Wanna See What's Under My Clothes?

It was a little after four in the afternoon, Halloween was coming, and Josh had nothing. He was at the desk in the corner of the living room with the iPad flat in front of him, and the page on it was white. It had been white since he sat down. He had drawn a pumpkin on it and deleted the pumpkin, and then drawn a better pumpkin and deleted that one too.

Josh draws shapeshifter porn for a living. Sixteen hundred pages of it over six years, a page at a time, for about two thousand people who pay a few dollars a month to see what the girl in it turns into next. Every October, on top of the regular pages, he puts out one extra page for Halloween. It sits outside the story. It is a one-off where the girl from the comic turns into something for the season, a werewolf or a vampire or a witch's black cat, and he has done one every year since he started, and his readers notice when it's late.

Then one day an actual shapeshifter knocked on his door and moved in. So far she had been no help with the Halloween page at all.

She came over from the sofa with his phone in her hand. She was in a gray t-shirt and black leggings with bare feet, and she had been on that phone for days, scrolling through costume shops. Witch hats. Cat ears on headbands. Vampire teeth in little plastic boxes. She stopped behind his chair and looked down at the white page over the top of his head, which at her height took no effort at all.

"What are you drawing this year?" she said.

He had never told her about the Halloween pages. He didn't have to. She had read the whole comic, all sixteen hundred pages from the first one to the last, and she knew there was a Halloween page every October because she had read every one of those too.

"I don't know yet," he said.

"You always do one."

"I know I always do one." He drew a line on the white page and took it off again. "I don't have an idea. I have a pumpkin."

"The pumpkin was bad."

"I deleted the pumpkin."

"Good."

He put the stylus down and swung his chair round to look at her. She was still scrolling. On the screen there was a page of devil horns, red ones and black ones and glittery ones, all on plastic headbands.

"What are all the costumes for, anyway?" he said. "You don't even wear clothes. That t-shirt is you. You told me you don't like clothes, and now you've been on costume shops for days."

"I'm not buying any," Luna said. "I'm picking. Halloween is the one night I get to go out as a monster."

She said it to the phone. Her head stayed turned down toward the screen, but her left eye came round to look at him. Josh had lived with her long enough that he only watched it go. It slid along to the outside corner and then kept going, out past the corner and onto the side of her face, until it sat up near her temple, where it could keep him in view while the rest of her looked at horns.

"A real one," she said. "Horns, a tail, claws, whatever I like. People stop me all night to ask where I got it. They look for the zip. They want to know how the tail moves on its own." She was very proud of this. "And it always trips them up, because there's no costume. It's just me."

"That's cheating," Josh said.

"It is not."

"It's completely cheating. Everybody else made theirs. They spent money on it. They glued things. You just showed up as it."

"And mine's the best one there every year." The eye on the side of her face looked at him, flat. "And I'm not the only one. The other inhumans do it too. Vampires. Werewolves. They all go out on Halloween."

Josh stared at her.

"Wait, what?"

"That's common knowledge."

"That's common knowledge for you," he said. "It's not common knowledge for me. Real vampires? Out there on Halloween, walking around with everybody?"

"Where did you think they went?"

"I didn't think they went anywhere! I didn't think about it at all!"

"Well, they go out." She scrolled on down the page of horns. "It's the best night of the year for it."

"So how do you tell which ones are real?"

"You can't." The eye up by her temple gave him a long look. "We can. Every inhuman carries essence, and we can always tell each other. I'd know a real one in that crowd straight away."

"So it's only us getting fooled."

"That's the whole point of Halloween, baby." She scrolled on. "Who do you think started it?"

"The Celts," Josh said. He does a Halloween page every year, and he knows this one. "Samhain. The night the wall between this world and the other one gets thin, and the spirits come through. So people dressed up as monsters, and the spirits couldn't tell them apart from the real ones."

"The spirits were us."

He looked at her.

"Your side wrote it down backwards," Luna said. "We started the dressing up. One night a year, everybody puts on a monster, and nobody looks twice at the ones who don't need to. It was never so we couldn't tell you apart from us. It was so you couldn't tell us apart from you."

She shrugged and went back to the horns.

He sat back in the chair. Every Halloween of his life there had been monsters out on the street, guys in rubber wolf masks and pale girls with fangs, and he had looked at every one of them as somebody in a costume. He had walked right past them. Some of them had been real. Some of those fangs had been teeth.

"So what are you going as?" he said. "This year."

That got her whole face round. The eye on the side of her head slid back across to where it lives, and she looked at him properly, with both eyes in the right places, and thought about it.

"I was going to keep it a surprise," she said.

"Come on," he said. "I've got nothing for the page. Give me something. I need inspiration."

She thought about that too. She tapped the phone against her chin.

"Fine," she said. "You can have a preview. Then you've got something to draw."

She put his phone face down on the desk beside the iPad, walked off across the living room into the bedroom, and shut the door behind her.

* * *

Josh turned his chair round to face the bedroom door. He picked up the iPad and held it on his knee with the stylus ready, because whatever came out of that room was going straight onto the page.

For a while nothing happened. Then there was a crack.

It was a deep, dry pop, like a knuckle only much bigger, and the pop came from low down behind the door, about where a hip would be. Another one came after it, and then a whole run of them going upward, pop pop pop, like somebody cracking their back one bone at a time all the way up to the neck. Then came a long, slow, wet sound that he knew from living with her, the sound of muscle being pulled somewhere it had never been asked to go. Something heavy shifted on the bedroom floor. The floorboards creaked under it.

Then it went quiet. In the quiet there was one more sound, small and soft, a long whisper of fabric, like a sheet being shaken out over a bed.

Josh was still listening for bones.

He had no idea what was going to come out of there, and that was the exciting part. It could be anything at all. It could be something cute and sexy, with ears and a tail and a short skirt, something he could draw in an afternoon that his readers would love. Or it could be an eldritch nightmare. Something with too many joints in its legs. Eyes where eyes don't go. A mouth that opened sideways. He has drawn a few of those too, around this time of year, and they always do well with a certain kind of reader, the kind who comments in all caps.

Would he even be scared?

He actually thought about it, sitting there with the iPad on his knee. If the door opened and something came out on too many legs, with no face on the front of its head, would he be scared of it? He decided no. He would look at it. It would still be Luna in there under all of it, still annoyed with him about the pumpkin. He would look at it for a while, and then he would ask how the legs worked.

The bedroom door opened, and a ghost came out.

It was a bedsheet. A plain white bedsheet with two holes cut in it for eyes, thrown over somebody's head and hanging down to the floor. That was the whole costume. It was the cheapest costume there is, the one people make out of their own bed when they forget it's Halloween.

Except the sheet was clinging to her.

It lay on her as if it was damp, close over everything. It went up and over the round tops of her boobs and stretched tight across the front of them, tucked in underneath them, and came in at her waist. It went out again over her hips, wide and smooth. When she turned a little in the doorway he could see the back of it too, going in at the small of her back and coming out again over her ass, drawn into the crack between her cheeks so that the cotton showed him the exact shape of each one. Below her hips it fell straight to the floor. Under the hem were two bare feet on the carpet. No shoes and no leggings. Just her feet.

She was tall in it. She is six foot three, and the round top of the ghost's head nearly touched the top of the doorframe.

And she had turned everything up. Around the flat she is all height and leg, with a medium chest she never bothers to do anything with. Under the sheet her boobs were enormous. Each one was bigger than his head, sitting high and round and pushing the cotton out a long way in front of her. Her waist went in so far that it looked like he could close his hands around it. Her hips went out wide below it, her ass at the back was big and round and heavy, and her thighs filled out the bottom of the sheet down to where her knees would be. It was a body nobody actually has. It was exactly the one he would have drawn.

Josh was low in his desk chair, looking up, and from down there he could see everything the sheet was doing. He could see where the cotton tucked in under her boobs, and the soft weight of her boobs sitting on top of that line. And right in the middle of each boob, pushing the cotton out into a small hard point, was a nipple.

That settled it. On an ordinary day she has no nipples at all. Her boobs are smooth all over, and she walks around the flat like that and sleeps like that, with nothing switched on. When her nipples are out, she has put them out for a reason.

The eye holes were dark. The light from the window didn't reach into them, and whatever face was in there was lost in the shadow of the cotton.

So that was what this was. She wanted sex. She hadn't said a word about it and she didn't need to, because nobody walks out of a bedroom in a sheet like that, with nothing under it and both nipples out, to show somebody a costume. His cock had worked it out before he had. It had gone hard in his jeans somewhere around the back of the sheet, and now it was pushing up against the underside of the iPad on his knee.

He breathed in. He breathed out. He got himself ready, as far as a man can get ready for this. He has been ambushed in this flat by the sofa and by the comforter, and he decided he could handle a ghost.

He knew this costume, too. Everybody did. It had gone round TikTok a while back: the sexy ghost. Girls with incredible bodies in a white sheet with two eye holes and, as far as anybody could tell, nothing underneath, posing for the camera with the cotton pulled tight in all the right places. It was a thirst trap with a costume for an excuse. He had seen a lot of them. He had seen some of them more than once.

She had been on his phone for days. She was copying it, and she was doing it right in front of him, with nothing under the sheet and both nipples out.

Under the sheet, a hand went to her hip, and her hip went out to meet it, the cotton pulling tight across the curve of it, exactly like the girls on TikTok do it.

"Boo," said Luna, very low.

It was the least scary thing he had ever heard.

"It's a sheet," he said.

"It's a ghost."

Her voice came out of the sheet, from somewhere behind the dark eye holes. It was a little muffled, like somebody talking through a pillowcase.

"It's a sheet with two holes in it," Josh said. "It's the most common costume there is. It's what people wear when they forgot it was Halloween."

"Do you know how much work went into this?"

"It's a sheet."

"Look at the hang of it." The ghost turned all the way round in the doorway, slowly, so he could look at the hang of it. He looked at the hang of it. "Look at the hem. It's level all the way round. It doesn't touch the floor anywhere. And look at the holes."

He looked at the holes.

"They're even," Luna said. "Do you know how hard it is to get the holes even?"

"The holes are good," he admitted.

"Thank you."

"It's still a sheet. You can turn into anything in the world, anything at all, and you picked the costume people make out of their bed." He pointed the stylus at her. "It's boring, Luna."

The ghost stood in the doorway and looked at him through two dark holes.

"You haven't seen it properly," she said.

"I can see plenty."

"You haven't seen the best part."

* * *

The front of the sheet lifted.

A hand did it. He saw the shape of a hand come down the front of the sheet under the cotton, just as a girl's hand would if she was in there, and take a fistful of the hem and lift it. It lifted the front of the sheet up off the carpet like the hem of a long skirt, slowly, past her ankles and past her shins. Everything else stayed exactly where it was. The boobs stayed up, the waist stayed in and the hips stayed wide, all of it held in the cotton as if somebody was still standing inside it. Josh leaned forward in the chair, because whatever was under there was about to be the best part of his afternoon.

Then her shins ended.

Just under where her knees should have been, her legs stopped being legs. The skin went pale, and then white, and then it took on a weave. It carried on up from there as cotton, the same white cotton as the rest of the sheet, so that her legs ran straight up into the cloth and became it.

Above that there was nothing.

The hand held the front of the sheet up at about the height of her waist, and he was looking straight up into it. It was empty. There were no knees in there, and no thighs, no pussy, no stomach and no boobs. There was nobody. It was the inside of a sheet, hollow all the way up to the round top of the head, holding the shape of a woman around no woman at all. The light from the room came in through the two eye holes at the top, and fell on nothing. Even the hand was empty. From underneath he could see the back of it, the cotton bunched into the shape of a fist around the hem, with no wrist behind it and no arm.

The inside was cotton too. He could see the weave of it. He could see the little bobbles where it had been washed too many times, and he knew those bobbles. She had copied them off his own bedsheet.

"How?" Josh said. It came out high. "How did you do that?"

"I'm the costume," said Luna.

Her voice came out of the empty sheet, from the empty head at the top of it, and it was extremely proud of itself.

"You're the..."

"I'm the cloth. All of it." The hem swung a little, to show him. "There's nobody in here, baby. There's just me."

* * *

Josh got off the chair.

He put the iPad down on the seat behind him and got down on his hands and knees on the carpet, and crawled across the living room and in under the lifted front of the sheet. There was no way he was going to look at this from the outside. He wanted to see how the legs went in. He wanted to see what was holding the whole thing up. He has drawn a great many girls turning into a great many things, and he has never once known how any of it would work from the inside.

Inside it was dim and warm. The sheet went up around him on every side, white and close, and the only light came in through the two eye holes high above him and through the gap behind him where the front was lifted. Two round spots of daylight sat in the white dark over his head. It smelled of her in there, the warm clean smell of her neck, coming from everywhere at once.

He put his hand flat on the inside wall.

The wall was cotton. It was exactly cotton, with the weave under his palm and the soft fuzz and even the bobbles. The cotton was also warm. It was as warm as her skin, as warm as her back against his chest in bed at night, and when he pressed on the wall, it pressed back a little, like a body would.

He looked up at the eye holes. He looked down at where her legs should be, at the bottom of the sheet, where the cotton came down into two smooth tubes and ended in her feet. He was already working out how to draw it.

Then, right in front of his face, two eyes opened in the cotton.

The cloth parted along two short lines like lids, a hand's width from his nose, and there were her eyes, brown, set into the white wall of the sheet with no face around them. They looked at him. While he looked back, her pupils changed. The black of each one pinched in at the top and split into two round lobes and ran down to a point, and then pink came up from the point and filled them solid. Two pink hearts in the middle of the brown, in a bedsheet.

"Careful, baby," said the sheet. "You could get stuck in here."

Josh knew exactly what that meant.

He started backing out. He went backward on his hands and knees as fast as he could, toward the gap and the living room and the daylight, and he got one foot out.

The front of the sheet came down.

The cotton hand let go, the hem dropped behind him, and before he could get the other foot out it folded in around both his ankles and pulled tight. The walls came in from both sides. The whole sheet came in at once, around his legs and his back and his arms, and he lost his balance and went over sideways with all of it.

They went down together onto the carpet. He landed on his back, and the sheet came down with him and settled over him, the whole ghost folding down on top of him from his feet to a little past his head. Then it tucked itself in under him on both sides, along his ribs and his hips and his legs, until he was lying on the living room floor in a closed white pocket of warm cotton. The two eye holes had ended up side by side above his chest. They let in two round coins of daylight, and the coins lay on his t-shirt.

"Oh no," said Luna, pleasant as anything. "Now you can't get out."

Josh lay there.

He thought about fighting it. He thought about the iPad on the chair, a long way off, with the white page still on it. He thought about how warm it was in here.

"Fine," he said. "I give up."

The sheet went quiet for a second. Luna checks now, before the freaky stuff. She knows what counts as freaky to a human, more or less, and she has gotten careful about going too far with it, although she has still gone too far quite a few times.

"So," she said. "Do you want to start, or do you want to--"

"Hold on. Is this vore?" he said.

That stopped her. The whole sheet went still around him. Her eyes had moved with the cloth when it came down, and now they were in the cotton just above his face, looking down at him. They blinked. Then a mouth opened in the cotton under them, and the rest of her face came up around the eyes and the mouth, a nose and cheeks and a chin, the white going to skin as it came, until Luna's face was there in the ceiling of the sheet a hand's width above his, with her hair still cotton.

"Is this what?"

"Vore." He tried to think how to put it. "It's a thing. On the sites I post on, there's a whole... People who want to get eaten. By a monster, or a giant girl, or a snake. Swallowed whole." He thought of the other one. "Or unbirth?"

"What's unbirth?"

"Same idea, but in through the pussy instead of the mouth." He made a small, unhappy movement with one hand under the cotton. "All the way in."

She looked at him for a long moment.

"I could do both," Luna said.

"I know you could."

"If I wanted. Either one, right now." She sounded like she was going down a list. "I don't get the first one, though. Why would anybody want to get eaten alive?"

"I don't know."

"I didn't even know that was a thing."

"I'm not into it," Josh said. "I'm not into either of them. I just want to know if that's what this is."

"The second one, though." Her face went thoughtful. "Through the pussy. That could be sexy."

He opened his mouth to explain how it was supposed to work. Then he shut it again, because she was already working it out for herself.

He watched her try to picture it. Her eyes went somewhere else, up and to one side, and he could almost see it happening behind them: a whole Josh, feet first, heading up into her pussy, and then his knees, and then his hips, and the rest of him going in after...

"No," said Luna. "No. I don't like that."

"Thank you."

"It's weird," she said. "Bigger things are good. Bigger and bigger, I like that. I'd do that all day." She frowned at nothing. "But a whole person? I pictured it and it all just died. It makes me look fat."

Josh laughed. The cotton tightened around him until he stopped.

"So what is this, then?" he said.

They both thought about it. He was lying on his back on the living room floor inside a bedsheet, and the bedsheet was her, and it was wrapped all the way around him and tucked in underneath. Nobody had swallowed anybody. Nobody had gone in through anything. He had crawled in.

"You crawled in," said Luna.

"You trapped me."

"You crawled in. And now I'm wrapped around you." The cotton over his chest pulled in a little closer to show him. "That's all it is."

"Luna wrapping around Josh," he said.

"Yes."

He thought about it some more, and it held up. It sounded like the title of a page.

Josh lay there in it, and the longer he lay there, the more questions he had.

He has drawn things like this. Every October somebody asks for a costume story: a girl finds a costume, puts it on, and the costume does the rest. He knows how those are supposed to go better than he knows his own address.

"This is wrong, though," he said.

"What is?" said Luna. Her face was still up there in the ceiling of the sheet, looking down at him, and she was smiling.

"The costume. When somebody gets inside a costume, the costume changes them. That's how it works. You put on the werewolf suit and you turn into a werewolf. I'm inside a ghost. I should be turning into a ghost by now."

"Oh, baby," said a mouth by his left ear. "You're not wearing me."

"I'm wearing you," said another one by his right, and it sounded delighted about it.

Josh turned his head one way and then the other. There was nothing on either side of him but cotton. Two mouths had opened in it, one beside each ear, close enough that he could feel them breathe, and they had split the sentence between them as if they had practiced it.

"Ghosts are cold," he said. "Everybody knows that. You walk into a cold spot in an old house, and that's a ghost. You're warm."

"Then I'm a bad ghost," said the mouth on his left.

"A very bad ghost," said the mouth on his right, low, right into his ear. "The worst one you've ever met."

"And how do you see out? The eye holes are up there, and your eyes are down here with me."

"I don't need the holes." This one came from underneath him, out of the floor of the sheet under his back, and he felt the words through his shoulder blades. "The holes are for you, baby. So you can watch."

"So which one of these is you? Where are you, actually?"

"All of it," said all of them at once, and all of them were laughing at him.

He had a lot more questions after that. He didn't get to ask any of them.

Something moved against his hip.

It was a hand. The hand came up out of the floor of the sheet beside him, out of the cotton tucked in under his side, and at first it was a hand made of sheet, white, with the weave still in it, the fingers bunching the cloth up as they came. Then the color came in. The color started at the fingertips and ran back over the knuckles, and the weave went smooth under it, and by the time the wrist was out it was her hand, pale and warm, coming up out of a bedsheet on the living room floor and going for the button of his jeans.

A second hand came up out of the cotton on his other side.

Between them they got the button undone, and then the zip, and then they took hold of his jeans and his boxers together by the waistband and pulled. The jeans stuck on his hips. He lifted his hips to help, and his knees hit the ceiling of the sheet, which was a lot closer than he had thought, and it gave a little against them, warm. The hands dragged everything down to his knees. Two more hands came out of the cotton down by his feet and took over from there. They pulled the jeans and the boxers down over his ankles and off, and he heard them land in a heap somewhere past his feet, down in the toe of the sheet.

His cock came free and stood up into the dark. The cotton above it was close, close enough that when he breathed in, the head of his cock touched the ceiling of the sheet, and the sheet was warm against it.

"There he is," said Luna, from three places at once, and every one of them sounded thrilled.

Then two more hands came out of the cloth up past his head and took hold of his t-shirt.

They pulled it up. They got it up over his stomach and up to his armpits with no trouble at all, and then over his face, and then it stuck. The neck of it caught on his chin. His arms went up over his head inside the sleeves and stayed there, and for a while he was a man lying in a bedsheet with his own t-shirt over his face and his arms tied up in it.

"Hang on," he said, into the t-shirt.

"I've been hanging on all afternoon," said a mouth somewhere near his ribs. "Your turn."

The hands pulled, and his ears folded flat, and the t-shirt came off over the top of his head and went away up into the dark past his hair.

He lay there naked on his back, breathing hard, in a close white pocket of warm cotton with two spots of daylight on his chest.

Then the spots of daylight started to move.

Up in the ceiling of the sheet, the eye holes were sliding. They drifted down along the cotton toward his feet, side by side, and the two round coins of light went with them, down off his chest and over his stomach, slowly, until they stopped on his cock. They sat there, one on the head of his cock and one on the shaft just under it, and lit it up in the white dark like something on a stage.

She was looking at it. He could see exactly what she was looking at, because she had put a light on it.

His cock jumped in the light.

"Look at that," said a mouth by his ear, and it was practically purring. "All lit up for me. Best costume in the room."

Somewhere in the cotton, more than one mouth laughed.

Then her face came down.

It had been up in the ceiling of the sheet the whole time, watching the hands work, and now the cotton around it stretched and let it down toward him, slowly, until her nose was nearly touching his nose. Her hair was still cotton, spread out into the ceiling all around her face. Her mouth was very much a mouth, and it was smiling.

"Hi," she said, against his lips. "Still bored?"

"I never said I was bored. I said the costume was boring."

"Mm," said Luna. "We'll see."

She kissed him.

It was a long, slow, open kiss, with her tongue in his mouth and her lips warm on his, and the cotton all around the edges of her face pressed down on his forehead and his jaw as she leaned in. He kissed her back. He got a hand up to her face, and his fingers found her cheek and then the place by her ear where her skin went back into cloth, smooth skin running into the weave with no seam between them.

Then the hands came back, the pair that had done his jeans, up out of the floor of the sheet on either side of his ribs. They spread out flat over his chest. There was a slit down the middle of each palm, and as each palm came down over one of his nipples, the slit opened into a mouth.

The palm mouths took his nipples, both at once, wet and warm. Lips closed around each nipple and a tongue flicked across the tip, and then they sucked. His nipples have always been the weak spot, and she has never once been fair about it. His back came up off the floor of the sheet, his whole body tried to curl up around his chest, and her mouth held his down in the kiss, so the noise he made went into her instead of out.

"He always does that," said the mouth by his left ear, to the mouth by his right.

"Every single time," said the right one. "I love it."

That was when the mouth on his cock arrived.

The ceiling of the sheet came down over his hips. He felt it before he understood it: warm cotton pressing down onto his cock and then shaping itself around the head of his cock, and the cotton turning into lips. It was a mouth. It was another mouth, a long way down from the one that was kissing him, and it opened and took his cock in. The head of his cock went into wet heat. Her tongue came up under it and pressed. Then the mouth slid down his cock, slowly, all the way, until her lips were at the base and his whole cock was in her mouth, and she hummed around it, a long happy hum that he felt all the way down to his balls.

Josh made a noise into her mouth. Her mouth smiled against his.

He wanted to look. He wanted, very badly, to look. He wanted to see where the mouth on his cock came out of the sheet, whether there was a chin under it, whether there was a throat, how far the skin went before it turned back into cotton. That is what he always wants: the slow part, the looking part, the part where he gets to work out how it goes. He started to lift his head.

The face above him pushed it back down with a kiss.

"Where's the rest of you?" he said, against her mouth.

"Everywhere," Luna said, and he could hear how much she was enjoying saying it. "Go on. Try and find the end of me."

He got a hand up to try. The hands that had taken his t-shirt came back for his wrists. They came up out of the cotton above his head and closed around both his wrists and pinned them there, over his head, on the floor of the sheet.

"No hands," she said. "You'll only try and look."

They held him easily.

So there was her face above his face, kissing him. There were mouths in her palms on both his nipples. There was a mouth on his cock, going up and down now, slowly, all the way to the base each time, with the two spots of daylight riding up and down on it. There were hands holding his wrists over his head. All of it was coming out of one bedsheet, from above him and below him and both sides of him at once, and there was nobody in the middle of it at all. There was only him.

Then the light went out.

The eye holes closed. The two coins of daylight on his cock shrank to two points and were gone, and it was dark in the sheet, so dark that it made no difference whether his eyes were open. Her face went back up into the cotton, out of the kiss. The palm mouths let go of his nipples. The mouth on his cock slid off him and was gone too, and for a second nothing was touching him at all except the hands on his wrists. He lay there in the dark with his cock standing up into nothing, wet and cold where her mouth had been.

Then the mouths started.

One opened on the side of his neck, under his ear, and kissed him there, slowly, with a lot of tongue. One opened on the inside of his left thigh, high up, right beside his balls, and sucked. Another one was on his ribs. Another one was behind his right knee, of all places, licking the soft skin there, and it turned out the back of his knee was something he had never known about himself. They kept coming. Mouths opened all over him in the dark, on his hip and his stomach and the inside of his elbow, everywhere the cotton touched him, and every one of them was kissing or licking or sucking, and he couldn't see a single one. He never knew where the next one would be. He would feel one start on his shoulder, and then two more would open at once on the insides of both his thighs.

None of them went near his cock. There were mouths all over him, dozens of them, and his cock stood up on its own in the dark in the middle of them all, twitching every time a new one opened.

"Luna," he said.

"You're shaking," said the mouth on his neck, delighted.

"Already," said the one on his thigh. "And nobody's even touched your cock yet."

"Look at it," said another one, somewhere down by his hip. "Standing up all on its own. Poor thing."

"Can you just..." He didn't know how to finish it. Slow down, he wanted to say, or put the light back, or let me see. He wanted to know where each one was going to be before it happened.

"No," said the mouth behind his knee, and every mouth on him laughed at once, all over his body, a laugh he could feel on his skin. "You don't get to see it coming, baby. That's the whole costume."

The light came back.

The eye holes opened again, up by his head this time, and two spots of daylight came sliding down across his face. All over him the mouths closed up, one after another, and were gone. Then the walls around his head started to move.

They pushed in toward him. On his left and his right and above the top of his head, the cotton bulged out in round soft shapes and turned to skin as it came, the white going pale and warm, and they were boobs. There was a whole ring of boobs around his head. They were the costume size, every one of them heavy and round with a hard pink nipple at the end of it, and they pressed in on him from every side at once. Two lay against his left cheek and two against his right, and two more came down over his forehead from above, and behind each pair he could feel another pair crowding in for room. They were warm and soft and they smelled of her. When he turned his head, there was nowhere to turn it that wasn't boobs.

He made a noise he was not proud of. Boobs have always been the first thing on his list, and they always will be, and she had lined the inside of a bedsheet with them.

"Thought you'd like that," said Luna, from somewhere among them, extremely smug. "Costume size. Every single one of them is for you."

Then two of them closed over his face.

The pair above his forehead slid down, the pair on his cheeks pressed in, and her boobs met over his face and sealed. Soft hot skin closed over his eyes and his nose and his mouth and pressed together all around his head, until there was no light and no gap anywhere. Every sound in the sheet went away. All that was left was a slow, heavy thump coming through her boobs into both his ears, and it took him a second to work out that it was her heart. He breathed in, and what he breathed was the warm air between her boobs. He breathed out, and it came back to him off her skin.

He lay in it. He could have lain in it for an hour.

She gave him a few seconds.

Then her boobs opened, the light and the sound came back, and the whole ring of them drew back into the walls.

"Breathe, baby," she said. "You're going to need it."

Her thighs came out instead. They came out of the walls on either side of his head, one from the left and one from the right, at the height of his ears, long and thick and bare. The cotton turned to skin as the thighs came, white going warm, and they were heavy with muscle. Her thighs closed in on his head from both sides. They folded his ears flat and kept on coming, until his whole head was held between her thighs from his jaw to his temples, and then she squeezed. All the sound went again. This time what he heard was her pulse in the insides of her thighs, fast, and his own blood.

The thighs eased off just enough to let one of his ears come unfolded.

"Still boring?" said Luna.

"No."

"Say it properly."

"It's not boring. It's the best costume I've ever seen."

"Better," she said, and her thighs closed on him again.

Between her thighs, the ceiling came down.

It came down right where her thighs met over his face, pushing down toward him in a round heavy shape, and he knew that shape. It was her ass. It came down out of the ceiling as cotton and turned to skin right over his face, two big round cheeks with the crack between them, and under the crack the skin was already doing something else.

She was making a pussy. He watched her do it, right over his mouth. A seam came up through the smooth skin and deepened into a crease, and the crease drew apart into lips that thickened and rolled out, and pink flooded up into all of it from underneath. The wet came last, all at once, and a drop of it gathered at the bottom of her new pussy and fell on his lip.

She came while she was making it. She always does with a fresh pussy. Her thighs jumped around his head and clamped, and somewhere up in the cotton she let out a long, happy moan that didn't care who heard it.

"Mm. That's one," she said, when she could talk again. "You're keeping count, right? Somebody should."

The whole sheet had clenched around him when she came, everywhere at once. When it let go, it didn't let go all the way. The cotton stayed a little closer on his arms and his ribs and his legs than it had been before, holding him a little more firmly, as if she was excited and had forgotten to let go.

Then she sat on his face. Her ass came down over his forehead and his eyes, her new pussy came down on his mouth, hot and open and wet, and her thighs held his head still underneath it. He licked her. He did it because it was the only thing left to do and because he wanted to, and her pussy was so new that every lick made her thighs jump.

"Oh, there," she sighed. "Right there. Don't you dare stop."

Down at his cock, the mouth came back.

It came down out of the ceiling over his hips, the same as before, and took his cock in, all the way to the base in one long slide, and sucked. Her pussy was on his face and her mouth was on his cock, and it took him a second to understand what that made it.

"Sixty-nine," said a mouth by his ear, unbearably pleased with itself. "With nobody in the middle. Put that on your page."

There was a pussy at one end of him and a mouth at the other, and between them there was no body at all, only cotton, and him.

Then the mouth on his cock let go, and something else took its place.

It was the sheet. The ceiling of the sheet came down around his cock and closed on it, a soft white tube of cotton wrapped around his cock from the base to the head, snug and dry. It was cotton on his cock: the fuzz of it, and the weave dragging very slightly over the head of his cock whenever it moved. Then it did move. It slid up and down his cock, a sleeve made out of bedsheet, and he had never had anything like it on his cock in his life.

Then it got warm.

It got warmer, and then it was damp, and the dry drag of the cotton went slick. He felt the inside of the sleeve change around his cock while he was still in it. The weave went smooth. The inside of it went soft and thick and closed in on him, ridges came up along it from the base of his cock to the head, and the slick turned to wet, real wet, running down over his balls. By the time it slid down his cock again, the sleeve was gone, and in its place was a pussy. It was her pussy, hot and tight and brand new, with his cock in it from the head to the base, and a few seconds ago it had been a bedsheet.

"Feel that?" she breathed in his ear. "You're fucking my costume, baby."

She came on it. Of course she did. Her new pussy was as fresh as they come, and the whole of it clamped down on his cock at once, and up on his face her other pussy clamped on his tongue at the same moment.

"Two," she gasped, and then she laughed, breathless and delighted. "Oh, I love this costume."

Two pussies, one on his face and one on his cock, both of them hers and both of them squeezing.

The sheet clenched with her again, everywhere at once, and this time when it let go it let go even less. The cotton lay snug on him now, firm on his ribs every time he breathed in.

She lifted the pussy off his face, just far enough for him to get a breath, and while he was still dragging it in she made it again. He watched it happen right over his mouth. Her lips sank back into the skin and smoothed over, and then the seam came up again, and the crease, and the lips rolled out fresh and pink, and the wet arrived all at once. Then her new pussy came back down on his mouth.

She came before he had even licked her new pussy.

"Three," sang the mouth by his ear. "And how many is that for you, baby?"

"I'm..." He was on none. He had his cock in one of her pussies and his face in another, and he hadn't come once. "I'm getting there."

"None? Oh, you poor thing." She didn't sound sorry at all. She sounded like she was having the best afternoon of her life. "Keep up, baby."

The sheet clenched again, and it let go less again. It was holding him properly now, wrapped tight around his arms and his legs and his ribs, and he liked it. He liked being held like that. He only noticed that it was getting harder to breathe all the way in.

Then all of it came together.

The pussy on his face lifted away and sank back into the ceiling. Her thighs let go of his head and went back into the walls. Her face came back down out of the cotton above him, and this time it kept on coming. Behind it came her neck, and her shoulders, and her arms. Her stomach came down onto his stomach and her hips came down onto his hips, and the pussy on his cock stayed right where it was while the rest of her arrived around it, until it was simply her pussy, between her legs, with her whole weight on top of it. Her whole body came down on top of him, warm and heavy and full length. It was a woman lowering herself out of a ceiling of cotton.

Her back stayed in the sheet. All the way along her shoulders and down her spine, her skin ran back up into the cotton above them, so that she was hanging from it and lying on him at the same time. Her legs went down past his, long, and somewhere past his feet they turned back into cloth too. The hands on his wrists stayed where they were.

She is nine inches taller than him, and lying on him like this, with her hips on his hips, her boobs were right over his face. She pressed them down onto it. His face went in between her boobs, soft and hot on both sides of his nose, and her nipples brushed his cheeks.

"There you are," she said, over his head. She sounded very happy to see him.

Then she made her pussy new again, around him, while his cock was still in it.

He felt the whole inside of her pussy go smooth around his cock, every ridge sinking flat at once, and then build itself back up fresh, ridge by ridge from the base of his cock to the head, closing in on him tighter than before. She came while she did it. Her whole body jumped on him.

"Four," she said, over his head, and it came out ragged, and she laughed at herself for it.

The sheet clenched with her, and this time it barely let go at all.

She couldn't ride him. There was no room for it, with the ceiling of the sheet right there above her back and part of her back, and no space to sit up. So she barely moved at all. Her hips stayed where they were, pressed down on his. It was her pussy that moved. The inside of it started working on his cock by itself, rolling along the length of him, squeezing and letting go, over and over, as if she was grinding on him while the rest of her lay still. She tipped her head down to look at him past her boobs, and she looked extremely satisfied with herself, like somebody who had just solved a problem.

"Look at that," she said. "I don't even have to move. I could do this all day."

Then hands came up out of the floor of the sheet underneath him.

They came up under his ass, one under each cheek, and grabbed hold. Every time her pussy rolled along his cock, they pushed his ass up into it, so that his cock went deeper into her pussy than she could have gotten it by moving.

The mouth by his ear was still there.

"Look at you," it said, very close, almost purring. "Wrapped up in me from your toes to your hair, and nowhere to go." Then, lower, warmer, right against his ear: "Best Halloween I've ever had."

He couldn't look at anything. His face was in her boobs and his wrists were held over his head. There were hands on his ass and a mouth at his ear, and her pussy was working his cock from the inside, and all of it was her. She was above him and under him and on both sides of him at once. Every direction he could have moved in, she was already there.

She went faster.

The rolling inside her pussy got shorter and harder. Her pussy squeezed his cock on every roll, the grip running up the length of him from the base to the head, and the hands under his ass pulled him up into her pussy harder every time. The mouth at his ear was breathing hard now, and so was the one over his head. The walls of the sheet came in closer on both sides, warm cotton pressing against his arms and his ribs and his legs, as if the whole sheet was holding on.

He could feel it coming. A weight gathered low down behind his balls and sat there, getting heavier. His hips were pushing up into her on their own now, the hands under his ass were helping them, and every time his cock went up into her pussy the weight got heavier and his balls drew up tighter.

"Luna," he said, into her tits. "Luna, I'm..."

"I know, baby," said the mouth at his ear. "Come on. Give it to me."

Then she came again, the biggest one yet, and nobody counted it. Every mouth she had left in the sheet cried out at once, the one over his head and the one at his ear and others he hadn't known were there, one long loud sound coming at him from everywhere. The whole sheet came with her. It started in her pussy. Her pussy clamped down on his cock, hard, all at once, from the base to the head, and then it rippled, a long rolling squeeze going up the length of his cock and back down. Her thighs locked on his hips. Her boobs pressed down on his face. And then every part of the sheet tightened at the same moment: the walls on both sides of him, the floor under him, the cotton over his feet and around his legs and along his ribs. All of it clamped in around him at once, as tight as a fist, so that for one long second he was held completely still from his toes to the top of his head, with her pussy squeezing his cock.

That did it for him.

He felt it go past the point where it could be stopped, a drop in his stomach and everything drawing up tight behind his balls. Then he came. The first pulse went up through his cock and out into her pussy, hot, hard enough that his whole body jerked against the hold of the sheet and went nowhere at all. The second was bigger. Her pussy worked him through it and squeezed it out of him, and the third and the fourth came close together, every one of them pumping up out of his cock into her while the sheet held him still. Her pussy kept rippling around his cock the whole time, milking it, until there was nothing left in his balls to come and his hips were still jerking at nothing.

He made a sound into her boobs that he would rather nobody had heard.

The sheet didn't let go.

She was still coming. He could feel it going through her, wave after wave of it, and every wave squeezed the sheet a little tighter than the one before. The cotton pressed in on his ribs until he couldn't get a breath in past it. It squeezed his arms in against his head, where the hands still had his wrists, and pressed his knees together. Her boobs were mashed down over his face, and the walls kept coming in. It was too tight. It was much too tight, tighter than she had ever held him, and the whole sheet was shaking with it.

"Luna," he tried to say. Nothing came out.

Then the sheet let go of him all at once.

It went from a fist to nothing in an instant, with all the force of the squeeze still in it, and it threw him out. He shot out sideways from under the hem, slid across the carpet on his bare back and stopped against the leg of the sofa, out in the cold air of the living room, naked and dragging in breath.

Behind him the sheet was still moving.

He rolled onto his side and watched it. The empty sheet lay heaped on the carpet where he had been, and it was pulling itself in. The cotton drew together from the edges and rose off the floor into a long shape, and the shape was a woman lying on her back. The white went out of it from the middle. Her color came in behind it, warm and pale, spreading out toward the edges until there were no edges left. The weave went smooth. Her hair came out of the cotton at the top, black, and spilled across the carpet. Her arms came free, and then her legs, long and bare all the way down to her feet.

Everything she had turned up for the costume came back down. Her boobs went back to their own medium size, and her waist and her hips went back to her own. Then even her nipples went. They sank back into her boobs and smoothed over, until she was lying there in her own shape with nothing switched on, as if she was putting everything away at once.

It took a long time. He watched all of it.

Then it was just Luna, lying naked on her back on the living room carpet, just out of his reach, breathing as hard as he was.

For a while neither of them said anything. They both just breathed.

Then Luna pushed her hair off her face and said, very casually, "Well. That was the preview."

"That was the preview?"

"Preview's over." She was looking at the ceiling. "You've got your page."

Her voice was fine. It was perfectly flat and perfectly normal, and Josh lay there and looked at her and knew something was off anyway. He couldn't have said what it was. She wasn't looking at him. She was lying very still, which she never does, and she had put everything away, and the casual thing in her voice was a little too casual, as if she was hoping he wouldn't ask.

He didn't ask. He didn't know what he would have asked. He crawled over to her across the carpet and lay down against her side, and he wrapped himself around her as far as he could. His arm went across her stomach. His leg went over both of hers, and only reached as far as her knees. He put his head on her shoulder and held on.

"What are you doing?" said Luna.

"I'm wrapped around you," he said. "This time."

That did it. He felt it go through her. Her whole body went stiff against him, and then she was talking, fast, much faster than she ever talks.

"It's nothing. What are you doing? It's fine. I'm fine. You don't have to do that, it's nothing, it was a preview, I said it was a preview, it's not a thing, Josh, it's--"

He held on. He didn't know what she was talking about, and he didn't need to. He kept his arm across her and his leg over hers and his face against her shoulder, and he held on.

She ran out of words.

For a long moment she lay stiff in his arms. Then she let out a breath, a long one, all the way out, and the stiffness went out with it. She turned onto her side to face him, and her arms came around him, both of them, her own two arms and nothing else, and she pulled him in against her chest and held on too.

They lay there on the living room floor for a long time.

"Your page," she said eventually, into his hair. "The iPad's still on the chair."

"You're more important," Josh said.