The transformation is complete. I lie here, no longer Emma, but a gleaming artifact of desire. My breasts, squeezed and encased in flesh-toned rubber shells - so tight, so engorged and mercilessly compressed - feel like a part of my skin, a new, better flesh created only for this purpose. It is a warm, breathing constriction that registers every movement as pure arousal. The perfection with which the latex embraces my tits is the first layer of my surrender.
But the true power lies in the silence of my face. My anatomically perfect rubber mouth glistens at me in the studio . . .
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