American Blue by Penny Birch

course he knows which side his bread’s buttered. The girls take turns to give him blow-jobs.’
    The remark was made absolutely casually, and might even have been a joke. There was no suggestion that we had to get involved, and yet for the first time I thought I saw a flicker of distaste cross Jemima’s face. I gave her a sympathetic look, wondering if I might not have found a chink in her armour. Hudson took no notice, but offered to show us around.
    His flat was impressively large, taking up half of the top floor, with views across Manhattan and in some directions beyond, although a great many far taller buildings surrounded us, giving the impression that we were still pretty much at street level. He began to point out various landmarks, but Jemima had already had her fill of the New York skyline and quickly interrupted.
    ‘Can I get into my outfit?’
    ‘Sure,’ he answered, ‘it’s through here, in the team room.’
    He pushed open the door of one of the many rooms we’d not yet been into. It was halfway between a gym and a dressing room, with a polished wood floor, various exercise machines arranged around an open space, a row of lockers and four tables set against a huge mirror. Somebody had evidently been there, because there was a hint of perfume in the air and some of the make-up littered round had obviously been used recently.
    ‘Here we are,’ Hudson said, opening a locker, ‘made to measure.’
    Jemima gave a squeal of delight and reached for the costume. The shorts and bra top were ordinary enough, merely vulgar, but the mask was bizarre, made up like the upper part of a rabbit’s face, with two huge ears sticking up from the top, erect for the first foot or so and then flopping forward. Stiff nylon whiskers stuck out on either side of an upturned nose, all yellow, as were the insides of the ears, while the rest of it was baby pink. All that was bad enough, but the blank eye-holes made it look positively sinister.
    ‘I don’t suppose any of them would fit me?’ I asked, praying the answer would be no.
    ‘I’ll get one made up,’ Hudson promised. ‘My tailor’s good. Jewish guy, can do anything your imagination can come up with.’
    ‘No, really, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’
    ‘It’s no trouble, and besides, you’re in the reserves, so you need an outfit.’
    I shrugged, telling myself it was no worse than some of the costumes I’d been put in over the years, but not convinced. While we’d been talking Jemima had stripped off with record-breaking speed and was now pulling on her outfit. Even without the mask it looked like something drawn from some dirty old man’s fantasy, which of course it was. On top, the pink fur made it seem as if she had even less chest than usual, which somehow managed to make it look more obscene than had she been busty. The shorts were tiny, encasing her bottom and hips so snugly that the outline of her pussy showed at the front, while at least half her cheeks were spilling out on either side behind. Her tail was disproportionately large, a big yellow puffball sticking out above her bottom at a jaunty angle and bobbing as she moved.
    Yellow socks and pink trainers completed the outfit, but there were two details Hudson hadn’t mentioned. The bra top had the word ‘Tribeca’ picked out in yellow across the breasts, while the shorts had ‘Tails’ on the back, worked in so that the letters followed the curves of the bottom, but that was just one more touch to the overall ghastliness of the thing. Far worse was the carefully sewn slit running from a few inches beneath the tail right round to the front, which was obviously designed to be pulled open for the insertion of a cock into the wearer’s body, or in this case a strap-on dildo.
    She put the head on and the full appalling effect was revealed, although she was cooing in delight as she admired herself in the mirror, making her bunny nose wrinkle and sticking her bottom out to admire the