The New Job - 4

I lean back and spread my legs wide, giving the camera a good view. Beneath my hose and my panties there is a perfect imitation of femininity, constructed in latex, silicone and human hair. It conceals everything. And right then, it betrays nothing.

The large, long vibrator wand I’m holding in my hand - a Hitachi, practically industrial strength - moves towards my fake pussy. I glance at the camera, widening my eyes, my mouth faking surprise and maybe a little embarrassed excitement. Am I really doing this, my eyes say. Am I really about to press this buzzing pleasure monster right against my mound? With you watching?

Yes. Yes I am.

Contact.

I moan on cue, almost entirely exaggerated. I can feel the vibrations deep within me, but of course, my genitals aren’t nearly as sensitive as a real woman’s. That means I can press harder, vibe more, to get the real reaction I’m looking for. The bonus is my observer gets to see Amaira getting herself off in the hottest, most aggressive manner I can manage.

It’s been my plan from the moment I walked into the apartment, and it’s working out beautifully.

I begin to accelerate my moans, to whimper. Realistically, if I was trying to convince someone they were watching a real woman get themselves off, I would have begun with some light stroking, some easy fingerwork. Got to start somewhere, after all. You’d be surprised how much rubbing a fake pussy can get a guy hot and bothered; the vibrator is usually stage two. Because my observer knows exactly who I and what I am, however, I can jump ahead and get down to business.

Because unlike the ‘light fingerwork’ which doesn’t do anything for me, with the right pressure and the right vibrator, I can get as turned on as any woman without taking hold of myself. It’s all about pressure points… and I know exactly where they are.

My free hand moves slowly over my legs as I lie back and relax, fully aware of my watcher. I’m doing this almost as much for him as for me. My lacquered nails and soft fingertips travel over the nylon, pressing and rubbing, stroking and tugging. Even though the bodysuit means I’m not feeling as much as I might normally do when I pull on a pair of hose, I can still feel through the ultra sensitive fingertips… and hose always turns me on. Unwrapping it, slipping into it… and when I get to touch it - either on me or someone else - it’s all good.

The vibrator rolls back and forth over my gusset, pressing against my fake mound, the ever-present buzz beginning to work its magic. I can feel my hidden cock start to react, to shift and grow. I’m never far away from being turned on when I’m in a suit, but this is something special. Something new. To have someone watching me, entirely unseen but still there… it’s kinky as hell. An invited voyeur.

“Oh, God this feels so good,” I moan, and I’m not exaggerating. Heat is starting to build within me, a deep excitement that’s slowly beginning to boil. My cock is growing larger, threatening to reveal me, and long ingrained instincts make me push down harder with the wand, to avoid exposure. It wouldn’t matter to him - I think - but it matters to me right now. I am Amaira in this disguise, in every way, and that is who will display for him.

My legs scissor together, clutching the vibrator between my thighs, feeling the vibrations transfer across my groin and throbbing within my body. It’s getting harder and harder to maintain Amaira’s voice, to imitate her as I moan and writhe. She’s slipping away from me as I start to pant, biting my lip, feeling my cock press harder and harder against the vibrating plastic that is my master.

“Fuck, oh fuck, that feels… fuck me, that feels so good,” I manage between moans. I shift my position, moving the vibrator so the tip is pressing right against what would be Amaira’s clit… which in reality, conceals the head of my cock, growing and stretching, a masculine invader threatening to breach. More than once I’ve brought a man to screaming climax by taking control of the head of his cock, feminine fingers tightly circling that most sensitive of spots. With swift, hard strokes I’d reduce them to a gibbering mess in no time. I almost wish I could do the same to myself, but that would almost be too easy.

Instead I press the wand against myself, feeling the pulsing energy transferring to my dick, teasing myself in a way that brings Amaira’s voice up several octaves, a cry that could almost sound like pain. To someone, it does.

“Uh - are you okay?”

I laugh. Can’t help it. “Yeah, baby… I’m wonderful,” I say between gasps, smiling lasciviously at the camera. “I’d be even better… if you were here.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, his voice sounding thick. “I could be there….”

“Ah, but we both know… that’s not a great idea.” I arch my back, moving the vibrator around to give him a better view, sliding it back and forth over my nylons. “It’d be fun for a while… but then tomorrow you’d have to send me back to work.”

“The mission will end eventually.”

“And when it does… if you still want me… I promise, I’ll make myself available to you.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

I laughed again, although I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Thanks. I think.”

“No, you really are… you’re sexier than any… well, any real woman I know.”

I pout my lips at the camera, giggling as I turn over, presenting my ass to him. The wand follows me, lying between my legs, still sending waves of pleasure through my cock, although as my full weight presses down it gets a little uncomfortable. Unfazed, I turn over again, smiling at him.

“As you know that I’m not real,” I point out in Amaira’s lowest, sexiest voice, “would you mind if I did something… a little crazy?”

“What?”

“Well… I can get myself off like this, trust me,” I say, rubbing the wand’s head back and forth, “but to really make me go nuts… I’ve got to do something else. Something that will ruin your illusion, honey.”

“That’s… kind of a shame. I’ve been enjoying seeing you all day. More so now.”

“In that case, let’s keep going like this for your sake - but you need to do something for me. Stop turning off your mic. I can hear it, you know. I’d much rather hear you. Understood?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says, although there’s a trace of reluctance. “You want to hear me…?”

“Yes. In return… Amaira’s going to perform for you.”

Time to get serious. My eyelids lower, the seductive gaze I practiced taking over as I reach down with my free hand and lift the waistband of the pantyhose. The head of the vibrator snakes inside, pressing directly against my fake pussy… and then slowly moving inside, as Amaira’s moans rise and rise, my panting entirely faked, but necessary. “Oh fuck yes - that’s unbelievable - fuuuck….”

“Jesus,” he mutters, and now I can hear him. Fumbling. Rustling. Preparing.

The vibrator’s head is fully inside me, and if I’m being honest, it doesn’t feel fantastic. It’s closer and harder than I’d like. I adjust the speed a little, sliding it out and then back in. Better. Now it’s a soft, gentle buzz, rather than a harsh vibe. I close my eyes and let it warm me, feeling warmth spread through my belly and into my chest. Speaking of chests, my free hand wanders upwards, pulling down my bra, freeing her breasts. I run my finger around Amaira’s enlarged aureola, duplicated precisely of course… and wink at the camera as I throw my head back, issuing my loudest cry yet.

He moans in response, muttering to himself, and I know I’m having the desired effect. “Harder,” I say, pushing the vibrator a little further inside me. “Fuck me harder. Stroke yourself… harder.” My fake pussy lips are spread wide, lubricated for this very occasion, and I wonder if he’s looking at my face, or staring at the incredible recreation of the female sex before him. It doesn’t matter. Whatever gets him off.

“Are you ready for me, honey?” I look at the camera, smiling encouragingly.

“Yes - yes - almost - ”

“That’s it… that’s it,” I say, pushing the vibrator in and out, faster and faster. “Oh God, yes, stick it in me you big, fucking animal you, I want to feel your cock in me, I want to feel your balls slap against my ass, you stud, you fucker, you goddamn animal - ”

I hear his moan break - his extended, elongated cry - and I smile, mostly to myself, then raise my voice in a realistic approximation of Amaira’s own orgasm. (We do our research.) I slump back, listening as my watcher gets his own breath back.

“Glad you enjoyed,” I say quietly. “Now… I have myself to attend to.”

“You didn’t…?”

“I wouldn’t be the first girl to fake it,” I say. “In my case, nothing’s really real anyway….”

The wand slips from my hand and onto the bed. I won’t need it now. My hands travel up my body, reminding myself of Amaira’s curves, of the identity I’ve taken over, the new reality I inhabit. This is all I need. This is all I’ve ever wanted.

“You’re welcome to stay if you want,” I whisper, knowing he can still hear. “But things… are going to get freaky from here on out.”

“Freaky how?”

“Use your imagination,” I say, hands reaching my face. “Or… keep watching.”

“Bring it on.”

A smile curls Amaira’s lips, more devilish and seductive than she’s ever expressed. I glance at the camera, then close my eyes again, letting my fingers explore.

The tight, enclosing feeling of the bodysuit has long since faded from my sense memory, but as I touch her face, let the thin plastic of my fingertips register her smile, I force myself to feel once more. This face is a mask, I remind myself. This body is a suit. These fingers are plastic. This cunt… is entirely fake.

I can’t help but moan at that, pushing my fingers inside her, exploring, probing, feeling. My cock is in there, straining, desperate to be free, but it won’t happen right now. I won’t let it. Not while I have an audience. Then again, I did tell him I was going to be freaky… I just don’t think he’s ready for a futanari girl just yet. Maybe one day.

Instead my hands move back to my face, pressing and stroking on her cheeks, again and again… harder and harder. By the fifth stroke, I can feel the heat and the friction begin to destabilize the mask, and I can’t help but moan. By the tenth, I feel it shift, and I make her give out a throaty laugh.

I flick my head up, staring at the camera, and I press down on her cheeks and pull. Her eyes stretch, or rather the skin around her eyes, and her mouth hangs open a little further until I snap it shut, then laugh.

“Holy shit,” I hear him mutter.

“Surprise,” I say, knowing it’s anything but. “I’m sorry, but Amaira… had to go.”

My hands begin to search for the seam I know is somewhere between my collar bone and her neck. I find it, jam in a fake nail, and rip the plastic flap back, tracing a line over my chest. “I know you wanted her. I know you wanted to fuck her… and if you’re very good, perhaps you’ll get to.” I’ve exposed enough of the seam now; my fingers search for the hidden zipper. “But you need to know the truth. You need to know that when you get to fuck this girl… she’s not this girl.”

My right hand reaches across Amaira’s ample chest, fingers closing on the zipper I know is there. My left hand slides between my legs, feeling for my hidden cock deep within the suit. I am rock hard beneath the latex and silicone, threatening to expose my true nature, but I take a deep breath and pull the zipper sideways.

I feel my chest begin to sag, the weight of the fake breasts now suddenly off-balance. My neck feels looser, open, and my hand reaches up as my eyelids lower, my breath hard in my chest. “This is who you’ll really fuck,” I say, and with that, my hand grabs a fistful of skin and pulls upwards.

A finger jabs down hard into my pussy, and I suppress a scream of excitement as my cock spasms. The mask of Amaira’s face is pulled up and over, tossed aside, and I explode inside the suit.

“Jesus Christ!”

His voice in my ear is almost deafening, but there’s not much I can do about it. I’m stuck with him. I stare at the bed, panting, my whole body on fire from my orgasm, grinning. “Surprise,” I mutter.

Slowly I slide off the bed, pad across the floor and stare into the mirror that Amaira had stared into not long ago. I pick up her discarded face and hold it up in front of me, letting the features fall back into place, her raven-dark hair gather about her features.

“Well hello again,” I say to my reflection. It’s a study in contrasts. Amaira’s perfect teeth glimmer, until I remove them carefully. Her brown eyes sparkle, until they’re removed for a soft blue. The biggest contrast of all, of course, is the face. The skin. The pale white tones set next to the chocolate brown. The caucasian versus the asian. The short blond hair versus the long black.

It’s a good face. An attractive face. Perhaps even a sexy face.

Of course, it’s not mine.

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