Life Imitates Art - The Body Suit: Part 3 free porn video

"You're not serious, are you?" Kayla shrugged at Laurie's question. "It's what they gave me." One piece at a time Laurie pulled out the clothing from the suitcase given to Kayla to wear. "As screwed up as I find this whole thing, at least they were good enough to give their paper doll something to wear at work for a few days," Kayla frowned. In the hours since discovering her boyfriend was wrapped, pushed, squeezed and transformed into a surprisingly attractive woman, she had taken to calling Kayla a paper doll. It didn't require an explanation for Kayla to understand what was being implied: Laurie felt Kayla was something that the people at Counter Punch dressed up and played with as they chose. And like a paper doll that becomes ragged rather quickly - soon to be discarded without a second thought. Grudgingly, Laurie acknowledged, "And although this Counter Punch stuff is a little too, I don't know, fashion of the moment for me, it is very well made." "Amazing the quality of things when you don't have children sewing it in sweatshops. I'm surprised you hadn't heard of the company before this. I thought everyone had. It's very environmentally friendly and a portion of the sales go to women's shelters and the like. It's a very progressive company." "So, you're selling me on the ethics of a company that seals a man into a woman's body for month and places a gun in the form of an NDA to her head? Because if that's hill you want to die on ..." Her voice was seemed calm, but the Southern accent she spent so much time purging tended to poke through when she was angry, and Kayla could hear every bit Laurie's east Georgian accent shine through. Kayla dropped it. Since revealing herself to Laurie last night, the short brown-haired woman spun from one emotion to the next: tranquil, confused, frightened, flustered, unbalanced and completely manic with laughter. But sooner or later, she returned to a low simmering anger that she did her best to disguise. Kayla didn't blame her. Laurie was face to face with the impossible. An impossibility that flipped her world on its head. While it was important to be there for her as much as the very source of the problem could, Kayla understood Laurie was going to have to work this out on her own terms. "We don't see eye to eye on this. You see exploitation. I see career opportunity. I need this, but I get where you're coming from." The growing tension was broken by shouting outside their apartment door. It was the older Polish couple who lived across the hall. Instinctively, Kayla ran to see what was happening. When she swung the door open Wiktor gave the red-haired woman in a bathrobe a questioning glance, before continuing his yelling. His wife Justyna stood behind him waiving her fist and yelling in her native tongue. Upon seeing Laurie and Kayla in the doorway she turned her attention to yelling at them. "This pig evicts us after thirteen years. Never missed rent. Put up with shit plumbing and people stomping upstairs. Never say anything, just pay rent. And this morning he says we have to go." "Is this right Roger? You're kicking them out? Just like that?" Kayla demanded. Laurie eyed him sharply for second with a look that said "stay out of this" even as Kayla realized her mistake: Kayla had never met Roger. The short, squat apartment manager turned his attention to the half-dressed red-haired stranger who felt as though simply knowing his name was enough to pick a fight with him. "Look lady," Roger said, "last night the owner of this building says this apartment is going to be rented out to someone else if the Piszczeks here can't make the new rent. And they can't make the new rent. This apartment isn't rent controlled, and we haven't raised their rent in something like ten years. I know these contracts inside and out. He couldn't raise it all at once, but he raised it enough. He's within his right." He looked tired as he ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair. "Tell this goddamn owner - !" Wiktor shouted, but Roger cut him off. "Wiktor. Justyna. How long have I known you? Since day one? You don't think I didn't fight for you? Didn't try to ask why suddenly, out of all the apartments in this building full of trouble makers and dead beats paying low rent he went after yours? I mean, no offense, but there are nicer ones he could get much more money for." "Then what's this about?" Laurie asked. "Yes. Tell us what this bullshit is!" shouted Justyna. "I wish I knew," it had been apparent Roger didn't like this any more than anyone else. "It's fucking strange, if you'll excuse my French. I mean really fucking strange." He held up an envelope. "We must give a month's notice right. It's the law. But Wilson, the owner, says if they forgo the last month of living here and leave by week's end, he'll give them relocation costs. And you should see the size of the check in here. A stupid huge amount." Kayla asked the obvious question, "Why not apply that to their new rent? Why move them out and give them money?" "I asked the same question ... I'm sorry. What's your name?" "Kayla. I'm ... Laurie's ... cousin." "Is that so? Would have thought you were Coleman's cousin. The red hair and green eyes and all." He got back on track. "Like I said. I asked the same question. And none of it makes sense. And to just to crank up the fucking strange one more notch, the owner didn't look any happier about than any of us. Unhappy, in fact, if you asked me. But insistent. Very insistent." Justyna launched into another tirade in Polish, but Wiktor held up a hand to her, just sighed and said, "We have no choice, my flower. Leave this week with good money. Leave later broke. We leave now. I can get work back in Chicago with my brother. I still know my away around a machine shop." Roger looked relieved, but still clearly unhappy. Laurie hugged the couple telling them if they need help moving or anything at all, to just ask. Kayla gave her a quick motion of the head. She felt as badly as anyone else about the Piszczek's mistreatment, but she had not just a job to get to, but a host of complexities to work her way through to get through the day. Things still needed to be done. Closing the door behind her, Kayla asked, "That was fucked. Poor guys. Where were we?" Laurie looked at the unpacked suitcase again and then her watch. Realizing time was growing short she put her feelings about the transformation aside and focused purely on the mechanics of the task at hand. "The makeup should be easy since you apparently don't have to shave anymore, and daytime work makeup is easier. We'll do that last. We have a bit of a shoe problem though." She held up the platform wedges Kayla had worn the bulk of yesterday. "These do not work with any of the other clothes in a spectacular way. No woman sound of mind and body would pair these shoes with the remaining clothes." Laurie eyed Kayla for a moment. "Too late to buy anything. You'll have to try. How far can you get in these black pumps? They're high, but not as high as these peep toes. Never mind, just show me." Kayla slipped into the pumps and stood up. She swayed a bit. "Now listen," Laurie said. "In the wedges you were able to walk with more ease because the greater surface area touching the floor gives you more balance. In these you will not. You have only a heel and your toes, meaning when you walk it will need to be heel first then toe. Rolling motion. Anything else will be unbalancing and will look strange. And don't take too long strides either. Oh - and one more thing - put one foot almost, but not quite, directly in front of the other like walking down a very narrow path, but not too directly like walking on a line, or it gets too cat-walky. Just want enough hip sway and take the masculinity out of your strut. Got it? Okay show me." That was a lot instruction for simply walking. But Kayla took in the information and slowly walked across the floor as instructed. The tiny over-crowded apartment meant she only ventured a few yards before having to turn on her heels and find a new path. "Not too bad. A little wobbly. But not bad for first timer. You haven't ever ...?" "No. I haven't. But not my first time on my toes, so to speak. Movement exercises in acting classes and a little dance when I was younger. But other than yesterday, that's about it." "Ok. Stand up straighter. Bring your shoulders back when you move. Now stop." Kayla's sudden stoppage caused her to again sway back and forth. "This is important. Just because you can make it a short distance doesn't mean you can make it all day. Your legs will get tired. Your feet will hurt. Stand with your feet like this, this or this," Laurie stood up positioning her own feet in a few configurations: a foot behind, a foot turned out, turned in, both feet at different various angles. "Switch from time to time. And try to shift your weight from leg to leg and lean against something if practical. Even a little barely noticeable lean at shin level can take a lot of weight off. Okay, you keep practicing. I'll grab some makeup." "Should I practice with a book on my head?" Kayla laughed, reaching for a paperback to balance on her the top of her red locks. Laurie's eyebrow cocked. The entire situation had made her fluctuate from mild irritation to full on anger at times. She was a more analytical and realistic thinker than her used-to-be boyfriend with his unbridled optimism. No amount of failure, audition after audition made him see himself as anything other than the next actor of our lifetime. It's one of the things she loved about Coleman. He was a refreshing cool breeze, a change from the more oppressive sour winds she left behind in Hinesville, Georgia. But Laurie understood the size of the undertaking at hand. She understood the madness of it all. This was not a Halloween dress up lark. Or a bad play at his acting workshop. This was a complete lifestyle change full of potential peril in ways either could not yet foresee. But for Kayla, some understandable bouts of nervousness aside, it was all a great adventure. Exciting. It was - Acting! She was taking on a version of Method Acting that few ever did, one where the role was literally melded to your cells, a role that could not be stepped out of even for a moment. She would show the people of Counter Punch, and the unsuspecting world, the extent of her talent. She was not playing Kayla, she all in. She was Kayla. "Kayla. You will not like what I'm about to say, but it needs to be said." She took a deep breath. "when Coleman took on a role, be it the workshop plays I saw, or when we script read together." Laurie forced herself to think of Kayla and Coleman as two distinct people, or at the very least, very different versions of the same. "He would often ponder the role for a good while searching for motivation and insight. Instead of letting that inform the character, he would make that motivation BE the character. And it could be ... a bit much ... a bit too studied or lacking subtly - all accents, ticks and mannerisms. Over the top, for a lack of a better term. Coleman believed in his talent so much he showcased it on overdrive when a softer touch would do." Kayla was hurt, she didn't know Laurie had thought like this. Laurie continued, "At the same time, when Coleman was asked to something on the fly, like in his improv class, he could be decent. He didn't have time to overthink the role, he was thrown in and just was the role." Laurie paused. She had wanted to give this advice for a long time, but never felt it was her place to say anything. Actors, particularly ones starting out with plates full of rejection, can be fragile. "What I'm trying to say, Kayla, is just be you. No elaborate back story to inform your every gesture. No studied ticks to prove your femininity. Just be. Just be natural. Just be a woman. Primarily because it will make you a better more real Kayla, and that's who you are now, and not a theatrical fa?ade of Kayla. And, as importantly, it will keep undue attention off you by people trying to figure out what you're on about. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Kayla was devastated. But there was truth to what Laurie said, she recognized it. Laurie was right. Just be. She nodded. "Sorry. I really am. But it to be said. Now let me go get that makeup. Sit under the big lamp next to the couch." Laurie returned and dumped several items of makeup under into the couch setting straight to work. She handed Kayla a hand lighted mirror to hold and watch. As with the heel instruction she talked Kayla through the process, "You're going to need to learn to do this, at least the basics on your own. Getting up three hours before work to get you ready and then ready myself, is not viable in the long term. Plus, there's a bit of touch up that you will need to keep up with during the day. Not too often, but often enough. But I'm going to teach you the quick and out the door version of, as my mom calls it, 'putting on your face'." Laurie broke out tube of makeup and began spreading it around Kayla forehead nose and chin. "This is primer. You want to use a little bit and spread it until it can't be seen. Then this, the foundation. You use a damp sponge to put this on. Dab a little of the foundation in little bits around your face then use the sponge to spread it around, then blend the neck like this ...." Kayla watched intently. This she could follow. It was a much more every day make up application than the elaborate affair in the makeup chair at Counter Punch yesterday. There the makeup artists pulled out bottle after bottle and odd tool after tool leaving Kayla utterly lost. "Now a little concealer under the eyes and on the chin - "your skin is pretty good, and no real bags, so we can go pretty light here. Okay good, now powder. This 'sets' the makeup. Takes the shine out. Here we will use a brush, but for your touch up I'll give you a compact. Now brows. Yours are trimmed so there's not as much work as if you had the old pair. Just go over them a bit like so extending them out a touch and there you are. Perfect. You're still wearing the false lashes - " Laurie stopped, looking Kayla in the eyes. "Are these perma-attached too?" Kayla nodded, she was reasonably sure they were long lasting. Laurie shook her head in response as she took at the mascara brush. "Okay then, no need for that except for a little on the bottom and done. Eyeliner's a little complex for a beginner and takes a steady hand. I could do it, but I want you to learn. And the way you look now is ..." Laurie stood back and looked at Kayla, she was admittedly, beautiful. Even more so that she had a clean natural made up look. She held a light red lipstick in her hand. Those were not Coleman's lips. Like the nose and brows, like semi-permanent lashes, they had altered more than just the body. Pushing the thought away, she drove on, "And lipstick is easy. Like Chapstick only a touch more careful Just be sure to use a tissue like this to make sure it doesn't extend past your lips when you reapply. Can't look like a clown." Lastly, Laurie grabbed one of her brushes. "Your hair - your weave - is very long. It's probably a little long to wear it down in the workplace. Most women with a mane like this would wear it up since it's going to get in the way. Still, I'm just going to brush it straight. I'm sure you can handle that better than dealing with twisted pony tails or buns coming undone. We'll leave that for the advance class." Kayla stood before Laurie in her hip hugging knee length black skirt, black five and a half inch pumps and off nude hose. She wore a white low-cut textured tank top and a black tapered suit jacket covering it. In the push-up bras that seemed to be standard clothing with the Counter Punch crowd her firm C cup breasts were not as fully exposed as the prior day, but the opening in the jacket and cut of the t-shirt gave more than a hint of expanded cleavage. It was far from a conservative look, but it was a business look, at least through the prism of cutting-edge fashion. "You look good Kayla," Laurie said, "you honestly look very good. Pretty and work appropriate ... mostly. Now I'm going to get myself dressed and drop you off." "You don't have to go through the trouble Laurie. It's in the wrong direction by twenty minutes and you've done so much already." Kayla was appreciative of all that Laurie was doing, if not still a little stung by her candid assessment of Coleman's acting skills. "There's a few more things I want to tell you on the way before you go in. Not to mention getting stopped speeding or similar looking like that with your driver's license looking nothing of the kind, may not be the thing you want to handle on your first day." +++++++ Laurie dropped Kayla off in the parking lot of the Counter Punch central building much like a mother sending her child off to the first day of high school, and no less apprehensive. She may be angry with the situation, but she understood for both of their sakes it could not fail. Kayla may be enthralled with the progressive girl power altruistic face of the company, but Laurie slung papers as a legal secretary for several years prior to this. She had seen plenty of corporations showcase the good they did on the right hand, so no one watched what was happening on the left. Kayla had mastered the heels well enough, although she was tight rope walking a bit more than Laurie would have liked causing her newly formed hips to sway from side to side with each cheek of her rounded behind and long red hair extending down her back, swinging in concert with them. The handful of men scattered around the parking lot were professional enough not to stare - at least until Kayla couldn't see them, but stare they did. Laurie knew those looks well and once again rose to high irritation. Kayla was once Coleman, and recent events aside, it was someone Laurie deeply cared about and had entirely to herself. Now she didn't even have him. Instead she watched as men imagined bedding this new girl; their imaginative carnal desires placing her legs around their waist, her getting taken on all fours and every other imaginable fantasy position. And like most men, many were going to try to find out just how realistic a possibility that could be. Kayla moved through the parking lot into the reception lobby. Despite the attempted discretion, she was not oblivious to the eyes upon her. She wanted them. The cat-walk strut that Laurie implored her to ease off on, was in full sway as she walked. It felt like a confidence move. A woman truly embracing the knowledge of how she looked. And it may not be fair but looks counted in this world. The two advertising men at the bar last night confirmed a well-known concept: life could be easier for the beautiful. If she could make life at Counter Punch a bit easier, why shouldn't she use her god given ... she corrected herself ... science given ... talents to make that happen? "Good morning Ms. Cook." The receptionist chirped brightly. I wonder if she made the connection with the Coleman Cook who paced about her lobby with such nervous energy the day before? She couldn't. You had to know what had happened, and even then one's eyes would tell you it couldn't be true. "Ms. Harris and Ms. Paulson told me to direct you straight to the Earhart Conference room when you arrived. Down this hall directly behind me, right then your first left where it hits a 'T.' End of the hall from there." "Good morning," looking at the nameplate on the desk, "Cindy. And thanks." Kayla entered the conference room halting Bethesda Harris and Monica Paulson's conversation mid-sentence. It didn't take telepathy for her to know she was the topic of conversation. She attempted to diffuse the awkwardness. "Don't worry ... I get it. Cutting edge technology wrapped all around me. And today is the first real day for the new girl ... who is, well a new girl. It would be strange if my name didn't come up now again." "Good. You're relaxed. In good humor," Monica said looking to Bethesda, "there was some ... concern ... that we may have thrown a lot at you in a single day." "You did," Kayla confirmed, "I mean the shoes alone ... but I'm ready to take on this role. And more importantly, I'm ready to do the job to the best of my abilities. Is there a back story for Kayla?" Bethesda couldn't help herself and blurted, "Oh god no! No back story please." Kayla flashed to Laurie's advice in the apartment: no backstory behind the gestures, no fa?ade. For the second time in as many hours, Kayla felt stung. Were they commenting on her ability to pull this off? Do they think she is a subpar actor as well? They had only seen her do a small bit in the commercial shoot yesterday. Did they judge it on that small bit alone? The ever-intuitive Monica stepped in to soften the blow. "What Bethesda means is," she shot Bethesda a sideways glance not caught by Kayla, "we know you are capable of being Kayla with a full and interesting biography that would be completely believable. But that just isn't doable over the long term no matter how good you are. It's like people who chronically lie, even if they are expert liars ..." Bethesda finished Monica's sentence to clean up her earlier insult, "Right. It's keeping all the lies straight. What I am saying is, the sturdiest fictions are built on truth. Where did Kayla go to school? Where Coleman went to school. If Coleman grew up in Long Beach, Kayla grew up in Long Beach. If Coleman likes films Guillermo del Toro films, Kayla likes Guillermo del Toro films. Veer only where it makes sense. If Coleman's first crush, was say, Jessica Alba, maybe Kayla's first crush could be someone like Chris Pine or the Rock. Not to say it couldn't have been Jessica Alba or Emma Stone. But then you're saying you were probably gay very young and - boom - that's a complicated backstory far off the path from Coleman. When did you know? How did you know? How did your parents feel? What was school like for you? Not to mention, you may be expected to navigate the certain nuances of gay interaction you probably aren't even aware exist. Follow?" "So, keeping it simple is the way to go. Now..." Monica went on, "there are no commercial shoots for a while, so you will be doing pure floating assistant work. That will have you going all over the company and Los Angeles to be frank. There's some serious leg work and long hours involved. Since we don't want you driving yet - " "That's the second time I've heard that today." Okay, so she told the girlfriend. Expected. There was little realistic way around that, Monica thought, and warnings and nondisclosures aside, Kelly Latham must have known that would happen. We'll deal with that later though. "Because we don't want you driving, and the learning curve is steep - more learning the idiosyncrasies of the people you'll be dealing with more than hard technical knowledge - we're pairing you with Brett Frasier until you get a handle on the job. Brett's reliable, a bit talky, but importantly outside the NDA. Assume everyone, except the handful of people you met during the suit fitting, are. Never forget how important the nondisclosure is, keep it on the front of your mind," Monica alluded to Kayla's earlier driving comment slip that she may not even be aware she made. Bethesda motioned Kayla to the window. "Brett's desk is in that building there. The green building. Fourth floor. A cubicle right off the elevator. Can't miss it. He knows your coming." "Meaning you two aren't?" Kayla asked. Bethesda chuckled with Monica. "Oh no Dear. You may be our most interesting and special employee, but your job title says: 'Floating Assistant'. We are very much near the top of this company with very valuable time. And you are ... well ... not as close to the top. It's not that we don't want to do these little things to help, it would just be strange. Attention gathering. We rarely deal with personnel matters. That's human resources. The amount of time we've spend with you in two days is already out of character for someone with schedules like ours. People will start to wonder." "We're one hundred percent available to you," Monica assured, "but call either of us and we'll pick up as soon as we can. You can't do things, like, just walk into our office though. Again, too out of character." "So ..." Bethesda stretched out the word. "Go be Kayla. Good luck and welcome again to Counter Punch." ++++++ "Kayla Cook?" "As advertised." Brett stood the moment he spied Kayla getting off the elevator. He was a sandy haired young man with an off-centered swoop of blonde hair that fell across his forehead. He was very muscular, but didn't fit the aggressive gym rat stereotype, he seemed unusually relaxed. His tanned skin coupled with a woven bracelet showing just below his long sleeve shirt cuff made Kayla guess he surfed during his off times. Standing there, he looked a bit out of place surrounded by this sea of women. It was at this point, looking at the cubicles that surrounded his desk, she realized how the heavily female the ratio of men to woman actually was. "Well look at you." He said in the same relaxed manner that matched his demeanor. "Excuse me?" Kayla was taken aback, but also a touch flattered. "Oh. Sorry. I do that. Didn't mean to sound all harass-y, I meant: first day in and you're already decked out in full Counter Punch wear. It's one of the benefits of being a guy in a female clothing company. Don't have to wear the brand make up and duds. Couldn't afford it for one, and I would look horrible in heels, to boot." "You'd be surprised how good Counter Punch can make you look. In the right circumstance, I bet even you could pull this off Brett." He laughed. "Already aiming for a promotion to sales." Brett seems alright, she thought. He motioned to her with an extended palm. "Stop right there. No time to put your purse down. We've got a task for the big cheese herself, Kelly Latham. We're going all the way out to Manhattan Beach and we need to try to beat traffic both ways," he pointed to a cylindrical package on his desk as he put on his sport coat jacket, "grab that." Traffic was kind and they had a pleasant drive out to the beach. Brett didn't ask many questions instead using the time to give her the lay of the land at the company: who to avoid, who to kiss up to, those who appreciated the work you did, and those who found you invisible. They pulled up to a house typical of the multimillion-dollar homes the area. Rebuilt on the foot print of a much smaller beach house, when the area was not trendy and the homes were modest, the building expanded upward and outward to occupy every inch of the lot. It reminded Kayla of the Hulk tearing out of his clothes. "Okay, listen," Brett explained grabbing the cylinder they toted here. "This is a bottle of wine. We are delivering it to John Carroll a fabric manufacturer. More designer and manufacturer really. He is the very rare mix of art and science. Works mostly out of his home. He is also responsible for many of the fabric combination that give the clothes their particular feel. In other words, important guy." "Two people drove all this way to deliver wine?" "Yes. We do that kind of thing. First it shows appreciation from Kelly. But because it is not delivered in person, a 'I'll have my assistant drop it off' thing, it is a power play, best guess. All above my pay grade. I am rarely given the politics of it unless it has to play out in a very specific way." "Um ... okay ...?" "I also suspect we're tasked with it because John Carroll is eccentric as fuck. Genius as madman kind of shit. This is important: Latham doesn't expect us to put up with any crap from this guy. She will stand behind us all the way. At the same time, this guy may color outside of the lines. It's what he does. As I said, there is no pressure to leave your comfort zone, but at the same time playing along a bit keeps the wheels greased." "What in the world does all that mean?" "Oh, you'll see. Let's go." The two assistants were greeted at the door by a short woman in a maid's uniform. It was almost a Southern touch, Kayla thought reflecting on what she saw visiting Laurie's part of the world. You rarely saw something like that at a beach community out here, monied or not. "They're expected. Show them in, please Miranda." John Carrol was a man in his early forties sporting green flowered bathing trunks and a red polo shirt. It was not a good look and made it difficult for Kayla to imagine him as the fabric genius he apparently was. "A bottle of the finest wine from Northern Italy, Mr. Carroll, 'C? del Bosco Franciacorta Annamaria Clementi', although I am uncertain of the exact vintage, I am certain of Ms. Latham's gratitude for all you do to help the company. No woman can think Counter Punch without first thinking of John Carroll's inventive, unparalleled, excellent contribution to world fashion." Holy shit that was effusive, almost comically so, thought Kayla. But looking at the fabric man it seemed to strike just the right tone even as his maid stood out of his sight rolling her eyes. Okay, this was the steep learning curve they were talking about. Knowing the peculiarities of characters you were dealing with. Ego properly massaged, John Carroll turned straight to Kayla. "Oh! My! Just look at what came through my door!" Miranda halfheartedly warned, "Mr. Carroll ..." "Hush now woman. Just look at this girl. What's your name, lovely?" For the first time as Kayla she found herself blushing. "Kayla. Kayla Cameron Cook." "Kayla Cameron Cook. It, it ..." "Pops?" Kayla asked tentatively as Brett looked at her amused. "Yes! That's it! It pops! You've inspired me young woman. I have new hybrid silk I'm working on. Wrapping your entire body in it will tell me if I'm on the right track. I'll have Miranda show you where to get undressed." Miranda's eyes rolled again as she began moving toward the stairs. The insane things she must hear in this house made even requests like this seem routine. Kayla, however, stood planted in her tracks a bit too long. Brett leaned over and whispered into her ear, "I wasn't kidding about this guy, and he's not kidding. He wants to wrap your naked body in his new fabric. Standing here mute much longer will be rude. You're either in or out, but either way, pump his ego while doing it." I'm flattered Mr. Carroll, but I am not worthy of your latest creation? No. Not that. Wouldn't your genius be bettered showcased on a model of the highest ...? Not that either. Kayla didn't know the first thing about dealing with mad artists. Or clothing. Or fabric. But something told her if this man were to offer Counter Punch a new kind of silk, that is surely something everyone would want and potentially be displeased if it went to another clothing brand. "Well ...?" John asked. His patience in those short few moments was quickly fading. Brett went big. So, she'll go big. It seemed to be the effective modus operandi. "I'm sorry, the idea of John Carroll actually deeming to use me to test one of his ideas left me speechless and without movement. Please take this in no way as hesitation. Who wouldn't want to be in my position?" He clapped in hands in joyous anticipation. "Wonderful!" Brett gave a nod, mouthing silently, "Well done." Kayla grabbed the handrail with a firm grip, invisibly steadying herself on her heels as prepared to ascend the stairs. Stair Walking in Heels 101 was probably tomorrow's lesson and she wasn't sure what effect his muse tumbling tits over ass down the stairs would have on the homeowner's precarious mood. The stairs are narrow, the approach had to be like tip toeing, she decided. She was right. It came off without incident, but that was only half the battle for the morning. Miranda showed her to the room and rolled her eyes. That woman, Kayla thought, spends half her time with her eyes fixed upward. She must be living proof that parents telling their children. "Roll your eyes too much and they'll get stuck" was well and truly false. Kayla stripped down, more than a bit self-consciously. She folded her clothes and put them in a neat pile in the corner. She looked around. This was his work room by the looks of it. There was a white board with chemical chains scribbled onto it like a college chemistry class. Around the room were several piles of material, each different. She picked up several, before landing on the softest and most silk like of the bunch. Now what? She wrapped the voluminous material around her body like a toga. Okay, that'll do. No, she thought, it was undoubtedly the curves and shape of her body that was the cause of the inspiration. She rearranged and pulled until the material wrapped around her legs as tight as a hobble skirt and the top portion was like a hybrid silk second skin. As a final touch, she put her five and a half inch pumps back on. She made a mental note new shoes were a more difficult task to put on without nylons to ease the way. There was a knock on the door. "You can come in," Kayla answered. The fabric man entered the room, Brett and Miranda were nowhere to be seen. "Brett?" She asked. "Oh, the young man seemed more interested in 'checking out the waves' than testing fabric. I take it he's a surfer of some measure?" "That would be my guess, yes." Kayla just shrugged. Brett didn't strike her as disconnected or dumb. He either assumed that this Carroll man would play by the rules, or that Kayla, maybe the out of sight Miranda, wouldn't handle things if he did not. And it looked at the moment like things may need handling. John had been approaching as he spoke. His eyes were fixed on Kayla breasts jutting against the silk she wrapped so tightly around her body. She followed his gaze to her mounds, realizing manufacture of the suit made her nipples always look hard. She surprised herself by saying, almost as if it were coming from somewhere else, "You must see how it feels against the skin." She took his hand and guided it onto her breast. The moment he gave it the tiniest of squeezes an intoxicatingly, drug like, feeling of enhanced stimulation exploded from her right breast through the entirety of her body. She could not remember ever feeling so good. It was unnervingly sensual. Involuntarily her body shuddered, and she let out a low almost animal moan. What was this feeling? She wasn't sure she would be able to control herself. At this point John Carrol had pressed himself fully against her body, with his hands rubbing her round, shapely ass. He was fully, and unabashedly hard as he gyrated his penis against the soft material covering her pelvic mound. She moaned again with complete lack of control, all but shaking with passion. Kayla's hand slipped down his shorts and she began working his staff up and down. It was already slick with bits of semen that could not contain themselves for the final release. Kayla had now completely dropped his shorts and her French tipped fingernails dug into the flesh of his butt cheek. She had moved from moaning to a feminine low pitched, but loud grunt. "Let's both feel this," She took off his shirt as he stepped the rest of the way out of his shorts, and taking the silk toga off, she wrapped it around both their bodies while they pressed together, naked flesh on naked flesh. Wave after euphoric wave rolled through her body before she finally whispered, "Take me." John quickly scurried across the room finding a bottle of lube in one of the drawers, making Kayla think offhandedly if she was a "muse" in a long line of muses. None of that mattered, only keeping the narcotic like feeling pulsating through her body was. John pushed Kayla against the wall inserting his penis into her vagina. With her penis tucked into it, it was a very tight fit and she pulled him out quickly. It felt good, but one more pump and he would realize that it was less than two inches deep. "No, let's be really dirty," She turned toward the wall, guiding his slick member into her waiting anus. He worked it in and out slowly, but Kayla demanded, "Just do it!" In a single thrust, he plunged all the way in. It was a spectacular sensation melding the greatest euphoria and the greatest pain she had ever felt together. She placed her hand on her vagina, half to finger the penis squeezed under the vaginal suit piece, and part to keep the Manhattan Beach man from fingering her. With two hands around her large plump breasts, and his cock plunging in and out her hole, John Carroll exploded inside of Kayla with such force she could feel the waves of sperm entering her. With an orgasmic climax of her own, her body trembled and shuddered until his spent penis fell from her ass. She turned and planted her lips on his, pushing her tongue deep in his mouth. "Thank you," she whispered, "you were wonderful. Is there somewhere I can clean up?" He pointed to an internal door that Kayla had first taken to be a closet but instead was a massive bathroom. "I will meet you downstairs," the eccentric man, clearly spent from his actions, said. "I'm going to tell Ms. Latham how wonderfully her gift of wine was received by you gracious, praise worthy assistants. And, of course, that I have a new fabric and I'm very open to negotiating an exclusivity deal personally." Kayla sat in the bathroom using a wash cloth to remove the last of John Carroll. What was that, she asked herself. She had imagined what it would be like to experience Kayla's sexuality, to be more than feminine looking, to be a true feminine sexual creature, but that's all it was it was: imagination. But that? That which just happened? That was completely out of control, a lust and pleasure she had not known in her life as Coleman certainly. It was the feeling of orgasm but through the entire body, building greater and greater far past the usual point of climax, until the true world-shaking orgasm finally came. It was not normal. She looked down at her naked, round pert breasts. After a moment she gave them a squeeze. The pleasurable sensation, although much toned down, emanated from her breast back into her body. She wondered. Taking both hands to either side, she reached down and pushed her hips as hard as she could. The waves of pleasure, also much lessened but still there, pulsated throughout. "It's the fucking suit," she said aloud in sudden realization. "The only reason I'm not orgasming all over the place now is my entire essence is in a total refractory period." The pleasure she felt getting taken in fabric workroom was the greatest sensation Kayla had ever felt. It was one, even as it subsided, she was looking forward to again with near addictive single mindedness. "Chasing the dragon," she said half darkly, half in anticipation. But it was much more than that. She had fucked a man. Kayla was a woman men wanted and - even if it was not supposed to go as far as this - one thing was bound to lead to another. "Another," in part, being a second skin which stimulated her every nerve ending. But it wasn't just that, before the Carroll character had sent her into chemical nirvana, she had placed his hand on her breast. Willingly. She had very much liked the way he looked at her, much the way she enjoyed the looks from the ad boys the night before. To put it in the starkest terms. She wanted this. And she had cheated on Laurie to get it. And to make matters worse, it couldn't be blamed entirely on the suit. She gathered herself, brushed her long raid hair and reapplied a bit of powder as Laurie had showed her, before Kayla returned down stairs. Brett was standing waiting, undoubtedly to hurry on the road to beat traffic. "How was the surf?" she asked more casually than she felt. "Flat. But it was still amusing to watch people try to ride. And you? Your silk goddess demonstration?" There was a twinkle in his eye. Kayla remembered Bethesda's words from earlier in the day: the sturdiest fictions are built on truth. "He was a little handsy," she whispered to Brett, "but nothing happened that I didn't want. But the company gets a chance at the hybrid silk stuff exclusively, so I guess he was pleased." Taking this to mean polite leading on, when Kayla was actually talking around succumbing to the most carnal of sex, Brett winked. Thanking their hosts in the most effusive manner possible - again Miranda with the eye roll - they took their leave. ++++++++ Bethesda walked into Kelly Latham's office to find Monica already there seated beside one of the monstrosities the CEO thought of as sculpture. She glanced at her trying to get a read, but Monica remained impassive. It was unusual for more than one of her executives to be in a room together outside of meetings. The leader of Counter Punch clothes like to give each exec only a piece of the puzzle while keeping the rest to herself. Bethesda seated herself under a painting of a Roman Emperor - Augustus? - giving the thumbs down in a gladiatorial arena. If the purpose of all this d?cor was to keep people off balance with the aggressiveness of it all, it was doing its job. "So," Kelly began, "got off the phone with John Carroll. Had one of my best floaters and our Ms. Cook deliver a bottle of wine to thank him and butter him up for this new material we heard through certain channels was being developed." "Don't tell us that Kayla somehow blew it. It was always a risk. We were sure working with Brett would help her -" Kelly cut Monica off. "Blew it? I wouldn't say that. Carroll gave up the new fabric almost willingly with minimum negotiation; a hybrid silk by the way, very tough, cheap to create he tells me. Odd, right? You know how tough it is to get something out of that off kilter son of a bitch." "So, that's good news? Why doesn't this sound like good news?" Bethesda asked. "Well I'm not as skilled a people reader as say, Monica over here. But when the lines are spaced enough, it is difficult not to read between them." "Meaning?" Monica asked. "Meaning, I'm pretty sure our expensive prototype just fucked the lights out of John Carroll." Bethesda let out a low groan. As head of marketing research, she had a better idea of the tech than anyone else in the company bar the lab boffins and possibly Kelly. Kelly nodded agreeing with the sentiment of Bethesda's groan. "Bethesda, explain to Monica why this is worse situation than just a test subject playing 'Girls Gone Wild'." Bethesda pressed her hand to her head. She could feel the headache coming. They were all adults here, she would just say it, "Sweat. Sweat and anal tubes assuming the tube was used." Oh, dear god. Monica understood right away. "She was sweating. So, the suit was sweating. Sweating chemicals. And if he entered the high concentration area of the thick anal tube, or wrapped hands around the sweaty concentrated area around the hips or breasts. He was, for a lack of a better term, heavily dosed." "Heavily dosed while in a heightened sexual state. With chemicals potentially even entering his body through the opening in his penal shaft," Kelly continued. "It would be, by some exponential magnitude, the best encounter he ever had. He, like everyone else who couples with our young lady exploring the sexuality of her new-found gender, will be hooked on Kayla like the drug she apparently is. Not to mention she may not be hooked specifically on Carroll as he is addicted to her, but she will be addicted to the sensation of the sex. Our simply telling her 'no sex please' probably won't do the trick." "Men will stalk her like she's a giant bag of heroin that fucks. Christ, I don't even know how to process what this all means for the project. Or for the company. Or that poor girl." Bethesda said. The room sat silently for several long minutes. Monica finally spoke, "I guess this is a time as good as any to mention I think she may have violated the nondisclosure with the girlfriend." ++++++++++++