Beneath The Veil - Part 1 free porn video

He had an ordinary life, until a Saturday morning in November. He'd slept in that day, as he would normally. The insistent buzz of the door woke him from a deep sleep. He pulled himself out of bed, grabbed his robe, and stumbled down to the front door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. A quick glance through the spyhole told him what he expected; it was the postman, brandishing some sort of package. He opened the door and winced - the wind was cold, and his robe was little protection. "Package for you, sir," the postman said, trying to look cheerful. He held out a box, two feet square in size, brown and sealed with tape. He took it, puzzled, and then saw his name and address on the top. Obviously he did have the right place. Quickly he signed for the package, and then went back inside. Throwing off his robe, he climbed back in bed, trying to get warm again. He wasn't trying to go back to sleep, however. The package had brought him wide awake. Using his fingernail he slit the tape holding the box shut, and pulled it open. On top was a sheet of paper, thick and expensive looking. There were two words written on it, in black calligraphic script - 'With Compliments'. Now he was even more confused. He tossed the paper aside and found a wrapped piece of polystyrene, the kind used to pack delicate equipment. It went all the way to the edges of the box. Using his fingers, he felt around the edges, and pulled upwards. The polystyrene came away, revealing the box's contents. He gave out a gasp of horror when he first saw inside, thinking someone was playing a sick joke. But then he looked more closely, and became puzzled. There was a head in the box. He was looking straight down on the top of the skull. Brown, fine hair fell down on each side. Reaching in, he took hold of the hair, and pulled up. To his surprise, the whole head came out of the box, and if felt light in his hands. To his relief, he didn't find a bloody stump where the neck should be - but he didn't find a neck, either. He pushed the box to one side and stared in shock and amazement at what he held in his hands. It was a woman's head - well, a cast of a woman's head. She had plain, unremarkable features, but her eyes were slightly mysterious, her eyebrows low. The brown hair was cut in a bob style, and fell down to just below the chin. In the half-darkness of his bedroom, her eyes were just dark pits before him. "What the hell is going on," he muttered to himself. His name was ordinary - for the purpose of this record, it's Bryan. He lives alone, in an ordinary flat in an ordinary area of London. He has a girlfriend, Fay, who he's been seeing for about three months. They get on well, like the same things, and have reasonable sex. She works as an ad agency buyer, and he works in ad sales - so they're even compatible when it comes to work. He's never been into anything weird. On Halloween he stays in, but keeps a stash of sweets for the kids who come around. He likes parties but doesn't go to many, he enjoys good company but he has a small circle of friends. No-one he knew would send him a woman's head through the post. At least, that's what he thought. He got out of bed and pulled back the curtains, then turned back to his new possession. When he picked it up again, he was surprised once more. There were no eyes. He looked closer at the neck, and realised something else; this wasn't a cast. The skin of the neck ended, and underneath was a styrofoam head, the kind you occasionally see in women's salons. Exploring further, he realised this wasn't a cast at all. He looked at the back of the head, and parted the hair. Feeling around on the skin, he found a seam, and an edge, which he tugged at. He felt some resistance, but with two hands, he was able to pull the seam apart. There was a ripping sound, and he realised the head was sealed with Velcro. It separated, and to his astonishment, fell off the styrofoam head. Moving the styrofoam head to one side, he looked at what was in his hands. It was soft, pliable - he held it up and sniffed it. Rubber, latex of some kind. He turned it around and looked in the non-existent eyes. The face stretched out when he pulled at it. It was a mask. A mask, which was designed to be worn. Which had been sent to him. He began to explore more carefully. Whoever had designed it was extremely talented, he thought. The skin was incredibly realistic looking. The hair was attached firmly to the scalp. The eyebrows and cheeks were realistically detailed, and the lips were round, slightly soft and red. He turned it over once more, pulling the rear apart. The seam ran from the edge of the mask, at the neck, right up to near the top of the head. The hair attached covered it sufficiently, so that when he wore it, no-one would realise it was a mask. He stopped himself suddenly. What was he thinking? Wear this thing? He looked down at himself, his male frame, slight bulges where he didn't want them. As if he could ever pass for a woman. As if he would ever want to pass for a woman. No, it was absurd. He still picked up the mask though, and looked into the interior, wondering what it might feel like. He could see the woman's features, inside out, looking back at him. Surely it couldn't hurt, he thought. After all, there was a world of difference between wearing it, and trying to pass as a woman. He walked to his bathroom, taking the mask with him. There was a mirror there, the only one in the flat - he'd never been particularly vain. It was a few feet across, and as he stood there looking at himself, the mirror's view ended just below his chest. He lifted up the mask and looked at it in the mirror. It seemed lifeless. Harmless. He shrugged. It couldn't hurt. Lifting the mask towards his face, he pulled apart the edges, and pushed his face inside. It was dark and hot for a moment. Air rushed past his ears as he kept pulling the mask into place. He could hear a soft rustling, and realised he had his eyes closed. He opened them, and with his hands, began to press the mask down over his features. His eyes settled into place behind hers, his nose slipped into the imitation one; his chin sat comfortably where it should. Tugging, he got the ears into place, and then pulled tightly at the back of the mask, bringing the seam together, and pressing down on the Velcro seal. It took hold, and he felt the mask adjust over his head to the new feel of his face inside it. He looked at the woman's face in the mirror. It still looked like it had before, when it had first come out of the box. It didn't feel uncomfortable, but instead quite relaxing, natural. He couldn't help but smile, and was astonished to see the change in the features before him. They moved fluidly, without a wrinkle or a line to betray the fact that this was latex, not flesh, that was expressing pleasure. He gasped in amazement, and watched her gasp - then smile again, widen her eyes, and finally throw her head back and let out a cry of laughter. It was perfect. He took a step closer to the mirror, examining the features even closer. There wasn't a blemish to be found anywhere. He began making faces, each one more silly than the next, just to test this new-found face. Not a flaw. "Hello," he said to himself, in his own voice. Her lips moved smoothly, forming the sound that came from his throat. "My God... It's incredible," he said, touching his cheek as he looked at himself. Smiling, he blew himself a kiss - and that was when he realised, he was beginning to get extremely aroused. He didn't know what it was. He'd never cross-dressed before, never had any urge to do so; but he did know that he loved watching women dress, loved watching them get ready to go out. Fay was often amazed, if she left after they made love, that he would jump from the bed ready for action once more, after watching her pull up her tights and slip into a skirt. It just turned him on. Perhaps that was part of what caused his erection then. It was the creation of an illusion. Just like when he watched a woman put on lipstick, or pull on a stocking. Now he was creating the illusion. He half-ran to his bedroom and grabbed his robe, threw it on, and ran back to the bathroom. With the robe wrapped tightly around him, up to his neck, he could pass for a woman. It was a woman's face, a woman's hair before him. He tossed his head back, felt the hair fall around his neck. he smiled to himself, blew himself kisses, let his finger fall provocatively on his lips. He was driving himself into a frenzy. He took a step closer to the mirror, and without taking his eyes off the beautiful female image before him, he reached inside his robe with one hand and began to jerk himself off. He started with long, steady strokes, but he could feel he was ready to come, and soon. He whipped the robe aside, and moaned in anticipation, which caused him even more excitement as it was her who moaned, her who threw her head back and cried 'Yes', her who bit her lip, and her who groaned and shuddered as he came, shooting his milky semen into the basin below the mirror. He stood for a few moments, panting, trying to get his breath back, glowing with satisfaction. Finally he looked up at the face that had gotten him so hard. It was still there, breathing heavily. He felt a pang of guilt, but wasn't sure why. Unconsciously, he reached up, and pulled apart the seams of the mask with both hands. With a Velcro rip, they came apart. He closed his eyes and pulled, and the mask slipped off easily. he opened his eyes again and saw his own face in the mirror. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes gleaming - and there was a smile on his face. He didn't throw away the mask. Instead, he carefully packed it back into the box it came in. It was less than three hours before he took it back out, put it on once more, and brought himself to climax again. He did the same thing four times more that day. When he woke Sunday morning he knew that this was trouble. Nothing had ever done this to him - no woman, no image in the media. Nothing. And now he had in his possession this mask, this thing, that drove him wild whenever he put it on. He began to wonder how long he could wear it for, what he could wear with it to complete the illusion. He couldn't believe the thoughts he was having. A day previously, the sexiest thing he knew of in the world was watching Fay put on her lipstick, as she sat at her dressing table in bra, panties and hold-up stockings. Now he wanted to be in that position himself. He wanted to be the creator of the illusion. Late Sunday night he pulled on the mask once more, and lay in bed with it on, feeling how the hair felt against the pillow. He soon became hard again, and after he came, he fell straight asleep. He woke up on Monday morning and almost screamed aloud when he saw himself in the mirror. Ditching the mask, he ran the hottest shower he could stand, and then doused himself in cold for two minutes before he jumped out, shivering. That kept him under control long enough so he could pack the mask away and go to work. All that day he found himself staring at other women. He didn't look at them in a sexual way, even though he found many of them attractive. Instead he was looking at them as objects, staring at their faces, their movements. He wanted to know how they made their faces look that way, how they dressed. He did this in a casual way, almost removed from his own reality. It was only when someone spoke to him that he remembered where he was, what he was doing. He thought about his own feelings for a long time that evening. He finally realised he had come to the cross-dressing experience from the reverse angle. Transvestites spent their time trying to perfect a female image, but the one thing they couldn't alter, without the aid of surgery, was their faces. That, he had covered. Now he wanted to see what the rest of the experience was like. What it might be like to really be a woman. To complete the illusion, and live in it, even for a short while. He started to formulate a plan. He would ask Fay to come over, spend a weekend or two with him. Then he'd suggest, subtly of course, that she start leaving a few things behind, make it easier for her. Finally, when she'd left enough things, he could try to pass as a woman for real. He was convinced that with his mask, he wouldn't have any problems. As soon as he arrived back at his flat, he went straight to the cupboard containing the box. Quickly, he pulled it out and pulled off the polystyrene - and saw nothing. The mask was gone. He frantically checked the rest of the box, wondering where the mask could have gone to. He found a few scraps of latex, almost like scrapings. It was if, except for the mount it had come on, the mask had just disappeared into thin air. He checked the front door - it was solid. All of the windows were locked and seemed untouched, and nothing else in the flat was missing. But the mask was still gone, leaving only the styrofoam head behind as evidence that it was ever there at all. By the end of the week, he was almost beginning to doubt his own sanity. Fay had been around several times, and they'd had some average sex each time; it was only the one time she stayed over, and he watched her preparing for the day, that he pulled her back into bed. They made love urgently then, his thoughts only on the mask. Saturday came around again, but this time, he didn't sleep in. He'd been watching the postal delivery that week, and had realised that there were several different people who deliverd. That meant he could get a different postman on a Saturday - and perhaps it would be the same one as last week. Sure enough, the buzzer went off, and he ran down the stairs, flinging the door open. The postman almost jumped at his appearance. Bryan recognised him immediately - it was the same man as the previous week. "Er, hello. I've got a letter for you to sign." He handed out a clipboard to Bryan, who took it, looking suspiciously at the postman. "You delivered here last week, didn't you?" Bryan asked. The postman nodded. "Do you remember what you gave me?" The postman thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, it was a big package, wasn't it? Light, though." "Yes, yes it was," Bryan said urgently. "I'm trying to trace the sender of that package. Is it possible to find that out?" "Yeah, I s'pose so. You'd have to go down to the local sorting office." "Where is that?" The postman gave him the address. "Don't forget the letter," he reminded Bryan before he closed the door. He handed over a plain white envelope. Bryan shut the door and pulled open the envelope. A sheet of high-quality paper fell out. He ran upstairs, and pulled the sheet of paper out from the box. They were identical. With shaking fingers, he unfolded the sheet he'd just received, and read the flowing calligraphic script that was on it. Dear Bryan, You have had a taste. I'm glad you enjoyed it. There is much more to come, but only if you are prepared. This is just the beginning. You have three months. Look for a parcel in February. signed, A Friend. Bryan's mind raced. Who was this person? How did they know him? How was he supposed to prepare, and how would it take three months? He was baffled by the note. At the same time, however, he was intrigued. He knew that whoever had sent this note had sent him the mask. If he could find out who that person was, he would have the key to the mystery. His first port of call that day was the local sorting office. Like most bureaucracies, they were less than helpful. Eventually, after tipping the right people, he managed to see the log of deliveries in his area. To make sure a package could be delivered, there had to be a return address in case there were problems. He flipped through the log book until he found his own name, and there, alongside the date, was the name and address he'd been looking for. Ms Tree 23 Cherry Tree Drive London E14 3WE He smiled to himself. 'Ms Tree' - mystery. Cute, he thought. Making a note of the address, he left the sorting office and headed straight for the Underground. Cherry Tree Drive was a relatively affluent street in part of the revitalised Docklands area. All of the buildings looked relatively new, and Bryan smiled to himself when he saw a plaque proudly proclaiming that one building had been erected in 1987. Ten years is a long time in finance, he thought. Number 23 was at the end of the street, a medium sized house with a set of steps that led up to a front door. He didn't know what to do, at first, but he decided there was really only one thing he could do. Besides, he reasoned, he was a salesman. He could talk his way into anything. He pressed the doorbell hard for just a moment. Nothing happened for a minute, then he saw a shape inside move towards the door. It opened, just a crack. He saw a woman's eye staring at him. "Hi," he said, with his best smile. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me. I'm starting up a Neighbourhood Watch scheme in the area, and I was wondering if you wanted to join." The gap widened until he could see her entire face. She was young, he figured not much above 25, with pale blonde hair pulled back from her face. He couldn't see what she was wearing, apart from a baggy black t-shirt. "Have you just moved in?" she asked. Her accent was hard to trace - public school, he guessed, but with a hint of London regionality. "Uh, yes, I have - number 5." He'd spotted the For Sale sign on his way to the house. "Would you be interested?" "Perhaps." Her face and tone were non-commital. "Would you like to come in for a moment?" He was surprised, but nodded. This only confirmed his suspicions. He figured no-one would let an almost total stranger into their house unless they had an ulterior motive. Now he just had to discover what that motive was. She opened the door wide and he stepped inside. She led him through the house, which looked tidy and unremarkable, to the kitchen, where she gestured for him to take a seat at a small table. He did so, glancing around at the surroundings. They were neat and trim, which to his eye looked normal enough. "What did you say your name was?" she asked, moving to the kettle and switching it on. "I didn't," he replied. "Coffee alright?" she asked casually, as if she hadn't heard his reply. "Fine thanks, Miss...?" "It's Mrs," she corrected. "Mrs Barnes. My husband's out - doing the shopping." "I see," Bryan said. She went about her business, apparently ignoring him. There was silence for a moment. Bryan decided to push his luck. "Will he be long?" "Hmmm?" "Your husband. Will he be long, shopping." "Oh, a couple of hours, yet. He always nips off to the pub afterwards for a quick pint and a stare at the barmaid. Thinks I don't know." She glanced at him. "But I'm not stupid." "No." Bryan couldn't figure this woman out. If she knew him - if this was where the packages were coming from - then she wasn't alarmed. Surely she would have recognised me by sight, he thought. Unless, he realised, it was the husband who was sending the packages. But why? "So, that gives us plenty of time to chat," he said, grinning. Mrs Barnes poured out two coffees and brought them over. "Yes, I suppose it does," she said, placing the drinks down. Bryan could see she was wearing jeans with the t-shirt now, but as he glanced at her body, he saw she kept in shape. A couple of hours chatting with her could be very enjoyable, he felt. "So.. this is a nice house," Bryan said as he sipped. He knew it was a lousy line, but he didn't think she really wanted to talk about his bogus Neighbourhood Watch scheme. "Mmm, it is," she replied. "We've not been here long. Do you want a quick tour?" "I'd love one." Leaving the cups behind, she took him by the hand, very casually, and led him around the rooms of the ground floor in a flash. Her touch was so light, so unassuming, that he didn't think too much of it. Then she brought him upstairs. Her tour ended at the master bedroom, a large, open room with a dressing screen in one corner. Bryan's interest was immediately piqued. Dressing screens, with all their associations with preparation and illusion, had always turned him on. Suddenly, he felt her hand entwining with his. He turned to look at her, and saw she was looking deep into his eyes. Without thinking, he kissed her. She returned his kiss with a passion, grabbing hold of him and pushing him hard against the doorframe. Her leg lifted up and around him, and he grabbed hold of her, kissing her hard, reaching behind her and cupping her ass with his hands. She moaned in pleasure, but as he pulled her inside the room, aiming for the bed, she pulled away. "Wait," she said breathlessly. "Let's do this right." She reached up and began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, her fingers lingering on each button. Bryan threw off his light jacket, then let her finish with the shirt. It was soon hanging out of his trousers. She took hold of his belt and unbuckled it, then pulled it off with a whipping motion. Pushing him down on the bed, she straddled him, and unzipped his trousers. His cock sprang free, and she smiled in pleasure at its just above average size. His mind was going haywire as she finished stripping off his clothes. Some part of him was trying to remember why he'd come here, trying to remember the mask, the letter - but most of him was just caught up in the moment, in this insane, twisted adventure he seemed to be embarking upon. He felt like this had been planned, as if she - or her husband - had expected him to come, and this was all a set-up. If it was, it wasn't something he was going to complain about. With a final flourish she pulled off his socks, and he was completely naked, lying on the bed. She walked over to a bedside table, reached into a drawer and withdrew something that gleamed; a pair of handcuffs. Bryan's gut shifted. "No, I don't think so," he said firmly. She raised an eyebrow, and then reached down and tossed him his trousers. "Then you know where to go," she said. She dangled the cuffs in one hand, smiling at him, and playing with the edge of her t-shirt, exposing her midriff at him. He was too aroused, and too intrigued, to stop now. But he wasn't going to go ahead without getting something in return. "Who is Ms Tree?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know." "Then forget it," he said, sitting up and getting ready to pull on his trousers. She stepped forward, put her hand on his shoulder. "Wait," she said. "I remember now. She used to live here. But I think she left, not too long ago." He glanced at her. Her expression seemed honest enough. "Perhaps my husband would know," she said. "Can I talk to him, when he gets back?" Bryan asked. She nodded. "Of course. Although, you might want to get dressed first." "I think there's time for that later," he said, smiling, and reaching for the cuffs. She grinned, and snapped a cuff over one wrist. Working his way up the bed, she threaded the cuff through the iron-wrought railing at the head of the bed, and snapped the cuff onto his other wrist. He was well secured. "There, that should do," she said to him. She stepped back and admired her handiwork. Bryan looked at her expectantly. She didn't say anything, but just moved to the dressing screen at the end of the room. She gave him a seductive glance as she moved behind it. He was beginning to get his erection back, and wished that there were lights behind the screen to give him an idea of what was going on. He decided to try and get a play-by-play commentary, instead. "What are you doing?" he called out. "Getting ready," she replied. "I know that... I just wanted to know.. uh...." He tailed off. He didn't know what to say. He felt like he was revealing himself to this woman, who he hardly knew. But then, he figured he'd never see her again after today. "Know what?" she asked. "Uh.. know what you were doing. To get ready." "Know what I'm doing? What do you think I'm doing?" His mind could fill in many of the details, but he was cursing inwardly that the screen was spoiling the show. "Getting undressed, I hope," he said hopefully. "On the contrary," she replied, stepping from behind the screen. "I'm getting dressed." His eyes almost came out of his sockets when he saw her standing before him. The t-shirt and jeans were gone; in their place was a black basque, garter belt, stockings, and a filmy black robe around her shoulders. Patent high heels, also black, completed the effect. She reached up and freed her hair, letting it fall about her back. "Well? What do you think?" "My God," he managed to whisper, "you look gorgeous." "I thought you'd say that," she replied, stepping back behind the screen. "After all, this is your thing, isn't it Bryan." He paused. He hadn't told her his name. "What? What do you mean?" "It turns you on," she stated, matter-of-factly. "You enjoy watching women dress. Isn't that right?" How did she know this, Bryan asked himself. He was bewildered. "Well, everyone enjoys that," he said, trying to feign a casual air. "Not as much as you," she said, as she stepped from behind the screen once more. She was wearing the same outfit, but held a lipstick in her hand. She came towards Bryan, and slowly, deliberately, straddled him on the bed. Her crotch touched down lightly over his own. He looked up at her, her gorgeous face, and watched as she slowly extended the lipstick, and puckered up. Slowly she began to apply her lipstick. First she did the top lip, then the bottom, and went around once more, all over. Bryan loved every minute of it, and showed his appreciation by getting an even harder erection. She looked down at this and smiled. Leaning down, so close he could smell her perfume, she kissed him slowly and sensuously, rubbing her freshly minted lips all over his own. He thrust upwards, rubbing against her pubic mound; but she didn't react. Instead she just finished her kiss, and got off of him once more. "God, I want you," he groaned. "I know. But I have one more thing to put on... or is that take off?" She walked behind the screen once more, and Bryan heard a rip, then a rustling sound. Just as he began to wonder what it might be, she stepped out into his view. It was his girlfriend, Fay. In her hand, she held a mask of Mrs Barnes face. She walked towards him, slowly, and raised one dark leg onto the bed, right next to his face. She reached down and dragged the Mrs Barnes mask over his face, the tendrils of hair just touching him. Tossing the latex face onto the bed next to him, she reached down and unclipped her stocking, a wide smile on her face. He was still too shocked to speak, until she'd moved the stocking over her knee. "What.. Fay? What's.. You're her? You're Ms Tree?" She shook her head. "No, Bryan, I'm not. I'm not, and nor is Mrs Barnes, here," she said, indicating the mask. "Nor is Mrs Barnes husband. I'm afraid you're not going to uncover Ms Tree this easily. Did you really think we'd just let you find out by tracing one parcel? Do you think we're that unprepared?" She finished with the stocking, pulling it off her leg. She lifted her other leg up and began to repeat the operation. "Who.. who are you? Who are they?" "Too many questions, Bryan." "Please.. I have to know. How do you know so much about me?" "I'm your girlfriend. Don't you think I would know these things?" "But you don't!" Bryan protested. "You don't know, you've never known...." "You're right," she admitted, as she removed her second stocking. She stepped back from the bed a couple of feet. "That's because I'm not your girlfriend." She turned her back on him, and reached up behind her head. Bryan realised with shock what she was doing. Her hands searched for a seam, and found it, tugging at it insistently for a moment. With a slight ripping, the Velcro came away, and the mask of Fay's face parted at the back. Bryan saw a glimpse of dark, cropped hair, and then she leant forward, pulling the wig and mask off in one movement. She dropped the mask to one side, and Bryan looked at it, wide-eyed. His girlfriend's face was lying, distorted and misshapen, looking up at him from the bedroom floor. He glanced back at the woman before him - he didn't know what to call her now - and realised why she had removed her stockings. She was pulling one over her head. With it on, she took hold of the second stocking, and pulled it over the first. It was only then that she turned back to him. With both stockings in place, her face was completely hidden from his view - her features darkened and unreadable. To make matters worse for him, she walked over to the window and shut the curtains. There was very little light left in the room. She strode over to the dressing table behind the screen and put on a light there. By that weak light Bryan watched as she walked back over, and sat down beside him. "Now," she said, in a voice slightly deeper than before, "let me clear some things up for you." She pulled open another bedside table drawer, and pulled out something that Bryan couldn't quite see in the half light. "As you've now realised, I'm not Fay. I wore the mask to demonstrate a point; we can be anyone. Anyone, Bryan. Friends, co- workers, family members... even lovers." She let that sink in for a moment before continuing. "Fay doesn't know anything about this. However she could, if we wanted to. If you turn your head to the left, you'll see a large mirror. Behind that is a video camera, that's been on all the time we've been here. There will be some more interesting footage on the tape once I've finished with you, though." Something glistened in the light next to Bryan's head. He swivelled his eyes and saw the woman flicking the end of a hypodermic needle. Before he could react she injected it into his arm. He winced in pain, but it was over in a minute. "Why.. why are you doing this?" he muttered. "That's just a mild concoction, Bryan. It'll make you drowsy, but won't send you to sleep; I need you barely conscious, otherwise the tape will never look convincing." "What.. tape...." Bryan could feel his eyelids trying to close, but with a supreme effort of will he could just about stay awake. "The tape we're going to make together, Bryan. The one we can send to Fay if we ever even suspect you've told her about what's going on. Or if you ever go to anyone else about what's going on. That tape will show you having a great time with Mrs Barnes, Bryan. She's a vixen when she wants to be." "Jesus.. all this just for blackmail...." "No, not blackmail. Call it insurance. We've invested a lot of time and money in you, Bryan. You're perfect for us. We just don't want you to screw it all up one day because you get too many guilt pangs. This way, you'll stay on the straight and narrow." "Straight and narrow," Bryan repeated, hazily. "What...." "Do you have to do? Well, it's fairly simple, really. Follow the letter's advice, Bryan. Get prepared. Spend the next three months training yourself to be everything you want to be. To be everything that those dark desires, those desires you've kept hidden for so long, have told you to be. We know what the mask awakened in you, Bryan. We want you to embrace that, now. Because if you do that...." She leant down and whispered in his ear, the fine mesh of her stocking mask rasping out her breaths. "You'll become all that you've ever wanted. And much, much more." "I don't want it... I don't...." She chuckled, and stood up, retrieving the Mrs Barnes mask and facing away from him once more. She pulled off the stockings, and in a swift movement, pulled the face of Mrs Barnes onto her own. Turning around she smoothed out the face onto her own features, and then secured the Velcro at the rear. The transformation took only a few seconds. She looked down at him, at his engorged member, and smiled. "I think we both know what you really want, Bryan," she said, walking to the end of the bed. She leant down and slid up to his cock, taking hold of it with one hand. "But I want you to say it to me." He groaned, shifted slightly in his bonds. Without saying a word, she placed her mouth around his cock, and began to suck him off. He writhed, kicking out weakly with his feet, but she shrugged him off and continued to suck, taking him down deeper into her throat. He felt himself rising, his body reacting to those rubber lips even though he didn't want it to. He knew, somewhere in the haze of his mind, what she was asking of him; she knew that they - whoever they were, whatever they wanted - knew him better, in many ways, than he knew himself. "What do you want, Bryan," she asked him, licking him now, driving him wild with desire with flicks of her tongue. He moaned, gritted his teeth, but he could feel the answer coming up from his subconscious. "What do you want.. what do you desire... what do you need... what Bryan, what...." "No - no - " She stopped sucking him, and abruptly moved up, sliding her dark-clad body over his cock, and resting on his chest. She kissed him, hard, and the feeling of her face, now that he knew it was rubber, turned him on even further. "Tell me," she said between kisses. "Tell me. Admit it to yourself. Tell me what turns you on." It was torture, sweet, exquisite torture. Bryan shut his eyes and thought of Fay, thought of his normal girlfriend, his ordinary life - but all he could think of was this woman on top of him, this woman that had looked like his girlfriend, who had worn his girlfriend's face - just like - just like - He felt the rubber moving over his face before he could react, and the seal being moved together before he could cry out. The rubber flesh pressed down on his, and he almost cried out in agony and ecstasy. He opened his eyes and saw Mrs Barnes, the woman he'd called that, smiling at him wickedly, knowing that he was helpless before her. He felt her hands grabbing his cock, guiding him into her dark, wet place, and as he slid inside, and she threw back her head and moaned aloud, he almost came. He knew now what he had to do. He knew now this was his destiny. He knew what he had become. Lying there, with a mask of his own girlfriend over his face, he cried out "I WANT TO BE YOU!" and then came in a mighty explosion, bucking and writhing, his eyes tightly shut and his thoughts only on one thing. The next three months passed slowly and painfully. They passed slowly because each and every day was a nightmare of paranoia and indecision for Bryan. He knew that these people - whoever they were - had something in mind for him. He just didn't know what. He did have something to go on, though - he had a name for their group. He'd found it when he'd woken up. The room was empty save for the most basic of fittings. He awoke lying on the carpet, naked. The bed was gone, the dressing screen, the mirror - everything. He could have believed it was all a dream, or at the very least a party gone badly wrong, but when he stumbled down to the kitchen he realised it had all happened. Lying on the kitchen table, next to his clothes - which had been neatly folded - was a videotape. There was a small card on top of it, with a stylised logo and two words on it - The Veil. He searched the whole of the house, but could find nothing else beyond the ordinary. The entire place, it seemed, had been set up for him. Taking the videotape with him he left the house, returned home, and watched the contents. It was fairly sordid stuff. Apart from several scenes of charged sex between him and 'Mrs Barnes', who made sure the camera got a good look at both of their faces, there was also footage of him dressed in much the same outfit that she had worn - stockings, basque and garter belt. He looked at his semi-comatose form on the tape and wondered how they ever managed to fit him into the clothing. But, he had to admit, he didn't seem to make a bad woman. The final shot of the video was the most haunting, however. The woman involved had just finished an extensive fellatio session on him, with grunts and groans that he could only assume were added in post- production on the soundtrack. That over, she stood and walked away from the bed, coming towards the camera. She stood there for a moment, licking her lips. Then, Mrs Barnes reached up, and felt at her chin for the seam of her mask. She found it, and gradually pulled it back, exposing slightly lighter skin beneath. She kept pulling the mask, rolling it up her face, and with a final tug, the entire thing came free. The face beneath hers was revealed. It was Bryan. He looked at his face, on the tape, and watched as it spoke, with his own voice. "Remember, Bryan. Anyone." He'd thought for a long time after he switched off the video. He was deeply fearful of The Veil now. They were able to assume any appearance, it seemed, with the minimum of effort. They had the raw material for an entire series of blackmail videotapes. And they seemed to know his innermost secrets. He didn't know what to do. He felt he couldn't go to the authorities; they'd never believe his story, for starters - there was no physical evidence. He hadn't checked, but he was willing to believe there was no Mrs Barnes at 23 Cherry Tree Drive. There was no mask. There was only a box, and this videotape, which any layman would assume was just Hollywood trickery at work. No, he quickly realised he only had himself to rely upon in this situation. And it seemed that the only forward was to co-operate. If he did anything else, he feared the consequences. That led to the pain. Bryan knew what the woman had been referring to, and he knew what the 'preparation' entailed. He had to give in to those dark desires The Veil had apparently awakened in him, and be ready to do their work for them. Which meant he had to be able to become a woman. The first thing he had to do was lose weight and change his body shape. He went to a nutritionist, a doctor, and a physical fitness instructor and got himself enrolled in diet plans, vitamin regimens and training programs galore. He didn't enjoy too much of it, but at the end of the first month, he'd lost almost two stone, and his body was much slimmer. He saw no need for any surgical procedures, as it appeared The Veil's skills with mask-making prohibited the need for it. However at the beginning of the second month he began to tentatively explore the transvestite scene in London. The first month might have been physically challenging, but the second month was a test of other types of willpower. At first, he only just managed to go to the shops and browse. He couldn't get up the guts to say anything, and wished desperately that he still had the mask. It was only when a sales assistant remarked how slim he was looking that he felt flattered enough to ask some basic questions. From then on in, he was educated in the ways of feminine illusion. He always stopped short of the practical element, though. He was waiting until once more he could pull on a female mask, and then would he make his full debut as a woman. In the meantime he learnt to wear bras and how to use breast forms, how to use a gaff and how to walk in heels, but he never went out in drag, nor did he own any items in his flat. He always just got help from the many people he met on the TV scene. They thought him a little strange, but money dropped here and there usually ended any questions. The third month came, and he was pleased to see that he was approaching his target weight and desired physique. It had been an intensive training period - more intensive than an athletes, he guessed - but it had been worth it. Now he could stand in front of the mirror and feel proud of his body, and also imagine what it might feel like to actually complete the illusion he'd been striving for. As the end of the third month came, and February began, he was increasingly nervous, but excited, too. He had not been contacted by The Veil at all during his three months of training, although he couldn't be sure he hadn't been watched or assisted by one of them. He was still seeing Fay, although with a decreasingly regularity. Their sex was urgent and unemotional now, more of a release for Bryan's pent- up frustrations than true love-making. He hadn't told her anything, but his paranoia kept him wondering if perhaps she'd seen the tape, or part of it, and was keeping it from him for some reason. She never even asked about his rapid loss of weight. He watched the mail like an over-enthusiastic family dog. He forced himself out of bed to be ready when it arrived; he woke early on Saturdays to make sure he picked up the mail fresh, and he spoke to the post office, asking them to be sure to deliver all packages to him, personally. Then all he had to do was wait. His life changed once more on a Saturday morning, the first in March. He'd almost begun to give up hope. It seemed like no packages were going to arrive. But then, out of the blue, he was awoken once more by a buzz on the door. This surprised him, as he'd been getting up consistently before the postman arrived for a month. Running down to the door, he took a deep breath and then swung it open. The postman stood there, brandishing a box - and larger than before. What on Earth could it be, he wondered. Looking at the man, he realised it was the same man he'd been greeting every day for a month. "Early start this morning?" Bryan enquired casually. The postman nodded, smiled, and extended his clipboard. Bryan signed, not even caring about just who this man might be, and shut the door, running upstairs. He was prepared for this moment, or at least as much as he could be within his self-imposed rules. He had prepared a plain, casual outfit for himself - jeans, t-shirt, a light jumper. He had also managed to 'borrow' one of Fay's bras. It just about fitted him. He didn't have breast forms yet - some small part of him still wondered if this was all a joke - so he had to make do with conventional rolled up socks. Still, he figured with a long coat and a mask, he'd be able to pass for a woman. That was, of course, assuming that the box contained a mask. Like a schoolkid prolonging the agony of waiting for that special present, he took his time, showering and changing into his outfit before he began to open the box. Then, carefully, he cut through the tape seams and opened it. It was about double the length of the first box he'd received, but the same height, and as he opened it he realised there could be multiple masks inside. The prospect thrilled him, and he moved quickly to get the inside layer of polystyrene removed. It came back to reveal something he didn't expect. There were two masks inside the box, each one sitting on a wig block. The one closest to him was what puzzled him most. He reached in and pulled it out, holding it up before him. It was a male face. The face of a man, around his age, with black hair and a thick moustache. He looked the mask over for a moment, examining the detail, which looked as good if not better than the first mask he'd been sent. Puzzled, he put the male mask to one side, and with rising excitement, picked up the second head. It was female, but much more glamorous than the first mask he'd worn. A wave of golden-blonde hair fell down to the bottom of the box, and as he picked it up and turned the face towards him, he realised the hair was so long it would fall about his shoulders. The face took his breath away. Even cast in rubber, without his own features to animate it from inside, this was a beautiful face. Rounded, sensual lips were complimented by wide, expressive eyes, and high eyebrows. He couldn't wait to get it on, to once again experience the clinging feel of rubber which he'd dreamt about for three months. Walking straight to the new floor to ceiling mirror he'd had installed in the bedroom, he looked carefully at the rear of the mask. There didn't seem to be any seam this time. He was slightly confused by this, but pulling at the rubber at the rear of the mask, he guessed he'd be able to squeeze his head in without needing a seam. Perhaps, he thought, the first mask was one for 'training' - this one was the real thing. He smiled at the idea that he might now have 'graduated', but he had a feeling there was still much more to come. Looking at himself in the mirror, he smiled, and then raised the mask up in front of him. "No time like the present," he reasoned, and began to pull it on. His hands were pushed inside the mask's confines, and he raised them up, pulling both of his wrists apart. The rubber spread obligingly, and the top of his head fitted inside easily. Carefully he withdrew his hands, and began to tug down at the side of the mask, an inch or so at a time. He closed his eyes and felt his excitement rising as gradually, the mask descended onto his head. Within a minute or so it was on, although he'd been cautious. Now he went to work on the features. He still had his eyes closed as he pressed down his new nose, and snapped his ears into place. Finally he ran his hands all over the face, smoothing out the neck, cheeks and forehead. As before, the mask seemed to be made perfectly for him; the features slid on easily, and the fit was natural and not at all uncomfortable. He opened his eyes, and smiled at the result. "Hello, gorgeous," he said to himself in the mirror. The woman facing him was young, perhaps in her mid-20s. She had a very attractive face, with high cheekbones, full lips, and dark blue eyes, like Bryan's own. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, and when she moved her head, the hair moved with it in flowing waves. Bryan knew he'd find her attractive, and that fact just made him even more excited. Relief flooded through him, and arousal too. Finally, after all his hard work, he was back to where he'd begun. It hadn't been a dream, it had been real; and the question was now, where would it lead him. Right then, he didn't care. He had some serious shopping to do for his new female persona. Stepping outside of his flat was a test in itself. He spent a few minutes looking at the mask closely in the mirror, checking it in different lights, talking to himself, watching the way it moved. He was once more astounded by how realistic it seemed to be. He could have a conversation with someone and they'd never know he was a man. That is, he reasoned, if they were deaf. While his male voice wasn't deep and butch, it wasn't particularly feminine either. But with some experimentation, and some whispering, he was able to passably imitate a female voice after not too long. He just hoped he wasn't going to have to use it too often. He'd prepared for this moment, so took with him on his shopping trip a substantial amount of cash. He didn't want to have to try and sign a card payment slip with a male name on it. He didn't have a handbag or purse yet, so he had to make do by putting the cash inside his coat pocket. With that onboard, he was ready to go. One nerve-wracking walk later, where at every step he expected to be decried by some member of the public, and he was on the Underground. Sitting in a relatively quiet carriage, he kept his head down and tried to be unnoticed until the train reached the city centre. His first stop was at a major department store. Grabbing a basket he went wild in the aisles, piling high lingerie and clothing of all types. He bought everything in one size from one store, then moved to another and bought a second set of clothing in a slightly different size. There was no way he was going to try anything on, and while he had receipts he figured he was safe. After a couple of hours, he struggled back to the Underground with his purchases, and took a cab from the station nearest to his flat. With the door finally closed behind him, he slumped down on the sofa and pulled off his shoes. Rubbing absently at his sore feet, he wondered what he'd wear first. He fumbled in one of the bags, and smiled to himself. There was no contest, really. But first, he had to prepare. It took an hour to get ready before he could dress. Before he did anything else, he slowly removed the mask. He wanted it to be the final part of his preparations, so he took it off and placed it on the styrofoam head. Then he took a long hot bath, and shaved all the hair he could manage, except for around his groin. He didn't plan to be showing anyone his panties, anyway. Then he waxed his legs for an even, sheer feel. Finally he stood before the mirror and began to dress. The first step was to hide his masculinity. He didn't want to be particularly restricted in his feminine guise - after all, a good part of the reason he was doing this was the sexual excitement - but at the same time he wanted to look right for the part. The best compromise he could come up with was to flatten his balls against his body, and then pull his penis straight up. He laid a panty liner on top, and taped the whole thing down with surgical tape. Then he took a pair of black, silk panties, in a large size, and stepped into them. They slid up his legs smoothly, and he felt a rush of excitement flow through him. With just the panties on, he removed a pair of tights from one of his bags. They were sheer, with added Lycra, and called Barely Black by the makers. Unfolding them from the packaging, he realised his hands were trembling as he let the legs drop in front of him. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. He sat down on his bed and bunched up the left leg of the tights. When all he had in his hand was the foot of the tights, he slipped his left foot inside, and pulled the tights over his heel with a smooth gesture. He bit his lip at the feeling as he slowly pulled the tights all the way up to his knee, relishing every second. The sheer nylon and Lycra mix made the tights smooth and soft, and he could feel his arousal straining in his new panties. Moving quicker now, anxious to get the illusion complete, he bunched up the other tights leg and pulled it on. Carefully he pulled up the tights, working them up his legs, until the crotch settled over his own. With a snap, he let the waistband hug him securely. He looked at his new legs in the mirror and smiled. All that time on the exercise bike and stair-climber had paid off. His legs were slim, rounded in the right places, and now, covered by the Barely Black tights, they were sexier than he had ever imagined. With his legs finished, he went to work on his body. First of all he attached two breast forms to his chest with adhesives. He couldn't believe how realistic they looked when he watched himself in the mirror. His female shape was beginning to form before his eyes. Next he picked out a bodyshaper which went over his tights and the breast forms. It constricted his waist sufficiently, giving him a convincing, hourglass figure. He turned this way and that in front of the mirror, examining his reflection. Everything looked fine so far, he reasoned. His underwear was finished, so now he turned to outerwear. He'd selected a thin, pencil-line skirt for his first outfit; charcoal grey in colour, it looked business-like but still passably casual. He stepped into it quickly, leaving it loose around his waist. Just like a man, he thought. He always put his trousers on first, but whenever he watched Fay, she put on a blouse first. That was what he came to next, picking up a silk, cream coloured blouse that he pulled on and buttoned over his new breasts. Tucking it in, he zipped the skirt up the side, and then picked out a pair of shoes. He'd seen a pair of black high heels in his size, and bought them immediately. It was lucky he had small feet, he thought, otherwise getting shoes to fit him would have been a nightmare. The pair he'd settled for weren't too high in heel size - about an inch - but enough to give him a feminine calf and accentuate his walk. He slipped his feet into them and walked around for a moment, enjoying the feel of the tights on his feet, the increased height the heels gave him. He turned and strode over to his reflection. From the neck down, he looked like an ordinary woman, dressed for business perhaps. Sure, his hands needed a little work, but that was nothing a little makeup and nail polish couldn't cure. He took one last look at his male face, and then walked over to fetch his mask. Bringing it back to the mirror, he lifted it up high, spread the rubber apart, and pulled it down onto his head. It engulfed him, and as it did, he felt like he was passing through a gateway. Everything before this had just been playacting, working with a false face, a different look. Now, with all his work completed, his female guise finally perfected - now he was becoming someone else. Someone different. He didn't know much about that person, yet, but he knew he was going to find out. The rubber contracted around his head as he withdrew his hands, pushing the edges of the mask down against his neck. Using the adhesive that worked with his breast forms, he stuck down the edges of the mask, and then moved the blouse about his neck to cover things up. Then he turned and looked at the woman before him. Her name was Mary, he'd decided that now. "Hi there, Mary," he said. "Hello, Bryan. Pleased to meet you," she replied. Her voice was breathy, a low tone, and immediately turned Bryan on. The way she stood, with her hands resting on her hips, was a turn-on too. She smiled invitingly to him, tossing her golden hair about her head. Then she turned slightly away, walked over to his bed, and lifted up one leg. Placing her foot on the edge of the bed, she looked seductively at him in the mirror, then leant forward, running her hands over the tights she wore. She let her hands roam, all the way up her leg, and threw her head back with a moan of pleasure as her hands came to the top of her leg. She knew how to turn him on, and she was doing it expertly. The door buzzer smashed Bryan's fantasy into shards. He started, dropping his leg down and looking in the direction of the front door. It couldn't be Fay, he thought. She was out of town for the weekend. He wasn't expecting anyone else, and he didn't have friends who were the type to drop in, unexpectedly. He paused for a moment, wondered what he should do. If it was someone he knew, he couldn't go and meet them dressed as Mary. If it was a stranger.... He walked to the intercom and pressed the talk button, speaking in a voice that was half him, half Mary. "Yes? Who is it?" "My name is Reeves. I'm a friend of Mrs Barnes." Bryan's hand shot back from the intercom in shock. He hadn't heard Mrs Barnes' name in over three months... but he knew it could only mean one thing. Whoever it was downstairs, they were from The Veil. It was a man this time. He was short, stocky, with a large leather jacket over his frame. He eyed Bryan with suspicion as he came into the flat, but didn't say anything. Bryan felt extremely nervous as they stepped into his lounge. If this man was from The Veil, then he assumed he knew Bryan was in disguise. But something about the man made Bryan suspicious of him. He sat down casually, indicating for Bryan to do the same. Bryan carefully lowered himself into a chair, crossing his legs as he'd practised for so long. He got a slight thrill as he felt the nylon of his tights brush against itself. The man looked at him without a trace of emotion for a good minute. Bryan felt like he was under inspection, and found himself touching his hair and hemline almost unconsciously. "A good job," the man said suddenly, after what seemed like an eternity. He smiled at Bryan. "Most guys end up wearing outfits that make them look like hookers, first time out. Nice to see you resisting that urge." "I.. I just wanted to look fairly normal," Bryan said in his Mary voice. His thoughts went to the fairly risque outfits he had, still stashed away in his shopping. "You've been working on the voice, too," the man continued. "That's good to see. Too many people forget that. Keep it up." "Thank you," Bryan said demurely. He wondered what else the man was here for, apart from congratulating him. "You're almost through now, you know. You don't have much further to go." "Go with what?" Bryan asked. "I still don't understand properly what is going on. I mean, so far this just seems like some sort of wild sexual fantasy that I never knew I wanted to have." "Well, at least you're enjoying yourself. I wouldn't want you to feel like you weren't having fun." Bryan eyed the man carefully. "I get the feeling you knew, anyway. You knew about.. something. You knew this would work. That woman, she said I was perfect. Perfect for what?" "For our line of work," the man said casually. "That's all." "That's it? That's all I get to know?" "Right now, yes." Bryan sighed. "So, what's next?" "Your first assignment. Your passing out, if you will. With that over, you'll be formally initiated." "Into what? You make it sound like some sort of exclusive club." "It is," the man said. "Very exclusive." He leant forward, and began to remove his jacket. "Okay, what do I have to do?" Bryan asked. "Simple," said the man. "You have to do this." He reached up, and with both hands, he grabbed hold of the skin just under his chin. He pulled sharply, and there was a tearing sound. The mask came free, and he pulled it upwards while at the same time, dipping his head forwards. In one practiced motion, the mask came off - and long, blonde hair fell down about his head. Then he looked up, and became a she. Bryan was looking at a woman, under the mask. She shrugged off the leather jacket and pulled open her shirt, revealing her breasts, which were held down by bandages. She proceeded to remove her shirt and then go to work on the bandages. Bryan sat opposite, stunned into silence. He'd seen enough masking by members of The Veil to take it for granted now, but such a radical transformation was still amazing to him. And now, it seemed, the same was expected of him. "Tell me more," he said to the woman now opposite him. She smiled and began to relate his instructions.