[Patreon Exclusive] GETTING THE JOB: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

We had a collection of fake dummies in a back room that we usually used when we had to mould whole bodies. It was too expensive, especially in the company’s current state, to hire actual people to stand around for hours while we casted moulds of their figures.

But instead of using the dummies in the back room, I decided to make a mould from my own body. After everyone went home for the night, I set up my workstation, mixed the latex, and I stripped down. I used my own body for the dummy prostitute. By the time everyone came in to work in the morning, the mould was finished, set aside to dry, and no one had any idea the fake prostitute body was my own. I poured the latex into the mould and spent the next week working out the details. When the client came to pick the dummy up, he was thrilled. He couldn’t stop feeling her, squeezing her tits (which I sculpted myself, seeing as my own body did not have tits on it). “It’s so real!” He ended up turning her over to see if her pussy actually worked, attempting to stick a finger up her snatch. It didn’t.

Of course, it was my manager who got the pat on the back. “Great job,” the client said with a big smile on his face. My manager didn’t even bother to introduce me or let the client know it was me who made the damn thing, but it didn’t matter, I was used to it. Besides, I got what I needed out of the job. I had a life-cast of my own body, complete with a pair of tits and a plump little pussy.

After everyone left for the weekend, I loaded that life-cast up in my car and brought it home to my garage, which would become my secret work station for the next week. I cut the legs, arms, and head off of the cast, because I only needed the torso. Every night, I would sneak a few supplies home, including a few buckets of silicone, latex, fake hair, and some tools. I was creating a suit that would fit snug to my body. I was a known perfectionist at work, but with this project, my perfectionism reached a whole new level. The suit needed to be absolutely perfect. It needed to fool not just your regular bystander, but it needed to fool the owner of one of the biggest prosthetic firms in the entire country—not an easy feat by any means.

I spent most of my time on the tits, making sure they not just looked real, but felt real too. I carefully mixed warm silicone with water until the consistency was absolutely perfect. It took a few attempts, but the end result was worth the effort. What I’d created would have made plastic surgeons drool. And best of all, they were big tits—they had to be big. They were, after all, going to be stuffed into a dirndl, showing off lots of cleavage.

In case you don’t know, a dirndl is the female equivalent of a lederhosen. You know those sexy little outfits German girls wear at Oktoberfest, with the puffy skirts and the big cleavage and the drool-inducing white stockings? Those are dirndls.

My plan was to work my way into Mr. Herman’s little circle, to sit next to him and get some secrets out of him. Yes, I was going to attempt to seduce my boss. It sounds absurd, but it really wasn’t so crazy. He was a horny man who had a reputation of getting around with just about anything on two legs. He had two weaknesses: women and money. I couldn’t invent money but I could invent a woman.

I shaved my legs and my arms and my face. My fake torso wrapped under my crotch and even included a fake ass—because who would say no to a nice, plump ass? Unlike the dummy prostitute I’d made for the film shoot, my female suit actually had a working pussy, in that there was a hole and a working pee-tube that wrapped around my own cock like a condom. It wasn’t the most comfortable set up, but it sure looked realistic. As for the vagina, that worked too, not because I had any intentions of actually sticking anything in it, but because it was the only logical place to put an access point in case I needed to adjust anything down there (for instance, if my pee tube got disconnected).

My wig was blonde and I styled it into two long braids that hung down to about my sternum. The outfit, I ordered off of Amazon, express shipping. I got it in just two days. While I waited for the delivery, I practiced different voices, recording them to see which sounded best, and then perfecting the one I went with so no one would be the wiser.

Makeup was easy, thanks to the help of many online tutorials. I tried out a few different styles but ended up going for a more understated look, light on the mascara, light on the eyeliner, light on the blush. It wasn’t until after I finished shaping my eyebrows that I wondered how I was going to explain my thin eyebrows to my co-workers. So I spent some time learning how to draw on realistic eyebrows so no one would notice. I also started to wear a ball cap to work, which helped, too.

With the outfit complete, I stood in front of the mirror. I did a little hop, watching my cleavage bounce up and down, to make sure everything was secure and fitted properly. Everything seemed fine, and I have to say, I looked adorable.

I did a few different poses and practiced a cute little giggle. I was pretty sexy in that little outfit, with my boobs pushed up and my blonde braids resting over them. It was surreal, seeing myself as a woman. Because it wasn’t like I was wearing a mask and I hadn’t changed any of my facial features. I was still me, just with some makeup and a head of beautiful, blonde hair. It was almost discouraging to think how good I looked as a woman, how flattering the dirndl was on my body, and how good my legs looked all shaved and smooth. It was almost a shame to cover them up with the white stockings, but the white stockings were sexy in their own regard.

I did a little spin, letting the skirt of my outfit lift slightly off the ground. I really did look good. I grabbed my tits and gave them a firm squeeze, making sure they would withstand a possible groping. They stayed in place perfectly. And it was strange, I swear I could feel them, as if they were really an extension of my own body. I felt like I could feel my fingertips running along the bare skin of my breasts, and I could feel strong pulses as my fingertips ran over my nipples. Such a thing was, of course, physically impossible. Maybe I’d just put so much time and work into them, they practically felt like a part of me.

After a while, the suit really wasn’t so uncomfortable. Though it started to get rather warm after about an hour, so I took the suit off and spent the rest of the night poking tiny needle-sized holes over the entire thing to imitate pores in the skin. I thought it was a pretty clever idea and I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it before for the custom prosthetics we did at the shop. It was nice to think that, even if my plan failed, there was still some innovation to come out of my little scheme.

But I was determined to see my plan succeed. I was sick of being the shop boy, destined to spend the rest of my life pouring latex and silicone moulds, watching undeserving morons take all of the credit. This was my big chance.

There was just one last piece of my costume that I needed—the microphone. I ordered a small lavalier microphone off of the internet, which I was easily able to sew into the chest of the outfit where it couldn’t be seen. Turning it on to record was easy. All I had to do was reach down between my tits and flick the tiny recording switch. It would look like I was adjusting my rack and no one would be any wiser.

The outfit sat on my dresser, next to my body suit. It sat there taunting me as the day of the big meeting approached. Looking at it filled me with anxiety. It was a constant reminder that I was about to do something very extreme in the name of my career. It also filled me with a strange excitement. Part of me was excited to get suited up and take my persona out into the real world. I was excited to see if my hard work would really pay off, if men would stare down my top, slap me on the ass, buy me drinks—and if Herman would let me into his little circle where I could get the recording I needed to blackmail my way into a management position at the company.