Black and tight

Stacy was in love the moment she saw the glisten of the material's oily black surface. It seemed to suck the eye in to its tar-pitch depths, pulling all the colors out of the world around... Only to let them shimmer and bubble across its surface in a rainbow of half-glimpsed sheen. There was so little THERE. In that neatly packaged bundle. A whole body's worth of covering… yet so thin and small and self-contained. She had seen movie-stars and internet cosplayers wearing similar things, but had never fully considered how one was supposed to get IN to such an affair? How she could possibly squeeze all her pink and curving self into that perfect onyx shell? What it would feel like to be so tightly wrapped and presented? Covered head to toe and yet somehow all the more exposed. She did not know how she was going to manage it. But she knew she wanted nothing more than to try.

She had arrived at the office half an hour early… only to find the small crowd of in-the-know old men already waiting. They each seemed to have got uniquely excited about dressing her up in the outfit of their choice… though some of the selections were a little odd. It would appear some had got the 'sexy' theme, but completely forgotten the 'halloween' bit. Having just raided some local adult and lingerie shops for their own particular fetishes. Stacy was confusedly offered a flight attendant's uniform… reassured that: no, why would anyone find that weird? One man had even brought a schoolgirl outfit, only to be embarrassedly reminded that the girl still had plenty of those herself…

Some of the offerings were more suitable, if odd in their own way. Ralph had brought in a rather ridiculously frilly and gothic number. Something which looked more suitable for an Edwardian horror novel or steampunk convention than an office party. Apparently his daughter was a seamstress who sold such things over the internet. Stacy had to admit she liked the oxymoronic idea of being swathed in all those frills but not wearing any panties…

Yet all the other options were rapidly forgotten by all and sundry, simply by the lustre that was gleaming in their living manikin’s eyes at Dan's selection. Whatever their personal offerings had been, all of them could see how hungrily the girl wanted to parade that tiny, black parcel before them. Stacy slipped straight out of her current clothing without a single thought. Immune to any consideration that she was baring herself in front of what was still a gathering of veritable strangers. She had spent enough time providing her form to be ogled by now, asleep and awake. Her pink curves swayed under the caress of other’s eyes on instinct and muscle memory alone. All those hours spent dedicatedly learning what made her teenage friends jump to attention now absorbed into her very essence of being.

This new challenge required a little more… tactile assistance though. Little progress was achieved at all until good ol’ Ralph had the bright idea of digging up some cooking oil left in a cupboard in the staff room. Then Stacy found she was blessed with an almost uncountable multitude of calloused hands, massaging and lubricating every inch of her young body. Fingers slid across her skin and explored each and every crevice, spreading their cooling cargo. Then great concerted efforts heaved the stretching material: up from her feet and round her wiggling buttocks. She could feel the taut material squeezing her into a shape of perfection, even as it expanded out to swallow each swell of flesh and muscle. The shining, black expanse didn’t so much clothe her as become just another layer of skin… tighter and smoother and clingingly-accentuating. She felt it grasp around her ass-cheeks, taking form around their cleft. Felt it pull up and push out her breasts, not giving an inch of allowance to hide their weight or shapely arousal. By the time the mass had finally pulled taut across her shoulders and closed up around her throat, the girl felt like she was wrapped meat ready to be hung. Every movement brought the whole thing closer, binding it in to better know her base form. Every play of those alien fingers seemed to spread out across the rest of her: this second skin seeming to hollow out, but also expand upon, the feel of every touch.

It would seem it felt just as ethereal to touch as be touched too… Every man there seemed unable to prevent at least one of their hands continuing to roam across her now-rubbery surface. The schoolgirl bathed in the wash of their wandering caresses, her heart beating near fit to burst by just the excitement of their explorations. She was now truly a work of art. A plastic doll of fetishistic form. A statue struggling to breathe, but more than happy to choke on this feeling of exposure.