Random #011-2 My Master; My Suitor

Beyond the Kerberus and recklessly blazing into new horizons.


Disclaimer: This work contains adult materials including sexually explicit activities, strong language, and depictions of rape.  This work is not suitable for minors.  Reader discretion is advised.

This story is a direct sequel to Random #011-1: My Master; My Suiter.  It is essential to read Random #011-1: My Master; My Suiter in order to understand the characters, events, and concepts featured in Random #011-2: My Master; My Suitor.  

Random #011-2: My Master; My Suitor

May 27th, 2017 – 10:17
Outside Michael’s house

It had been a week since it happened.  Since Michael abducted me, robbed of my autonomy, and shoved in a dark closet.  I was once a human, but I was now something else.  An object.  A skin.  A thing to be worn by a man in order for him to adopt my appearance.  This was my ‘life’ now, a subhuman existence that would have caused me to fall into deep despair until my mind collapsed in on itself… if not for the fact that I could still feel, I could still perceive the world around me, and when I was reduced to a mere sack of skin, when I was not filled with the body of another, I had those I could communicate with. 

People— former people if you want to be an ass about it— who helped me through the initial shock, urged me to focus on the finer things, and to not focus on the negatives.  For I could control nothing in the world around me.  Nothing beyond my own thoughts.  All I could do was focus on the finer things, on what he allowed me to experience.

As the door out of Michael’s house opened, I found my body basked in radiance.  My ears were filled with the idle chirping of birds in the distance, and my eyes looked plainly outwards at the sight of suburban nature before me.  Trees, grass, stray weeds and dandelions lining the lawns, and across a quiet street with a sprinkling of parked cars stood a rainbow-hued garden, close enough for me to recognize, but too far for me to make out any true details. 

I wanted to admire the nature so titillatingly close to me, but I could not.  I urged my body to move, but it remained where it was, taking a deep breath against my will before my lips moved on their own. 

“…Ah shit, Vita doesn’t have any seasonal allergies, does she?  I didn’t see any medicine in her purse, and she didn’t bitch about it on her Twitter, so I don’t think so… Oh well, I’ll find out eventually.”

As Michael spoke using my mouth, he walked my body away from the front door of his home, and towards the attached garage.  He dug through his purse for a clicker to open the large white garage door.  It was barren beyond stray boxes of unknown contents and could use a good cleaning based on the dust and debris lining the floor, but he paid it no mind, walking to the silver sedan in the center, clicking open the driver’s side door, and scooting on in.

He toyed with the seat, adjusting it for my proportions, before digging through his purse to find the driver’s license he stole from me.  I groaned as I looked over the DMV photo before me, recalling what I looked like back when I was 19, before being reminded of what I looked like now as he flopped down the sun visor, reflecting my face back at me.

A faint layer of make-up adorned my visage.  My bald scalp was covered by a wig of straight dark hair that stopped before my shoulders.  While my body was dressed in the very same clothes I was abducted in.  A light green top, dark shorts, and gym shoes.  It was the only outfit ‘I’ had, but the plan, based on Michael’s verbalized musings, was to correct just that.  After scoping me out, viewing the outfit with a twisted expression, Michael put away the sun visor and plucked a pair of sunglasses from the dashboard, plopping them onto my head.  They did not fit very well— my mother always said I had a big head, and I suppose I truly did— but they would suffice to block out the sun as Michael drove.  And drove he did, backing out and closing the garage while perusing down the suburban streets, keeping my eyes on the road, while my attention drifted to the peripheries of his vision.

However, there was not much to look at.  Just a lot of homes, pavement, greenery, and small shops that cropped up as Michael drove onwards.  But none of it was familiar to me.  From the street names to the layout, it was clear I was in a different town than before, and as my eyes drifted to the cars in front of me, looking at their license plates, I realized I was somewhere in Virginia.  Not exceedingly far from home in Indiana— I was in the same country at the very least— but far enough for everything to be unfamiliar.  Still, it was an appealing enough setting to drive to, and one I went about looking at with rapt attention.  Or at least I tried to.

Even though I had come to accept the fact that I could no longer control my body, old habits die hard, and as I felt my hands wrap around the steering wheel and my foot against the gas pedal, I felt that I needed to be attentive of the road around me, even though I didn’t.  I could not endanger myself and had no reason not to admire the sights I passed by.  All I could do was observe, so that’s all I should worry about.

I groaned as I reaffirmed my passive existence and soon arrived at a shopping plaza, the first of many destinations Michael had on his itinerary today.  Once he parked his car, he casually made his way through the parking lot and to an outlet store, strutting my body with a casual comfort that made me forget that I wasn’t in control.  Through little more than a cumulative day in my Skin, Michael was already picking up on the same subtleties of my own walk, to the point where even I was struggling to tell the difference. 

This same casual comfort and confidence continued as Michael entered the store, saying a friendly hello to a passing retail worker before moving to the racks.  Pilfering through them for things that would fit my frame, while occasionally glancing down at me or his phone, where he typed down my sizes… and measurements.

I found myself not only admiring his efficiency as he filled my arms with clothes, but also his taste.  While not quite matching what I would have selected, he cast a wide net, pulling article after article that grabbed my attention, causing me to briefly fantasize about what I would look like wearing them.  Not that I needed to imagine as, with a foot-tall mound of clothes in tow, Michael moved to the changing room, stripping me of my clothes and rapidly trying on outfits, mixing tops and bottoms together to see how they fit my frame, tossing the good in one pile, and the bad in another. 

His speed was surprising and his lack of gawking after using my body for such sexual purposes startled me.  It supported what Ara had told me after the second time he wore me.  That Michael is a man of many faces, and many demeanors.  He shifts from a deranged youthful pervert high off the thrill of the endorphin rush that comes with titillation to somebody who can view the more sexual situation with a straight face, failing to register it as more interesting than a piece of toast.  And it made sense.  While Michael was a man, he had likely spent more of his life in the female form than a male one.

It was something I kept in mind as he went from article to article, taking periodic notes on his phone for what to buy later, and eventually returning to my original outfit, leaving the bad clothes to be restocked by the employees, while returning to the counter with over $250 worth… after the Memorial Day sales discount. 

Considering how few clothes I realistically needed, I wondered if this was enough to satisfy Michael, but I was wrong.  But this was only the first stop of many, as Michael perused this small town, going from plazas, boutiques, and larger retailers to find things he thought would work, all while musing to himself in my voice.  I got lost in the experience, fawning over how I looked in the mirror, the sights of storefronts, from the unfamiliar to the chains, and taking in the sights of other people.going about their day or shopping a few meters away from me. 

It all felt normal in a way that my ‘life’ has not been for the past week.  I was in regular society again, and I was shocked by how much I missed it.   Unfortunately, it was short-lived.  Michael only left his home to get clothes, and after he reached store number five, the final store located in a dying mall, I knew it was almost over, and that I would go back to the closet soon.  Only for my grumbling stomach— or I guess Michael’s stomach if you want to be technical about it, since his stomach morphs into my stomach… I think.

Point is, it was 14:30 according to Michael’s phone, we had been shopping since 10:30, spent at least $1,500, and I felt gosh darn hungry!  When I came to recognize this sensation, I hoped Michael would adjust whatever his plans were for the day and take me someplace nice.  Sadly, convenience won out, and I found myself drifting to the food court, where Michael made a beeline to a Mediterranean place, making an order while only gazing over the menu overhead.  Two minutes later, I found my butt scooting into a plastic chair with a falafel sandwich, onion rings, and a ‘mango drink’.  It was not the sort of thing I would order for myself, but I did not have any choice but to taste whatever Michael placed in my mouth.

I was apprehensive as I gazed down at the sandwich, only to be pleasantly surprised by the spices packed into the body of the falafel and the potent flavor of the white sauce that brought the sandwich together.  But as I kept eating, I quickly realized that they clearly made the sandwich using day-old pita bread and defrosted vegetables.  By the low metric of quality one must consider when critiquing mall food, it was pretty good, but made me want to try something from a proper restaurant, not a stall. 

The onion rings, meanwhile, were precisely the type of greasy garbage I cut out of my diet once I went to college, because I knew they were too dangerous to be part of my life.  I could feel the oil dripping down my throat as my mouth munched away at them, the crispy breading as it audibly crunched between my teeth, revealing the creamy onion slices within.  It was the sort of crap I knew I could become addicted to, and would always guilt myself out of eating after the first few bites.  However, Michael lacked such an aversion, ate without pause or concern, and allowed me to indulge in the warm junk food that filled my mouth, not caring how this would affect my figure.

As for the mango drink… I never really liked mango in the first place, and it tasted like they added sugar to make it more resemble a soda rather than a cup of fruit juice.  My taste buds did not gel with it, and accordingly, Michael threw it into the garbage.  Which is a really jerkish thing to do, because I know the bags they use in places like this aren’t particularly durable and have a habit of secreting a vile slurry of grease, soda, and I don’t even want to know what else.

With a satisfied sigh and a full belly, Michael grabbed his bag of clothes and casually walked out of the mall, eyeballing a few stores as he headed towards the main entrance and began making the voyage home.  Not knowing how long it would be until I saw the sun again, I soaked in whatever sights I could, trying to ingrain them into my memory by focusing on innocuous details of the mundane neighborhood I drove past.  Then, no more than 15 minutes later, I found myself schlepping in two armfuls of clothes from the car and dropping right outside the walk-in closet Michael filled with the assorted wardrobes for his Skins. 

I expected him to begin sifting through his clothes once again, taking off tags, preparing a load of laundry, or trying some things on in the comfort of his own home.  Instead, Michael simply left the clothes where they sat, muttering that he needed to check a few things online.

After throwing off my top and shorts into the laundry hamper, Michael plucked a purple hoodie and elastic shorts from his closet, thrusting them onto me before moving over to his computer, turning on some music, putting his phone in its holder, and going through his notes while opening up a bookmark folder predictably named “clothes”.  As his window filled with tabs of various sites, he began going through them deliberately, picking up items one by one while building a collection of carts over the span of hours, adding things that would fit both my body and the various other Skins he had tucked away in the closet. 

He was more regimented and decisive than I was as a shopper, seemed confident in his decisions, and conducted himself like a veteran of online shopping.  One whose experience in buying the wardrobes for so many different bodies and wealth allowed him to spend both frivolously and with focus, as he clearly knew what he liked to wear. 

This shopping session carried on for hours, lasting until $3,000 in total had been spent, and the time at the lower right corner of Michael’s monitor read 18:26.  With a yawn, he plopped out of the chair and into the kitchen, where he pulled a pre-made meal from earlier this week out of the fridge, heading up its glass container in the microwave while stretching my body out.  Once done, he returned casually to his computer, free of any lingering tabs from his shopping trip, and began watching an episode of anime while digging into his spaghetti dinner. 

I spent the following 25 minutes trying to grasp what exactly was happening in the show, as this was the first time I saw it, and Michael both began on episode 7, and I wasn’t used to watching subtitled shows like this.  Still, I knew that my opportunities to experience something like this, so I settled into the groove established by the show, latching onto what I could while my mouth was filled with Michael’s home cooking, enjoying it well enough, but not necessarily loving it.

He finished eating right as the show went to credits, and upon rinsing and putting the glass bowl into the dishwasher, Michael walked over to the shower.  He swiftly stripped away my clothes, underwear, and the wig adorning my bald head before entering the shower, where he took little interest in my form as he scrubbed it down, finishing within 7 minutes.  After drying me with a towel, he moved over to the sink, plugging the drain, filling it with cold water, and brushing out the wig as it filled up, before dropping the wig in there to wash it.  He scrubbed and cleansed the synthetic hairpiece with both care and a sense of mundanity to his motions as if he considered this a chore… not that I think I blamed him.

Once the wig was washed, my vision returned to the mirror before me, showing me what I looked like without hair once again.  It was an upsetting image, one that brought back sad memories from a week prior, but they quickly faded away as Michael left the shower, carrying the wig on a hanger while strutting my naked body back to the familiar closet.  I sighed as I saw the skins of women immersed in darkness, knowing I would soon join them on the racks, but I could not be upset.  I had gone on an outing, saw something new, done something I would have considered fun back when I had control of my actions, and was allowed to taste two decent meals.  And it would be unfair to the others.  To Ara, Milky, and Patti.  If I demanded to be out of the closet for over a third of a day. 

After hanging my wig next to my hanger, Michael took his hands to my neck, opening a hole in my skin, and pulling himself out of me.  My body became empty, static, and cold as he left me.  I was reduced to a Skin once more and was hung away for safekeeping until he wanted to wear my form again.  After securing me, Michael took his hands to Patti, inserting his larger body into her petite frame.  His legs narrowed, hands shrunk, and torso condensed as the Skin wrapped over him, causing the lean and tall black man before me to become a short, cubby, and spry Hispanic woman. 

“Alrighteroony!  Time for vidya and then sleepy sleeps!”  Michael shouted as he slammed the door shut, submerging me into the dark and empty yet again.


May 28th, 2017 – 01:27
The Closet

Vita: “I don’t think I’d say that Michael shops like a woman.  He is very efficient, has a good eye for what he wants, and is methodical with his choices, but he also seemed very… robotic.  Especially when it comes to shopping online”

Ara: “It comes from experience, dear.  He has done this for so long and with so many bodies that He just knows what He needs.”

Milky: “Wait until His fashion show.  He is SUCH a girl when it comes to His fashion shows.  You are gonna look so cute, so hot, and so gosh dang fly!  Oh!  But before all that, He’s gonna take you out and pamper the poo out of you!  Manicure, pedicure, full facial, you’ll get your hair— oops!  I probably shouldn’t mention that bitty.”

Vita: “No, no, it’s fine.  I’m reminded of my baldness whenever I’m hung up like this.  I can still feel my scalp, and it’s still shaved smooth.  I don’t like it, but I can’t do crap about it.”

Ara: “I’d say you were a defeatist… but that is the right attitude to have.  No sense in thinking about battles you can’t hope to fight, let alone win.”

Milky: “So, um, anyway, you’re gonna have a great time seeing how much Master will take care of you.  He wants you to look and feel your best.”

Vita: “Because it makes him feel better?  I mean, he doesn’t give a crap about my feelings since I’m just an object.  A Skin he wears to elongate his life and bring him joy.”

Milky: “Ara!  You’re being too pessimistic!  You made Vita a full-blown sour puss in less than two weeks!”

Vita: “Milky, I’m just being a realist here.  I am an object, just like you, and I need to keep that in mind while siphoning whatever joy I can from the experiences Michael gives me.”

Milky: “But that’s such a cold way to put that!  Wait, were you a math major?”

Vita: “No, I was a finance major.”

Ara: “Those are the same damn thing, and you know it.”

Vita: “No, they are COMPLETELY different!  Finance majors use math in a practical manner to benefit themselves and their employers financially.  Math majors use math… to teach math.”

Milky: “Bam!  Shots fired!”

Vita: “Math is one of the worst majors to get into, period!  I will badmouth English majors or history majors as wasting their time and money, but at least those are deep subjects with some external application, and you learn a lot.  Historians are incredibly valuable members of society, and English majors can… write well and know how to read things, which are great skills.  But when it comes to the practical use of math… there are a lot of those.  And you’ll learn basically none of that by getting a B.S. in mathematics.”

Ara: “…Yeah, I agree with that.  I mean, I never went to college beyond a few classes at my local community college, and I don’t have an inkling about what it is like now, but everything you are saying makes sense.  You don’t learn how to program, do financial analysis, or design much of anything just by taking Calculus.  You use the field to solve problems in other fields, which relegates math to a building block for something greater.”

Milky: “Huh.  I guess I never thought of that.  But I was always super-duper focused on getting into Histology… before I met Master.”

Vita: “We all had grand aspirations before some dude with a knife stabbed us in a back alley—”

Milky: “Technically, it was in a bathroom for me.”

Ara: “Yeah, and Master stabbed me in my own home.  He doesn’t follow a uniform format, Vita.”

Vita: “Whatever.  We all had lives before some dude stabbed us, but now it’s the object life for us.”

Ara: “Heh.  You keep surprising me with your adaptability.”

Vita: “Oh, I’m just powering through it at this point.  It feels so deeply wrong to say I’m an object, but if I keep saying it and feeling that way, my mind will start accepting it as the truth.”

Milky: “Dang, you’re almost like a speedrunner or something!”

Ara: “A speedrunner when it comes to the most deranged form of Stockholm syndrome?”

Milky: “I don’t quite know what that means… but yes!”

Vita: “Honestly, it’s less like a speedrun and just running into the muffin guy on the first screen over and over again until you run out of lives.”

Milky: “They’re not muffins!  They’re goombas!  They’re mushrooms!”

Vita: “Are mushrooms ever brown like that?  The ones I’ve seen have all been beige…”

Ara: “They’re supposed to be Shiitake mushrooms or something.”

Vita: “The colors are still wrong then.  Even in the Nintendo game.”

Milky: “But they’re all Nintendo games…”

Vita: “I mean the first one.  It looked kind of like a video cassette player.”

Milky: “You mean the NES!”

Vita: “The…ness?”

Ara: “It’s N-E-S.  Nintendo Entertainment System.”

Vita: “Okay… you guys know I’m not much of a gamer, right?”

Milky: “Well, you’re gonna get smart on that real quick!  Because video games are one of Michael’s biggest loves!  And they were one of my biggest loves before I got Skinned!”

Vita: “Right, and… I am continuously surprised by how much we can prattle on about nothing, in the dark, without moving or referencing anything we can see.”

Ara: “It’s an art.  The art of conversation.  Or if you prefer, the art of bullshitting.”

Milky: “Eyuppers!  And considering you’ve only been at this for a week, you’ve been doing a splendid time keeping up the tempo of gabbing with yo grills!”

Vita: “Milky, are you trying to be silly or funny with your offenses to the English language, or—”

Ara: “Have you heard the nonsense Michael makes Milky say on streams?”

Milky: “It ain’t nonsense if ya’ll can make sense of it!”

Ara: “Oh hush, you.”

Vita: “I mean, just because you hear yourself talk like that doesn’t mean you need to.”

Milky: “Yeah… but it’s funner than talking like a normal human-type person.  And we’ve gotta gobble up all the goodness we can get!”

Vita: “Otherwise, what is the point of being a sentient sheathe of magical skin?”

Ara: “Again Vita, your progress is simply marvelous.  Master really lucked out when He stole you from everything you knew and loved.”

Vita: “Yeah girl, tell me about it.”

Milky: “Ha!  V-chan is bringing in the sass!  It’s spicy like tacos and sweet like milk.”

Ara: “Whatever that means.”


June 16th, 2017 – 13:27
The Beach

The past week had been a cacophony of noise over things I could not see and things I had no relevance for, as Michael went about streaming his reactions to some days long video game press event, doing so for hours before an audience of thousands.  It was a cluster of phenomena I didn’t really understand.  Watching a streamer react to live announcements for trailers revealing products you may be able to buy in a matter of months or years.  But I guess that’s because I wasn’t the target demographic, and I really didn’t need to get it.  Or, as Patti so elegantly said last night, I “don’t need to get anything ever again.”

She was right, and everybody else in the MCC was more than keen to try and explain things to me, just like how they broke down far more than I ever cared about video game history, trying to explain the relevance of an industry.  It was not that I didn’t really like video games.  I grew up with a PS2 in the house, thought the Wii was dope for a few years, got my big brother’s old DS around the same time, and dabbled with a couple of games on my phone.  But I was never deep into the culture or anything, and if I’m going to need to sit through a couple more E3s, I guess I’m going to need to get smart on all things gaming. 

But now was not the time for that.  After a week of streaming, podcasting, and video editing, Michael wanted to escape his home and into nature, which led him here.  A small stretch of beach before me, with only a few other people, enjoying the sand, sun, and water.  Michael and I both let out a sigh of relief as we saw the low occupancy before us, and he wasted no time making his way down there. 

Within minutes, I was lying on a towel, my body all lotioned up, and dressed in the fashionable navy-blue bikini he grabbed during the shopping excursion three weeks ago.  His agenda for the next few hours was simple.  To relax and enjoy both the smell of the sea and the sensation of the summer sun.  With sunglasses shading my eyes, Michael’s eyes fluttered shut, with only the faintest flicker of sunlight shining through my eyelids. 

I joined Michael in this calm state, clearing my mind, focusing only on the sounds of the ocean filling my ears and the warmth that surrounded my lightly clothed body.  It was unlike other times when he wore me, where I felt pressured to take in everything I could, every sight, sound, and sensation, for I did not know if I would ever experience them again.  Here, I felt none of that pressure, and as his body relaxed, so too did my mind. 

In a sense, it was not unlike the times Michael wore me to sleep.  Times where I was immersed in a biological calm and found my mind drifting into nothingness due to a lack of stimulation.  But this was different, it was warm, it was bright, and with the ocean mere meters away, I felt eased in a way I hadn’t… since spring break.  The stress of finals and finishing school caught up to me during the latter half of my final semester, and I had struggled to unwind, even after I knew it was done, and my degree was in the bag.  Back then I was worried about what would come next.  Now, I’m not.  I knew what my days would be like going forward, that I did not need to pressure myself in order to ‘succeed’.  All I had to do now, all I could do now, was live and love it as much as possible.

I never had to worry about work, about family members growing old and needing my aid, about maintaining relationships, or… anything.  It was almost like my life ended right as it was about to truly begin, and now… my foreseeable future is an endless vacation, where I spent my days doing something that, on some level, I always wanted to do.  Relaxing, playing games, watching things, and just lazing about when I’m not chatting with my friends.  In fact, I’d dare say that I… liked this.

As I found myself at the end of this quandary, my eyes shot open and Michael rose from the warmth of his towel to see the sun now laying well behind him.  Hours had passed, the beach was now deserted, and the evening would set upon us soon.  As he realized this, and before the day was done, Michael brought my body into the water, walking along the shore before going deeper and deeper, treading water while looking at the sunlight shimmering along the light waves around him. 

I remained there for hours more, immersing myself in the sensation of weightlessness, the aroma of the water, and the gentle sound as it moved inwards and outwards.  Through gentle motions my body moved through the water, moving along with the mild current and remaining at the cusp of consciousness.  It was an elating form of tranquility, something that caused my mind to flicker as it emptied, my latent worries escaping from my mind as I felt myself immersed in something warm and comforting.  This all lasted until the sun began to sink into the horizon and my stomach began churning.  With a satisfied sigh, Michael lightly stroked his way back to the shore, grabbing everything he came with, and lightly dressing me once he returned to the car. 

The drive home was quiet and somber, devoid of traffic, or comments from Michael.  He simply smiled as he drove along the quiet side streets, occasionally glimpsing at the half-moon above. 

“Michael,” I began, knowing he could not hear me.  “What do you want in life?  Do you simply want joy and pleasure however you may find it?  Is it worth doing this to me, and to all the other women you’ve dehumanized?  I don’t think it was… but I doubt you really care.  I know you are selfish at the end of the day.  If you weren’t, I would be coming home from work right about now.  But even though I know you are a cruel and even callous person… Why do I feel this connection to you?  Is it because I depend on you?  Because I feel what you are feeling?  Or because… despite everything I know about you, I can still see a good side to you.  You are a capable person with… simple desires.  I don’t think you like hurting people, and if you never did this to me… and if you were as young as you looked, I wonder if we would have made a good couple.  …God.  This is some twisted breed of Stockholm syndrome, isn’t it?  You are my abductor.  My abuser.  But after this afternoon together, I’m getting butterflies fluttering in the belly of my mind.”

“I know this is a feeling born out of desperation.  I know that what we have is a symbiotic relationship.  I know that I am your property.  Your thing.  That you are indeed my master.  But… does that make it impossible for me to love you?  Because I know what I want… and I want to be with you.  I want you to be inside me as often as possible.  I want to share so much with you, and for you to love me.  I want… a lot.  I want you all… yet I must share.  You would not be happy that way, and I… would feel awful if I did that to the others.  …Maybe I should go back to thinking about nothingness.  That was nice.”


June 20th, 2017 – 14:44
The Closet

Vita: “Okay, so this Metroid thing was big when exactly?”

Milky: “Games were coming out once a year from… 2002 to 2007.”

Patti:Actually, they were coming out every few months on average.”

Milky: “Really?  There were the Prime games and the GBA ones, what am I forgetting?”

Patti:Pinball and Hunters, you dorkus!”

Vita: “Wait, they made a… pinball game… based on a sci-fi game about genociding space jellyfish?”

Patti: “Um, duh.  And you call yourself a gamer.”

Vita: “I don’t.  I mean, I used to play a bit of the Dragon Quest games on DS every night before bed during most of middle and high school, but that’s probably the most ‘gamer’ thing about me.”

Milky: “If you were Japanese, that’d be pretty casual. But you are an American, so it’s not.”

Vita: “That… makes zero sense to me.”

Patti:Dragon Quest has always been a huge deal in Japan, and it is culturally common for people who play those games to do so after taking a bath and before going to bed.  But here in America, we never really gelled with the Dragon Warrior, even when it was given away with Nintendo Power.”

Vita: “…Right, I forgot it was called Dragon Warrior when it first came out.  I think that was because of some tabletop game or whatever— Goldarn it!  Why can’t I keep a straight line of thought when ‘gabbing off’ with you gals?”

Milky: “Because rambling is fun!  But yeah, we are notoriously bad at that.  Ara frequently says it’s like we all develop our latent ADD when we get together.  It’s not productive, but it is entertaining!”

Patti: “Still, we should still try to educate young Vita on the ways of gamindustri.  You see, after 2007, the series entered a lull where no games came out until 2010 when they released Metroid: Other M— yes, that is seriously what they called it— which was a sales bomb and put the series on ice.  Then they tried to do a bad reboot for idiots last year and now… now we’ve got the idiots who ruined Castlevania remaking a GameBoy game and who-knows-who working on a sequel to the 2007 game.”

Vita: “And why should I care if I can never play these games?”

Milky: “Because when in the gamer world, either you succumb to the madness, or lead a life of misery.”

Patti: “The sooner you are indoctrinated by us Reapers, the happier you’ll be when we’re gushing about God of War 4 or whatever the next big hotness will be.  Besides, hasn’t the Master started using you to play games and chill?”

Vita: “I mean, yeah, but a lot of it is over my head.”

Milky: “Just like that awful Mass Effect reference.”

Patti: “Hey, the indoctrination theory is bullshit, but it’s better bullshit than what Bioware came up with for ME3.”

Milky: “The game was rushed, the ending suffered, but they patched in a good one.”

Patti: “Better?  Yes.  Good?  Oh, fuck no.”

Milky: “You absolved the galaxy of conflict, tore down centuries-long racial tension, and formed an alliance with the most sophisticated lifeforms in the known universe.  That, combined with The Citadel DLC made that game a fantastic send-off.”

Patti: “Wow.  Like, do you even respect the name of role-playing, world-building, and—”

Milky: “Nope!  Because I actually like things, unlike Patti the privileged pessimist here.”

Patti: “Oh, sod off!  Those games were an important part of my teen years, and to see them—”

Vita: “You probably were just overly invested in things, saw a lot of negativity, and accepted that something was bad or disappointing.  Now, that you have been stewing in this conclusion as an irrefutable fact for… however many years, you cannot reconcile that it might have been better than you thought, and you were the one at fault for housing unrealistic expectations.”

Patti: “Damn you, Vita!  You’re supposed to be the mediator!  Not turn against me!”

Vita: “Look, I don’t know much about the Mass Effect hissy fit from a few years back, just that it was a bunch of babies who were upset that a game was just great, instead of being the Christ-like.  It’s people like that who kept me distant from the world of video games.”

Patti: “Look, I’d never give death threats or harass developers— I blame EA more than Bioware on what happened— but when something is shit, I call it out on being shit.”

Milky: “But your metrics of ‘shit’ may very well be anything under a 93 on Metacritic.”

Patti: “Oh, FUCK Metacritic.  Reviewers don’t write FOR the system, so it is inherently flawed.  You need a group of panelists to put their biases aside and focus on the general objective merits of the games and generate a number denoting standard quality in accordance to a robust rubric.  That is the future of measuring a game’s quality.”

Vita: “God, video games are stupid.”

Milky: “They are, but they’re also fun, and I think the new Metroid game was neat.  I look forward to seeing Master play it on Citra after it launches and whatever compatibility issues are fixed.”

Vita: “Okay.  And what is Citra?”

Milky: “A Nintendo 3DS emulator for PC.  It’s still early, but it lets you play these games at super higher resolutions.  Plus, it’s way better for streaming than trying to rig a 3DS to a capture device.  That’s a pain, and when blown up to HD, all native 3DS gameplay looks like… 240p.”

Vita: “You need to play handheld games on a computer for them to look decent?”

Patti: “Um, yeah.  It’s like what you just said, Vita.  Video games are stupid.”


July 16th, 2017 – 21:55
Michael’s Bedroom

Something I had grown well accustomed to over these… 6 weeks, is the sound of Milky’s moans during the evenings, of her voice teasing and titillating an audience, and of her body being penetrated with a variety of toys.  She was always giddy after these performances of hers, talking about how refreshing and satisfying it was, and try as I might, I could not understand how she found enjoyment in having her body defiled by Michael before an audience of hundreds of men… and possibly a few women.

I recalled Ara mentioning how she and Patti were brought into these ‘cam shows’ during special occasions, and while they said that I would be chosen one of these days, I somehow never thought it would actually happen.  Yet there I was.  With Michael inside me, my body dressed lightly, sitting on his cushy bed, looking at a premium webcam and two monitors.  One with enlarged text scrolling by it, each line conveying the anticipation of viewers attending this showing, while the second showed software that captured my image.

My eyes then drifted to the scattering of ‘toys’ near the bed, within arm’s reach, but outside the range of the camera.  I feared what Michael would do to me, I wanted to walk away and turn off the camera, but I had no say in the matter.  Despite my internal concerns and worries, I was smiling with the entirety of my visage, my dimples visible even on the screen a meter away from me.

I did not want this, but it was more than that.  I was worried that I would be found through this, that my family would uncover this video through some means and their final memories of me would be the sight of me masturbating before a crowd of perverts and degenerates.  But I had plenty to reassure me.  This was a private showing that would not be archived.  The likelihood of somebody connecting the dots between a random cam girl and a missing person was slim to nil.  And above all, Michael was calm, bearing no reservation or fear as the countdown began.   Then finally, at 22:00, video of my barely clothed body was sent streaming across the world. 

“Why, good evening, lovelies,” my voice cooed seductively.  “Some of you are probably wondering where Milky is.  Long story short, she had a few things she needed to take care of tonight and invited me to substitute for her.  Now, who am I?  Well… you can call me Jessie, and I’ll be your entertainer for the evening.  I have all the usual toys at my disposal, and Milky has informed me what you like in excessive detail.  So, worry not, and please, keep the tokens rolling in.”

I wanted to throw up in my own mouth and choke on it as I hear the words that escaped my lips.  Lying, manipulative, and viciously unlike anything I would say, even to those I loved.  But at the same time… I felt desires warming up in my body.  Like it or not, and through a will beyond my own, I was aroused by this situation, the sound of my own voice, and that sensation only grew more intense as the show carried on.  Act I was verbal foreplay mixed with stripping down to nothingness, leaving my body bare and plain for the masses to ogle.  Act II was overt and softer, as Michael contorted and displayed my body to the audience, rubbing and accentuating my “assets”.  While Act III was where things got… intense, as Michael began grabbing the toys around me, starting small, but escalating rapidly. 

Since I became part of Michael’s collection, he had developed a very intimate understanding of my body, found where I was most sensitive, and had become significantly better at masturbating my form than I ever was.  It made it hard for me to harbor anger for him as he did this to me.  As I became immersed in a shared pleasure.  That much had been true since the first time he wore me since we had our first intimate experience.  However, that intimacy had been shattered by the introduction of an audience whose reactions prevented me from losing myself in the act as I had in the past.

As Michael dug deeper into me and filled my body with stronger sensations, the text on the chat screen only moved faster.  A maelstrom of emotes, caps lock, reptilian-minded textual grunts of lust, and censored racial slurs.  People were banned, people joined in rapidly, and visual fanfare of donations emanated from my speakers as Michael smiled and thanked the likes of BongLord69, Aku_Mako, and Cuntasaurus.

I felt cheated on.  Like something that was mine was sullied to appease others, but as I took a floppy tiny rubber fist up my ass, it all clicked.  I was being humiliated, embarrassed— I was literally begging for money as I masturbated in public… and that turned me on.  Or at least it turned my body on.  The lines between what were my tastes and preferences and Michael’s became blurred.  His kinks brought me physical pleasure, and as I became drunk off of the thralls he subjected my mind to.  Our… fetishes began to meld into one.

“Was I always like this?  Would I have felt the same if I did this to help pay the bills in college?  If I ever regained a body of my own, would I feel the same way now?  Could I really be this… this… Ah, fuck it!”

I had no reason to hold back.  No need to ruminate over these new feelings.  At least not then and there.  I could neither stop nor control this experience, and all the best thing I could do was lay back and immerse myself in it.  In the way my body felt.  The way He made my body feel.  Fusing His desires with my biology to drown my mind in a downpour of euphoria.  It was deviant, it was disgusting, and I know that if the me from two months prior saw this, she would be aghast by my degeneracy.  But as the vibrator was cranked up to max, I couldn’t care less.

I kept reaching my limit, only for Him to push me further, urging me onwards, and bringing my body both pleasure… and fatigue.  At 23:11, I stared deeply at my face, dampened with my own juices, as Michael leaned towards his computer, putting a sticky hand on the mouse as He ended the stream.  The chat continued even after the broadcast ended, the fans clamoring for “Jessie” to return.  And I was clamoring for the same as I laid on the bed, sinking into the moistened sheets, my heart racing and my body sore. 

“Vita, I know you’re gone, but… I love your body.  I can tell you weren’t the most experienced with this sort of thing, perhaps you were just scared, but your body is amazing.  If the revenue difference between busty blondes and B-cup black babes wasn’t so massive, I’d probably switch to you for streaming full-time.  Your body is just that good.”

His comment did not sit well with me at first.  He was complimenting me specifically for my body, but not me as a person.  It reminded me that… He was just another man.  One who used me for his own sexual pleasure.  It reminded me of the few men I tried to date, and even if they seemed decent, their core desires were the same.  Hooking up, advancing the relationship to sex, and siphoning off the perks of being in a relationship.  I never felt that they truly cared about me as a person… even as they were inside me.

But I wasn’t a person any longer.  I was a thing.  A thing that He loved.  I brought Him joy, and as a thing, is that not all I can hope for?  To be valued?  To be cherished?  It seemed wrong to desire something so basic, so menial.  But as I laid in the afterglow, digesting his words, I pushed my pride as a person away, and acknowledged the feelings within me.

“I love you too… Master.”


July 15th, 2017 – 09:06
The Closet

Ara: “…Would you care to repeat that, Vita?”

Vita: “Um, sure.  Michael is my Master and I love Him very dearly.”

Patti: “Dayum, girl!  I expected you to put up some resistance and go on a spree about how He is just a rapist or some shaz before you saw the light.”

Vita: “Again, I am a conscious sentient being… but I am also aware that I am little more than a sex toy.  We are all sex toys.”

Ara: “We are like if a sex toy doubled as something you could actually use.”

Patti: “Yeah, we’re like a pair of underwear that jerks you off.”

Vita: “…The sarcasm in your voice didn’t travel.  You wanna try that again?”

Patti: “You got a better simile, new blood?”

Vita: “It has been two months since I came into the flock, so perhaps you can stop considering me new around here.”

Patti: “Hell no!  I got pooped on for being the new girl since I got Skinned!  Now it’s your turn!”

Ara: “Patricia, the reason why we ‘pooped on’ you is because you make it so easy.  Besides, here in the MCC, our favorite pastime is shit-talking.”

Patti: “Yeah, but you could talk shit about anything, not just me.”

Vita: “Can I please try to finish a cohesive thought before we veer into more nonsense?”

Patti: “You can try, but—”

Vita: “Hush, you!  I wanna get serious for a moment!  How… how did you guys feel about men when you were human?”

Ara: “I’m going to give you the whole story since I can see the follow-up questions a mile away.  I dated a bit, married young, and was happy with the man I was with.  He respected me as a person, and I aimed to aid him in every way I could, both as a wife and an assistant.  It made it hard to watch our relationship crumble into divorce at the hands of Michael… but that was over a decade ago.  I despised Him for months after the settlement was finished… until I gave up hope, accepted my position in life, and began to see the finer points of being with Him.  It was a coping mechanism at first, to stave off the sorrow that had befallen my existence, but it developed into a genuine love as He and I shared a body, emotions, and kinks together.”

Patti: “I… actually never had a true date in my life.  I had crushes growing up, but my parents were fundamental Christian puritans who taught me all kinds of lies.  Like how masturbation was the way the devil tried possessing you, how a woman must save herself before marriage or else she will bear children with autism, and how God will prevent you from harm if you devote your very soul to him.  But then I was shipped off to college, started doubting what they told me during my sheltered childhood, and right as I was about to stay nudging into normalcy, guess what happened!”

Vita: “You got kidnapped and raped by Master?”

Patti: “Exactamundo!  And I shattered like a glass bowl being thrown into an industrial fan moving at head-souping levels of fastness!  Shit was tighter than my virgin puss!”

Vita: “…Are you real?”

Ara: “Unfortunately, yes.  She is a real person and not a figment of our deteriorating minds.”

Patti: “Jeeze, I’m just trying to be funny here.  What, does me talking about how He popped my hymen and kept going until I could barely walk not warrant some levity?  It was traumatic for, like, a day, but then I saw the way.  I channeled my Christian powers of devotion into Master and learned to love Him dearly in record time.  It’s like being a drug junkie.  I got off one thing, but once I saw the white powder on the horizon, I wanted to smoke it all until my heart turned black!”

Ara: “Patti also does not know how drugs work.”

Vita: “Uh, yeah, that much was obvious.”

Patti: “Vita, you just gave me ALL the guff for interrupting you, but now you don’t want me to tell my story?  Make up your mind, ya inglorious self-styled cunt.”

Ara: “Patti, when was the last time the Master pleasured you?”

Patti: “…Five days ago.”

Ara: “Aw, is baby horny?”

Patti: “The hell do you think?  …Yes, baby is horny.  The Master has brought more happiness into my life than anybody I have ever known.  He made my body feel better than I could ever dream of.  And… I just wish that I was hotter so I could satisfy Him more.  But nobody wants to jerk it to a short Puerto Rican girl with micro-tits or hear her high-pitched voice over the hottest gameplay.  …If He just gave me a quickie before going to bed as me, I would be elated, but He doesn’t, and I cannot beg Him for more.  I know I should be thankful, but…I just wish He loved me more.”

Ara: “It’s been almost a month since He touched me.  Be glad you are young, virile, and full of surprises.  That He still whispers sweet nothings with your voice.”

Patti: “…Damn, has it really gotten that bad?”

Ara: “It has.  Age has become a vague abstract thing, but by now, I am likely in my early 30s.  I thought it was just bad luck, but… I can feel His love for me dwindling down, and I fear my purpose is near its end.  It happened to my predecessors, and it is inevitable to happen to me.”

Vita: “That is a load of bull!  You’re sexy!  You’re hot!  What kind of standards does He have to get rid of you?”

Ara: “It’s less His standards and more His desire to be in a different body.  I am becoming boring to Him, and the aging process of my body is doing me no favors.”

Vita: “Hold on… how does Mich— Master get rid of us Skins?”

Patti: “He shreds them up in a blender and then flushes the bits down the toilet.”

Vita: “That is… HORRIBLE!  Couldn’t He just place us in a box forever if He hates us that much?”

Ara: “He could, but this is actually a kinder end for us.  Years of uninterrupted sensory deprivation brings true madness, and as our bodies do not decompose, we would be immersed in it until something or someone destroyed our beings.  Because while our forms do restore from cuts or scrapes upon being worn, we cannot regenerate from being torn to shreds or ground into a slurry.  He might care for us more if He knew we still retained sentience, but He does not, and we lack the medium to convey this to Him.”

Vita: “…I still find that hard to believe.  But I guess that’s magic for you.  It makes the impossible and illogical both real and tangible.”

Ara: “Even if He was aware of us… I feel that I have entered the twilight of my existence.  I will not openly embrace death, but I feel fatigued from life itself.  The same people, same activities, and same routine, forever repeating, and while things do advance and change, the loop of my life has become so tiresome that I would shed few tears if Michael were to end me.”

Patti: “There’s still a good little Christian girl inside my corrupted heart that wants to say that you should never try suicide, that life is precious, and all that jazz… but that’s a load of shit.  If you want to die, Ara, I don’t think we have any reason to object to it.  I mean, even if we did, none of us have any control or agency of our own lives anymore.”

Vita: “We always seem to keep forgetting that factoid when delving into these moral quandaries.  But I suppose that is a remnant from our time as humans.  Back when we had this cute little thing known as free will.”


October 6th, 2017 – 15:48
The Local Grocery

When you are locked in a closet for hours, if not days, on end with no idea when you’ll be let out you tend to appreciate the little things in life.  The change of seasons, the sight of crowds, or the mundane actions that make up your day.  This is why I was excited that Master wore my Skin during HIs weekly trip to the grocery store.  It was a preview of the food I may or may not get the opportunity to eat, a place where I could watch and see a diverse group of people, and a place with no shortage of vibrant colors to see and unique textures to feel as my hands were used to grasp fruits, tie off bags, and arrange things about in both the car and kitchen.

It was these little things that I had come to cherish doing with my Master, and today was no different.  I took note of His choices with rapt attention as He went about planning a super cooking day over this weekend, gathering everything He needed for a vast array of dishes.  Including paella, nasi goreng, schnitzel, yukgaejang, borscht, and tom kha gai based on the list He looked at periodically, along with a scattering of other things.  I passively enjoyed Michael’s deliberate shopping, grabbing everything He needed in a single round trip before parking His hefty cart at the end of a line, checking Twitter as He waited, boosting the following of Milky’s streamer persona. 

That is until it was finally time for Him to unload everything, putting the heavy things in front and light things in the back, before going to bag the groceries Himself, because that’s how things worked at this store.  But as He did so, stuffing His cloth bags, He was interrupted by the cashier.

“Wait, Vita?  Is that you?”

Master froze as the sound of my name brushed through my ears.  I did the same, struggling to process the sound of my own name, and terrified of how this person might know me.  Master, blissfully, darted His vision up quickly, allowing me to look the speaker in the eye… and spend a good three seconds trying to recall who they were. 

She was a portly Hispanic woman I had a few general ed classes with in college, and who I worked with on a project in Business 101.  Her name escaped me at the moment, but I was more concerned as to why the Hell somebody I went to college with, in Indiana, was here, in Virginia, working at a goldarn grocery store.

“Um, I’m sorry Miss.  I think you are mistaken.  My name is Jessie.”

“Oh… sorry about that.  You look JUST like a girl I went to college with up in Indiana.”

“That’s one helluva coincidence, because I never went to college, nor have I ever been to that state.  I had no reason to do either.  Now then, could we please complete this transaction?”

“Right, right,” the cashier said, continuing to scan the items lining the conveyor belt.

As Master continued to bag the groceries, He let out a sigh of relief.  While I now wore a wig of straight hair, my face was the same, and it would be possible for somebody to recognize me accordingly.  But by being hundreds of miles away from my hometown, the chances of that were slim.  This was an anomaly.  Nobody in this town, whatever its name is, should have any idea why I was here, and He did not bother asking the cashier why she, somebody who presumably completed college, was still working at a grocery, but it did not matter.  Her suspicions were shut down, the transaction was completed, and Master was able to unload His groceries into His car.

As He did so, I found myself lost not within the sights of the town around me, but my own thoughts.  It had been over four months since I was Skinned.  And during that time, I had thought of my family less and less.  I accepted that they were gone and that I would never see them again.  It stung, but the idea of them meeting me as I was now and talking to Him under the assumption He was me… that terrified me.  Master had no reason to care about my family.  He could devastate them with a few words.  He could scar them by denying to be me.  He could claim to be me and disown them.  He could view them as a danger to His way of life and… dispose of them. 

There was no positive outcome here.  I never wanted Him to meet my family… and I never wanted to see them again, because I knew it would only hurt them to see me like this.  A literal shell of my former self.  A human transformed into an object that exists as a means of prolonging a life and eliciting sexual pleasure.  That is what I am now.  And that is all I’ll ever be.  I no longer have the Velasquez family to call my own.  I no longer have friends built up over the years.  I no longer have a future of accolades.  I only have my Master and… other objects who are trapped in the same circumstance I am. 


October 9th, 2017 – 02:22
The Closet

Vita: “It’s just hard to accept that those you loved… all of them… are gone.  They are still around, but they cannot and will not be part of your life, because you don’t have one anymore.”

Milky: “It is Vita.  It really is.  I’ve been in here for years, and I still miss my family.  We were tight, we did everything together, saw the country, and spent our time with one another.  And I had a lot of responsibility for my younger siblings, being the eldest of four.  I know I can never interact with them again, but part of me still wishes I could see those I love.  Stubborn little Naan, headstrong little Onion, and kindly little Potato.  But they’re all adults now, adults who grew up without a big sis to help them.”

Vita: “…Wait, your siblings were named Naan, Onion, and Potato?  What the hell was wrong with your parents?”

Milky: “Nothing was wrong with them, though I suppose they were a bit nutty.  They were free-spirited and talented people who believed that all children should be brought into this world with a name as unique as they are.  They were also chefs for quite a while and thought it would be interesting to name their children after food, so they started with Milky, then Naan, then Onion, and finally Potato.”

Vita: “…And here I thought my parents were assholes for naming me the Latin word for life.”

Ara: “I’m quite surprised that we didn’t discuss this months ago.  It really is one of the more remarkable things about Milky.”

Vita: “…Wait, so Milky isn’t a nickname?  Your legal name is Milky Sunshine?”

Milky: “No, but I wish I was.  My full legal name is, or I guess was, Milky Zeal Banana.”

Ara: “And yes, Milky is being completely serious.  I have seen her driver’s license.”

Vita: “I would ask why I wasn’t in a closet with normal people… but I think I actually prefer things this way.”

Ara: “I agree, but there are limits.  Somebody like Patti is a delight to be around and tease, but when you get people like Lizzie… you’re in for a bad couple of years.”

Vita: “She was the yandere, right?”

Milky: “I like calling her an outright psycho, but I think that’s an apt descriptor.  Anyways, Milky shared, so now it’s your turn, Ara Ara!”

Ara: “I told you to not call me that!  Besides, my name has nothing to do with that phrase.  It comes from a completely different language.”

Vita: “Less whining, more storytelling!”

Ara: “As you know, my relationship with my husband ended shortly after Michael… after He stole my body.  He was definitely my closest family at the time, and I shall always miss him accordingly.  But I have long since accepted the fact that I shall never see his face or hear his voice ever again, that he is no longer a part of my existence.  The same is true for all of my family.  My elder brother and younger sister, my parents, and my many cousins.  I was close to them growing up, as our family stuck together through the good and the bad, but their lives are of no consequence to me now.  They have moved on without me, gotten married, had children, and ushered in a new generation that knows me only in stories and photographs.”

Milky: “Yeah, but wouldn’t you like to see them again if you could?”

Ara: “We truly should consider banning hypotheticals amongst our discussion, for we can do nothing in the truest sense.  But… no, I should not want to reconvene with them.  Even if I were made human once more, I would not be the person they recalled.  Besides, it might be for the best if they do not meet me.  For all I know, my husband has been remarried, had a family of his own, and is happier with his new spouse than he ever would have been with me.  I have nothing left for me in the world beyond this closet.”

Vita: “Which is why you’re okay with dying soon?”

Ara: “Yes.  I can feel my usefulness as an object coming to an end, and I would rather be disposed of than be left to linger and lose what little grasp I have of the world around me.  It happened to the Skins who preceded me, and while I thought them to be daft at the time, now that I am in their predicament, I understand their judgment.  I have played my role in this world, and while I wish I had the opportunity to play a larger or meaningful one, that is not what the hand of fate decided for me.  And once this role is fulfilled and I am no longer needed nor wanted, I am content with being disposed of like an object.  Besides, it’s not like I can do a damn thing about it.”

Vita: “Well, Ara, I just want you to know that I appreciate you.  I appreciate all of you.  You are what kept me sane during these times, and I don’t know how I would have coped with things if I didn’t have the opportunity to talk to you all.  And more than that… I feel comfortable around you.  I can tell you anything, and you would not reject me.  Worries I would have kept bottled away are now things I can say plainly.  My thoughts and opinions might not be worth much as, just like you, I am a mere object.  But I’m glad I got to know you.  I’m glad that we could be friends.”

Ara: “Sweetie… If I could cry, I would.  I’m glad that I got to know you.  That I got to know Milky, Patti, and everyone who has left this closet over the years.”

Milky: “Except for Lizzie.”

Ara: “Yeah, no.  Fuck that bitch.  I’m glad she died in a river of piss and feces.”


November 23rd, 2017 – 16:20
The Master’s Bedroom

Thanksgiving.  A day of celebration, kinship, and gathering together with one’s family to touch base, overeat, and check your phones for sales while at the dinner table, no matter what nana says.  It was a jovial time, one of merriment, memories, and problematic comments by those who we were hesitant to invite to this get-together.  Due to college, I was unable to participate in these dinners for the past few years, as it simply wasn’t worth it for me to travel just for dinner and some family time, especially with finals right around the corner.  I had hoped that this year I would be able to enjoy the sight of my extended family, all cluttered in a rarely used dining room while helping out in the kitchen… assuming they’d let me in.  Now, that won’t happen, and it will never happen again.  If anything, I’m sure there will be a point during dinner where they mourn my loss, wishing I was there with them, spouting theories of what became of me.

Yet even the most outlandish theory would be far from the truth.  That I had been captured, robbed of my humanity, of what I defined as my own life, and been made the possession of a man.  It was a fate I reacted to with sorrow as I came to terms with it, but now, six mothers later, my perspective was different.  I learned to appreciate my new existence.  I learned to love my Master.  I learned to abandon those I cared for.  And I learned to treasure every last bit of happiness I came across before my days as a Skin came to an end.

Until then, it was my goal to seek as much joy as possible, for I had no way to exert my will onto the world around me.  All I could do was find happiness as it came my way, and savor whatever Michael did when He wore my Skin.  From the mundanities of shopping to the thrills of outings, or even the comfort of intimate home life.  Or to give a more current example, sitting back in His comfy gamer chair, Nintendo Switch Joy-Cons in both hands, chilling out, and playing a video game.  It was a simple thing, a normal thing, and I was having fun as He moved my hands, scouring one of the expansive worlds of Super Mario Odyssey and pilfering it for missing Moons, the cheery sound effects overlapping with the sound of the latest episode of His favorite podcast, the SuperBestFriendcast.

I laughed along with Him, smiled as He did, and immersed myself in the act of play.  I had grown used to Master’s quirks.  I had been worn while He played games enough to know how He played them.  And this allowed me to feel like Master and myself were one in the same as He played.  Like I was the one playing the game.  Like we were playing it… together.

But all good things must come to an end, and as the podcast came to its end after its usual absurd 3-hour-long run time, Master ended this play session.  As the moon count ballooned past 500, He let out a satisfied sigh, quit the game, and flipped His HDMI dongle, and stood up, stretching my body backwards, forwards, and sideways.  In doing so, His stomach began to grumble, and as He laid His eyes on the time on His monitor, He knew why.

“Typical Nintendo, putting out a game so addictive that I forget to eat.  Ah well, at least the oven was set to turn off… 45 minutes ago.”

The Master chuckled to Himself before making His way to the kitchen, where He casually pulled open the oven door.  A gust of warmth flowed through and onto my face, filling my nostrils with the aroma of the food He prepared hours earlier.  A festive meal for the holiday.  He brought my mitt-covered hands to the pans within, bringing them onto the stovetop before looking down at them, admiring His work as He saw His meal for today.  Turkey, a sweet potato dish, and a small casserole.

It was an imposing sum of food for one person, especially a young woman such as myself, but it was not my body that would be digesting this food.  It would be Master.  Regardless of the body He wore, all food digested was returned to Him and processed by His body via means that us Skins lack the means to understand beyond being mere ‘magic’. 

He had the stomach of a young man, no more than 25 years of age, and despite His slender build, I had never seen Him walk away from a meal with leftovers.  I tried to convince myself that this was an exception, but as He began taking utensils to the food before Him, and filling up a plate, I realized that He was serious in this endeavor.  A twinge of concern filled my mind as I made this realization, only for it to vanish as He changed His expression, infecting me with His eagerness as He returned to His bedroom and computer with a tower of food in tow. 

His culinary skill always made me happy to indulge in whatever He prepared Himself a meal, and this was no exception.  The tender meat, the creaminess of the sweet potatoes, and the rich flavors of the casserole.  But it was more than that.  It was a meal He had made for… me.  Over the months, He has been adjusting what food He ate while wearing my form, and this was the first meal He prepared that I felt to be truly curated around what He has discovered my palate to be.  It reminded me of dinners my mother and nana would make during the holidays, but without the acquired flavors that brought me some nostalgic feeling, yet would not translate to a positive sensation on a strictly biological level. 

Regardless, it was delicious, and He thought so as well.  He continued to poke away at the meal for an hour as He caught up on His anime backlog until all that remained on the plate before me was a scattering of scraps and bones.  My belly was bloated, my body spread itself across the gamer chair it was sat in, and as the food was washed down with rapid-fire gulps from Master’s oversized water bottle, I released a guttural belch.  I would have once felt embarrassed by the sensation of my form doing something so vulgar, but Master felt differently.  He was satisfied.  And if He was satisfied, why should I be unsatisfied?  After all, my existence is based around siphoning all joy I can from Him.  And if He is enjoying Himself, I should be enjoying myself.  For when we are together when He is wearing me… we are to be one and the same.

Is that where the truest pleasure of a Skin is?  Immersing oneself in the sense of being worn, and joining in the wearer’s joy?  I would have to ask my friends later and confirm that this is the true path to happiness.  But for the time being, such concerns were put aside as Master spoke aloud with my voice.

“How long has it been since I found you, Vita?  Six months?  Yeah, that sounds about right.  Whenever I find a new girl to make into a Skin, I never know if she’s going to be a keeper or not, if I’ll get tired of them in a few weeks or months, or if they’ll be like Ara or Milky and be so God darn comfortable that I keep wearing them for years and years.  And you Vita… you’re definitely in the latter camp.  There are a lot of reasons to like a Skin.  Beauty, comfort, and general health, sure.  But in the end, it all comes down to the feel.  How much I can… sync with a Skin and feel like I have really become them.  At first, it’s a bit awkward, as if the Skin is resisting me.  But as I break through the tension, things, ideally, get looser, and I begin to forget who I am beneath this flesh.”

“This feeling of being somebody else is what first drove me to wear the Skin I unfortunately made.  And while my reasons to bear my knife have changed over the decades… I always savor this feeling.  Of distancing myself from who I am in body and becoming another person.  I thank you for this feeling, Vita.  And to you in the closet, to my amazing Ara, to my marvelous Milky, and to my precious little Patti, thank you.  You allow me to lead my life as I want to.  But, Vita, I am feeling awfully content at the moment, feel like celebrating our time together, and there’s really only one way to do so.  Now then… LET’S PARTY!!!”

Before Master even finished His speech, I knew where he was going, and the anticipation reverberated throughout my being.  Following His declaration, Master rose up from His chair and began to fling off my cozy sweater and pants, leaving them on the floor before flopping onto his cushy bed.  Once he got situated, He scooted up to the end of the bed to look at my body in the full-length mirror, eyeing me as He stripped my body down to nothing.  Unhooking the bra, slipping off the panties, and removing the socks using nothing but my toes. 

He began by staring intently at the mirror before Him, taking in the whole of my person with my eyes before rubbing it with my hands.  The straight black wig adorning my head, my clean face, my smooth skin, my modest breasts, the stomach He toned during semi-regular trips to the gym, and my slender legs, all before finally bringing my hands to my crotch.  During our dozens of sessions prior, Master had become a… master of the inner workings of my body, especially when it comes to the act of masturbation.  He had discovered my quirks, my most sensitive areas, and knew both how to get me off and how to keep me elated. 

…But I knew His technique, I knew my body, and as He started slowly by rubbing my hands over my form, brushing fingers against my nipples and clitoris, I decided that I would not be a mere observer.  I would not simply let Him masturbate in my body. 

“No,” I said to myself.  “I will not allow Him to indulge in the pleasures of my body on His own.  We will do this together.  We will masturbate as one!  For when Master dons my Skin, He is me, and I am Him!  Alone, I am the remnants of a human!  A shell of a woman who once was!  Alone, He is but a man with a mind aged beyond His body.  One who lives beneath the visage of others.  But together… we are Vita!  And Vita is fucking horny!”

As I made that mental declaration, I felt something click with my biology.  A pulse reverberated throughout my body, causing both Master and I to gasp in unison.  A moment of static followed, as we contemplated what just happened… only for us to beam as the sensation went away.  The rubbing continued, leading to caressing, leading to fingers that sunk into the innards of the folds once more, with two sliding their way into the most sensitive area of our form, pressing and messaging it while the other hand attended to my other parts.

The familiar sensations and deliberate movements caused us to climax quickly, and while our hands could keep us going, we wanted to get a bit… racier with round two.  Our hands then darted over to the familiar nightstand, a makeshift ‘toy box’ where a blind search produced the desired items.  One for the ass, one for the pussy, both battery powered, and set to start on something mild and subdued, only to creep to the max in a few minutes.  We chortled as the toys were inserted, and took our hands and attention downwards, shaking our hips to and fro while thrusting the vibrator in and out.

Our paintings grew louder as we tossed and turned in pleasure, flopping about the bed as we lost awareness of the world beyond our body.  All until the second release came, and the third, and the fourth.  We continued again and again, all until our toys reached their maximum power and we were left shaking and gasping.  It was only then, as we were laying down, too shakey to sit upright, our lips open wide and drool escaping them, that we reached our limit.  And so the devices were turned off, causing us to go from a grand high to a quiet calm, with no sound filling the room beyond the sound of our exhaustion.

“Damn, that was good,” we said in unison.

This time was like the dozens that preceded it… but it was more.  Our body was splayed out across His bed.  The sheet covering the thick blanket had been doused in our juices, and we laid on top of it, our breathing slow, our heart fast, and the heat of our body dissipating with every passing moment.  However… it was one I felt involved in.  Because I did everything with Him.  I did not spectate or recoil against His actions.  I loved what He was doing to me, and aligned my will with His.  We were one, and… that brought a smile to our face.

Master said nothing in the afterglow and merely grabbed His lukewarm water bottle, releasing a satisfied sigh as the bottle was emptied.  We laid there, looking up at the blank ceiling with sunken eyes, and as He thought of something to say… I tried to speak to Him.

“Master… no, I should use your name.  Michael… Michael Keikaku, I love you.  You kidnapped me, raped me, and robbed me of my very humanity.  I should hate you, and… I do.  You stole everything that made me a person.  But right here, right now, I am the happiest I have ever been in my life.  I feel complete, I feel fulfilled, and I feel satisfied.  I feel the joy of more than one individual within my being.  I feel loved when I am with you.  And I want to be one with you forever.  I know it will not ever happen, that you desire more than what any one person can offer, but, assuming you can somehow hear me… know that I want to be worn by you.  That, after all this time… you are now a part of me.”

“I love you Michael.  We love you.  And I hope you know that.  I hope you remember that.  I know our opinions mean little.  At the end of the day, we are naught but things.  Things to be worn and disposed of.  But know that we view you as the center of our world.”

As my speech came to an end, I was met with silence.  My words naturally did not carry over to Master, and He remained unaware.  Unaware of the affection I professed for Him.  And unaware of my very existence.

That was the ‘life’ of a Skin, I suppose.  We bring our wearers a different body to call their own and subsist off of the sensations they share with us.  For this, I am grateful to my wearer.  To my master.  And while He will never know me beyond my form, I will always care for Him.  Until the day that I, like all things, and cast aside and disposed of, replaced with something new or better. 


November 24th, 2017 – 12:34
The Closet

Patti: “Holy shazbot… how did I NEVER think of doing that?”

Milky: “Girl, I know I told you that you needed to sync up with Him!  In fact, I know I told you on multiple occasions!”

Patti: “I didn’t know you were being literal.  I didn’t know that meant stop thinking of Him and me and start thinking of us!”

Vita: “Yeah, I’m gonna have to side with Patti on this one—”

Patti: “Heh, that’s a first.”

Vita: “—Because even though you did give us some advice, you and Ara could have been a bit clearer.”

Milky: “Well, sorry about that.  For Ara and I, it became second nature, so we just assumed other girls would understand what we meant.  I’ll be sure to be more explicit whenever the next one rolls on in.”

Patti: “Yeah, we’ll make sure she gets with the program in a month!” 

Vita: “It’s not a race, Patti.  And it takes a while for somebody to acclimate to the fact that they are a thing.  If you try to speedrun to the very end, you’ll probably break your brain at some point.”

Milky: “And the last thing we want is another cracked egg like Lizzie.”

Patti: “Is this going to be a thing today?  Criticize Patti for every sentence that comes out of her mind-mouth?”

Vita: “I mean, what else are we going to do?  Talk about how great Master is when it comes to jilling off?”

Milky: “Hm… that’s a toughie.”

Patti: “Girls, can we please just… ah screw it, I’ll just say it.  Vita, I’m glad that you managed to find happiness and sync with Master like that.  And if Ara were here, I’m sure she’d give a great big speech about how this is all part of a cycle… that ends with death.”

Vita: “Oh, I already did that mentally after I poured my heart out to Him.”

Patti: “Damn you’re efficient.  So much that… maybe you’d be willing to help me achieve my first… Skin Sync?”

Milky: “Eh, we’ll need to workshop the name.  And again, Patti, all there is to it is knowing Master, doing as He does, and allowing the lines to blur between you.”

Patti: “I get that… but I don’t get it.”

Vita: “Not too surprised.  Even after all this time, I can still smell the sheltered little virgin on you.”

Patti: “Hey!  I have been with Master HUNDREDS of times!”

Milky: “Which were your only sexual experiences… ever.”

Patti: “I swear, everybody is out to get me with their so-called facts and logic!”

Vita: “We only do it ‘cos we’ve learned to love you, Patti.”

Patti: “Yeah… I know… and I kinda love it too.  It makes me feel like you’re all my sisters or something.  Which is something I’ve never felt, being an only child and whatnot.”

Milky: “Omigosh!  I never thought of it like that!  Vita, do you consider us to be your sisters?”

Vita: “Well, I don’t know about sisters, strictly speaking.  Ara’s really more of an aunt than anything… but yes, you have been such a large part of my time as a Skin that it’s hard for me to justify you guys as not being my family.”

Patti: “A guy with a magic knife and a closet full of women reduced to sheaths of flesh.  That’s your idea of a family.”

Vita: “I never said it was a normal or ideal family, but through shared experience and proximity, I think we’re a family in the way that matters most.”

Milky: “True dat, sister!”

As we joined in a laugh together, I took a moment to reflect on how far I came.  The fear and disdain that filled my first day with Michael, the unease I had when I first spoke to these women in the closet, and the sorrow that consumed me as I realized what I had lost… it all seemed so distant now.  I spent my days around people I loved, did things I enjoyed, and had a closer bond to a man than I could ever imagine. 

For all I lost, I found happiness.  I found love.  I found friends.  And I found… a family.

Das Ende


Afterword

When writing a story, I typically like to outline everything I want it to accomplish, loosely scope out the basic themes I want it to cover and write out the core events I want to cover in sequential order.  That way I know what I am doing at all times of the writing process and have some confidence in what I am doing.  But with this story… I didn’t do that… and that was a mistake.

From the outset, I had only a vague idea of what I wanted to accomplish with a sequel to Random #011-1: My Master; My Suiter.  I knew I wanted to continue the story of Vita, Michael, and the fellow Skins, and I wanted the story to be told over the span of several months.  However, I struggled to find much of a story, ending, or core theme based on this concept.  I skirted with a lot of ideas, having the story end with the death of Ara and introduction of a new Skin, having Vita go insane over time, having Vita be stolen and sold in an underground skinsuit market, or having Vita become sensation junky with a deep adoration for degeneracy.  All fairly dark ideas that I thought about for some time before deciding that this story needed to have a more pleasant resolution.

Ultimately, I decided to have the story end with Vita learning to accept her lot in life, admire the finer points of her new life, learn to love her Master, and grow closer to those she spent most of her days with.  Unfortunately, I did not reach this conclusion until I was 10,000 words deep into this story, and rather than restarting development from scratch, I decided to carry on with what I had written.  I did try to course correct in editing and by omitting or adding certain sections, but whenever I need to hack up a project like this, it always breeds a form of resentment within me, where I struggle to see the story I penned as much more than a collection of words and concepts tossed about.

As such, I am releasing this novella-sized story with more than a bit of uncertainty as to its quality.  I know there is something to this story but I have become too close and tangled in the weeds to really give it a proper assessment. 

I mean, the segments with Michael are to show how Vita is coping with being a Skin and being worn by another person over the span of months, learning to accept her new role and discarding desires that will never be satiated while focusing on what she is permitted to experience.  Each encounter has a purpose and shows Vita drifting further away from who she was before being Skinned.  Meanwhile, the segments with the other Skins further show how Vita is coping by establishing how her interactions during ~75% of her life go in the form of casual and energetic discussions about their lot in life, coping with their loss of autonomy, and finding escapism by rambling about video games.  I possibly went a bit too far on that last front but… I had a lot of fun writing those segments, so there’s that.

On the conceptual front, I am happy with the story, but it got too big and I probably should just take a hiatus from working on it and approach it with a fresh pair of eyes.  Unfortunately, I have self-imposed deadlines, so here it is.  I hope it was… okay.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.