A little help with the latex can't hurt

"Alright," she conceded. "Thank you."

Ebony guided her to an empty vanity in the corner that offered a modicum of privacy. Susan began unpacking her bag, carefully laying out the components of her outfit.

"That's serious kit," Ebony observed, examining the latex pieces with professional interest. "You don't mess around."

"It's important to get it right," Susan said, feeling unexpectedly comfortable sharing this aspect of herself. "The texture, the fit – it all matters."

"I get it. Like how I need my lashes perfect before I can feel right on stage." Ebony watched as Susan took out a bottle of silicone lubricant. "Want me to help you apply that?"

The question hung in the air between them, loaded with possibilities. Susan swallowed hard, then nodded.

What followed was one of the most sensually charged experiences of Susan's life. Ebony's hands were strong yet gentle as she helped work the lubricant over Susan's skin, then assisted her in easing into the vinyl bodysuit first, followed by the more elaborate latex catsuit. There was nothing overtly sexual in the dancer's touch, yet Susan found herself growing increasingly aroused as those skilled fingers worked near the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, her lower back, the sides of her breasts.

"You've got an incredible body," Ebony commented as she zipped up the back of the catsuit. "The kind us dancers kill ourselves trying to maintain."

"Thank you," Susan managed, her voice slightly breathless. "You're... you're very beautiful yourself."

Ebony's smile was knowing. "I think we're going to get along just fine, Suzanne."

By the time Susan was fully dressed, her nerves had transformed into a different kind of tension altogether – a heady cocktail of arousal and anticipation that made her skin hypersensitive beneath the tight embrace of the latex.

"One last thing," Ebony said, reaching for a glass. "Tradition for first-timers."