Warning: Some sexual content/language.
He entered his house and shut the door behind him, its slam echoing throughout the silent house.
“Mom?!” he called.
“Dad?!” he called again.
“Sis?!” he called one last time.
The familiar feeling that he, at once, enjoyed and feared—the jump of his heart sweatiness and clamminess of his skin—washed over him at the sweet realization he always hoped for when he arrived home:
Nobody was home.
At that, he raced up the stairs, clutching his large shopping bag underneath his arm, like a running back fleeing from the insanity of the field, and escaping to the sanctity of a touchdown. Despite the force of the run and the weight on his back, his large, bulky bookbag on his back weighed nothing in the face of his excitement.
He threw his door open, stepped in his room, and closed the door behind him. And, even though no one was in the house to possibly intrude on his fantasy, he locked the door behind him, the click of its lock like the sweet sound of solitude and serenity—it promised and reassured his safety. He couldn’t help but lock his door every time.
Before even throwing his bulky bookbag off of his back, which he ritualistically did before anything else, he walked briskly to the bed and laid the shopping bag on it. Oddly, the bag’s white face bore no logo, as if it came from a store that never existed. When he took out the box inside of the bag, he saw it bore no name, either.
Well, that was true, in a way—about the nonexistence, that is. After many times meandering down that same street on his way back home from school, and after knowing the street by heart, he had never seen that anime store before. He frowned at the fact that he didn’t even remember the store being built or having a grand opening at the end of its (supposed) construction. It was as if the store simply appeared out of thin air!
“Weird,” he said to himself, as he stared intensely at the blank face of the box. He reached this same hand out to the box several times, yet pulled it back. He could feel his heart pound in his ears.
“What the hell is this?” he asked himself.
He picked up the box, shook it about a bit, and raised it a little to test its weight. He heard the soft ruffling of some material that felt moderately heavy, but not too much. It sounded like clothes.
He dropped it back on the bed, watching it bounce before it landed again, and stared back at him. “’The Ultimate Cosplay Experience,’” he said in wonder, quoting the mysterious man that had persuaded him into buying this. The box seemed to dare him to open it, whispering “C’mon. I know you want to.”
So, after a few more moments of nervous contemplation, in one swift move—intentionally swift so as to make no room for any more hesitations—he grabbed its cover and threw it off.
“What the hell?” he said, his bookbag sliding off of his back, onto the floor.
It looked like a swimsuit, but not quite. He ran a reluctant, fidgety finger across what he found to be a soft, elastic, lustrous surface that shone in the light. After a few more moments of staring, it hit him.
It was a plug suit.
And it was red.
“Oh my God.”
He grabbed it in both of his hands and held it up; the rest of the suit unfurled before him majestically, its soft, silky, scarlet skin shimmering in the light of his room.
He saw it all.
The cute little feet at the bottom, with the flat, black soles; the suggestive black lines hugging the hips, swooping down the front of the thighs, going toward the knees; the leotard-like bodice; the large, solid, circular wrists, with the plug-suit switch on the left; and, last but not least, the big, bulky cups, in betwixt of which lay the iconic, robotic “02” icon, all together comprising the incredible bodysuit that haunted and tickled his dreams, both wet and dry.
This was the plug-suit of Asuka Langley Soryu of Neon Genesis Evangelion!
And it was definitely authentic!
It was as if someone had literally pulled the suit exactly from the cels of animation, in some sort of separate, parallel, anime dimension, and made it real! Exact down to the smallest patch of color that could go by unnoticed by someone that didn’t share his obsession with this suit! He laid it down on the bed, splaying it before him, and, with wide eyes, caressed its smooth, silky surface: its feel both matched and surpassed the amazement he imagined in his fantasies! It truly compared to no another material he had ever known!
He ran his fingers down the legs and imagined the feel of Asuka’s long, luscious legs; running his hands up the torso, he imagined the feel of the lovely leather of the suit hugging and caressing her incredible curves; his hands cupped the cups, and he imagined them filled with her plump, ripe, perfect, pubescent breasts.
But, all at once, he stopped, and frowned. Reason returned to him.
“Did he give me the wrong one?”
After all, he said this box contained the “Ultimate Cosplay Experience.” And, he definitely hit the nail directly onto the head of his favorite anime, and his deepest, darkest fantasy! However, he couldn’t cosplay a girl! Maybe he meant to give him a Shinji plug-suit, and mixed them up? Wearing a Shinji plug-suit would’ve been cool!
But, where could that old man have possibly gotten any plug-suit from? It looked and felt so real and authentic, it scared him a little! As an otaku of Evangelion (an “Evataku”, as he affectionately called himself), he had heard nothing of Gainax producing plug-suits.
Did that old man know important people, and managed to get his hands on an undiscovered, unreleased gem?
And why did he give this to him, anyway?
For a “free-trial” nonetheless?
How did he know this was his favorite anime?
How did he know Asuka Langley Soryu was his favorite anime babe of all time?
And, still, why would he give him a girl’s plug-suit?!
“Too many freakin’ questions,” he mumbled to himself. This series of questions—questions with possibly dangerous answers—fbuilt up enough incredulity within himself to make him consider giving it back.
However, the shine of the suit, and the smooth, silkiness of its surface seduced him. How could he possibly give this back?
But, how could he possibly wear this?
He couldn’t do that, either.
He gulped while opening and closing his left hand several times, feeling that sweaty, excited, pre-masturbatory clamminess collect on his palm, his blood pumping with that pre-masturbatory adrenaline that made him feel lightheaded and tingly. He brought his hand up before his face and clenched his fists several times, staring at the sheet of sweat that had collected on it. The hand he pleasured himself with many times.
“I couldn’t—” he looked away but glanced back at the suit.
The way it gleamed.
He tore his gaze away again, “No way!”
But the switch on that left wrist did look pretty real, he thought to himself.
And, with that, his eyes widened, and his breathing nearly stopped.
Could the suit actually work?
He slowly redirected his eyes back to the left wrist. The switch seemed to entice him to touch. And, he did. He ran its fingers on its bulky, solid build, and the material hissed under his caress, as if to whisper, “Press me.”
His gaze slowly and treacherously trailed (as if looking slow would deceive himself of the fact that he was actually looking) up the left arm of the suit, to the large left cup of the torso. He then looked at that iconic number: 02.
“It’s a friggin’ girl’s suit,” he growled, as if to convince his other self—his other, weirdly and wildly enraptured, excited self—to not do what it was thinking of doing.
But it feels so soft.
Tearing his eyes up and away from the suit, he realized his breathing had quickened to a frantic, panicked pace. He closed his eyes and clenched his left hand into a fist again.
No. It’s just a costume. No costume could be that real.
He turned around sharply and stomped to his door. He put his left hand on the cold, metal doorknob, and the right hand around the lock, ready to leave his fortress of solitude.
With shaky, sweaty, clammy hands, he yanked off his T-shirt and threw it into the far corner of the room. His hands frantically unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, put the zipper down, and tried to yank his jeans off of his legs, but, in his hysterical haste, he realized had neglected to first take off his sneakers when his jeans got caught around them. He sat down on the floor and wrenched his sneakers and socks off of his feet. After this, his legs practically leaped out of the legs of his jeans. He then stood up, only wearing boxers. His hands flew to their waistband and yanked them down his legs.
He looked at himself in his full-length mirror.
A young, meek, naked boy stared back at him. Thin, boyish, nondescript arms hung weakly at the sides of a flat, feeble chest. Dark, messy, mundane hair, in a pageboy cut, framed a frantic, boyish (if not somewhat effeminate) face.
This boy was a nobody, just like Shinji.
And, just like him, he was about to anxiously and frantically perform a perverse act, in the sanctity and serenity of his empty house, in his locked room, in his fortress of solitude.
Yet, he did not think about it. Nobody would ever know.
He ran to the suit, took it in his arms, and embraced it as if it were a living, breathing person, as if trying to take its smooth, soft, silkiness into himself. He felt its large, empty breast cups compress themselves against his flat, unmanly chest, and he felt its general silkiness tickle his skin. He brought it up to his nose and whiffed it like the sweetest-smelling drug. It even smelled of Asuka Langley Soryu—as he imagined she would smell.
That was it.
He had to wear it.
He lowered it to the floor and gently stepped his legs into its humongous collar, every lovely whisper and hiss of the suit’s material and every loving caress against his skin urging him onward. He knew the suit, in its current, humongously baggy, deactivated form would not be as much of a thrill as the real thing (the only thing that actually fit snugly were the feet and the hands, so he could at least walk and use his hands). He kept this in mind as he slid his arms inside of the suit, the collar now resting on his shoulders.
He glanced back at the box and saw Asuka’s iconic, red AA Nerve Clips.
Without a thought, he reached for them and clipped them to the top of his head.
He looked down at the suit, and looked at himself in the mirror. Despite the bagginess of the suit, he looked just ridiculous. Whoever this nobody boy was, red was clearly not his color. He could barely see the “02” on his chest, the bagginess of his suit nearly swallowing it; the large, empty breast cups hung dejectedly on his flat, feeble chest. The humongous bagginess of the suit in general did not do his fantasies justice, but he had a feeling that could be solved with the push of a button.
And, at that thought, he held up his left wrist and looked at the button as if it were the trigger of a gun.
And, without thinking too much, he pressed it.
With a loud hiss, the suit came to life.
Its ridiculous-looking, humongous bagginess shrank down into a loving, caressing, seductive embrace, cocooning and caressing his skin in its lush, silky interior. With his left hand still extended from having pushed the button on his wrist, his right hand slapped his whittling waist, his eyes widening in pain, his mouth agape with a silent gasp, as the suit ruthlessly cinched his waist like a corset, giving him sensuous curves not unlike those Shinji had when he had worn the suit in the series. Under the loving caress of the silky suit, his skin tingled and burned, however.
The suit continued relentlessly tightening itself. The tightness of the suit excruciatingly forced the raging erection he had acquired from both thinking about the suit and putting the suit on between his legs, and also caused his testicles to recede into his scrotum. This caused his right hand to fly to his new, horrifyingly flat crotch, feeling his penis trapped between his legs by the intense tightness of the suit.
When he looked down, he gasped to see his lower body looked frighteningly feminine, what with the tiny waist, the relatively wide hips, the flat crotch, and legs that somehow looked longer and shapelier! When he concentrated on them, he could feel them becoming numb, the suit choking them into submitting to a more feminine form. His knees felt weak, and his thighs and calves tingled with a worrisome numbness. And something about his butt looked—feminine! He was sure it wasn’t bigger (at least he didn’t think so). Maybe it was how soft and rounded it looked in the suit?
He started to panic. The suit hadn’t done this much to Shinji!
Despite the initial, sudden, shocking shrinkage of the suit, it still continued to slowly shrink and ruthlessly reshape his body. He worriedly ran his smooth, gloved hands down the smooth, leather-clad sides of his whittled waist, practically feeling it, under the increasingly excruciating squeeze of the suit, shrink and curve inward beneath his gloved, sweaty palms, causing him to hold his breath in horror and pain, his eyes wide open. The unbearable tightness soon suddenly gave way to a pleasant snugness, as if the new size of his waist, which had to be at least six inches smaller, was now natural and perfectly suited to the suit. He then slapped his hands on his hips, not sure if they looked wider only because of the shrinkage of his waist, or if they really were wider! Something told him it was the latter! He swore he could even feel them widening underneath his hands right then and there, flaring fabulously outwards at the end of the incredible inward curve of his waist.
As he looked down at his lower body, he felt a loud, painful throb in his head as several, silky strands of strawberry blonde hair fell into his vision. With his numb left hand, he brushed them back, but then his head shot up at the mirror with the realization that he didn’t have long, strawberry blonde hair!
From his dark, mundane, messy, loudy, mousy, pageboy haircut, a marvelous mane of luxurious, fiery, strawberry blonde hair began to unfurl and blossom from the left side of his face (hanging down to his shoulders, with her bangs hanging over the left side of her face). As for his face, his familiar, right, brown eye, roofed by a bushy, unkempt eyebrow, and his new, baby blue left eye, lipped with luscious lashes and roofed with a thin, perfectly arched, feminine, auburn eyebrow, shared the same horror.
He then realized.
He was becoming….
“Oh my Gawd!” he screamed with a cracking voice, sounding a bit too high.
He raised his left wrist and pressed the button.
“No!” he screamed, frantically mashing the button repeatedly. “Stop!”
The suit did not stop. Instead, a quiet, but persistent ear-piercing shriek filled his ears, the way one’s ears squeak when they are damaged by a loud noise, and rapid throbs and pulses of pain assaulted his head, seeming to resonate from the AA Nerve Clips. He held his left hand up in horror, wiggling their flimsy, dainty, feminine fingers, having also been suffocated and reshaped by the suit; his gaze went up the length of his arm, its boyish muscles (or lack thereof) having faded away to a feminine softness.
Then, he felt it.
Underneath the left breast cup, he felt his nipple become tingle and become hard, and he felt the flesh underneath it and around it start to swell like dough in an oven, creating a soft, fleshy, yet sensitive mound that began to slowly fill the breast cup.
“Oh, Gawd!!” he screamed again, his left arm extended and frozen in shock, his right hand grasping the empty, jealous, yet eagerly awaiting right breast cup, as he began to feel the same sensation begin there, in the puny right pectoral underneath. His penis pulsed and screamed with pain between his legs, torn between arousal and horror.
His right hand tended to his imprisoned penis while the left felt his blossoming breast, the right breast joining. (If he had looked in the mirror, he would’ve seen that he had looked like a girl pleasuring herself in a plug-suit!) They both began to protrude noticeably forth from his suit, filling the cups to their maximum capacity and still growing. More and more strands of beautiful auburn hair, this time from both sides, flooded the vision of his blossoming bust, and the throbbing and buzzing in his head increased. For the first time since he had put on the suit, he moved, staggering from the pain in his head. He felt his newly widened hips swing sensuously with every staggering step, his luscious, leather-clad thighs swishing sexily as they brushed against each other with every involuntarily sexy step, both brushing against his poor penis between his legs with every step, and twisting it slightly with every lovely wiggle of his hips. That, and the seamless cleave of the suit to his every miniscule move and his tiniest curve drove him mad!
He needed to get out of this suit!
Through two, big, baby blue eyes, he looked up in the mirror again and saw the iconic, red AA Nerve clips cutely crowning a billowing mane of beautiful auburn hair, gleaming glamorously and shining with a silky sheen in the light, now hanging to his shoulder blades perfectly framing his increasingly pretty little head, a head with higher, fuller cheeks, a smaller, more rounded chin, and a thinner nose. A curtain of bangs swept over the sides of his temples and his forehead, hanging down to his perfectly shaped eyebrows. He furiously flew his dainty, scarlet-gloved hands to the top of his pretty little head, causing his beautiful breasts to thrust forward in the suit at the stretch of his arms, and his entire, pretty, pubescent, shapely, sexy plug-suited body to display itself. He then tried to yank the Nerve Clips off of his scalp, along with his increasingly pretty head of silky, scarlet hair, but they would not budge! The Nerve Clips held a vice grip on what seemed to really, truly be his hair! If anything, they had gotten angry at his defiance, and shot a powerful pulse of pain to his head that nearly dropped him to his knees! He closed his eyes in agony, and saw images rapidly flash inside his mind: various images of Evangelion Unit 02 in combat, images of the words “Nein,” (which he somehow recognized as German for “No”) “Groll,” (which he somehow knew was “hatred”) “Tod,” (“death”) “Schmach,” (“shame”) “Wahsinig,” (“insanity”) “Erhangnte,” (“strangled”) “Peinlich es,” (“painful”) “Steifmutter,” (“stepmother”) and “der Verlust” (“loss”); images of haunting dolls that, for some reason or another, sent chills down his newly realigned spine, among other images that flashed by too rapidly to make out; above all, though, he saw the doll and the word “Tod” as he heard the crying of a little girl—a little girl crying for her mama.
With his gloved hands still planted on his head, grabbing at his nerve clips and a fistful of full, fiery red hair, he hysterically shook his pretty lil’ head to and fro, in a desperate effort to somehow shake the clips off and send the images away, causing his silky, blossoming, strawberry blonde hair to frantically flail about; yet the images and the sounds remained, his sexy, scarlet hair now only wildly strewn about his soft shoulders and his pained face.
What little touch he still had with reality told him that he had fallen back on what now felt like his large, rather round female behind (causing the V-back of his suit’s leotard to tighten considerably, his long, luscious legs splayed before him, the scarlet leather that encased them gleaming), and that his manhood did not have much time left. His dainty hand darted to his crotch to feel his penis still imprisoned uncomfortably between his legs, throbbing with the thrill and rush of wearing the suit and feeling its every hug and caress to his every move, yet the horror and panic, throbbing madly, as if to scream for freedom, as if to scream for someone to see it and save it. Yet, a frighteningly perfect feminine flatness belied the suffocation and strangulation of his manhood.
The suit imprisoned his penis in an insufferably painful loop of perpetual pleasure and pain. He desperately tried to distract himself from his suit, so as to kill his unwavering arousal, yet even the tiniest breath and the most minute, indiscernible movement reminded him constantly of the suffocating, intense tightness of the suit, and its warm, soft, silky embrace of what now felt like his hairless, smooth skin underneath! Also, rather than a rigid, stiff hardness, his penis seemed to shrink and wither into a soft, warm fuzziness that tempted him to rub himself, even despite the horror of being transformed by the suit!
Beneath the new, perfect breasts on his suited chest, his heart pounded for freedom from this leather imprisonment. He felt like a claustrophobic in a stuck elevator. He needed to get out of this suit! His parents would be home soon! And his sister! What would they say?! What would they think?! How could this even be happening to him?!
He raised his left arm one last time, and pushed the switch once more.
He drowned and sank further and further into a tsunami of memories flooding his mind. His head felt heavy; the last few dull throbs that the Nerve Clips sent to his head made the world turn black.
Through some sort of instinct, despite the fact that he had never been a “mama’s boy,” and despite the fact that he never even ever referred to his mom as “Mama,” he called out for the one person that he deliriously thought could help him:
“Hey,” a familiar voice said to him in the darkness.
He didn’t answer.
“Hey,” it said again.
Still no answer.
“Hey, idiot!” it said again.
He immediately recognized it.
He opened his eyes and saw the gorgeous face of Asuka in a white, fuzzy, dreamy backdrop, her iconic Nerve Clips in her beautiful hair as always. She wore her iconic scarlet plug suit. However, instead of feeling like he was lying beneath her or standing in front of her, he felt nothing. He simply felt like he was floating in a vacuum.
If not for the eeriness of this sight, and the fact that he somehow remembered being transformed by her plug suit, he would have been swept away at the fact that he actually saw her before his very own eyes.
“Do ya wanna become one with me?” she asked softly in her sweet voice, swaying her body seductively, her plug suit shamelessly accentuating and showing every voluptuous, incredible curve of her beautiful body, her suit shimmering gloriously in the light of this hazy dream. “To be of one mind and body?” She smiled seductively as she rubbed her neck and bit her lips, whipping her fiery hair around, her blue eyes filled with as much fire as her hair. “It could be really, really awesome.”
“What?!” he finally found the strength to answer, although he didn’t felt his tongue flap, his mouth move, or his vocal cords vibrate. It was as if he were simply a spirit.
But, he answered “No!”
“Oh, c’mooon!” she huffed, still seductively. “You oughta appreciate your good fortune!” She slid her soft, gloved hands down her incredible, leather-clad curves, twisting slightly to give him a view of her beautiful butt, while lifting one leg slightly. “Not every loser in the world gets the chance to wear my suit, you know!”
“Suit? Wait; what happened to me?!”
“What’re you, stupid?” she said in her huffy, haughty voice and glared, abandoning her seductive act. “You became me!”
“You put my suit on and activated it.”
“Yes,” she smiled evilly. “Look at yourself.”
Suddenly, he felt himself incorporating a physical form again, and he looked down.
In a white, vast mass of nothingness, he saw himself, in his old body, wearing Asuka’s deactivated plug suit.
“What?! Wait! How’d this—”
“Stop playing dumb,” she said with a cold, brutal, bitchy playfulness as she approached him, causing him to back up. “I know allll about your little jerk-off, plug suit fetish.” She stopped and stood still, hangs on her hips, but he didn’t stop stepping backward, as if to retreat from his shame. “Go ahead. Push that button, and jerk off like you always do. I know you want to.” She giggled coldly. “I’ll even stand here and watch.”
She dashed to him and grabbed his left wrist, holding it high in the between them and squeezing it roughly. “But, if I can’t have you all to myself, then I want nothing from you!”
She pressed the button.
“NO!” he screamed, snatching his wrist from her grip and pressing the button repeatedly again, with desperate panic. Yet, once again, it did not stop. The suit compressed itself once more around his form, and still continued to shrink and reshape his body. Even as he repeated pressed the button, desperate for a reply or a response, he saw his rough, boyish left hand shrink and fade away into dainty femininity, his left arm softening, and he felt his left nipple start to tingle. As he watched all of this, he saw strands of auburn hair fall into his vision.
“NO!” he started to scream once again, but, as if annoyed by his whininess, the suit once again cinched his waist, silencing him and leaving him speechless and breathless with its shock and pain, eyes and mouth wide open.
“Oh, c’mon!” Asuka said. “I think you look sooo much better in it than I do! Look at how it accentuates your figure!” she said, running her hands down his increasingly incredible curves, feeling his hips widen beneath her hands and his butt swell sensuously behind him.
The both of them noted an important difference, however. Instead of having been tucked back between his legs, the suit flattened his rock hard penis against his stomach, creating an ugly, conspicuous bulge in his otherwise fabulous, increasingly feminine form.
She slapped her hand on his raging erection and squeezed viciously, grinning evilly into his horrified, newly blue eyes, with their red, thin eyebrows arched high in horror. “Look at you. You want this. You always wanted this.”
“No!” he screamed in his cracking voice.
However, Asuka give him one, slow, long, hard stroke of his fully-erect penis, his penis of which betrayed his true feelings. The stroke could’ve made him melt in her hands. She then pushed him to the floor, causing him to land on his large, soft, still inflating butt, his lovely legs stretched before him, his ballooning breasts having bounced from the impact, his hair flying everywhere. As she slowly and menacingly walked up to him, he girlishly covered his crotch to shamefully conceal his obvious arousal, his long, luscious, lovely legs closed tight in a girlishly demure manner, his small, dainty hands prettily shielding his excitement from the world. She grabbed both of his wrists, however, and wrenched his hands away, forcing his soft, feminine arms out to his sides, and she softly stomped his erection.
“If you won’t do it, I’ll do it for you!”
She began to rub it relentlessly with her foot, forcing the very same pleasure upon his penis that he so often shamefully gave himself with his left hand, in the sanctity of his fortress of solitude, in his empty house! It caused him to moan and gasp in a voice and in a timbre that sounded all to similar to hers!
He tried to dig his plug-suited feet into the ground and push himself back, but the sensations from his crotch drove him mad, and the assault of his Nerve Clips disoriented him, hitting him with tidal waves of memories and knowledge! He couldn’t take much longer!
“C’mon!” she growled. “Hurry up and come!”
She didn’t have to wait much longer.
Inside of the plug-suit he had lusted after for so long, he shamefully came, and became Asuka Langley Soryu.
She felt her crotch explode with pleasure, and, with a weird, warm wetness, her back arching, causing her breasts to thrust forward, her fully-grown, auburn hair strewn all about her beautiful face and all around her head from having thrashed her head to and fro.
And, everything went dark.
The last thing she heard was her phantom twin giggling, saying “Gute nacht, Asuka.”
He stirred, groaning in an odd voice. His throat felt parched.
“Verdammt,” he mumbled, feeling the dull aftershocks of the remnants of a horrible headache.
His eyes opened. He saw a familiar ceiling. It belonged to his room.
Lying on the floor of his room, however, he felt unfamiliar sensations: the sensation of a large mass of hair around his head and forehead, of two large, heavy mounds on his chest, of lying down on a much softer, bigger butt, of his whole body being enveloped in some sort of soft, smooth, yet warm material.
He looked down and saw a mountainous bust jut majestically before his vision in two, large, scarlet breast cups of a red bodysuit, the numbers “02” emblazoned above and between them.
He then remembered.
“Scheisse!” he screamed, sitting up. “The suit!”
He grabbed his throat, the other hand hovering above his mouth at the voice that left his lips.
He stood up and looked in the full-length mirror.
A vision of beauty that had only, hitherto, existed in his imagination and in an anime, stared back at him. Although currently horrified, the beauty of her face still spellbound him; wide, horrified blue eyes, with their luxurious, luscious lashes, and their thin, perfectly arched eyebrows beheld her beautiful body, her scarlet plug suit seamlessly cleaving to and caressing every voluptuous, incredible curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. Beautiful, fiery red hair hung to the middle of her back, clipped at the top of her pretty head by her two, red nerve clips. Two ripe, perfect, pubescent breasts stood full and firm to the world, the iconic number “02,” in their big, bold, black lettering, sitting majestically above her new incredible bust. Her tiny, dainty, gloved hands slowly, sensuously and incredulously slid down her sides, contouring to every curve, drawing inward at her tiny waist, flaring fabulously at her wide hips, jutting juicily outward from the high-hipped leotard of her suit. Her hands slid backwards, behind her hips, and squeezed the two, fleshy, shapely cheeks of her beautiful butt.
She turned around and twisted her body back to the mirror.
Once again, those iconic numbers, “02,” stared back at her, emblazoned on her slender back. Beneath that, her butt bulged with a juicy abundance, looking every bit as beautiful as her hands felt it to be. It gleamed gloriously in the light like a juicy, ripe, plump, polished apple, tempting any onlooker to chomp on it and take a bite! From underneath the V-back of the leotard-like bodice, black lines swooped down from her butt and swirled around her hips, circling around to the front of her thighs, only highlighting the luscious curves and contours and the juicy corpulence of her beautiful butt and her fabulous thighs. Thin knees and curvy calves eventually lead to a tiny, pretty pair of feet.
Her gloved hand darted down between her fleshy thighs and felt her crotch.
It was gone.
“Mein Gott!” the girl in the mirror gasped, her voice soft, lovely, and melodious in her gorgeous German accent. He then realized he had just unthinkingly uttered his third German expletive.
He remembered what the girl in his dreams had said.
Do ya wanna become one with me? To be of one mind and body?
He held up his left wrist and pressed the button.
He mashed it countless more times, each time harder than the last, his dainty, scarlet-leathered thumb pushing it deeper and deeper.
Still, nothing happened.
He looked in the mirror at those Nerve Clips adorably clipped to his beautiful head of auburn hair.
He slapped his hands on them and pulled with all of his might, but he only succeeded in hurting his own hair. They would not come off.
“Gottverdammt, come off!” he screamed and pulled harder. His scalp complained and throbbed with pain.
He ran to his desk, feeling his breasts bounce and his hips sway sensuously with every frantic, yet sexy step, and feeling the suit hug his body. He picked up a pair of scissors and looked down at his body. The suit barely had any material that could even be considered remotely loose enough for him to cut without him also cutting himself. Yet, he tried, by first digging one of the blades in his arm and then swiping, trying to see if he could create a cut.
In a weak, feeble, girly manner, he turned around, hair spinning about his face, and threw the scissors across the room.
In the last, most desperate, and most futile of all his efforts, with his small, delicate, gloved hands, he futilely tried to grip the suit in an attempt to simply rip it off, but he could not grab much of anything. The suit covered his body in its entirety too much and too tightly for him to even begin to think about where to attack. The suit refused to offer even the slightest slack to even the most miniscule curve of his beautiful body. The pure femininity and sexiness of the plug suit humiliated his male pride, suffocating his male psyche as much as the suit suffocated his body. This humiliation and suffocation stuck constantly in his mind like a splinter stuck in his brain, and he could do nothing to get it off of his helplessly and hopelessly sexy body. He had to get out of it! He just had to! It was just so—tight! So tight. So soft. So shiny. So sexy. The way it left no curve on her sexy body unhugged, no movement undetected. Even the tiniest breath and the most minute, indiscernible movement reminded him of the suit’s seemingly ceaseless, silken caress and vice-grip on her. He once again felt like a claustrophobic trapped in a small room, and the frightened heart beneath his bounteous bust pounded for freedom, for escape, for some kind of divine intervention to set itself free from its own fetish before his parents came home!
Yet, none came.
He looked in the mirror and remembered the final words of his phantom twin.
Gute nacht, Asuka.
“NO!” he whined in Asuka’s huffy, melodramatic voice. “I’m not Asuka! I’m—”
But, still, he stared into his reflection, and saw the beautiful face of Asuka Langley Soryu.
He simply collapsed onto the floor and cried.