Chapter Three: The Second Mask (Part 3)

"Babe... are we... are we completely latex demons now?"

Elena was still on her knees. She'd asked it looking up at him, the ring of highlight in her black eyes trembling. The tip of her long tongue rested on her lower lip, as if she couldn't bear to take back that thread of slick. She sat back on her own heels, her latex calves pressed by her ass into a deep, glossy crease, and every time she breathed, the crease gave a soft little squeak.

Marcus stood in front of her. The heels made him unsteady. The black latex of his bare head gleamed so bright in the mirror it looked almost unreal, and his longer horns folded that ever-present sheen into two thin lines. His pitch-black eyeballs were oil-bright, fixed on her without blinking. His black fangs bit lightly into his lower lip, but the forked tip of his tongue had already slipped out a little, disobediently, before he hastily pulled it back in.

The bedroom was warm. The curtains were drawn; the cream-colored blanket on the bed was still rumpled into the shape of the two of them rolling around on it earlier, the pillow knocked askew. The full-length mirror stood beside the wardrobe, taking everything in: the warm-toned walls, the soft bed, and in front of the bed, two bodies black and shining from head to toe. The air was full of that smell only latex has—faintly sweet, a little stuffy with rubber, baked by body heat and mixed with the sweat seeping out from under their skin, so thick you could almost taste it.

"I... I don't know." When he spoke his voice was thin and soft, the end of it floating upward. "Looking like this... it's too sexy. Don't look at me like that. I won't be able to take it."

Without thinking he backed up half an inch. His heel clicked, and his big ass squeezed a streak of highlight against the backs of his legs. The pair of latex breasts on his chest, even fuller than hers, swayed with the step back and kept quivering after, like two bundles of black silk filled with hot oil. His cock, ridged with bone-like segments, hung between his legs, black and glossy, the segments along the shaft faintly rising and falling under the membrane one after another, as if someone were pushing them out from inside with a finger. The head had already begun to swell a little under her gaze, but he half-covered it with his hand—clumsily, slowly—and an even brighter ring leaked out between his fingers.

Elena didn't move right away. She just knelt there and looked at him, her gaze sliding slowly down from the tips of his horns—over the long streak of highlight the mirror threw across his bare head, over his pressed-together black lips, over the membrane beneath his throat that bobbed every time he swallowed. It stayed on his breasts for a long time, then went lower, stopping on that hand of his that was trying to hide himself. She looked so slowly that he felt her gaze had a temperature; wherever it slid, the latex there warmed up first.

"See?" she said softly. "I haven't even touched you, and you're already starting to shine."

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