Faceless
Something professional, something she could wear to work. Emily faced herself in the dressing room mirror.
Surprisingly, the sales assistant, after feeling along the racks of clothing, had found something half decent: a smart navy single-breasted pant suit. Normally Emily wouldn’t have had the money to buy such a thing without going into debt, but the placement agency which had promised her a job had supplied her a no-interest loan. The money was given on the condition that it was for buying interview-worthy clothes, and that she buy them from a store with whom they had an arrangement, The Slinky Pink Collective.
The Slinky Pink Collective was an unusual boutique. Decked out in chrome trimmings and pink neon lights, it was a varied collection of business attire, club wear and fetish gear. She had needed a moment to adjust to what she saw upon entering, and even longer to adjust to the salesgirl whose chest strained against the teeny pink bandeau she wore. As though the sight of the girl’s swinging breasts weren’t enough, a heart-shaped cutout through the middle of the top allowed uninterrupted enjoyment of her cleavage.
The salaciously dressed salesgirl did seem at home in these surroundings, Emily thought, staring past her reflection and sighting the brass pole that ran through the middle of the dressing room. While at first Emily had taken it to be a poorly placed structural support, it dawned on her that it was more than a mere stylistic accent, being that there was more than enough room for some women, should the urge hit them, to grab hold of it and dance.
The store’s clientèle likely included the local strip clubs and, given her look, the retail assistant probably possessed the right expertise—Emily giggled to herself. She shouldn’t look down on the girl, she reflected, but some of her catty high-school clique habits had no doubt been preserved through the maturing process of attaining her MBA.
“Here’s to becoming more mature.” Emily whispered to herself, smoothing out the suit jacket. It fit well, tapered nicely at the waist, minimized her bust and she noticed, twisting around, that the pants fit her bum quite snugly. That was important, she decided, should she ever be invited out after work with her new, mature, professional circle of friends.
[FLASH]
But something was missing, she decided, frowning and turning all the way around in her suit. Something about it wasn’t right. Something about the pants.
Something shorter, something more revealing.
The salesgirl was quick to find her what she had requested. Maybe she had judged the girl too harshly, Emily thought. Dressed as a plaything or not, she seemed to know her way around the store, and knew plenty about all kinds of clothing.
This suit was much better. With fewer buttons, the lapels parted more severely towards her neck, revealing her sternum and just a sliver of cleavage. The mini-skirt clung to her ass tightly, something Emily was quite delighted to see. She had never realized her ass looked so good; not showing it off would be a crime. The skirt also revealed her well-formed legs, and upon looking them up and down, from her feet—cradled in sharp, stiletto heels—to the edge of her skirt—just shy of her crotch—she decided that, yes, this was the outfit for her. Professional, but sexy. She liked it.
[FLASH]
But, then... hmmm. Emily twisted around and scrutinized the lines of the suit jacket, then felt the fabric. It was soft, but it didn’t bend around her quite the way she wanted.
Something less stiff, Emily had requested.
Again, the salesgirl knew only too well and had retreated into the maze of clothing to emerge minutes later with an absolute gem.
The satin silver blouse was exceedingly low cut, Emily saw, catching a glimpse of her bra cups. And the micro-skirt was pretty sexy, occasionally fanning to reveal her black panties when she turned. Orbiting the stripper pole was enough to make it bounce and flash her crotch. What it showed when she brought her leg up against the cool, slick metal was racier still. Emily’s pussy swelled at the sight of her reflection grinding against the pole, running her hand across a fully exposed thigh, all the way to the hip.
This outfit would definitely make her a prominent figure in the office, and make a shoe-in for a secretarial position... come to think of it, she should have listed that as a preference on her application. Well, she could contact the agency again later and let them know she was no longer considering management.
[FLASH]
Still... there were flaws in the design. While closer to the ideal than the previous outfits, this one still left something to be desired. Emily pursed her lips and looked it up and down. Indeed, the lustre had faded from the silver, low-cut blouse. Perhaps her haste to find a good outfit had led to her to see it as more than it was.
Thank goodness there was such a nice, pretty salesgirl outside to help her.
Something more flattering, something tighter.
The bimbolicious young woman outside was right. Latex was totally the way to go. Emily ran her fingers up the flanks of the sensuous obsidian full-sleeved catsuit. The super-thin garment clung to her so tightly that she had to remove her bra and panties. Even so, her breasts remained high and supported, perfect little handfuls of soft flesh nicely advertised by the V plunging down to her navel. The suit even compressed her tits so that for the first time she had something resembling cleavage, a perfect place for the pole to nestle when she rubbed up against it. Holding the pole and slinking around it, Emily found her latex-covered body sleek and striking from all sides, and definitely sexy.
[FLASH]
But she could do better, she decided, breaking from her orbit around the stripper pole. Even if it wasn’t her own money being spent, at least yet, it should be spent wisely. She had made good progress in finding the right outfit so far. Besides, the salesgirl was such a wet dream anyway. Emily certainly didn’t mind spending more time with her.
Something prettier.
Pink was totally pretty. Staying within the realm of latex suits, Emily had requested a different colour. Like the black suit, the pink one clung to her curves and, despite wrapping her body tightly—she could almost detect a hint of her cleft through the crotch—her movement was unrestricted, something she took pleasure in while twirling around the pole.
The pink suit was also more complete, she decided, lifting a leg from the ground and wrapping it around the pole to rise up and arch her back. It featured built-in latex gloves and platform spiked heels, though it lacked a revealing neck-line; unlike the black’s plunging V, this one covered her fully up to the jawline. But it was a better colour, she rationalized, and just as flexible. Perfect for bodies in motion. Despite the full concealment of her breasts, they were tantalizingly lifted and advertised anyhow, particularly in her current pose, arched away from the pole with breasts lifted towards the ceiling.
This outfit most certainly meant business, Emily thought, her gaze flowing up and down its fluid surface. But it was also sexy, and casual enough that she could see herself wearing it outside of work and at parties, or at clubs. Especially at dance clubs. She’d never been clubbing before, but her body could totally work for that in these kind of clothes. And of course the latex was just so smooooooooth, she moaned, gliding on the pole’s metal finish, turning around and rubbing her buttocks against it.
[FLASH]
But for all its perks, it was far from perfect. The salesgirl had told her to select only the best and not to compromise, and compromise she wouldn’t. She would not be persuaded to buy anything she wasn’t entirely satisfied with, Emily told herself firmly.
Something that let her breathe.
This one most certainly allowed her to breathe. Her sweetie salesgirl had found another pink suit, only this one combined the sleek lines of latex with just the right amount of revelation. The suit itself was identical in every respect to its predecessor, down to the colour, but with a delicious twist. Crotchless and with an oval-shaped window cut out of the chest for her bosom, this suit revealed a little more skin and let her breathe freely.
Emily inhaled deeply and admired the results: the suit was tight, exerting a small amount of binding pressure against her, but conformed to her body without sacrificing any freedom of motion. She moved better in this one, she realized, watching her modest, round tits rise and fall freely with every breath.
[FLASH]
She felt—
[tingling...]
—warm. Emily blinked and shook her head.
Now... she was posing, wasn’t she? She cocked a hip and moved to fold her arms, but they collided with her jutting unfettered bosom. She blushed at the unexpected stimulation.
Oh, right... my tits. Having preferred bust-minimizing outfits for so long she had forgotten just how large her breasts were; she’d have to get used to letting them free.
She hefted one of her enormous, globe-like breasts and gave it a squeeze, splashing the mirror with a fine spray of milk. The tender, milky flesh of her breast shivered with goosebumps at the slick feel of her cool latex fingers. Her nipples were shocked awake by the touch, and within moments they were swollen and pointed.
Emily then focused upon her conveniently exposed pussy, eager to exploit the suit’s openness. Her fingers registered faintly through the latex as she brushed them against her abdomen, but upon crossing the threshold to her bare skin the experience magnified, flesh tingling to life under the tender touches. Her latex fingers were slick and gentle against her mound and moist lips. Emily’s whole body flexed, fingers curling up into her depths. Her neck prickled with applause.
She realized this outfit would do her well in an interview, clearly putting forth her credentials. A professional woman avoided clothes that hampered her duties, and these openings were aesthetically pleasing as well as practical. Anything less open would only do more to block the cock of an amorous male co-worker, for example, or become a tedious obstacle should she want to offer up her tight, swollen, milk-laden tits to someone during lunch. No way she would be passed over for a position dressed like this, she thought, being as accessible and eager to work as she was. She had better pose, though, just to make sure everything fit, to make sure that, yes, this was the outfit.
She twisted and turned from one side to the next—profile, check—arched her back and thrust out her chest—tits, check—turned around and looked over her shoulder—ass, check—bent over, reached between her legs and spread the lips of her sex—pussy, check. But one pussy-pose alone could not adequately test the suit’s versatility, so she sat on her bum and lifted her legs straight and high, looking between her thighs at the mirror wherein she could see her pinkish sex reflected back at her. Reaching down to ply her lips, she accentuated the pose by biting down on her lip.
The suit enhanced her every pose, Emily decided, rising to her feet. She shivered with excitement and felt herself up, hands rising to cup her engorged, easily-accessible tits. They’d hate being covered, she affirmed. The pressure within them pulsed against her mind, yearning to be released, commanding her attention. She squeezed them together, milk beading on her nipples, tickling her flesh as rivulets trickled like wet tongues across her skin. Not wanting to spoil her suit, Emily lifted both nipples to her mouth and drew her tongue around each areola, lapping up the sweet, spicy cream. She wondered, wistfully, if her darling salesgirl would help her with things outside of fashion.
[FLASH]
This was the one, she decided. The suit in itself was perfect—but then something began to nag at her. Something could be added, she realized.
A hat. No outfit was complete without a hat.
“Do you have a hat that would go with this?” she asked, calling through the door.
“I’ll find something.” said the tiny, feminine voice outside. The sound of the little bimbo’s voice evoked a stirring in Emily’s cunt. She moved to console her purring sex with a few loving strokes. Like that, patience came easy.
“Mind if I open the door?” the girl asked, having returned.
Emily didn’t answer, instead opening the door herself, enough for a lithe, French-nailed hand to come through and present a bright pink latex hood.
Emily stretched it between her fingers, getting a feel for the material before putting it on. It was smooth and slick, stylish, and before long Emily slipped it over her head. There were no holes for her nose, eyes or mouth, and the hood felt too big; it clung tightly to her cranium, but over her face it was wrinkled and loose. She also couldn’t see herself, so what good was it? Frowning, she moved to take it off, to go tell her Sweetness that she had made a mistake, but before her hand made contact with the material, it buzzed and a presence entered her brain.
The mask inflated, erasing her outward facial topography, concealing it behind a perfect, oval-shaped membrane just beyond the tip of her nose. She gasped, eyes glazing as light penetrated the mask’s formless interior, encapsulating her face in a haze of glowing pink, her pupils straining to absorb it all. The colour seeped into her mind, the mask tightening around her thoughts, throbbing against them and squeezing them out like juice.
Emily now realized what the outfit had been missing, and what the mask provided: an awareness of the corporate structure, of hierarchy. She would have superiors, and her outfit should reflect her subordinate position. As should her name. She no longer possessed a face, a human presence, so it occurred to her that she was no longer Emily. She would have to select a new designation.
The name was given to her by a higher power, and 86092 was born.