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The dressing room seems darker than it usually is. The catsuit is folded neatly and packed in a ziplock bag no larger than a standard letter. Perched on a stool in the center of the room, it seems to almost await your arrival.
You approach the suit and watch as the light glistens strangely off of it, unsure whether the reflections came from the plastic of the bag or the garment enclosed within. Tentatively, you reach out to the package and pick it up.
The bag has a bit of weight to it, despite its small size. The plastic feels slightly oily, and it takes you awhile to find the edge of the bag to open it. As soon as you break the seal, a strange-yet-familiar scent fills the air and your nostrils. Reaching in, you find the inside of the bag to be slippery, coated in a thick gel that seems to have poured out of the suit's neckhole.
Taking a breath and inadvertently filling your lungs with the heady aroma of rubber, you reach in and pull the suit out of the bag. It is oily and clumsy and it unfolds almost of its own accord. You lift your arm up and let the suit hang by its shoulders before you.
The latex is a deep black, and seems to be made of multiple panels glued together. Seams run across the body of the suit and it hangs limply before you. Its arms end in gloves and its legs end in socks. It looks unremarkable and lacks the inherent sexiness that an unworn swimsuit or bodysuit possesses.
Peering into its zipless neck hole, you see nothing but inky blackness. No light pierces the fabric and the interior of the suit is obscured, leaving you staring into an empty void. You slide a curious hand into the maw, recoiling slightly as you realize the latex is lined with a thick, slimy gel. The inner surface of the suit feels textured, and you can make out a lattice of fine grooves, arranged according to some unknown logic.
Seeing no way to investigate the garment further, you carefully drape the suit over the wooden stool, taking care to ensure that gravity keeps the gel inside the latex. You reach across your body and under your arm to unzip your dress, letting it fall to the floor around your feet. You unclasp your bra and let your knickers fall to the pile before stepping out of them, naked and ready to assume your new identity.
You take the suit in your arms and sit yourself on the stool, holding the neck open before you. Pointing your toes downward, you carefully guide your foot into the garment. Your skin reacts with a wave of goosebumps as the cold gel coats your outstretched limb. As your foot glides deeper and deeper into its sleeve, the rubber starts to grow narrower around your leg. The latex seems almost liquid as it applies itself to your body, the gel allowing it to glide smoothly into place despite the tight fit.
As you guide the suit up around your shin and slide your other leg into position, the gel seems to recede into the rubber's grooves, channeled upward and allowing the latex to collapse tighter around your body. The logic of the latticed ribbing becomes obvious as you continue to apply the rubber to your body, unsure if you were putting it on or it was putting you within itself.
Now up to your thighs in latex, you hop off the stool, legs pinned together by the suit's stretched neck hole. The initial ease of application seems to have left you, and you struggle to gather the loose torso of the suit around your legs. With some effort, you are able to get your thumbs under the neckline and gather the rubber in a manageable ring before applying the latex to your sex. A slight bump between the legs catches you off guard - not quite enough to warrant any alarm, but enough to remind you of its presence.
Undaunted, you guide the latex up around your torso. Tugging at the neckline, you slide an arm in, guiding it into its sleeve. The suit seems to pull itself onto your arm, and you need only wiggle your fingers to have them settled tightly into their snug rubber gloves.
Careful not to over-stretch the neck hole, you quickly squeeze your second arm into its sleeve. You guide the latex partway up before the suit takes over, closing itself around you and swallowing you within its silky embrace.
Your brow furrows. The suit seems ill-fitting and odd. Pockets of air are still trapped between the latex and your skin, and the neckline sits uncomfortably low around your collar. You attempt to smooth out the latex but your rubber-coated hands prefer to stick to your second skin - its oily interior causes your hands to slide around within rather than affect the suit around you. At a loss, you think to search the dresser across the room for something you can use to aid your efforts.
Your attempt to move toward the dresser is stopped by an unexpected shudder - as you move, so does the latex. The suit's textured interior guides any trapped air or excess gel upward across your body. The sensation is overwhelming, as if the suit were a living organism wrapped tightly across your naked body. You feel the gel pool around your neck and your gloved hand reaches up instinctively to touch it. You smear some across your fingers, mesmerized by the ethereal shine the substance lends to your already glossy skin.
Gathering more of the gel in your hand, you tentatively cup your breast, painting the latex to life on your body. Your rubber-coated fingers now glide effortlessly across your skin, and you take advantage of your newfound ability to guide any air pockets up and out through the neckline.
Your body almost writhes within the latex, its slippery-yet-textured interior allowing the strange material to tickle and caress your skin as it moves freely across it. The suit grows tighter with each pocket of air evacuated, and your hands continue to enhance your new skin's luster. The bump between your legs glides across your sex as you dance, as if a stray finger were playing around between your legs. The rubber slides between your cheeks, lifting and holding them slightly apart. It collapses with your chest as you exhale, and your navel is clearly vacuumed and visible.
You are lost in the latex - your hands slide smoothly across your body as you relish the inescapable touch of the impossibly tight catsuit. The perfect, uniform caress of the latex frames your body, making you incredibly aware of your body and its sensations. No matter which way you move your hips, the rubber follows, the material between your legs teasing you unrelenti-
"Hey, you ready to he-"
The door swings open suddenly, startling you back into reality. Your hands dart to your sides and you spin around to meet the intruder.
"Am I interrupting something?" Joe smirks, snapping his finger and pointing at you with a devious wink.
"You wish."
You make your way toward the door.
"You forgot your face." Joe points at the dresser.
Of course. Your M40. You slink back toward the dresser, somehow unable to force your latex shell out of your mind. Every movement reminds you of its presence, and you find yourself unable to focus on anything else.
"Well, come on, gates are opening in five!"
You shake your head. Any hopes of winning your bet fade into a glossy void. You strap your face on and turn toward the door, squeezing past Joe and out into the club.
Your body tenses into an involuntary shudder as Joe pats you knowingly on the back.
It's going to be a long night.
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