Cheryl stepped off the elevator. She’d had her doubts about this place even before she got a look at it. Though she was still a magnificent specimen of female beauty, the bar for modeling had gotten awfully high, at least in this town. It was getting harder and harder to get a modeling gig. Now it had been over five months since she’d gotten a job, and she was beginning to get desperate. That’s when an unsolicited letter arrived in her mailbox. It promised her a guaranteed place on the catwalk of one of the biggest fashion shows of the year. Five minutes on that catwalk would mean the sort of fame and fortune that could keep her in modeling offers for years. As unlikely as it sounded, she had to take a chance.

Her optimism began to sag the very moment she’d seen the building. It wasn’t some modeling agency, or even a talent agency. It was just a big, boxy-looking building in the industrial district. The code she’d been given, however, DID open the door, so she’d slipped inside.

The letter had listed a specific room where she was to wait. She found the door with the appropriate number and discovered that the room was little more than a strange, unfurnished, dimly lit room with brushed metal walls. The only distinctive feature of the room was a small screen on the far wall. It was illuminated, flashing a message: Stand in the center of the room and await further instructions.

Something about this all felt terribly wrong, and she probably would have turned and left, if not for the little logo following the message. She recognized it as the logo of a garment company that routinely dominated the fashion shows. The fabric they produced was utterly unique. No two dresses were the same, and they had a wonderfully smooth texture and snuggly warmth. She’d had the good fortune of having modeled two of their dresses, and she could honestly say they may well have been the only two dresses in her entire career that had been comfortable. If THEY were the ones who had contacted her, and thus it was modeling their clothes that they were offering her, then she absolutely would be the centerpiece of the fashion show.

The message changed.

Disrobe.

She smiled. Now it was certain they would be giving her clothes to put on. This was just a changing room. No wonder it was so empty. She stripped her clothes off. A small light illuminated, indicating a bin in one corner of the room. She stowed her clothes and returned to the center.

A new message appeared.

If you wish to continue, please agree to the following verbal contract by speaking it aloud. I hereby confirm my intention to remain under contract and consignment for the duration of [7 days/1 month/6 months].

Well, this was a no brainer.

“I hereby confirm my intention to remain under contract and consignment for the duration of 6 months.“

She was going to milk this contact for all it was worth.

Hands at your sides. Legs together. Face front.

She smiled. This was some sort of measurement thing. Easy enough. She assumed the indicated position. The very moment she was standing as requested, hatches on the ceiling opened and something dropped down in front of her face. It was too close for her to focus on it, and before she could even try, it flipped forward and slapped against her midriff before darting around her. She felt something tight and clingy wrap around one arm, then the other, pinning them to her body. She looked down and saw that a thin blue film—something like the sort of wrapping you’d use to keep a sandwich fresh—had formed a loop around her, binding her arms together. And it wasn’t stopping. It whizzed around her, faster and faster, mummifying her from the elbows down. The wrapping fused to itself wherever it touched itself, becoming one impossibly tight layer forming a second skin over her. When it reached her feet it started winding back up, She tried to wriggle and jostle out of the way, but it swiftly wrapped her breasts, shoulders, and finally face tight.

A moment of panic swept over her as it sealed over her head, but the moment passed when she realized she could still breathe. The wrapping continued, cocooning her in two more layers before finally vanishing back into the ceiling.

She struggled and squirmed, but the wrapping was so tight she could scarcely move. Her most vigorous struggles only produced some creaks and squeaks as the latex-y material stretched slightly. The shock of the moment was only just beginning to subside when she felt the floor drop out from under her. She squealed as she plummeted a few feet, then came to a sudden stop. Something had pinched her feet, and though she couldn’t look down, she could feel by the curious, curved pressure that she’d become slightly wedged in some sort of large rollers.

Dawning realization came about five minutes too late. The rollers activated and she slowly began to sink down between them. It should have been agonizing, but somehow, all she felt was a deep warmth and a pleasant pressure. The roller devoured her feet, squeezing them down to the milimeter or so gap between them. When they passed through and the pressure relented, they felt… wonderful. It was like every ounce of stress and pain had been wrung out of them and now they were so throughly relaxed she couldn’t even summon the will to move them.

The roller continued. She shut her eyes as her frightened yelps gradually became luxurious moans. The tightness in her calves compressed and eased away. The soreness in her knee from an old tennis injury melted away in a wave of pressure and warmth. As the rollers began to gobble up her shapely thighs, the sensation took on a new aspect. It didn’t just feel good… it felt sensual. She could almost imagine the rollers as the strong, yearning grip of a lover, caressing his way up her thighs. They pinched thin and spread wider as the roller pulled them in. And as the wave of pressure and heat approached her sex, her squirming and bucking became less about escape and more about anticipation.

Her sensitive sex met the rollers and she gasped. The pinching, squeezing sensation in her loins lit her mind aflame. She flailed and spasmed as the most intense sensation she’d ever felt pushed her into a climax and practically locked her there. Her mind was still lost in the sea of bliss as the roller relentlessly drew in her midriff. Not until her rubber-wrapped breasts began to feel the squeeze did she recover enough to drink in this new sensation. Her nipples were rock hard, and as they were pinched down like the rest of her, they both stirred her to knew heights of titillation. She was a panting, moaning, yowling mess as the rollers worked their way up her neck, finally silencing her as they pinched over her lips. Her eyes widened and glanced down before they too pinched between the rollers and everything shifted to a blue-tinged blur.

She felt herself plummet again, then fold and pool atop herself as she reached the bottom of a chute. She felt longer now. Wider. She could still feel everything, still hear everything, but her sight remained a world of dim blue light.

A door opened and she felt hands gather her carefully. They curled a bit of her over a firm rod, then reeled her in. Warm, compressed flesh layered atop itself as she was rolled onto a spool. The pressure of fingers sunk into what had once been her breasts as she was carried through a hallway. She felt herself loaded into a machine, then felt the disorienting sensation of being fed through additional rollers. There were tingly little prickles. Odd, intense slices. She was being tailored. Fashioned into something new. It was impossible to tell what exactly was being made of her, but as quickly as it started, it ended. She felt a padded hanger inserted into her before she was loaded into a garment bag.

The next thing she remembered was the sound of the zipper. She must have dozed off inside the bag, but now she was being removed. New fingers were touching her. The delicate fingers of a woman. She felt herself carefully spread, then felt long, lithe legs slid into her. Her new body became taut, stretched over the full curves of a model. She felt the warmth of her skin, the smooth, primped flesh of the model. She heard the woman coo appreciatively at the feel of what Cheryl had become. Was an intimate experience. Cheryl had never felt so close to another person. As the woman’s hands ran across her, smoothing out her wrinkles until she perfectly hugged her figure, an image conjured in her mind, a realization of just how she must look. She was a classy, snug dress. The same deep blue of the film that had wrapped her, but mixed with the warm fleshtone of her own skin. She was shiny and gleaming, but still soft and pleasant. Her form wrapped tight around the woman who would model her, wonderfully accentuating her best features.

For a moment, she felt a flush of pride, knowing she would shortly be on the catwalk, admired by all in attendence. She tried to move, sending a ripple over the body of the model and inspiring a soft murmur of surprise and approval.

The model headed for the stage, her graceful motions stretching and tugging Cheryl’s form in a sinfully sensual way. She felt the heavy breasts she’d been wrapped around sway and jiggle. The pert but sashay to and fro. She saw the flash of cameras, heard the awe of the crowd. She didn’t want it to end.

Then she realized, again a bit late. It wouldn’t end. Not for six months. … She wondered if that would be too long, or not long enough.