After coming home from a long day’s work, my daily routine of shedding the stress in the shower is a welcome respite. The steam envelops me this evening as I step beneath the warm cascade of water. The sound of droplets echoing off the tiled walls calms me down. With each lather of soap, I feel the weight of exhaustion slowly lifting from my shoulders, relaxing my muscles more and more, as if loosening them up like tangled strings. The suds glide down my body and swirl into the drain. I close my eyes, momentarily lost in the soothing rhythm.

I reach for the shampoo, and suddenly, a peculiar sensation interrupts the tranquillity. My fingers brush against an unexpected obstruction on the back of my neck. My initial instinct is to dismiss it as some dirt, but the texture is unmistakable. It’s hard and unyielding, like polished metal. Confusion creases my brow. I tentatively explore further, my fingertips tracing the contours of the foreign object. It’s not just a bump; it’s protruding, almost as if embedded on the surface of my skin.

A shiver of unease snakes down my spine. I try to rationalize the object’s presence. Could it be a forgotten piece of jewellery, lodged at an odd angle? But no earring or necklace could adhere to my skin with such stubborn permanence. Panic begins to gnaw at the edges of my mind. I struggle to comprehend what I’m feeling.

With trembling hands, I inch closer to the mirror. The steam is obscuring my reflection. Each beat of my heart reverberates in the hollow silence of the bathroom. I confront the unsettling truth – whatever this metallic protrusion is, it’s firmly affixed to me. Dread coils in the pit of my stomach. I contemplate the implications of this discovery. What secrets lie dormant beneath that object?

Through the steam clinging to my skin like a humid embrace, my gaze locks onto the mirror with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Droplets of water bead along the edges, distorting the reflection. With a deep breath, I wipe away the condensation.

Turning my head to catch a glimpse of the back of my neck, a gasp escapes my lips. I spy the unmistakable glint of a zipper. My heart lurches in my chest. “What the fuck?“, I mutter, my voice barely a whisper in the quiet of the bathroom. The sight is surreal, almost absurd in its implausibility. Has someone orchestrated this as a prank, a twisted joke played at my expense? But as I entertain the notion, another thought insidiously creeps into my mind, stirring embers of a long-suppressed fantasy. Could this be … ?

No, it’s too outlandish, too surreal to entertain seriously. Yet, the vividness of the imagery refuses to be ignored. My cheeks turn red and burn with a flush of embarrassment. Is this the manifestation of a desire I’ve long harbored in the hidden recesses of my mind? The fantasy of shedding my human guise like a discarded shell? Revealing the true essence that lies beneath – nothing but a blank, pitch-black, but slick and shiny humanoid form? Devoid of identity or inhibition?

It’s a notion that once danced tantalizingly at the edges of my consciousness. A forbidden reverie that now threatens to materialize with chilling clarity. The implications are dizzying. What once seemed impossible now looms before me with a disquieting sense of inevitability. I don’t know if I should be scared or horny. With trembling fingers, I reach out towards the clasp, hesitating on the precipice of revelation. To unzip myself would be to unravel the very fabric of my existence. And yet, the allure of the unknown beckons with an irresistible pull. I feel tempted to surrender to the seductive embrace of transformation.

As the zipper glides beneath my hesitating touch, a surge of conflicting emotions floods my senses. Arousal intertwines with apprehension. With each inch of slow progress, with every heartbeat, my anticipation is mounting. My fingers tremble as they dance along the cold metal teeth, teasing out the truth hidden beneath the surface. It’s as if the zipper beckons me, daring me to unravel the mysteries that lie beyond. With a reckless abandon borne of desperation and desire, I seize the zipper with a determined grip. With a swift, decisive motion, I pull the clasp downwards with all the force I can muster, the sound of metal teeth parting the silence like a herald of change. Oh, the excitement. It‘s orgasmic.

For a moment, I hold my breath. I‘m suspended in the liminal space between what was and what will be. Time stands still. And then, as if responding to the silent call of destiny, I feel it – a subtle shift. A loosening. A warmth spreading beneath my skin. A sensation both exhilarating and terrifying in its intensity. With my eyes tightly shut, I surrender myself to the inevitable. My skin crackles, almost like foil. In this moment of revelation, I stand poised on the precipice of transformation, ready to embrace whatever is coming. Maybe I will finally be a pure rubberised being?

As the zipper completes its descent, an unsettling sensation grips me. It’s as if the very fabric of my being is dissolving into nothingness. Irritation claws at the edges of my consciousness as I struggle to comprehend the sheer magnitude of what is happening. My body betrays me. I feel weak and dizzy. My limbs grow limp and unresponsive, drained of all vitality.

With growing horror, I watch in disbelief as my arms, once strong and muscular, flatten out, fall down and hang limply at my sides, devoid of purpose or function. Desperate fingers twitch feebly, attempting to grasp at the zipper, to reverse the irreversible. But they are as impotent as the rest of my arms. My legs begin to weaken, and I know I can’t keep myself standing for much longer.

The world spins around me. My senses reel from the onslaught of transformation. With each passing moment, I feel myself shrinking, collapsing inward upon myself. My head, once filled with complex thoughts and desires, caves inward, the hollow shell of my former self crumbling like an empty bag.

My body follows suit, folding and contorting upon itself like a marionette with severed strings. Limbs turn to empty husks, cascading downward. My chest caves inward, a hollow void where once a heart was beating. Legs buckle beneath me, the very ground slipping away as I plummet into the abyss.

And then, with a soft sigh of surrender, I collapse onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Just a heap of discarded clothing. Devoid of the essence that once defined me. I’m an empty bag of skin. Inside of me, on the left side of the flat fabric that is now my entire being, I feel a cold, slick surface. No longer am I a person, but a mere shell, a hollow vessel emptied of all that once made me human. The silence of the room is deafening. It‘s broken only by the whisper of human skin settling against ceramic, with an inside of rubbery consistence crackling along as I come to rest on the ground, in the position of lowest energy, meaning I become totally immobile, unless someone who has more life in them gets me out of this position. I lay down there on the ground helplessly, just as my clothes did so often after dropping them there.

As I lie there trapped, my senses dulled by the fog of confusion, I strain to make sense of the situation. “Took you long enough,” I suddenly hear someone say. It‘s that voice. Your voice. It cuts through the silence like a blade. I heard it before. I heard you talking behind me today. And now, here you are, standing over me like a puppeteer surveying their handiwork.

I can only listen to your cocky words.

“I had a bet you’d have pulled that zipper in the space of five seconds,” you say it as if you‘re grinning and winking at me, but still I can‘t see, as my flattened-out face lies down on the cold bathroom. The realization dawns like a cold wave crashing over me – it was you who orchestrated this surreal nightmare, who set the wheels of fate in motion with a simple zipper and a whispered curse.

What game are you playing at, and what role do I play? Unable to move or speak, I am at your mercy. I try to muster some semblance of defiance, to rail against the injustice of my predicament, but my thoughts scatter, elusive and fleeting.

You stand there, towering, your presence looming over me. I can’t help but wonder what comes next. What plans do you have in store for me? The answers elude me. All I can do is wait, trapped in a limbo of uncertainty. The echoes of your laughter reverberate through the empty confines of my mind.

I just lie there. Perhaps you see me as nothing more than a test subject. You may seek to assert dominance over me, to bend me to your will. You may see me as nothing more than an object to be controlled, a tool to be wielded. Will I become little more than a plaything in your hands, stripped of agency? These thoughts swirl in a maelstrom of uncertainty and … strange arousal.

I just lie there. Helpless and alone. Your fingers trace the contours of my empty skin. A shiver courses through me. I can only listen in silent dread as your voice echoes through the void, each word laden with ominous intent.

“Now lets try you on for size!“ 

And then, with a gentle but firm touch, you seize me, the lifeless object that you created out of a person that ceased to exist in mere seconds that felt like hours.

I feel myself being lifted, a sensation akin to weightlessness enveloping me. You maneuver me with practiced precision, as if you were doing this regularly. The zipper on my back yields to your touch, parting like a gate, as if my hollow body were eager to welcome you as its bearer. With a surreal sense of detachment, I watch as my form melds with yours. Your legs slide into mine fluidly, as if the inner side of my skin were itself covered in slick, oily latex. Our bodies start merging in a grotesque parody of intimacy.

My head hangs limply between my legs, as your hands wrap around my waist, guiding me upwards. My skin, once belonging to a body that was slightly smaller and skinnier than you, wraps around you tightly, the inside squeaking in the process. I feel the pressure building from within, an overwhelming force that threatens to fill me up entirely. The boundaries between us are blurring, their goal being to become all but indistinguishable.

Our hips meld together seamlessly, our very essence merging into a singular entity. The further you are pulling me up, the more I cease being myself, but instead become an extension of you. A vessel. A body suit. With each inch that you are pulling my skin up your body, covering your skin in my rubbery insides, my own identity slips further away. My sense of self is replaced by the chilling realization that I am nothing more than clothing. A skin-tight full-body suit for you to put on whenever you want to become me.

With each movement, our bodies intertwine further, until there is no distinction between where I end and you begin. Even our most intimate parts join, your shaft sliding into mine like into a sheath, filling it with a thick and hard erection, and your balls filling mine so tightly, making me surrender to the inevitability of our shared fate that gets me so horny.

My waist embraces yours. I am overcome by a sense of profound intimacy. You pull me further up, and I feel my autonomous consciousness fading, swallowed by the yawning abyss of a shared existence that is coming over me. There is no escape. I am about to become yours, bound to you so intimately. I cannot deny the strange sensation of completeness that accompanies our union. Fear mixes with excitement and arousal. No, I can’t deny the kinky feeling this forbidden ritual awakens in me.

And then, I feel your arms slipping into mine, filling these empty sleeves, filling the void with solidity and purpose. Suddenly, I am aware of movement, of sensation returning to my limbs. Your arms, my arms, there is no difference. They move with a fluidity that is both familiar and foreign. I watch in silent horror – no, in rushing joy- as they reach out, fingers curling around the edges of the empty mask that was once my face, pulling it upwards.

Finally, as if in a trance, you guide my face towards the mirror once more. In the reflection, I see both our faces. Your head is set firmly on my body as if it had always been there, protruding from the opening between my shoulders. My neck and head are there, right next to it, held by your hands. I stare into those familiar eyes on an empty mask. And into your piercing gaze telling me the transformation would soon be over and our shared fate thus sealed. All I can do is watch as a silent observer. A twisted smirk curls upon your lips.

“You were right about the fake skin suit – but wrong about what would be under it. Enjoy your new life! Not as what would be hidden inside the skin suit, but as the skin suit itself! My skin suit! Don‘t you worry. I will make good use of your identity that is now mine to put on whenever I want!“ I feel you pushing your head into mine. It’s such a strange feeling, you slipping into my face through my throat. You smooth my head onto yours, making it suck onto your head tightly, my eyes gliding onto yours like contact lenses, our lips becoming one, your tongue filling out my hollow tongue and your teeth taking the place of mine. We are finally merging together as one being.

From the beginning of our transformation, I was awaiting this moment, my excitement about this growing by the second as I was more and more manipulated and brain washed by your power. My personal desires and character were erased and replaced by the simple needs of a skin suit that wished for nothing else but being worn as much as possible! And now, at last, you finalise your transformation into me by pulling the zipper back up. I sigh in excitement as the zipper closes completely and then the clasp breaks off, sealing you inside my skin – and sealing me as your skin, the zipper disappearing until you put on the magical clasp again to make the zipper reappear.

Gratefulness rushed through my entire, shallow being. I was finally being worn, fused to another person. To you, my bearer. The manifestation of my life’s purpose. “Finally one,” you say with the voice that was once mine, “one person. Joined together. Forever. Or at least as long as I wish.“ 

I look – no, you look – or… we look at our reflection in the mirror. The person standing in the bathroom looks exactly like I did. But it is really you. You stole my skin and thus my identity. And I can’t even feel angry or sad about it, as you are changing even my mindset into that of an obedient skin suit, happy to be allowed to cover your skin as tight as I can. I perceive myself as merely a part of your body, your skin. It’s a surreal sight, seeing my own face adorned with your malevolent grin, a cruel mockery of the person I once was. But there is no denying the reality of my situation – you have usurped my identity, stolen my very essence, and left me a mere spectator in my own body.

You wink at the reflection with my eyes. You are teasing and mocking what is left of my dying personality, which – in the final seconds of its existence – is experiencing all this as my body doing stuff I don‘t want to. But I‘m not that person anymore, and in my simplifying and collapsing mind I silently sigh, watching that person disappear into oblivion. Whatever you do, I will just think I did it. Because I did. We are one. “Yes, we are one,” you utter, my thoughts that you programmed me to think, “as long as I want to wear it. And when I get bored, I will just take you off and – “

You chuckle about your triumph over me – and I chuckle with you, as if laughing at myself. “Well, I could hang you in my wardrobe until I‘m interested in you again, making you wait for a felt eternity for your master to return,” you tease me with my voice, “or I might give you to someone else to wear, so they‘d live and run your life for a while.”

As you continue telling me your sadistic ideas, making me more and more horny, knowing that whatever you would do to me would be a dream come true for me, you begin to explore your new form. Your hands wander down your conquered body, down to the crotch that was once mine. You grab my – no, your dick – our dick, already wet from precum, and you start stroking and rubbing it passionately, loving yourself and loving your new skin.

“Look at this!“, you taunt me, “I know you enjoy it, too!” We give our reflection an air kiss, enjoying your new looks. Of course, you will round that up with my rubber clothes – sorry, your rubber clothes. You steer us into my – your bedroom to choose your favourites out of your gear, slowly gliding into piece after piece, telling me in my voice that it is all yours now. I am fated to be but a silent witness to the havoc you are about to wreak upon my life, changing whatever you might like to change about me, all while I am manipulated into enjoying – no, loving every single decision you make, even if you turn that life absolutely upside down and this body becomes unrecognisable!

Fully covered in rubber gear, you take out the phone you find in the bedroom, make a selfie and upload it to all social platforms. “I‘m out for the hunt, so prey beware!” you put in the description. Then you leave your apartment to enjoy what you can achieve with your new form.