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"Hm."

Even after waiting several weeks for it to arrive, I was excited. Lying there was a nondescript cardboard box, with a fleshy bundle neatly folded inside. Packed in beside it was appropriate clothing, and a box of accessories to complete the look. Maybe not the kind of thing I'd go for normally, but the skinsuit's effects wouldn't be nearly as potent if I didn't have the right appearance to match. Everything had to be included.

In a hurry, I tugged her free of the packaging. My eyes wandered up and down as I took a moment to really marvel at the sensation of so-close-to-real skin, the limp limbs dangling freely as she unfolded. There's no denying it, she was cute even in this un-worn state, plump rosy cheeks and a messy brunette curtain of hair. Really, she was an impeccable example of a gorgeous-looking girl who hid her beauty underneath 'geeky' aesthetics. A good thing for me, if I ever wanted to wear her for other endeavours.

Putting her on was a breeze, sliding my limbs into her hollowed-out sleeves coated on the inside with some slick substance. Placing my toes snugly into hers and tugging, it was almost effortless. Even though she was at least a foot shorter than me the material of the suit stretched and deformed appropriately, squelching up over my hips without complaint. Didn't even have to take particular care with my dude-parts as the suit's navel lay stretched over them, snug and contained.

Perfect, flawless skin came sliding up my arms, lodging itself over my shoulders as her breasts settled over my chest. Lifting her head to the side, I got a good look at the soft mounds now sticking themselves in place. E-cup, yes, I know, big boobs on a shy girl cliché, but it's not like I'd be showing them off to anyone... At least, not in the immediate future. Strictly wearing her for the literature-enhancing effects, yes. Everything else had to wait.

Strands of hair tickled my shoulders as I brought the last piece of the puzzle into place. Oh yes, it fit wonderfully... My mouth stretched around a protrusion sticking out of her face, a mouthpiece entirely for practical purposes and in no way intended as some sort of 'gag', that would be a ludicrous idea! Even if there was someone else around, I wouldn't have convinced them... Oh well. No point being all ashamed, as I pushed the moulded material deep inside until my lips slotted inside of hers.

Elastic as the suit was, it was still something of a struggle to get her on all the way. Under the layer of stretchy skin, I managed to finally get her body all lined up and closed over the back of my head. Now that everything was in place... Zipping her up with one hand and pinching the seam closed with the other, I felt it reach the top with a little click. It was done.

Pressing my hands to my new face I felt the sealing procedure begin. Having a larger frame than the suit's design meant a lot of squeezing and crushing to begin with, as it reformed the body within. Every inch of covered skin began to tighten as I shrank, letting out an involuntary grunt. Roughly half a foot shorter and many inches slimmer; I'd done such things before, but it was nevertheless an unsettling sensation to have so much of my body change and shift, even if it wasn't specifically painful.

Coming to a conclusion at last, her soft skin had finally made itself at home. As difficult as it was, I resisted the temptation to grope and paw at her shapely body (and boy was it shapely!) instead digging out all the clothes I'd established as 'appropriate' for the task. Nylon opaque pantyhose were brought up and over some cotton panties with a kitten-print on them (they're cute okay, don't judge) and a matching bra was hastily clasped together. The whole point of the endeavour was to improve my writing output, not to go straight for cheap thrills and not even get anything done! Great as it was to rub my thighs together and squeeze my boobs, I still had an objective to fulfil.

Ensemble is key. The entire outfit had to be worn, to really immerse myself, to truly make the most of her influence. Opening up the pencil skirt zipper, stepping inside and shifting it into place was a little difficult thanks to my broadened hips. Undaunted, I got the thing to sit just right, the hem hanging in the middle-thigh-region for a balance of coverage and exposure. Then a silky white blouse buttoned up all the way, some small effort to cover such an ample chest. Of course, it couldn't hide the bulging silhouette or the weighty feeling, but at least they were covered up.

Finally, the finishing touches. Hair pulled up into a polite ponytail, check. Earrings clipped into pre-pierced holes, check. Red-framed, chunky glasses to complete the look, check.

"...Showtime!"

Keeping a straight face was difficult, as I glanced in a mirror and marvelled at the understated beauty I'd put myself into. I couldn't help but grin, feeling this attractive and studious at the same time. No, sir, I'm a hardworking writer, I'd never slack off...

And I was going to prove it. New document, new story title, a fresh concept ready to be cast into a story. Y'see, normally I'd take a few tries to get the ball rolling if I'm putting a vague idea down into real tangible words, but now all I felt was the pure drive to write. Brimming with ideas, I felt the suit really kick in and words began streaming forth onto the page. Out of sight and tucked underneath smooth fabric and skin, I suddenly felt something tingling. Down, uh, there. Yeah.

I froze, the writing coming to a screeching halt. For a second, lifting my fingers was strangely difficult, but almost as soon as I did the sensation stopped too. Yikes. Out of all things, the suit was designed to match productivity with sexual stimulation?

"...Uhhhhh...."

Clenching my suit-sealed teeth, I slowly started typing again.

"..Ah!"

No doubt about it now. Reward systems this abstract were weird, yeah, but I would be lying if I said I hadn't gotten off to my own fiction before. Each keystroke was a tiny jolt, some kind of link between the words I wrote and the tightly gripping flesh now squeezing in rhythm. As I worked up a steady rhythm of typing, the suit reciprocated with increasingly intense strokes, making me grind and squirm. Devilish fantasies flooded my mind, of sitting in a busy library or lecture hall "working hard" on an assignment, whilst secretly riding a cresting wave of pleasure thanks to this unassuming crouching-pervert-hidden-hotness skinsuit.

There was a worry tickling the back of my mind, thoughts that somehow grew hard to focus on... Had I forgotten something? I kept going regardless, and the suit kept building my arousal until it almost peaked, but I could never reach a climax no matter how hard I tried to. Somehow, she knew the level to keep me going, and knew when to put the brakes on juuuuuust when she needed to.

"Damn!" I hissed after another merciless edging, rubbing her thighs together. I curled up my fists, painted nails digging into my soft palms, causing the suit to halt its actions completely. Obviously she wasn't going to let me finish that easily... Now, perhaps if I completed the story, I'd be rewarded appropriately?

That must be it. Linking writing to sexual pleasure means if I complete a story, I'm, uh, completed in other ways, yes? Every other thought in my head grew muffled, shrouded in oily pink haze as I desperately kept typing. Typing... Had to keep typing...

Even stopping to hastily correct mistakes was met with a sudden gap in pleasure. Returning to try a line of dialogue again, I was more agitated and pent-up than I'd ever been in my life, and I didn't want to stop. Fuck, it's so hard to think of anything but sexy scenarios and gratuitous description of fetishistic fantasies manifested into scripture...

I was panting, sweating through the suit's skin, her cheeks flushed red. No, I needed to finish. I couldn't stop now. Stopping would mean disappointing her, and I couldn't let her down, no, she had to finish...

Hanging onto my thoughts grew increasingly difficult, as a nameless worry sparkled in the back of my mind. Trying to focus on it was met with resistance, and as I tried to pull my hands away from the trance-like typing, I realised I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. Her 'help' had grown beyond my control, and my conscious thoughts were neatly corralled into a little corner where they couldn't do any harm.

It's for his own good, of course, can't have him interrupting me while I'm in the groove, and I'll keep us teetering on the precipice for a good long while so we can get some real work done. Such a silly idea to think of quitting after only one piece! Save that as a first draft for later reading, and let's get cracking on a few more tonight. Tomorrow, as well, and maybe this week he can call in sick and just let me handle eeeeeverything... Obviously he agrees!

(Really hope he doesn't do something like try to slip a hidden message into the stories we're writing...)