Amin and the HARLOT-DOLL Skinsuit (2) (Patreon)

IMPORTANT NOTE: Everything that appears here, in this story, only exists in my mind, anything that resembles reality is coincidence or fortuitous. . .

( hopefully there will be many of these 💓, or not, who knows 😭 )

AMIN AND THE HARLOT-DOLL SKIN-SUIT

Part 2

It took Amin a tremendous amount of effort to slip his wrist through that sleeve and get his hand into the skinsuit. It was as if it were a sign telling him not to put it on. But Amin ignored this warning. In fact, when he finally managed to slip his hand into that tight, lubricant-soaked glove, it almost brought him to orgasm…

“Oh God…” he said to himself, his heart racing and his breath ragged, astonished by what he’d just felt and what he was still feeling. “This feels so damn good… I have to get my other arm in and cover my head now.”

Amin now understood why Maria had bought that suit, and also why she hadn’t confessed about it to him. Before slathering on the lubricant, Amin had been furious with her for buying such blasphemy, and he would have hated her if he’d seen her transformed into the nymphomaniac prostitute that the suit would have turned her into.

It wouldn’t just be a sin; it would be blasphemy. A great sacrilege according to his faith. And in his holy book, such sins were punished by flogging or even, in severe cases, stoning.

When Amin slipped his other arm into the sleeve, religious punishments no longer worried him, except as an incentive to keep going. Rather, it was the added difficulty of getting dressed. His arm, the one already inside the suit, didn’t feel strong enough anymore to help him pull the other sleeve on.

And besides, the manicure with long nails on the hand wearing the skinsuit wasn’t helping. It made it harder to pinch the suit and pull it, mostly because of his lack of practice with those nails. But then he instinctively helped himself, contorting and twisting his arm.

At the same time, driven by his eagerness, he started to pull at the hood of the suit, wanting to pull it over and cover his own head. “Come on, damn suit…”

Once again, the pleasure intensified, making him even more eager. He longed to have the entire suit on and then use the other things inside the box. He no longer denied it; now he wanted to be her, a Harlot-Doll named Patrice.

With that name on his mind, his hand finally slipped into the glove. Shortly later the hood finally covered his head. Thus completing the process of dressing himself, leaving Amin completely ecstatic and drowning in an orgasm, followed by another and another, letting his member unload its semen inside the suit.

And when not a single drop remained, he/she began to come with her/his new pussy, while his/her cock atrophied and disappeared; his/her orgasms camouflaged the process, making him/her scream with pleasure instead of pain.

Writhing with pleasure, arching her back as she never had before, and in a natural way, clutching her pussy and hugging her breasts with a false modesty. The breasts were still hollow, but beginning to fuse symbiotically with his chest and swell.

In that trance of ecstasy, heralded by screams of pleasure that grew increasingly feminine, reaching very high-pitched tones, she experienced a long series of even stronger orgasms, which left her first exhausted and later unconscious.

Just at that moment the only opening in the suit, which had been closing, vanished and at the same time her body finished transforming.

The opening had disappeared completely. Her back now looked like any other, as if the opening had never existed. Erasing all traces of who had been there, completely concealing Amin and leaving only a woman with the body of a goddess, named Patrice.

She was lying next to the box with its contents waiting, pressing some buttons on the skinsuit controller with her face. The controller answered with some beeps and showed a warning that something was off. Patrice did not notice anything about this.

When she woke up, the first thing she felt was an unnatural sense of calm and contentment. Next the cold floor against her skin, and then the pleasure she derived from feeling it with her newfound sensitivity.

Little by little, she sat up, her movements still clumsy, and accompanied by purrs, which grew more graceful as she fully awoke. As she sat up, her legs bent into the lotus position. At the same time, she raised her arms and yawned with a tone too high-pitched to sound like a decent girl, ending with a giggle typical of a bimbo.

Her gaze mechanically dropped during the yawn and now rested on her new breasts, and Patrice was surprised by the size of them. Driven by a new instinct, her hands clung to her new breasts, discovering many things she hadn’t thought possible.

The first thing was that she liked feeling hands on her breasts. It started with a sense of satisfaction at feeling human warmth on them. The next thing she noticed was that she purred again because of it and began to love it. Both playing with her breasts and, just as much or even more, how she was reacting.

"They’re so soft and so huge… mmm. I never imagined that tits could… oooh," she said between gasps, because she couldn’t resist an urge triggered by the costume, which made her press her index fingers and thumbs from both hands against her nipples, pinching them, while she felt a rush of hot sensations in her stomach.

"So sensitive… aaaah… and heavy… Mmmmmh… this slut likes them soft, big, and so sensitive, and now they’re mine (giggle)…"

Amin, or rather Patrice now, was surprised. Not only that she could say that, given how religious she had been before, but that she said it proudly or with a desire that hadn’t been hers. Yet she felt that with every passing second, that thought and thousands of other perverse desires were becoming hers. And the main one right now was that she wanted to discover just how much more that suit would do to her.

“Naughty outfit,” she said to herself with a wicked smile, enjoying what was happening to her, “you’re influencing my thoughts and… OH!”

Then something else caught her attention, a damp sensation that made her look down at where she was sitting, and she saw it. Or better did not see it. Her heart began to beat faster, while she instinctively started to sensually bite her lower lip.

She didn’t see a bulge or a member resting against the cold floor, just a flat, well-shaven pelvis and a glimpse of her new vaginal lips. Surrounding them was a shiny patch, caused by the juices escaping from between her lips.

“Oh shit,” she said to herself, jumping to her feet with intense curiosity and rushing to the bathroom. “I need to see myself in a mirror.”

to be continued...