn’t already have a zillion creators covering it, and wasn’t deeply misogynistic. Kelsey made it though 20 letters of the alphabet before basically giving up, but decided to finish the list out of sheer boredom if nothing else, until she reached the letter Z.
Zentai?
“Well, that’s interesting,” she thought, as she looked at a picture of a model completely covered head to toe in shiny red fabric. She’d seen friends use the suits before for their cosplays, minus the hood, so she was familiar, though she’d never worn one herself–there was that whole “wearing a skintight bodysuit while kind of hating your body” thing to get over. But she’d downed a couple of her favorite edibles an hour earlier, so she was starting to get into a rather more… playful headspace, and before she could second-guess herself she’d clicked the buy now button on a full-body purple Amazon suit that Jeff Bezos duly delivered to her building the next day. Her first thought as she pulled the suit up her legs was “this isn’t so bad,” and as she finished zipping the suit up, minus the hood, she had to admit there was something almost cozy about it. She’d guessed well on her size and it was stretchy spandex anyway, and as she turned and posed in front of her mirror she marveled at how the suit revealed all her big curves while smoothing out the little ones in a way that made her feel almost good about herself.
Then the moment of truth: the hood.
The thought of it initially squicked her out–something about covering her face, being unable to breathe, turning her into an anonymous sex object to be admired by men (presumably) as they jerked themselves off felt exploitive, off. But then, the hood was what made it anonymous. So she pulled the back of the suit up and dipped her head down as she drew the fabric over her forehead and the bun she’d wound her hair into before starting. “That’s not bad at all,” she said, realizing she could easily see and breathe. She tucked a few stray strands of hair in then stretched her arms around and pulled the zipper all the way up, her eyes widening as the suit’s fabric tightened noticeably–though not uncomfortably–around her neck and head.
“Whoa, this is… so weird,” she said, running her hands over the contours of her body. “But, it’s kind of nice, too!” Like pretty much everyone does the first time they put on a zentai suit, Kelsey paced around the room, wiggling her body in various ways simply to take in the alien sensation of being totally covered in shiny slippery spandex softly squeezing her body. She flopped out onto her bed and began running her hands over her body, enjoying the way they glided smoothly over the curves of her hips and cupping her breasts. If she was totally honest with herself, she would have admitted to being a little turned on. And this was just the beginning.
Kelsey’s business plan proved to be right, and while the first few weeks of photos and live streams were awkward, she quickly started to find her footing, but more importantly, her self-confidence. While the anonymity of it initially repelled her, she quickly realized it, and the distance created by having miles of internet wiring between her and her audience, freed her to express her sexuality without fear of judgment. It’s not that trolls never showed up, but when they did, it felt like they were critiquing her purple alter-ego, and not her. Her subscriber base grew, not meteorically but steadily, and within six weeks it was paying her a solid thousand dollars a month.
She joined a Discord group for fellow creators, and quickly found herself becoming close online friends with a girl who shared her vaguely gothic sensibilities, but was quite a bit more… advanced than her, having been a stripper before the pandemic and not in the least bit reluctant about showing every part of herself to anybody willing to pay. A couple months passed, and slowly the city began to nervously inch its way out of quarantine. Chatting late one night and a couple dabs in, Kelsey quipped that they should do a shoot together, or something.
“Where r u,” her friend (who went by the handle Smashm0use) replied. “East coast,” typed Kelsey.
“Me too,” Smashm0use wrote. “NYC. You?”
Kelsey’s pulse quickened. In a few seconds, this had gone from an idle and very high thought to a very possible possibility.
“Weird, me 2,” Kelsey replied. “Brooklyn.” “For real,” Smashm0use–whose real name was Amanda–replied.
The girls initially met in a park, and found their online friendship worked just fine in the real world. Amanda enjoyed Kelsey’s wide-eyed curiosity, while Kelsey was relieved to finally have a mentor of sorts. As experienced as Amanda was, she’d never experienced zentai before, and after a few drinks at a cafe they went back to Kelsey’s apartment together. Kelsey fished out one of her favorite suits, a custom purple satin spandex zentai from Hiro Gato. Amanda was a few inches taller and narrower in some spots (though wider in others, thanks to a plastic surgeon in Miami), but still within comfortable stretching range.
“I feel like a superhero in this,” Amanda said. “It’s cool. Can you see with the hood on?”
“Mostly, though not as well,” Kelsey said, as she helped Amanda pull the hood over her head and zip it up.
“So you’re doing a hundred fifty subscribers just posing in this?”
“Uh-huh,” Kelsey replied.
“That’s really good,” Amanda said, as she unzipped and removed the hood.
“Well, I do some spicier stuff on live streams, like feeling myself up, or humping a pillow, but I’ve never shown any skin, or like actually came on camera, but I fake it a bit.”
“Welcome to the club,” Amanda laughed. “Have you ever done any bondage?”
“No…” Kelsey said. “I’ve never done that before…”
“But you’d like to,” Amanda completed her sentence, as Kelsey’s cheeks reddened slightly.
Amanda had to improvise, but within no time Kelsey found herself face down on her bed with her wrists tied together using the belt from her bathrobe, and her ankles cinched together with a wide letter belt.
“You’ve really never tried this before, not even playing cops and robbers as a kid,” Amanda asked.
“No, I’ve always been really shy… well, at least until now.” Kelsey spoke slowly, and Amanda recognized the dreamy look on her face as evidence the girl was floating off into subspace.
A week later Amanda came back with a tote bag filled with rope, leather cuffs, and several different gags for Kelsey to try on. While she enjoyed the look of the black leather and shiny metal cuffs, nothing felt half as good to Kelsey as the rope, which her friend wielded with real skill, knowing exactly where and how tightly to place it to restrict her movement without causing discomfort. This made Kelsey comfortable enough to try a hogtie, and she knew she was hooked right away.
“You should see how hot you look like this,” Amanda said. “Do you want me to film it?”
“Yeah, why not,” Kelsey replied.
“You need a gag though,” Amanda said, and fished out a large red rubber ball gag. “It will look better over the hood so you can see it, want to try it?” Kelsey nodded, and her friend kneeled on the bed and opened her mouth as Amanda stuffed it in and buckled it behind her head. Having the fabric of the hood stuffed into her mouth made her drool harder, and she could feel the face of the hood quickly grow wet. It wasn’t the only part that did. It was dirty, a little humiliating, and a lot hot. She tested the bonds gently.
“Try harder to get out,” Amanda said, and Kelsey responded by twisting her body as she giggled and groaned. The knots held fast. “You want them to see it’s real bondage, the kind you can’t get out of.”
After filming a few more minutes Amanda decided to let her out, even though she whined a bit. It was a lot for a first time, but the smile on Kelsey’s face as she pulled the hood down made her feelings clear. Amanda told her about working as a pro domme before the pandemic, and about some of her experiences as a rope bunny. They smoked a joint to decompress and after a while hugged and said their goodbyes along with a promise to get together again soon. There was a slight edge of sexual tension between them, but they kept it professional for the time being.
Kelsey edited the video and posted it the following day, and her subscribers went wild. Her material grew more hardcore as she explored limits of how overtly sexual her content could get without showing any skin. Amanda came back, and this time she put on a suit herself so they could stream the whole process of her tying up Kelsey. Once she had Kelsey gagged and tied in a tightly-arched hogtie, she pulled out her magic wand vibrator and waved it at the camera.
“This next part will be for sale soon,” she said, and then switched the stream off. “You ready for this, babe?”
Kelsey nodded. It would be her first time cumming on camera, and she was so ready for this. She loved the bondage and the helplessness and the feeling of display. With the suit between her and the world, she could lose herself and become the slutty alter ego who did everything that Kelsey couldn’t quite bring herself to. Amanda switched the vibrator on low and began working the girl over with it.
“I hope you’re not in a hurry, because I’m going to make you cum, but first I’m going to make you cry,” she said, pulling the head away just as Kelsey began to moan pleasurably behind the gag. Amanda worked her up to the edge over and over before pulling back, with Kelsey thrashing harder in frustration each time.
“Now I want to see if you can be a good girl,” Amanda said. “I’m going to play with you, and you need to keep from cumming until I say you’re allowed. Understand?”
Kelsey whined but nodded her assent. Amanda smiled so big you could see it through the face of the suit. She began applying the vibrator like before, but this time, she kept going, testing Kelsey’s limits as the girl’s frustration built to a new crescendo. Kelsey would try to wiggle herself away from Amanda’s assault, but Amanda kept the vibes coming. Just when it looked like Kelsey could take no more, Amanda pulled back.
“Let’s let you cool down for a minute,” and began applying the vibrator to every part of Kelsey’s body except between her legs until her breathing slowed, and she went back to work testing Kelsey. once again, she built her to a screaming, crying edge, before stopping. Just as she began a third round, Amanda saw Kelsey starting to give the hand signal for her safeword, and she said, “you’ve been such a good girl, I think it’s time all your fans saw you cum on camera for them,” and flipped the vibrator to high as she pressed it in. It only took seconds for the girl to erupt like a volcano. Amanda bent over and whispered into Kelsey’s ear, “can my pretty doll come for me again?” Kelsey mmmphed “yes please” in response followed a few minutes after by a second orgasm that Amanda almost cut short for fear the girl might sprain something. Finally Amanda looked over to the camera and said, “you’re welcome,” and shut it off, and hurried back to start releasing Kelsey.
Whatever it was, that video tapped into a stream of gold and within a month it had sold nearly 500 times for $20, which the two girls split evenly. Kelsey’s discord server swelled with fans eager to know more about the girl–girls–inside the suits. Kelsey’s relationship with Amanda took a personal turn one evening after a takeout dinner when instead of filming more content, Amanda said, “I want to fuck you silly,” and Kelsey practically leapt over the table.
Then in the spring of 2021, the girls went together to get their first Covid vaccines, and Kelsey could sense her world shifting slightly. She began applying for jobs once again, and before she knew it she had an offer from a great company, paying substantially more than her old job. She texted Amanda to say she had great news, and that’s when Amanda asked if she wanted to move to Miami with her. It was the end of a relationship that wasn’t really a relationship but might have become one if Kelsey had said yes. But Amanda’s world was that of a professional sex worker, and she’d increasingly fallen into the crypto scene, where she was becoming something of a courtesan. Their matching job offers (so to speak) were a sign from the universe, so they parted warmly. They stayed in touch, at first regularly, then less so as their lives grew farther apart.
Kelsey decided against shutting down her OnlyFans, but she switched it to free as she stopped posting new content regularly. Her movie clips still sold at a low but steady clip, and every couple months she’d Venmo Amanda a few hundred bucks, until one day Amanda said, “babe, it’s all yours from here out.” She chatted occasionally with her discord followers, as it never failed to boost her self-esteem or be an effective time-waster when she was bored or needed a break from work. In time, the server turned into something of a gathering place for zentai enthusiasts, and so Kelsey left it open as a sort of public service as the vast majority of folks on it were respectful and chill. Then one day in early 2022, she posted an announcement that she’d decided to retire, and in 30 days would shut her OnlyFans down and hold a vote to choose which of her mods to turn the Discord server over to.
In the midst of a stream of messages congratulating her or begging her to stick around, Kelsey received a DM from a longtime member who only occasionally surfaced to post compliments any time Kelsey posted new content. The DM began, “Retire? Not before you see this,” and Kelsey hesitated a moment before clicking, ready to cover her eyes. But instead of the feared dick pic–or worse–there was a video clip of what appeared to be a girl, in China given the surroundings and the language being spoken, covered from head to toe in a black zentai like nothing Kelsey had seen before, and she had seen everything in that world–or so she thought. The girl was standing upright and writhing like someone completely lost in her own world, oblivious to the cameraman circling her. Kelsey watched as the girl’s knees buckled and crumpled to the carpet, kneeling as she furiously groped herself to a climax whose intensity finally knocked her out cold. That’s when Kelsey realized her hand had made its way between her legs and snapped it back.
“Looks like she had fun” Kelsey replied.
“Check out #soft-n-tight,” the member replied, referring to one of the main channels in Kelsey’s server. Kelsey clicked over and saw that the member had posted the video there as well, where it had set off a huge debate as to whether the suit could be real or not. One of the Chinese-speaking members helpfully posted an English translation. The cameraman claimed to be the maker of the suit, which he claimed felt so good that it would more or less break the brain of any person who wore it. “Once you put the suit on, you can’t think straight, and will just keep touching yourself until you pass out.”
“Somebody needs to get Elon to make this real,” one poster wrote, but the overwhelming sentiment was that it was just typical porn artifice, though all appreciated that the model’s enjoyment seemed genuine, and the suit was at least visually unique.
The member then posted a second video, showing another model getting naked as the cameraman–wearing black nitrile gloves–hands a bundle of black fabric to her. As soon as her hands touch it, her eyes went wide as she giggled with surprise. “Oh wow, this is–I can’t describe it,” she said, as she started petting the bundle of fabric. The cameraman then took the bundle and held it up, showing that it was a full bodysuit, and then felt around until a hole appeared in the back of the suit. At this point the forum commenters started to comment that this was either real or some strangely good vfx.
“Now remember the game,” the cameraman said, holding up a large bundle of renminbi which he placed on a table in front of the model. “After you put the suit on, you have ten minutes to pick the money up and walk out of the room, and you can keep the money.” The girl laughed, “that’s it, just walk out the door?”
“That’s right,” the man said. “Ten thousand yuan, all yours.”
“This should be easy,” the girl said, as she picked up the suit and dipped a slender leg through the opening and a shiver rippled across her body. She paused and said, “wow, you are going to sell a lot of these stockings.” The cameraman reminded her the timer had started so she should get the rest of the suit on. “Oh, I won’t run out of time,” the girl said confidently, as she stepped in with her other leg and pulled it up. As soon as the fabric flowed up between her legs and over her butt, she gasped and a hand flew over her mouth to stifle a moan. “This is really crazy, how does it feel like this?”
“Keep going,” laughed the cameraman, as the girl bent over and pulled the suit up towards her chest. “OK, I have to see what this feels like,” the girl said as she slid her left arm down the sleeve and pulled it up. “Oh, the hands are like socks,” she said as she felt around the fingerless mitts. She slid her other arm in, and began running her hands over her body, giggling at the sensation.
“I’ll help you with the hood,” the cameraman said, as he walked over and pulled the opening in the suit up and over her head. The stretch in the suit was amazing, as it seemed to easily open to accommodate the model’s head but then immediately closed behind her leaving no visible opening. The suit seemed to glow with a satiny sheen, almost but not quite opaque, and it clung tightly to the model’s every attractive curve. The model gasped in surprise. “Ooh, I can’t see!”
“Just take the hood off, then, and take the money,” the cameraman said.
“OK, this does feel really good,” she said, as her hands roamed up and down her shiny form, lingering sensually between her thighs, cupping her breasts, and pinching at her nipples as she giggled with delight. “How much time do I have left?”
“Eight minutes.”
“Hey, if I take the money, can I keep this suit too,” she asked.
“Sure,” the cameraman replied.
Several more minutes passed as the girl’s hands continued to work her over, now progressing clearly from exploration to stimulation. “Five minutes,” the cameraman said. The model moaned in frustration as she willed her hands off her erogenous zones and began feeling behind her neck for the hole to remove the suit–and failed.
“Wait, it’s too slippery, I can’t feel it!”
“Four minutes,” the cameraman said, as the model’s hands went back to massaging her body as a series of contented and aroused moans escaped between her lips.
“You tricked me,” the model said, “you glued the suit closed or something!”
“No I didn’t,” the cameraman said, “but I tell you what, since it seems like you can’t get the suit off by yourself, I’ll give you another way to win.” He then appeared in the frame as he placed a large pillow covered in what looked like the same fabric in front of the girl. “Since you told me you like to get off by humping pillows, I brought you one. All you need to do is ride this until the time runs out without having an orgasm, and you can have half the money.”
“Four minutes,” the girl asked, her voice hot and bothered.
“Actually just three minutes now,” the cameraman replied, as the girl knelt down and straddled the pillow. “Should be easy!”
The girl rocked forward and her head rolled back as her body shuddered in pleasure, the kind that couldn’t be faked easily. Kelsey’s hand had made its way under the waistband of her skirt and was gliding its way between her legs over her black tights as she watched the girl rock back and forth as she pinched her nipples.
“Can’t–no, I can’t–” the model began to say as a hand trailed down to her crotch. “Can’t stop–fuck–no, no, FUCK,” and then screamed as an orgasm tore through her. She bounced on the pillow and continued rubbing herself furiously as she cried out in ecstasy. The cameraman walked over and with his gloved hands, opened the suit and pulled the hood down. The model looked up at him, her face stained with sweat and tears and running makeup, the look in her eyes speaking of shame, of humiliation, of satisfaction, and need.
“How much time do I have left,” she said, pinching a nipple.
“You can stay as long as you want,” he laughed.
“Can you put the hood back on,” she mewled, and the video ended.
Meanwhile Kelsey’s discord fans were going absolutely bananas as a furious debate broke out between those who thought the video was all done with vfx, others who thought it was just a performance, and a few who mostly just wanted to believe it was all real and such a thing existed. Whatever it was, they all wanted more video, but the member who’d shared it said those were the only two videos of it that they had.
“But I have something better,” the member wrote. “A proposition for our lovely host.”
Kelsey’s eyebrow raised. Another member replied, “wait, don’t tell us you have one of those suits, DO YOU?”
“No, but I know how to get one, and I can’t think of a better person to send it to than her.”
Immediately a chorus of replies erupted, all begging Kelsey to do it. Finally, she replied.
“Love you guys, but I told you I’m retired.” Though deep down, she had to admit, she was more than a bit curious. The crowd kept begging her. “Make it worth my time,” she wrote, and members started pledging money. One of her longtime mods agreed to be the bank, and before she knew it the total had reached over a thousand dollars. By the next day, it was five thousand, and finally she wrote, “OK, you guys win, I’ll do one livestream, and after that I’m deleting everything. Now somebody tell me how to get one of these suits.”
A DM appeared in her inbox from the member who had started this whole episode. It contained an email address to a Chinese webmail service. “Tell them you were referred by guanxi808, and are looking to purchase a merchandise sample.”
“What’s with the men in black stuff, it’s just a zentai suit,” Kelsey replied.
“Thank Xi Jinping, the guy in China who makes them is nervous about getting arrested as some kind of pervert.” Understandable, Kelsey thought.
Kelsey sent an email to the address from one of her anon accounts. The next day, a reply came.
“The sample piece cost ten thousand yuan, please send to alipay address and include your shipping.” Ten thousand yuan! “That’s like fifteen hundred dollars,” Kelsey said. She wasn’t ready to spend that much, especially when this whole thing was starting to smell like a scam. Then an hour later her phone binged and she opened it and saw a notification that the forum member had sent $1400 to her CashApp.
“OK Mr. Mysterious,” Kelsey replied to him. “You seem to know a lot more than you’re letting on.”
“How do you know I identify as a Mr.?”
“Fair,” Kelsey replied. “Just an educated guess.”
“No offense taken ;)”
“Did you have something to do with making those videos you posted,” Kelsey asked.
“No, a friend shared them with me, and I tugged on the thread,” the mysterious poster replied. Kelsey decided to not ask too many more questions. She had known other SWers who’d gotten huge tips, thousands of dollars, and usually there were strings of some kind attached, either pressure to give them special access, or they’d dangle the promise of more where that came from in return for some sort of intimacy. Being courteous but taciturn seemed to be the most effective way to defuse that sort of dynamic. In any case, she sent the money to the Alipay address, and a couple days later received an EMS tracking number.
Then the wait began, as the package began its slow journey halfway around the world, the anticipated delivery date a month out. While Kelsey’s discord members scoured the web for more evidence of the magical orgasm-inducing suit, she ignored the whole thing and focused on her normal IRL life. Then one day at work, she checked her phone and found several Telegram messages waiting for her–from Amanda. It seemed her onetime collaborator, paramour, and friend was paying NYC a visit later that month, and she wanted to try and catch up and grab drinks or something while she was blowing through town. Kelsey smiled, and thought that if nothing else it could restock her collection of stories with which to shock her much more vanilla professional friends. A day or two of Amanda every six months was exactly the amount Kelsey wanted in her life. They made plans to meet up at one of their favorite haunts on Thursday the 23rd, around 10pm. Kelsey would have preferred Friday night but Amanda apparently would be busy tying some big-shot executive up for $$$$ that night, so Thursday it was.
As it happened, the package arrived Thursday around noon.
While Kelsey had mostly ignored the furious torrent of discussion in her server, a week earlier one member had turned up a paper by one Dr. Josephine Shivers, describing a substance she called “Fabric J.” Suddenly the general vibe of skepticism that had emerged over the mysterious videos began to turn, as posters grappled with the idea that this miracle material might actually be real. Besieged with messages, Kelsey finally posted that she was shutting all notifications off, and would post an update as soon she received the suit and was ready to do a reveal. The members were THIRSTY.
As Kelsey rode the elevator up to her apartment she debated streaming a full, live unboxing video, but then thought better of it. She could always open the package, inspect it, and tape it shut and pretend. A big part of being successful at this game was knowing how to fake authenticity. And the truth was, she was busy and wanted to hit the gym and then get ready to meet up with Amanda, so the mystery suit–apparently called “Sensitouch” if the obsessives on her Discord were right–would have to wait for tomorrow. She hadn’t told anyone it was coming that day anyway. But, she was curious. As the door to her apartment closed behind her, she quickly dumped her purse and jacket on the couch and unzipped her boots as she made for the kitchen and fetched a paring knife, which she used to carefully slice open the padded mailer. Inside was a black plastic zip-top baggie, and a folded sheet of paper, which read “IMPORTANT” on the outside.
She pulled out the printed sheet and unfolded it. It began,
“CONGRATULATIONS ON PURCHASE THE SENSITOUCH SUIT. THIS SPECIAL PRODUCT IS THE PROUD ACHIEVEMENT OF MANY YEARS OF WORK BY A LOVER OF THE ART OF «ZENTAI».” It continued to describe, in mostly comprehensible English, how to put the suit on, wash it, store it, and most importantly–it was very specific about this–how to take it off. “«SENSITOUCH» IS IMPOSSIBLE TO BE REMOVED BY THE WEARERE. ONCE DRESSED IN THE SUIT, A FRIEND SHOULD BE AVAILABLE TO ASSIST WHEN IT IS TIME REMOVE THE SUIT. WEARER WILL NOT BE ABLE TO REMOVE THE OWN SUIT. IT IS ALSO RECOMMEND YOUR FRIEND WEAR THE GLOVES, TO PREVENT DISTRACTION REMOVING THE SUIT. PLEASE BE CAREFUL AND ENJOY.”
Kelsey sniggered. Surely this was all part of the lore, she thought, as she unzipped the bag. Usually upon doing so she was greeted by a pungent whiff of cigarette smoke or chemical stench, but she stuck her nose in the opening of the bag and got nothing. At least it was high quality? She reached in, and as soon as her hand contacted the bundle of shiny black fabric, her eyes widened.
“OK, wow… this does feel really nice,” she said out loud as she fished the suit out and held it up. It looked exactly like the one in the video, and while she was able to touch it without completely losing her sanity like the models in the video seemed to, she had to admit that the feel of it was completely unique, and yes, sensual. She decided then and there that she needed to at least try it on, see how it felt and looked, and then she could rush off to the gym for a quick workout before meeting up with Amanda. It would only take a few minutes, since she was going to be changing out of her office outfit anyway, she reasoned. It only took a few minutes before her skirt, top, bra, tights, and panties hit the floor, as she sat on her bed and felt around for the opening in the back of the suit. The more she handled the fabric, the nicer it felt. She rolled one leg up like a stocking and fed her leg in. The sensation was difficult to describe, as it had a look almost like latex in person, but the feeling was like satin on freshly-shaved legs, only a thousand times more so. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as a sensory meridian response sparked up and down her spine.
‘What if this is actually real’ crossed her mind for a hot second before the desire to wrap her whole body in that feeling shouted it down. ‘It’s just fabric, it can’t control me,” Kelsey though, as she rolled the second leg up and pulled the suit up and over her hips. “I wonder what this is going feel like against my–EEEP!” Kelsey gasped as the fabric flowed over the lips of her vagina, reflexively squeezing her thighs together, whether to avoid the sensation or demand more of it–who could say? Not Kelsey, whose brain was pegged at 100% as she closed her eyes and image of a dozen lovers holding her legs with velvet gloves as they teased her with patient and skillful tongues filled her imagination and she broke out in a fit of giggles. She paused, both to enjoy the moment and make sure her feet were still touching the ground, as any doubts about the suit’s capabilities disappeared in a hazy, strawberry-toned erotic glow. She walked over to her full-length mirror, the lower half of her body a symphony of tactile joy, and marveled at how good the suit made her look, every blemish and hint of cellulite smoothed into curves polished to perfection. This would set haute couture runways on fire, she thought, if the models could make it without falling over every six feet.
Another intrusive thought: “stop now, while you still can.” Kelsey ran her hands over the curves of her hips, and in that moment felt absolutely perfect, she loved how she looked, she loved how she felt, she wanted nothing more except–could this feel and look even better with the rest of the suit on? There was no doubt or hesitation as she bent forward and almost dove in to the suit’s opening with both arms. The sensation sent her head reeling and before she could catch herself she collapsed to the floor, a giggling sparkling mess. She would have felt stupid, and ashamed, but her mind had long since crossed the bridge to the place where any whiff of shame and humiliation poured gasoline on her flaming libido.
Whatever thoughts she’d harbored of going to the gym, crossing to Manhattan to meet Amanda, all those were gone, as the girl used the rapidly-diminishing stock of self-control to will herself up and off the floor and over to her bed, where she could properly lose herself completely. She flopped out across the bed, and reached up, laughing at her sock-covered hands, and pulled the hood up and over her head, the fabric slipping out of her hands as it cleared her hair bun. Kelsey marveled at the feeling of the suit drawing itself closed around her back, almost as if it knew its purpose. The suit squeezed every inch of her body exactly as tight as it could, right to the point just before it started becoming less comfortable. She wondered if she could get the suit off, and reached behind her head, only to realize just like the model that there was nothing there to grip, not least with her hands covered in the same liquid gloss as the rest of her. It was like the time she took three hits from a friend’s bong, right before the friend said, “oh wait, did I say 5% THC? I think this was the 25% strain,” and Kelsey could feel the rug of reality being pulled out from under her.
Only this time, there was no concern, no hesitation, no clinging to the edge of the cliff, she just let go and broke out in a huge grin as her hands made the rounds of every spot her body loved to be touched. Somewhere between the third and the fourth orgasm, an hour or so in, the ego of the girl known as Kelsey blinked out of existence as her body collapsed into an erotic neutron star and prepared to go supernova. Understandably, in that state she did not hear the sound of someone knocking at her door, or a few moments later, of the electronic lock opening after the knocker supplied the correct code. The door closed, and the tapping of high heels echoed off the polished surfaces of the apartment as their wearer moved haltingly towards Kelsey’s bedroom before pausing and reaching down to slip the red-bottomed shoes off, and proceed silently on sheer black-stockinged feet.
The visitor’s face lit up with delight as she saw a pile of what had to be Kelsey’s clothes on her sofa. “Looks like I timed it right,” she said, mere seconds before a series of ecstatic and animalistic moans echoed out from Kelsey’s bedroom. The visitor closed the distance quickly, pausing at the threshold to admire the display of erotic abandon coming off a thermonuclear climax spread out on the bed before her.
The consciousness that couldn’t quite remember it was named “Kelsey” dimly registered the feeling of hands around its head, but was unconcerned by it as it ran its hands over its pussy and cupped a breast while pinching at its nipple. “You are completely lost, aren’t you girl,” the visitor said as she reached down with leather-gloved hands and pulled the hood up and off, revealing the face of a girl who’d cummed her way to the asteroid belt and back. The girl realized that the warm and cozy feeling no longer wrapped her head, and her eyes slowly opened, like a doll whose batteries were running down, and her hands stopped playing across her body.
“You don’t have to stop for me,” the visitor said, “I was enjoying the show.”
The fog lifted just enough from Kelsey’s eyes as the grinning face of the visitor came into focus over her.
“Amanda,” Kelsey said, her voice groggy. “What are–are you here?”
“Did you think I would miss this,” Amanda said. “Especially when I’m the one who set this all up?”
“Wait,” Kelsey said, her mind struggling to choose between logical thought and the pleasant (if increasingly sore) sparks that could fly from her nipples every time she squeezed them, “it was you who posted the videos?”
“Funny the things you discover when you hang out with fetishists who own private jets,” Amanda said. “I thought you might enjoy this.”
“You were right,” Kelsey said, her speech still dazed from exertion, pleasure, and a bit of dehydration. “How did you get in?”
“You never took me off your visitor list,” Amanda said, as she watched Kelsey roll her head back as her hand slid between her legs. “Do you even realize you’ve been masturbating this whole time you’re talking to me?”
Kelsey’s face somehow turned a shade redder as a sleepy smile crossed her face. “No, but I don’t think I care.” Amanda smiled and leaned over to open a drawer in Kelsey’s nightstand.
“Good, because I see you still keep your wand where you used to. I hope it’s charged,” she said, as she clicked the switch on the pink vibrator and grinned mischievously as it rumbled to life. Amanda leaned back over and started reaching for Kelsey when the girl interrupted her.
“Wait, can you-”
“What is it,” Amanda said, pausing. Dubious consent, yes, implied consent, very yes, consensual non-consent, very very YES, but consent above all.
“Could you um, tie me up?”
Amanda’s smile answered. She saw the ropes she’d used more than once to tie Kelsey up in that same nightstand drawer.
“And, uh… put the hood back on?”
“You really like this, don’t you?”
“You would too,” Kelsey said. “Though I don’t think you could be a domme while wearing this.”
“Good thing I’m a switch then,” Amanda said, “at least for some people.” She reached down to pull the hood back over Kelsey’s orgasm-drunk face.
“Wait, one more-” Kelsey said, and Amanda paused once more. “What is it, are you sure you want to keep going” she asked gently. Kelsey nodded so hard the bed shook.
“Yes, but could you get me a drink of water first?”