The mask feels oppressive on my skin. I don’t dare to look up at you, afraid of how you will see me now. When you showed me the picture, I could only shake my head laughing. The women looked strange to me, somehow inhuman and were no longer recognizable. I wanted to be beautiful for you. Not as beautiful as you, of course. You had looked at me with that sparkle in your eyes. Your black hair was gracefully tied up and fell slightly over your shoulder. Your skirt swung after you with every movement and my gaze stayed on your lips. You should look at me and want to kiss me. To stroke my hair back and let me kneel before you. I wanted to be ready to serve you, caress your body, touch it and give myself to you. But you just sent me this link and said that I no longer have to decide how to dress for you.
When I was later at home, I lay awake in bed for a long time. You couldn’t have been serious, could you? You don’t really expect me to spend so much money on something I don’t like myself. I stared at the picture again. Trying to imagine what I would look like in that shiny mask. Probably I would not be recognized at all. I would no longer be a woman you would desire. I would be an object that is only there to serve your lust. The thought triggered something in me. I could not yet clearly define what it was. It took a few days before I could bring myself to really buy the mask. I still felt uncomfortable spending so much money at once. I was afraid that I would not like the mask. Actually, I was very sure of it. Probably it wouldn’t even fit me. But you left me no choice and said that I would only see you again when I wore it for you.
And here I sit in front of you and look up for the first time. You give me a smile, which calms me down considerably. Apparently you are very pleased with the result. Then you reach next to you and I freeze. You hold a long pair of silver scissors in your hand and slowly come closer to me. “The beautiful lingerie no longer matches your new look.”, you explain to me as you slowly cut through the black lace of my straps. I hold my breath as more and more of this beloved fabric falls to the ground. Satisfied you look at my now naked upper body and I feel the need to cover myself. At least you seem to leave me the panties. “Don’t worry”, you say laughing and push your laptop in my direction. I have already chosen the right outfit for you. On the monitor I see a belly top and a skirt made of latex. Both parts have artistic cut-outs and when I look at the price, I gasp astonished. You seem to see what goes through my mind. “Don’t worry”, you say in an innocent voice. “I’ll give you a chance to work off the money for the mask and your new outfit.” With these words you open a parcel next to you and hold out the clothes you had apparently already ordered. I would have gratefully accepted them to cover myself. But I’m not sure what exactly this means. What do I have to do to work it off?