Jennifer's Mask

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 17:30:32

Jennifer's Mask
Author: Unknown Word Count: 3381
The eight of us were quite pleased with the dinner party at Jennifer's house, including my girlfriend and me, and we were all thirsty for wine. Jennifer and I exchanged a warm smile—there was always an attraction between us. Jennifer was older than me, had lived alone for several years, and was very attractive.
I went down to the living room, looking for the bathroom, until I reached her bedroom. I saw something that took my breath away: on the dressing table, wrapped in a plastic bag, was an amazing Jennifer head mask. I picked it up to examine it closely: it looked quite sexy, with a half-open mouth and empty eyes. Suddenly, Jennifer walked in—she had clearly followed me. She told me that her husband had made it for her using a mold of her head, and it was very detailed and lifelike. She was sure I was captivated by it. She picked it up from the dressing table and showed it to me. As I played with it close to my face, she called me—almost ordered me to try it on. With a weak protest, she quickly put it on me.
My friends came in and watched with great interest. Jennifer had a little trouble putting the mask on me, so I stopped protesting and helped her. The mask was made of a sticky material; elastic like a silicone breast implant—it hugged me tightly but was quite comfortable. Its nostrils connected to mine, and its lips were fixed to mine, giving me soft, feminine lips like Jennifer's. I touched the mask and felt it was thicker at my cheekbones. It reminded me with my growing numbness that I was wearing a cover—like putting a condom over my head. But unlike a condom, the mask's opening was small, and my head was quite large. This would make it difficult to remove.
I went to the mirror, my excited lower body suppressed in my tight underwear. I looked at my reflection: now wearing Jennifer's mask, her curly black hair cascading down her face, my eyes hidden in her eye sockets, a prominent but feminine nose, a slightly sunken chin, and soft, well-defined lips. "Come here!" she called out in a passionate, intoxicating voice. "How about I dress you up?" I saw my friends smile; they probably didn't know I had no choice—this was what I longed for. My heart pounded with desire and excitement, and I wished this moment of pleasure could last forever. My head was confined within Jennifer's skin, which wrapped me tightly, as tightly as I loved it. Jennifer
chased away my friends, insisting that my elaborate attire would astound everyone, so I followed her into the second bedroom and put on what she had given me. She locked the door, unbuckled my belt, and eagerly pulled down my trousers, immediately noticing my arousal. She approached me, admiring me as she smoothed the mask. "That's the reward for this," she said, asking if I was willing to give it up. I couldn't believe her audacity, and things spiraled out of control as I discovered the mask in her bedroom. Now I wore her mask, my trousers reaching my ankles.
She removed all my clothes and unbuttoned the top of her dress, revealing her soft breasts. We stood in the middle of the room, kissing passionately. Imagine this scene: I am a man with a woman's face and woman's hair. I open my eyes and think: it's unbelievable to kiss her while wearing her own face. I wonder what she thinks when she sees her face and looks back at her. My soft sigh comes from her soft, rubbery lips; I feel her hair brush against my neck and shoulders; I shake my head and stare blankly at the ceiling.
We know this can't go on—others are waiting for us. So she immediately releases her lips and searches for clothes in the closet. She says this closet was once used by her husband at a Halloween party in the seventies. Seeing a closet full of women's clothing, I begin to suspect she is a cross-dresser.
She picks up an opaque latex panty and a pair of nylon stockings, then deals with my genitals first. Now my genitals are bound, silent prisoners, sacrificed to imitate Jennifer. A tight pair of nylon stockings and a padded elastic synthetic fiber corset slowly rise, giving me a woman's sexy hips, thighs, and protruding buttocks. An orange vinyl suspender petticoat, a bra with large, bouncing prosthetic breasts, and a black, tight-fitting turtleneck sweater whose collar completely concealed the lower edge of the mask. Stylish white knee-high boots were tight, but I could still walk in them, and an orange plaid shawl was tied in the front with thin strings. The pressure on my nails and the false eyelashes looked like a small piece of a simple crossword puzzle, but I silently accepted it. I put on a pair of black leather gloves to make my hands look more feminine. I pressed my breasts, making them lie quietly against my chest, and touched the tight, empty space between my legs with my gloved hands. She highlighted my prominent cheekbones with pink blush and applied lipstick to my soft lips.
The mirror showed the fashion of the sixties, like the wanton Emma Pear. Oh! Woman! A completely realistic woman. The mask was versatile, thin enough to display facial expressions appropriately: a smile, a grimace, a pout, and a listless expression, half-closed eyelids, illusory eyelashes, and a sexy pursed mouth. I was about to lose control, but I had to restrain myself because I couldn't stimulate myself any further. I kept myself in a pleasurable mode: the rustling of my long hair moving, the sound of my nylon stockings rubbing against my feet, the clatter of my boots on the hardwood floors, the feeling of my firm, large buttocks encased in a vinyl petticoat, the sensation of my gloved hands touching the rubber illusion that subtly concealed my true self. That night, my passion burned like fire.
As we prepared to leave the room, Jennifer smiled slyly and said she knew my secret. She assumed I owed her a favor, which she would soon collect. "Yes," she demanded, "say it like a woman."
"Yes," I said, in the closest I could get to her female voice, "yes."
When Jennifer and I appeared at the party hand in hand, everyone was stunned by my appearance. She grinned and introduced me to everyone like a sister; I really did look like her sister. My girlfriend, shocked and amused, looked at me with a knowing look. In front of everyone, she made it clear she wanted me to stop pretending to be Jennifer and go back to being her boyfriend, and I could tell she liked it. I was booed by the boys, who grabbed my breasts and buttocks like drunken construction workers.
When we were about to sit down for dinner, I felt embarrassed by the stares and told Jennifer it was time to take off the mask. But she insisted I wear it and scolded me for causing her so much trouble only to take it off in a few minutes. I protested that it wasn't entirely my idea, but she forced me to swear, in front of everyone, with my most solemn oath—that even if everyone around me laughed, I would not remove the mask until she commanded. I accepted, smiling very much like her. She wanted me to promise that I would speak like her when I wore her mask, and I playfully agreed in a guttural voice. My heart pounded, and I couldn't stop the waves of pleasure racing through my mind.
The party ended. I was drawn to my reflection in the mirror, looking at it again and again; each glance at Jennifer's face in place of mine gave me a burst of erotic pleasure. I longed to make love tonight with any woman I liked. When I grabbed my girlfriend and kissed her deeply in Jennifer's face, she seemed slightly shocked. In a magnetic, breathy voice, I said, "How erotic it would be to make love with a mask on." I told her it was my dream—to dress as a woman and please another woman. She didn't speak, ignoring my words, but I knew what she was thinking. Perhaps daydreaming, imagining all of this, I followed her gaze.
Jennifer's soft, rubbery lips were stained by the boy's kiss, her mouth uttering soft, hoarse sounds. She swayed her large hips, wearing white boots, clumsily mimicking a woman's hesitant steps as she circled the room, but I was starting to get bored. My initial, but passionate flame was gradually cooling. When the last couple left, leaving only the four of us, I asked if I could take off the mask and my clothes to go home. With a lewd smile, Jennifer declared that she hadn't said yes and wouldn't.
I was tired, hot, and restless. I told her it had been long enough. She reminded me of my solemn vow; with a drunken smirk, her companion said, "Whether you like it or not, I'm going to bed with Jennifer tonight." I was a little annoyed by this attitude. I took off my leather gloves and reached for the edge of the mask under my sweater collar. I was going to take off Jennifer's mask, even though I wanted to keep wearing it. After taking it off, I would ask her to borrow it for the night, even if I would be laughed at. In my heart, I wanted to maintain the status quo, but I had to do something about my awkward situation.
I couldn't find the edge of the mask, so I called my girlfriend for help. She laughed and said, "A vow is a vow."
I went to the mirror and took off my sweater so I could see the edge. I saw it clinging to my skin, and I tried my best to tear it off—I couldn't loosen it. I pulled hard on my hair, face, and neck, but now Jennifer's mask was mine. The three of them laughed at my predicament; it seemed they all knew I couldn't take it off tonight—Jennifer had told them, but not me.
"Looks like you've found what you're looking for," my girlfriend whispered seductively, as if she were at home controlling me.
I pulled down the vanity mirror and rubbed the mask against my skin with my gloved fingers. I smiled and fantasized about the wonderful things to come: sleeping with the mask on, strolling in the morning light with my long hair cascading down my pillow, eating breakfast in a bathrobe wearing Jennifer's mask. Before we left her house, Jennifer secretly told me that I could only remove the mask by repaying her in a very special way. She announced to everyone who could hear her, "Tomorrow I will release you and teach you how to do it." But she winked and told me I had to come to her house, to her bedroom to see her.
Over the next few weeks, Jennifer showed me what she had hidden in the closet in the extra bedroom. In this closet, I realized there was a woman imprisoned inside me until that night at Jennifer's house. Jennifer got more than she expected; the woman living inside me was becoming more and more independent, more and more unwilling to return to the closet and wait for me to forget her?
I think I'll gradually get used to this dreamlike life, and one day, Jennifer will be surprised to see herself walking down the street in tight jeans that accentuate her arms. Beneath her red stockings lies a huge bust, and she'll wear matching red high heels and soft rubber lipstick. A confident smile will play on her full lips as she walks, sways her hips, and ignores the pleading of women on the street. I think I'll probably never tire of Jennifer's face.

[The End]

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/34987.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=34987&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : [A Prequel to a Videotape: The Chapter of Akane]

Next Page : Beautiful Wife Hell 1

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Jennifer's Mask

comment Open a new window to view comments