Sealing

Emma's fingers trembled as they ran along the edge of the suit. The latex was impossibly smooth — cooler than she expected, almost alive against her skin. She traced the seamless transition from arm to hand to glove, marveling at the craftsmanship. Three red circles marked the suit's only openings: one at the crotch, one at the rear, and one at the mouth. Her eyes. Where her eyes should have been, there was simply glossy black rubber.

"This is..." She swallowed hard. "...this is what you want?"

"More than anything." You stepped behind her and placed your hands on her bare shoulders. She flinched — not from discomfort, but from the electricity of anticipation. You could feel her heartbeat beneath your palms.

She turned to face you fully. Her eyes were already glazing — that familiar Slide4U shift, her conscious mind making room for something deeper. Something she'd been craving without fully admitting it until now.

"Okay." She breathed.

One hour later.

The bathroom mirror reflected someone unrecognizable. Emma sat perfectly still on the toilet lid, her legs apart, her head tilted forward. Every inch of her — scalp, eyebrows, eyelashes, pubic mound — had been carefully, methodically cleared. Not a single hair remained anywhere on her body. The result was startling: her skin looked younger, smoother, almost porcelain-like. More canvas than human.

She raised one hand and touched her bare scalp. Smooth. Silky. Goosebumps rose across her freshly exposed skin.

"Clean," she murmured to herself, running her palm across the top of her head. "Totally clean."

You appeared in the doorway carrying the suit, folded neatly over your arm. It gleamed even under the bathroom's harsh fluorescent light.

Back in the bedroom, you helped her into it.

First the feet — sliding each sock-like leg portion up over her calves, thighs, hips. The latex hugged every muscle, every curve, every contour with zero gap between skin and surface. She gasped as it passed her waist, the material compressing against her stomach.

Then the arms. The gloves. Each finger individually, the latex molding around her digits like a second skin.

Then the torso piece, pulled up over her chest and cinching tight around her ribs.

And finally — the mask. The face.