Beneath the veil

by Ghostly Writer - ghostlywriter@hotmail.com


Chapter 1: Preparation


He had an ordinary life, until a Saturday morning in November.

He'd slept in that day, as he would normally. The insistent buzz of the
door woke him from a deep sleep. He pulled himself out of bed, grabbed his
robe, and stumbled down to the front door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. A
quick glance through the spyhole told him what he expected; it was the
postman, brandishing some sort of package.

He opened the door and winced - the wind was cold, and his robe was little
protection. "Package for you, sir," the postman said, trying to look
cheerful. He held out a box, two feet square in size, brown and sealed
with tape. He took it, puzzled, and then saw his name and address on the
top. Obviously he did have the right place. Quickly he signed for the
package, and then went back inside.

Throwing off his robe, he climbed back in bed, trying to get warm again.
He wasn't trying to go back to sleep, however. The package had brought him
wide awake. Using his fingernail he slit the tape holding the box shut,
and pulled it open. On top was a sheet of paper, thick and expensive
looking. There were two words written on it, in black calligraphic script
- 'With Compliments'. Now he was even more confused. He tossed the paper
aside and found a wrapped piece of polystyrene, the kind used to pack
delicate equipment. It went all the way to the edges of the box. Using his
fingers, he felt around the edges, and pulled upwards. The polystyrene
came away, revealing the box's contents.

He gave out a gasp of horror when he first saw inside, thinking someone
was playing a sick joke. But then he looked more closely, and became
puzzled. There was a head in the box. He was looking straight down on the
top of the skull. Brown, fine hair fell down on each side. Reaching in, he
took hold of the hair, and pulled up. To his surprise, the whole head came
out of the box, and if felt light in his hands. To his relief, he didn't
find a bloody stump where the neck should be - but he didn't find a neck,
either.

He pushed the box to one side and stared in shock and amazement at what he
held in his hands. It was a woman's head - well, a cast of a woman's head.
She had plain, unremarkable features, but her eyes were slightly
mysterious, her eyebrows low. The brown hair was cut in a bob style, and
fell down to just below the chin. In the half-darkness of his bedroom, her
eyes were just dark pits before him.

"What the hell is going on," he muttered to himself.

* * *

His name was ordinary - for the purpose of this record, it's Bryan. He
lives alone, in an ordinary flat in an ordinary area of London.

He has a girlfriend, Fay, who he's been seeing for about three months.
They get on well, like the same things, and have reasonable sex. She works
as an ad agency buyer, and he work in ad sales - so they're even
compatible when it comes to work.

He's never been into anything weird. On Halloween he stays in, but keeps a
stash of sweets for the kids who come around. He likes parties but doesn't
go to many, he enjoys good company but he has a small circle of friends.

No-one he knew would send him a woman's head through the post. At least,
that's what he thought.

He got out of bed and pulled back the curtains, then turned back to his
new possession. When he picked it up again, he was surprised once more.
There were no eyes. He looked closer at the neck, and realised something
else; this wasn't a cast. The skin of the neck ended, and underneath was a
styrofoam head, the kind you occasionally see in women's salons. Exploring
further, he realised this wasn't a cast at all. He looked at the back of
the head, and parted the hair. Feeling around on the skin, he found a
seam, and an edge, which he tugged at. He felt some resistance, but with
two hands, he was able to pull the seam apart. There was a ripping sound,
and he realised the head was sealed with Velcro. It separated, and to his
astonishment, fell off the styrofoam head.

Moving the styrofoam head to one side, he looked at what was in his hands.
It was soft, pliable - he held it up and sniffed it. Rubber, latex of some
kind. He turned it around and looked in the non-existent eyes. The face
stretched out when he pulled at it.

It was a mask.

A mask, which was designed to be worn. Which had been sent to him.

He began to explore more carefully. Whoever had designed it was extremely
talented, he thought. The skin was incredibly realistic looking. The hair
was attached firmly to the scalp. The eyebrows and cheeks were
realistically detailed, and the lips were round, slightly soft and red. He
turned it over once more, pulling the rear apart. The seam ran from the
edge of the mask, at the neck, right up to near the top of the head. The
hair attached covered it sufficiently, so that when he wore it, no-one
would realise it was a mask.

He stopped himself suddenly. What was he thinking? Wear this thing? He
looked down at himself, his male frame, slight bulges where he didn't want
them. As if he could ever pass for a woman. As if he would ever want to
pass for a woman. No, it was absurd.

He still picked up the mask though, and looked into the interior,
wondering what it might feel like. He could see the woman's features,
inside out, looking back at him. Surely it couldn't hurt, he thought.
After all, there was a world of difference between wearing it, and trying
to pass as a woman. He walked to his bathroom, taking the mask with him.
There was a mirror there, the only one in the flat - he'd never been
particularly vain. It was a few feet across, and as he stood there looking
at himself, the mirror's view ended just below his chest. He lifted up the
mask and looked at it in the mirror. It seemed lifeless. Harmless.

He shrugged. It couldn't hurt. Lifting the mask towards his face, he
pulled apart the edges, and pushed his face inside. It was dark and hot
for a moment. Air rushed past his ears as he kept pulling the mask into
place. He could hear a soft rustling, and realised he had his eyes closed.
He opened them, and with his hands, began to press the mask down over his
features. His eyes settled into place behind hers, his nose slipped into
the imitation one; his chin sat comfortably where it should. Tugging, he
got the ears into place, and then pulled tightly at the back of the mask,
bringing the seam together, and pressing down on the Velcro seal. It took
hold, and he felt the mask adjust over his head to the new feel of his
face inside it.

He looked at the woman's face in the mirror. It still looked like it had
before, when it had first come out of the box. It didn't feel
uncomfortable, but instead quite relaxing, natural. He couldn't help but
smile, and was astonished to see the change in the features before him.
They moved fluidly, without a wrinkle or a line to betray the fact that
this was latex, not flesh, that was expressing pleasure. He gasped in
amazement, and watched her gasp - then smile again, widen her eyes, and
finally throw her head back and let out a cry of laughter.

It was perfect. He took a step closer to the mirror, examining the
features even closer. There wasn't a blemish to be found anywhere. He
began making faces, each one more silly than the next, just to test this
new-found face. Not a flaw.

"Hello," he said to himself, in his own voice. Her lips moved smoothly,
forming the sound that came from his throat. "My God... it's incredible,"
he said, touching his cheek as he looked at himself. Smiling, he blew
himself a kiss - and that was when he realised, he was beginning to get
extremely aroused.

He didn't know what it was. He'd never cross-dressed before, never had any
urge to do so; but he did know that he loved watching women dress, loved
watching them get ready to go out. Fay was often amazed, if she left after
they made love, that he would jump from the bed ready for action once
more, after watching her pull up her tights and slip into a skirt. It just
turned him on. Perhaps that was part of what caused his erection then. It
was the creation of an illusion. Just like when he watched a woman put on
lipstick, or pull on a stocking. Now he was creating the illusion.

He half-ran to his bedroom and grabbed his robe, threw it on, and ran back
to the bathroom. With the robe wrapped tightly around him, up to his neck,
he could pass for a woman. It was a woman's face, a woman's hair before
him. He tossed his head back, felt the hair fall around his neck. he
smiled to himself, blew himself kisses, let his finger fall provocatively
on his lips. He was driving himself into a frenzy.

He took a step closer to the mirror, and without taking his eyes off the
beautiful female image before him, he reached inside his robe with one
hand and began to jerk himself off. He started with long, steady strokes,
but he could feel he was ready to come, and soon. He whipped the robe
aside, and moaned in anticipation, which caused him even more excitement
as it was her who moaned, her who threw her head back and cried 'Yes', her
who bit her lip, and her who groaned and shuddered as he came, shooting
his milky semen into the basin below the mirror.

He stood for a few moments, panting, trying to get his breath back,
glowing with satisfaction. Finally he looked up at the face that had
gotten him so hard. It was still there, breathing heavily. He felt a pang
of guilt, but wasn't sure why. Unconsciously, he reached up, and pulled
apart the seams of the mask with both hands. With a Velcro rip, they came
apart. He closed his eyes and pulled, and the mask slipped off easily. he
opened his eyes again and saw his own face in the mirror. His hair was
dishevelled, his eyes gleaming - and there was a smile on his face.

* * *

He didn't throw away the mask.

Instead, he carefully packed it back into the box it came in. It was less
than three hours before he took it back out, put it on once more, and
brought himself to climax again. He did the same thing four times more
that day.

When he woke Sunday morning he knew that this was trouble. Nothing had
ever done this to him - no woman, no image in the media. Nothing. And now
he had in his possession this mask, this thing, that drove him wild
whenever he put it on. He began to wonder how long he could wear it for,
what he could wear with it to complete the illusion. He couldn't believe
the thoughts he was having. A day previously, the sexiest thing he knew of
in the world was watching Fay put on her lipstick, as she sat at her
dressing table in bra, panties and hold-up stockings. Now he wanted to be
in that position himself. He wanted to be the creator of the illusion.

Late Sunday night he pulled on the mask once more, and lay in bed with it
on, feeling how the hair felt against the pillow. He soon became hard
again, and after he came, he fell straight asleep.

He woke up on Monday morning and almost screamed aloud when he saw himself
in the mirror. Ditching the mask, he ran the hottest shower he could
stand, and then doused himself in cold for two minutes before he jumped
out, shivering. That kept him under control long enough so he could pack
the mask away and go to work.

All that day he found himself staring at other women. He didn't look at
them in a sexual way, even though he found many of them attractive.
Instead he was looking at them as objects, staring at their faces, their
movements. He wanted to know how they made their faces look that way, how
they dressed. He did this in a casual way, almost removed from his own
reality. It was only when someone spoke to him that he remembered where he
was, what he was doing.

He thought about his own feelings for a long time that evening. He finally
realised he had come to the cross-dressing experience from the reverse
angle. Transvestites spent their time trying to perfect a female image,
but the one thing they couldn't alter, without the aid of surgery, was
their faces. That, he had covered. Now he wanted to see what the rest of
the experience was like. What it might be like to really be a woman. To
complete the illusion, and live in it, even for a short while.

He started to formulate a plan. He would ask Fay to come over, spend a
weekend or two with him. Then he'd suggest, subtly of course, that she
start leaving a few things behind, make it easier for her. Finally, when
she'd left enough things, he could try to pass as a woman for real. He was
convinced that with his mask, he wouldn't have any problems.

As soon as he arrived back at his flat, he went straight to the cupboard
containing the box. Quickly, he pulled it out and pulled off the
polystyrene - and saw nothing. The mask was gone.

He frantically checked the rest of the box, wondering where the mask could
have gone to. He found a few scraps of latex, almost like scrapings. It
was if, except for the mount it had come on, the mask had just disappeared
into thin air.

He checked the front door - it was solid. All of the windows were locked
and seemed untouched, and nothing else in the flat was missing. But the
mask was still gone, leaving only the styrofoam head behind as evidence
that it was ever there at all.

* * *

By the end of the week, he was almost beginning to doubt his own sanity.
Fay had been around several times, and they'd had some average sex each
time; it was only the one time she stayed over, and he watched her
preparing for the day, that he pulled her back into bed. They made love
urgently then, his thoughts only on the mask.

Saturday came around again, but this time, he didn't sleep in. He'd been
watching the postal delivery that week, and had realised that there were
several different people who deliverd. That meant he could get a different
postman on a Saturday - and perhaps it would be the same one as last week.

Sure enough, the buzzer went off, and he ran down the stairs, flinging the
door open. The postman almost jumped at his appearance. Bryan recognised
him immediately - it was the same man as the previous week.

"Er, hello. I've got a letter for you to sign." He handed out a clipboard
to Bryan, who took it, looking suspiciously at the postman.

"You delivered here last week, didn't you?" Bryan asked. The postman
nodded. "Do you remember what you gave me?"

The postman thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, it was a big
package, wasn't it? Light, though."

"Yes, yes it was," Bryan said urgently. "I'm trying to trace the sender of
that package. Is it possible to find that out?"

"Yeah, I s'pose so. You'd have to go down to the local sorting office."

"Where is that?" The postman gave him the address.

"Don't forget the letter," he reminded Bryan before he closed the door. He
handed over a plain white envelope. Bryan shut the door and pulled open
the envelope. A sheet of high-quality paper fell out. He ran upstairs, and
pulled the sheet of paper out from the box. They were identical. With
shaking fingers, he unfolded the sheet he'd just received, and read the
flowing calligraphic script that was on it.

Dear Bryan,

You have had a taste. I'm glad you enjoyed it. There is
much more to come, but only if you are prepared.

This is just the beginning. You have three months. Look
for a parcel in February.

signed,

A Friend.

Bryan's mind raced. Who was this person? How did they know him? How was he
supposed to prepare, and how would it take three months? He was baffled by
the note. At the same time, however, he was intrigued. He knew that
whoever had sent this note had sent him the mask. If he could find out who
that person was, he would have the key to the mystery.

* * *

His first port of call that day was the local sorting office. Like most
bureaucracies, they were less than helpful. Eventually, after tipping the
right people, he managed to see the log of deliveries in his area. To make
sure a package could be delivered, there had to be a return address in
case there were problems. He flipped through the log book until he found
his own name, and there, alongside the date, was the name and address he'd
been looking for.

Ms Tree
23 Cherry Tree Drive
London
E14 3WE

He smiled to himself. 'Ms Tree' - mystery. Cute, he thought. Making a note
of the address, he left the sorting office and headed straight for the
Underground.

* * *

Cherry Tree Drive was a relatively affluent street in part of the
revitalised Docklands area. All of the buildings looked relatively new,
and Bryan smiled to himself when he saw a plaque proudly proclaiming that
one building had been erected in 1987. Ten years is a long time in
finance, he thought.

Number 23 was at the end of the street, a medium sized house with a set of
steps that led up to a front door. He didn't know what to do, at first,
but he decided there was really only one thing he could do. Besides, he
reasoned, he was a salesman. He could talk his way into anything.

He pressed the doorbell hard for just a moment. Nothing happened for a
minute, then he saw a shape inside move towards the door. It opened, just
a crack. He saw a woman's eye staring at him.

"Hi," he said, with his best smile. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but I
was wondering if you could help me. I'm starting up a Neighbourhood Watch
scheme in the area, and I was wondering if you wanted to join." The gap
widened until he could see her entire face. She was young, he figured not
much above 25, with pale blonde hair pulled back from her face. He
couldn't see what she was wearing, apart from a baggy black t-shirt.

"Have you just moved in?" she asked. Her accent was hard to trace - public
school, he guessed, but with a hint of London regionality.

"Uh, yes, I have - number 5." He'd spotted the For Sale sign on his way to
the house. "Would you be interested?"

"Perhaps." Her face and tone were non-commital. "Would you like to come in
for a moment?" He was surprised, but nodded. This only confirmed his
suspicions. He figured no-one would let an almost total stranger into
their house unless they had an ulterior motive. Now he just had to
discover what that motive was.

She opened the door wide and he stepped inside. She led him through the
house, which looked tidy and unremarkable, to the kitchen, where she
gestured for him to take a seat at a small table. He did so, glancing
around at the surroundings. They were neat and trim, which to his eye
looked normal enough.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked, moving to the kettle and
switching it on.

"I didn't," he replied.

"Coffee alright?" she asked casually, as if she hadn't heard his reply.

"Fine thanks, Miss...?"

"It's Mrs," she corrected. "Mrs Barnes. My husband's out - doing the
shopping."

"I see," Bryan said. She went about her business, apparently ignoring him.
There was silence for a moment. Bryan decided to push his luck. "Will he
be long?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your husband. Will he be long, shopping."

"Oh, a couple of hours, yet. He always nips off to the pub afterwards for
a quick pint and a stare at the barmaid. Thinks I don't know." She glanced
at him. "But I'm not stupid."

"No." Bryan couldn't figure this woman out. If she knew him - if this was
where the packages were coming from - then she wasn't alarmed. Surely she
would have recognised me by sight, he thought.

Unless, he realised, it was the husband who was sending the packages. But
why? "So, that gives us plenty of time to chat," he said, grinning. Mrs
Barnes poured out two coffees and brought them over.

"Yes, I suppose it does," she said, placing the drinks down. Bryan could
see she was wearing jeans with the t-shirt now, but as he glanced at her
body, he saw she kept in shape. A couple of hours chatting with her could
be very enjoyable, he felt.

"So.. this is a nice house," Bryan said as he sipped. He knew it was a
lousy line, but he didn't think she really wanted to talk about his bogus
Neighbourhood Watch scheme.

"Mmm, it is," she replied. "We've not been here long. Do you want a quick
tour?"

"I'd love one." Leaving the cups behind, she took him by the hand, very
casually, and led him around the rooms of the ground floor in a flash. Her
touch was so light, so unassuming, that he didn't think too much of it.

Then she brought him upstairs. Her tour ended at the master bedroom, a
large, open room with a dressing screen in one corner. Bryan's interest
was immediately piqued. Dressing screens, with all their associations with
preparation and illusion, had always turned him on. Suddenly, he felt her
hand entwining with his. He turned to look at her, and saw she was looking
deep into his eyes. Without thinking, he kissed her. She returned his kiss
with a passion, grabbing hold of him and pushing him hard against the
doorframe. Her leg lifted up and around him, and he grabbed hold of her,
kissing her hard, reaching behind her and cupping her ass with his hands.
She moaned in pleasure, but as he pulled her inside the room, aiming for
the bed, she pulled away.

"Wait," she said breathlessly. "Let's do this right." She reached up and
began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, her fingers lingering on each button.
Bryan threw off his light jacket, then let her finish with the shirt. It
was soon hanging out of his trousers. She took hold of his belt and
unbuckled it, then pulled it off with a whipping motion. Pushing him down
on the bed, she straddled him, and unzipped his trousers. His cock sprang
free, and she smiled in pleasure at its just above average size.

His mind was going haywire as she finished stripping off his clothes. Some
part of him was trying to remember why he'd come here, trying to remember
the mask, the letter - but most of him was just caught up in the moment,
in this insane, twisted adventure he seemed to be embarking upon. He felt
like this had been planned, as if she - or her husband - had expected him
to come, and this was all a set-up. If it was, it wasn't something he was
going to complain about.

With a final flourish she pulled off his socks, and he was completely
naked, lying on the bed. She walked over to a bedside table, reached into
a drawer and withdrew something that gleamed; a pair of handcuffs. Bryan's
gut shifted.

"No, I don't think so," he said firmly. She raised an eyebrow, and then
reached down and tossed him his trousers.

"Then you know where to go," she said. She dangled the cuffs in one hand,
smiling at him, and playing with the edge of her t-shirt, exposing her
midriff at him.

He was too aroused, and too intrigued, to stop now. But he wasn't going to
go ahead without getting something in return.

"Who is Ms Tree?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know."

"Then forget it," he said, sitting up and getting ready to pull on his
trousers. She stepped forward, put her hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," she said. "I remember now. She used to live here. But I think she
left, not too long ago." He glanced at her. Her expression seemed honest
enough. "Perhaps my husband would know," she said.

"Can I talk to him, when he gets back?" Bryan asked. She nodded.

"Of course. Although, you might want to get dressed first."

"I think there's time for that later," he said, smiling, and reaching for
the cuffs. She grinned, and snapped a cuff over one wrist. Working his way
up the bed, she threaded the cuff through the iron-wrought railing at the
head of the bed, and snapped the cuff onto his other wrist. He was well
secured.

"There, that should do," she said to him. She stepped back and admired her
handiwork. Bryan looked at her expectantly. She didn't say anything, but
just moved to the dressing screen at the end of the room. She gave him a
seductive glance as she moved behind it.

He was beginning to get his erection back, and wished that there were
lights behind the screen to give him an idea of what was going on. He
decided to try and get a play-by-play commentary, instead. "What are you
doing?" he called out.

"Getting ready," she replied.

"I know that... I just wanted to know.. uh...." He tailed off. He didn't
know what to say. He felt like he was revealing himself to this woman, who
he hardly knew. But then, he figured he'd never see her again after today.

"Know what?" she asked.

"Uh.. know what you were doing. To get ready."

"Know what I'm doing? What do you think I'm doing?"

His mind could fill in many of the details, but he was cursing inwardly
that the screen was spoiling the show. "Getting undressed, I hope," he
said hopefully.

"On the contrary," she replied, stepping from behind the screen. "I'm
getting dressed." His eyes almost came out of his sockets when he saw her
standing before him. The t-shirt and jeans were gone; in their place was a
black basque, garter belt, stockings, and a filmy black robe around her
shoulders. Patent high heels, also black, completed the effect. She
reached up and freed her hair, letting it fall about her back. "Well? What
do you think?"

"My God," he managed to whisper, "you look gorgeous."

"I thought you'd say that," she replied, stepping back behind the screen.
"After all, this is your thing, isn't it Bryan."

He paused. He hadn't told her his name. "What? What do you mean?"

"It turns you on," she stated, matter-of-factly. "You enjoy watching women
dress. Isn't that right?"

How did she know this, Bryan asked himself. He was bewildered. "Well,
everyone enjoys that," he said, trying to feign a casual air.

"Not as much as you," she said, as she stepped from behind the screen once
more. She was wearing the same outfit, but held a lipstick in her hand.
She came towards Bryan, and slowly, deliberately, straddled him on the
bed. Her crotch touched down lightly over his own. He looked up at her,
her gorgeous face, and watched as she slowly extended the lipstick, and
puckered up. Slowly she began to apply her lipstick. First she did the top
lip, then the bottom, and went around once more, all over. Bryan loved
every minute of it, and showed his appreciation by getting an even harder
erection. She looked down at this and smiled. Leaning down, so close he
could smell her perfume, she kissed him slowly and sensuously, rubbing her
freshly minted lips all over his own. He thrust upwards, rubbing against
her pubic mound; but she didn't react. Instead she just finished her kiss,
and got off of him once more.

"God, I want you," he groaned.

"I know. But I have one more thing to put on... or is that take off?" She
walked behind the screen once more, and Bryan heard a rip, then a rustling
sound. Just as he began to wonder what it might be, she stepped out into
his view.

It was his girlfriend, Fay. In her hand, she held a mask of Mrs Barnes
face.

She walked towards him, slowly, and raised one dark leg onto the bed,
right next to his face. She reached down and dragged the Mrs Barnes mask
over his face, the tendrils of hair just touching him. Tossing the latex
face onto the bed next to him, she reached down and unclipped her
stocking, a wide smile on her face.

He was still too shocked to speak, until she'd moved the stocking over her
knee. "What.. Fay? What's.. you're her? You're Ms Tree?"

She shook her head. "No, Bryan, I'm not. I'm not, and nor is Mrs Barnes,
here," she said, indicating the mask. "Nor is Mrs Barnes husband. I'm
afraid you're not going to uncover Ms Tree this easily. Did you really
think we'd just let you find out by tracing one parcel? Do you think we're
that unprepared?" She finished with the stocking, pulling it off her leg.
She lifted her other leg up and began to repeat the operation.

"Who.. who are you? Who are they?"

"Too many questions, Bryan."

"Please.. I have to know. How do you know so much about me?"

"I'm your girlfriend. Don't you think I would know these things?"

"But you don't!" Bryan protested. "You don't know, you've never known...."

"You're right," she admitted, as she removed her second stocking. She
stepped back from the bed a couple of feet. "That's because I'm not your
girlfriend." She turned her back on him, and reached up behind her head.
Bryan realised with shock what she was doing. Her hands searched for a
seam, and found it, tugging at it insistently for a moment. With a slight
ripping, the Velcro came away, and the mask of Fay's face parted at the
back. Bryan saw a glimpse of dark, cropped hair, and then she leant
forward, pulling the wig and mask off in one movement.

She dropped the mask to one side, and Bryan looked at it, wide-eyed. His
girlfriend's face was lying, distorted and misshapen, looking up at him
from the bedroom floor. He glanced back at the woman before him - he
didn't know what to call her now - and realised why she had removed her
stockings. She was pulling one over her head. With it on, she took hold of
the second stocking, and pulled it over the first. It was only then that
she turned back to him. With both stockings in place, her face was
completely hidden from his view - her features darkened and unreadable.

To make matters worse for him, she walked over to the window and shut the
curtains. There was very little light left in the room. She strode over to
the dressing table behind the screen and put on a light there. By that
weak light Bryan watched as she walked back over, and sat down beside him.

"Now," she said, in a voice slightly deeper than before, "let me clear
some things up for you." She pulled open another bedside table drawer, and
pulled out something that Bryan couldn't quite see in the half light. "As
you've now realised, I'm not Fay. I wore the mask to demonstrate a point;
we can be anyone. Anyone, Bryan. Friends, co-workers, family members...
even lovers."

She let that sink in for a moment before continuing. "Fay doesn't know
anything about this. However she could, if we wanted to. If you turn your
head to the left, you'll see a large mirror. Behind that is a video
camera, that's been on all the time we've been here. There will be some
more interesting footage on the tape once I've finished with you, though."
Something glistened in the light next to Bryan's head. He swivelled his
eyes and saw the woman flicking the end of a hypodermic needle. Before he
could react she injected it into his arm. He winced in pain, but it was
over in a minute.

"Why.. why are you doing this?" he muttered.

"That's just a mild concoction, Bryan. It'll make you drowsy, but won't
send you to sleep; I need you barely conscious, otherwise the tape will
never look convincing."

"What.. tape...." Bryan could feel his eyelids trying to close, but with a
supreme effort of will he could just about stay awake.

"The tape we're going to make together, Bryan. The one we can send to Fay
if we ever even suspect you've told her about what's going on. Or if you
ever go to anyone else about what's going on. That tape will show you
having a great time with Mrs Barnes, Bryan. She's a vixen when she wants
to be."

"Jesus.. all this just for blackmail...."

"No, not blackmail. Call it insurance. We've invested a lot of time and
money in you, Bryan. You're perfect for us. We just don't want you to
screw it all up one day because you get too many guilt pangs. This way,
you'll stay on the straight and narrow."

"Straight and narrow," Bryan repeated, hazily. "What...."

"Do you have to do? Well, it's fairly simple, really. Follow the letter's
advice, Bryan. Get prepared. Spend the next three months training yourself
to be everything you want to be. To be everything that those dark desires,
those desires you've kept hidden for so long, have told you to be. We know
what the mask awakened in you, Bryan. We want you to embrace that, now.
Because if you do that...." She leant down and whispered in his ear, the
fine mesh of her stocking mask rasping out her breaths. "You'll become all
that you've ever wanted. And much, much more."

"I don't want it... I don't...."

She chuckled, and stood up, retrieving the Mrs Barnes mask and facing away
from him once more. She pulled off the stockings, and in a swift movement,
pulled the face of Mrs Barnes onto her own. Turning around she smoothed
out the face onto her own features, and then secured the Velcro at the
rear. The transformation took only a few seconds. She looked down at him,
at his engorged member, and smiled.

"I think we both know what you really want, Bryan," she said, walking to
the end of the bed. She leant down and slid up to his cock, taking hold of
it with one hand. "But I want you to say it to me."

He groaned, shifted slightly in his bonds. Without saying a word, she
placed her mouth around his cock, and began to suck him off. He writhed,
kicking out weakly with his feet, but she shrugged him off and continued
to suck, taking him down deeper into her throat. He felt himself rising,
his body reacting to those rubber lips even though he didn't want it to.
He knew, somewhere in the haze of his mind, what she was asking of him;
she knew that they - whoever they were, whatever they wanted - knew him
better, in many ways, than he knew himself.

"What do you want, Bryan," she asked him, licking him now, driving him
wild with desire with flicks of her tongue. He moaned, gritted his teeth,
but he could feel the answer coming up from his subconscious. "What do you
want.. what do you desire... what do you need... what Bryan, what...."

"No - no -- "

She stopped sucking him, and abruptly moved up, sliding her dark-clad body
over his cock, and resting on his chest. She kissed him, hard, and the
feeling of her face, now that he knew it was rubber, turned him on even
further. "Tell me," she said between kisses. "Tell me. Admit it to
yourself. Tell me what turns you on."

It was torture, sweet, exquisite torture. Bryan shut his eyes and thought
of Fay, thought of his normal girlfriend, his ordinary life - but all he
could think of was this woman on top of him, this woman that had looked
like his girlfriend, who had worn his girlfriend's face - just like - just
like -

He felt the rubber moving over his face before he could react, and the
seal being moved together before he could cry out. The rubber flesh
pressed down on his, and he almost cried out in agony and ecstasy. He
opened his eyes and saw Mrs Barnes, the woman he'd called that, smiling at
him wickedly, knowing that he was helpless before her. He felt her hands
grabbing his cock, guiding him into her dark, wet place, and as he slid
inside, and she threw back her head and moaned aloud, he almost came.

He knew now what he had to do. He knew now this was his destiny. He knew
what he had become. Lying there, with a mask of his own girlfriend over
his face, he cried out "I WANT TO BE YOU!" and then came in a mighty
explosion, bucking and writhing, his eyes tightly shut and his thoughts
only on one thing.