A new mask

Silke found the dress.

She took another break. Then she put it on. Layer by layer, bow by bow. It wasn’t until the last bow was in place under her chest that she realized the concept. Each bow came undone one by one. In the end, she’d be naked. What a hot piece. She got wet at the thought of Peter undoing the bows. One by one. Until there was nothing left.

She went outside.

Three steps. Then she saw the surprise. He was standing in the hall. Broad-shouldered. Sweaty. Wearing street clothes. In his hand, a magician’s mask, half on his face, as if it were a joke. The fat, disgusting tutor. Richard.

Mira saw Silke and walked toward her. Proudly. “Your last client.”

“No way,” Silke said from behind the mask. “I’m not doing anything with that fat tutor.”

“Shut up.” Mira grabbed her arm. “He hasn’t recognized us yet. He doesn’t know me as Mira from college. I introduced you as Anna. Play along. And keep the mask on.”

Mira pulled her along. Silke stopped. Then Mira spun around angrily. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll post a picture of your face. You promised me you’d follow all my orders.” Silke’s whole body twitched. Most of all down there between her legs at the thought of having to touch him. She hated that very twitch. Her body loved it. She went along with it.

“Glad you came, Richard,” Mira said cheerfully. “This is Anna, our professional model. She’s going to play your girlfriend in a moment.” He eyed the bows, the soft belly, the breasts. Something disparaging slipped past his lips—about her figure, about her flesh. None of it sounded like recognition. To him, she was Anna. A commodity. Not the student from his office.

Mira began. “Lingerie isn’t just for affairs.” A smile directed at Silke. With that, she hinted that she’d had an affair with the black man in the ad. And that this man here was the boyfriend. Silke walked toward the bed in her lingerie. Every bow was a promise not meant for him. He stood at the foot of the bed, wearing his magician’s mask and street clothes, his belly spilling over the waistband, his breathing already heavy.

“You’ve seen the video of Anna.” Mira adjusted the tripod to make it closer. “I want you two to reenact exactly that. Let’s say forty-five to sixty minutes.” She smiled at Silke. “Or do you need more time? You did promise quite a lot, after all.”

A pause. “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to pull off a threesome today.” Richard laughed behind his mask—a wet, satisfied laugh—and said, “I’d be happy to come back for that,” reaching for the first bow as if it belonged to him.

Silke thought of Peter, and Mira played some music.

Something slow and deep. Bass that resonated through the concrete. Richard sat down on the bed. His wizard’s mask was crooked. His street clothes were tight across his stomach. The instructions came from Mira off-screen. In the end, they’d dub over it and remove her voice. Only the moaning was supposed to be real.

“Okay, Anna.”

Mira called Silke “Anna” to protect her name—if not her body.

“Start dancing sexy. You want to really turn him on. Turn around. Show off everything you’ve got.”

Silke danced between the bed and the window.

She tried to imagine it was Peter. The music didn’t help. The scent of him didn’t help. Still, she turned around. Her ass beneath the bows. Her pussy beneath the fabric that was too tight. Her tits pressing against the gift wrapping with every movement. Daylight on her soft belly. She showed what Mira wanted to see. Slowly. In a full circle. Already wet from dancing, because her body couldn’t tell the difference between Peter and this bed.

“Richard. Untie the first bow on her chest.”

Silke came closer. He pulled. A jerk. One cup was gone. The left breast fell free, heavy; the nipple was instantly hard.

“Take it in your mouth. Suck and lick it.” He did it.

His mouth was wet and hot and too big. He sucked as if the tit belonged to a prostitute named Anna. His tongue roughly swept across the areola. Silke moaned. For real. That was exactly what was allowed to stay.

“Now the second bow.”

Second breast free. Again, he was supposed to play with it. He did. Both tits out, the bows hanging uselessly, his mouth switched back and forth, saliva glistening on the nipples. Silke held onto his shoulder so her knees wouldn’t give way.

“Anna. Take off his shirt.”

She did it while he groped her pussy, her ass, and her tits. His hands were damp and commanding. Beneath the shirt, his soft, sweaty stomach came into view. Silke felt so dirty. The smell. The skin. The memory of his office and the dorm—things he didn’t have, but she already did.

“Kiss.”

She kissed him the way she wanted to kiss Peter.

Deeply. Openly. While his hands were everywhere. On her ass. Between her thighs. On the wet spot in her panties. The music didn’t quite drown out the wet sounds. Silke moaned into his mouth and hated that it was real.

“Body kisses. Down below now. Anna, take off his pants.”

Socks and shoes were already gone. She worked on his pants. The waistband. The zipper. Her tits swung in front of his stomach, free, heavy, the wet nipples brushing against the fabric. Done.

“Now sit on him. Rub your pussy through his pants and your panties.”

She did it. Through two layers of fabric, she could feel him—thick, half-hard at first, then immediately harder as her wetness darkened the fabric. She rubbed. Slowly. Her labia parted against the seam. Mira filmed from the side. From the window. From above.

After a while: “Richard. Pull on the ribbons. Make the panties disappear. Silke stays on top of him. Your bare pussy is supposed to rub against his cock.”

The ribbons came undone. One tug after another. The panties disappeared. Nothing left in between except his boxers. Silke’s bare pussy lay on his shaft, rubbing it wet, spreading around the bulge. He played with her breasts. Pinched. Lifted. Took one back into his mouth.

Silke wasn’t thinking anymore. She was just doing what Mira said. She was simply too horny again. Mira realized that. She wanted Silke to come later.

“Now. Slide down. Butt up. Toward the window. And take off his underwear.”

Silke slid down.

Her butt was facing the light. She pulled his underwear down. That smell again. The same as back then. Unwashed. Warm. His cock fell thick against his stomach, the head already wet.

“Now jerk him off. With your hand. Your tits. Your mouth. Make him really hard.”

Silke took him in her hand. Too thick for her fingers. She stroked firmly from the base to the head, adding saliva because it wouldn’t work if it was dry. Then her tits around the shaft, soft, pressed tight, her nipples brushing against him as she bobbed up and down. Saliva ran into the groove. Then her mouth. She took the head, sucked, swirled her tongue around it, went deeper, gagged briefly, then held it there. A real moan from him. A real one from her, wrapped around his cock.

Silke had long since become nothing but her body again.