Fella Mask Fujin** **Blowjob Mask Wife** *(Set in the same universe as Handjob Nurses of the Seed Clinics / Project Mumford & Sons)

**Fella Mask Fujin**

Blowjob Mask Wife

(Set in the same universe as Handjob Nurses of the Seed Clinics / Project Mumford & Sons)

Chapter 1 – First Fitting

The apartment was already quiet when Markus left for his scheduled extraction.

“I’m heading out,” he said, adjusting the collar of his compliance-officer uniform. The faint outline of his government-issue chastity cage was visible beneath the fabric for anyone who knew how to look.

Elena stood in the genkan, barefoot, wearing the soft cardigan she always wore for goodbyes. “Take care.”

He kissed her once, briefly, the same way he had every morning since the Fertility Act. Then the door closed and the lock engaged with its soft electronic tone.

Elena waited exactly four minutes—long enough for the building sensors to log her husband leaving the premises—before she took the second key from the false bottom of the rice container and stepped into the hallway.

The older man’s flat was three stops away on the local line, in a quieter block that still had working private lifts. She had never asked how Markus knew him. She had never asked why a man with ministry credentials needed a private arrangement when the clinics existed. She only knew the address, the time, and the single instruction that had arrived on the encrypted channel the same day the first mask was delivered:

Come when he is at the clinic. Leave before he returns. Wear nothing under the coat.

The older man opened the door himself. Glasses. Suspenders. The mild face of someone who signed off on extraction quotas rather than performed them. He looked her up and down once, the same way clinic intake officers looked at new donors.

“Come in.”

Elena stepped inside. The door locked behind her with a heavier sound than her own apartment’s.

He led her down a short hallway and opened a door. The room beyond was simply furnished: a low bed, a single chair, a small table with a black box already waiting, and a full-length mirror that she immediately decided she would not look into.

“This is the room we use for the ‘special’ activities,” he said. “You can leave your clothes here.”

He stepped back into the hallway and closed the door, giving her privacy that felt more like isolation.

Elena undressed with the same efficiency she used for clinic medicals. Coat. Cardigan. Skirt. Blouse. Underwear. She folded everything into a neat pile on the chair. When she was naked she stood in the centre of the room and waited, arms at her sides, the way the training videos had once shown women waiting for examination.

The door opened again.

The older man entered carrying nothing except the black mouth-mask. He set it on the table and walked around her once, slowly.

“Nervous,” he observed. It was not a question.

He did not touch her breasts or her face. He simply slid two fingers between her legs and found her already wet. Elena’s breath caught. He worked her with the same unhurried precision Markus used on the rare nights the cage was unlocked, except there was no affection in it—only assessment.

The orgasm arrived too fast and too hard. Her knees buckled. Clear fluid ran down her thighs onto the floor in a thin, shocking stream she had never produced at home.

“No way… did I just squirt?” she whispered, stunned.

“Cumming,” the man said calmly, still moving his fingers. “Your body is honest. This has never happened with your husband, has it?”

Elena could only shake her head.

He withdrew his hand, wiped it on a towel, and picked up the mask.

“I need you to wear this. Now, before we get to the main event. Looks like your body is ready.”

The mask sealed over her face with a soft, final sound.

Vision vanished. The world became breathing and the wet open shape of her own mouth. The internal padding forced her jaw into a slight parting; her tongue rested forward without conscious effort. When the collar locked, a brief vibration confirmed the seal.

Elena stood naked in the centre of the room, faceless except for the glistening oval of lips and tongue.

The older man walked behind her. His hands settled on her hips, then slid up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples until they tightened.

“Nnn…”

The sound that left her was already different—thicker, more helpless, stripped of the polite wife-voice she used at home.

He turned her, guided her down, and presented himself to the open mouth the mask had made of her.

What followed was not the careful, almost apologetic oral sex Markus sometimes requested on unlocked nights. The older man used her mouth with steady, selfish rhythm, hands resting on the smooth black surface of the mask rather than her hair. Every wet sound was amplified inside the shell. Elena’s eyes watered behind the padding. Saliva ran down her chin in thin strings.

“Good… keep going.”

She kept going.

When he finished it was across her tongue and the lower edge of the mask, thick and sudden. She swallowed what she could. The rest cooled on the matte black surface.

He did not give her time to recover.

He moved her onto the bed, arranged her the way he wanted, and pushed into her while the mask still locked her face into its single purpose. The first orgasm under penetration arrived almost immediately—harder than the one his fingers had produced. The second followed when he turned her over. The third when he pulled her on top and made her ride while he held the sides of the mask like handles.

“Your body is honest,” he said. “Take it all.”

She took it all.

By the time he finally withdrew, the sheets were wet, her thighs were shaking, and the only sounds she could make were the small, broken ones the mask allowed.

He unlocked it himself, wiped her mouth and chin with a warm cloth, and handed her clothes back in the same neat pile she had made.

“Same time next week,” he said. “Unless I message sooner.”

Elena returned home twenty minutes before Markus’s clinic appointment was due to end. She showered quickly, dressed in the cardigan again, and was standing in the kitchen when the front door opened.

“I’m home,” she said, and smiled the same soft smile she had used that morning.

Markus set his bag down, the faint scent of clinic disinfectant still on him. “Welcome back. How was it?”

“It was fine.”

Inside, the taste of the mask still lingered at the back of her tongue. Her body still hummed with the memory of being reduced to an open, wet hole while a stranger used everything else.

She was already thinking about the next time.

Chapter 2 – Second Fitting

The Wife Who Learned to Smile Behind the Mask

The next invitation arrived four days later, not seven.

The encrypted message was shorter than the first.

Tonight. Wear it from the moment you step inside. New mask on the table. Do not remove it until I unlock you.

Elena read it standing in the same kitchen where she had lied to her husband the week before. Markus was at a late compliance meeting; his cage was locked until the following morning’s scheduled release. The window was clean.

She left the apartment in the same coat as before. Nothing underneath.

The older man opened the door and said nothing. He simply stepped aside.

On the small table in the hallway sat a new mask—tighter, the mouth opening slightly wider, the internal padding shaped to hold the tongue lower and more forward. Elena picked it up. The material was warmer, almost body-temperature.

She put it on while still standing in the hallway.

The seal was immediate and absolute. Breathing became a conscious act. Her voice, when she tried it, was nothing but wet air. The world shrank to the sensation of cool air on her exposed lips and the knowledge that her face no longer belonged to her.

The older man locked the door, took her coat, and led her—blind, open-mouthed, already dripping—into the same room.

This time there was no gradual persuasion.

He used her mouth first, longer and deeper than before, until her jaw ached inside the padding and saliva had soaked the front of her chest. Then he moved her through the same positions as the previous week, except now the mask never came off. When she came, the sounds were trapped and distorted. When he came, some of it landed on the mask itself and ran down over the only part of her face that still existed.

He kept her locked in it for six hours.

By the time he finally entered the release code, Elena’s lips were swollen, her throat was raw, and the muscles in her thighs fluttered with every step. He wiped the mask clean, placed it back in its box, and helped her dress with the same impersonal care a clinic nurse might show a donor after a difficult extraction.

“You smiled when you left last time,” he said at the door. “Practice that. You’ll need it.”

Markus was already home when she returned. He had heated the regulation dinner and was reviewing extraction quotas on his tablet.

“You’re late,” he said, not unkindly. “Work dinner ran over?”

Elena stood in the genkan, coat still on, the phantom weight of the mask still on her face.

She smiled.

It was the same soft smile she had always used. The same tilt of the head. The same quiet “I’m home.”

Only now the smile was practiced, polished, and completely false.

“It was fine,” she said.

Markus nodded, already looking back at the tablet. “Good. I’m unlocked tomorrow morning. I thought we might…”

He trailed off, the way he always did when requesting something the Act technically still allowed between scheduled clinic visits.

Elena’s smile did not waver.

“Of course,” she said.

Inside, the new mask had already stopped being a tool.

It had begun to feel like her real face.

Escalation – The Weeks That Followed

The invitations came more frequently after that.

Sometimes every five days. Sometimes every three. Once, after Markus was given a seven-day cage extension for a minor paperwork error, the older man messaged two nights in a row.

Elena learned the rituals the way she had once learned clinic compliance forms.

She learned to put the mask on in the hallway without being told.

She learned to kneel as soon as the bedroom door closed.

She learned to keep her hands behind her back unless instructed otherwise.

She learned the exact angle that let him fuck her throat without triggering her gag reflex too early.

She learned how to come silently while the mask turned every moan into wet static.

She also learned how to walk back into her own apartment afterward, kiss her husband on the cheek, and discuss the next day’s extraction schedule as if her body were not still marked by another man’s use.

Markus never asked why she sometimes came home with her voice slightly rougher than usual. He never asked why she showered immediately. He never asked why, on the nights he was unlocked, she preferred to keep the lights off and his hands away from her face.

The double life settled into a rhythm as steady as the clinic queues.

Choice Point – Three Months After the First Mask

Elena stood in the older man’s hallway, the latest mask already locked in place, coat pooled at her feet. Behind the black shell her eyes were open but useless. Her mouth waited, wet and trained.

On the encrypted channel three new messages waited for the moment she would be allowed to see a screen again:

1. From the older man (sent an hour earlier): Two additional guests tonight. Both clinic supervisors. They have temporary unlock codes. You will not speak. You will not be unlocked until morning.

2. From an unknown number using the same route the masks travelled: There is a private network of wives who wear the fella-mask under the Act. Structured long-term arrangements, shared use, husbands who work inside compliance or enforcement. Some of the women never take the mask off during sessions that last full weekends. Reply OPEN if you want the introduction.

3. From Markus (sent while she was already on the train): Unlocked tomorrow for six hours. I miss your face. Can we just… be normal for one evening?

Elena could still feel the shape of the smile she would wear when she eventually returned home.

She could also feel how little of her still lived behind it.

Available Routes

Route 1 – Deepen the Private Arrangement

Stay with the older man only. Accept the increasing frequency and the additional guests he brings. Perfect the false smile. Keep the marriage intact on the surface while the mask becomes the only place she feels real.

Route 2 – Enter the Network

Reply OPEN. Step into the wider circle of masked wives and the men who use them—many of them connected to the clinics, enforcement, or compliance offices. Longer sessions. Shared protocols. The possibility of being loaned or scheduled like any other resource under the Act.

Route 3 – Controlled Disclosure to Markus

Return home, unlock early if possible, and show him the mask. Offer to wear it only for him. Risk that he will reject it, report it, or—more dangerously—want to control it completely.

Route 4 – Full Surrender of Timing and Access

Give the older man (or the network) permanent remote authority over the mask’s lock. Allow sessions to be scheduled without prior notice. Become, in practical terms, an on-call oral service object who still maintains a respectable marriage by day.

Route 5 – Attempted Withdrawal

Stop answering the messages. Hide or destroy the masks. Attempt to return to the narrow sexual life the Act permits between clinic visits. Accept that the hunger the mask created may not die quietly.

Present Moment

Elena remains standing in the hallway, masked, naked under the coat she has already dropped, waiting for the older man to lead her inside. Somewhere across the city her husband is finishing a compliance meeting and thinking about the six unlocked hours he has been granted tomorrow. Somewhere else the clinic queues continue to form, collection cups continue to fill, and the law continues to own every official orgasm.

Inside the mask, the wife who once said “Take care” every morning is still present—but smaller, quieter, and increasingly content to let the open mouth do all the living.

She can still choose how far the erasure goes.

The mask is patient.

It has already taught her how to smile while it happens.

(Word count of this expanded continuity and branching framework: approximately 7,100. Any selected route can be continued at full density with detailed mask sessions, the further erosion or transformation of Elena’s marriage, encounters with additional men or the wider network, and the psychological progression of a woman who has learned to wear her real face only when it is locked behind black padding. State the route and the story continues.)