© Copyright 2006 - AmyAmy - Used by permission
Storycodes: MM/f; latex; cons/nc; X
Little Shop of Rubber 2 by AmyAmy MM/f; latex; cons/nc; X
This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters portrayed here to real people living or deceased is entirely coincidental. The author retains all rights to this work, except in allowing that it may be archived and distributed for non-commercial purposes, providing all text remains intact, including this notice.
This story deals with 'adult' themes of a highly sexual nature that some may find disturbing, including 'fetishism'; bondage; domination; sex acts that may be considered non-consensual; use of sex-toys; bizarre erotic costumes; sexual transformations; and may do so in an unrealistic and fantastical manner. If you find such topics disturbing, or if it is illegal for you to read about them, stop reading here.
The Little Shop of Rubber - Part 2
As Amy was about to reach for her keys, the door opened, and her friend Celia’s wannabe DJ boyfriend stepped out into the half-dark carrying his mountain bike. He gave Amy a smug grin as he pushed past her. Amy wondered if he could see, or even feel the rubber she was wearing and blushed furiously. She stamped into the hall without looking back and slammed the door behind her.
Normally Amy would have showered before going out. She dreamed of soaking in the bath, but sharing the house with three other young women made that a practical impossibility on a Saturday evening. Tonight she’d have to make do with washing the bits she could get to and a thorough facial. There wasn’t a lot of time anyway, despite Dehlia’s best intentions it was almost seven. She made herself an instant coffee and headed upstairs, where she’d left her bags. She put her new things away while she finished her coffee. She knew she was thinking of things to do to put off the moment when she’d have to go to the toilet.
Amy sat on the toilet bowl, listening to the shower running next door through the bathroom wall. Both her hands were busy holding up the dress. She felt nervous and she couldn’t pee. If it went on much longer, she might as well give up. Instead of urine, another kind of wetness seemed to be on the way. Amy rubbed at her nipples through the rubber, hastily bringing them to attention. Her hand felt good against her crotch, touching the hot, wet slippery rubber. How good it would feel when she let it touch there, and another place, yes. Amy gasped for air as her slippery fingers brushed her clit.
It’s like a river down there, thought Amy to herself. She circled her fingers in the firm but gentle way that she knew would bring her off, usually sooner than later. She slid the slippery hand up her front, circling her nipples, and then bringing her dirty fingers to her mouth. She didn’t mind the salty taste, and she liked to be reminded what she was made of. She jammed her other hand down into her pussy, and was soon rubbing furiously at her clit. Oh no, I’m going to be raw, thought Amy. Knowing didn’t stop her, and she couldn’t help herself as she came in quiet little gasps – afraid that she’d be heard through the wall.
Amy looked down and discovered that her dress was covered in smears left by her slippery fingers that were rapidly drying into crusty trails. She sighed, and cursed her stupidity, while doing her best to clean them off with toilet roll. Finally relaxed, she managed to urinate. It felt a little strange wiping her rubber-clad crotch. No, thought Amy, not strange, but sexy. Yes, very. Nervously she dashed from the toilet to her room, and used the washbasin there to clean her dress properly, finally polishing it with a towel.
She met her friends in Henry’s Cat: a trendy pub that couldn’t quite decide if it was a wine bar. There was no doubt that everyone noticed her clothes. The bondage jokes were embarrassing at first, but she soon learned not to listen. Vodka and orange preceded Bacardi and coke. The coke turned into the real thing in the bathroom. After that, Amy didn’t care what anyone else thought she was wearing. She felt like the goddess of slick, plastic coated dance perfection and the night was just beginning.
Amy couldn’t even remember how she ended up inside Vision, the rip-off of a Designer’s Republic logo shining away above her somewhere. Somehow, she’d managed to buy herself a handful of pills. She wasn’t really sure what they were, and she didn’t really care. Nothing she could do could possibly go wrong now. The sweat was pouring off her, and the tightness of her dress was sliding over her skin, so smooth, so exciting.
It was only a matter of time before she found herself dancing with fit looking hunk that’s she’d seen before a couple of times. Maybe she’d exchanged a few words with him a week or two ago, she couldn’t remember for sure. She hoped that soon they’d be moving off into a darker corner to rub a little closer together. She liked to brush up against him on the dance floor, to let him feel her body through the rubber. It felt so good, brushing against the hardness of his well-defined muscles, and besides, he seemed to like it. He seemed to like it a lot.
In the shadows behind a speaker stack, his mouth met hers, both their ears almost bleeding from the sound. She hitched up her dress, sliding her leg higher up his side, letting him feel the smooth rubber. Soon she had both legs around him, but he pressed her away so he could pop open his fly. Strong hands gripped her, one squeezing her breasts through the rubber.
The muted sensations were different to what she was used to, and the difference was exciting. The rubber added a delicacy to even the most clumsy, brutal stimulation: a tantalizing, frustrating sensation. Just the idea of being pushed to the brink but denied satisfaction was making her so wet, so hungry. It didn’t matter how desperate and hard her nipples became; they couldn’t escape the enveloping rubber.
Amy felt the man’s hands pressing her down, pushing her down on her knees. She couldn’t bring herself to resist, and she knew she wouldn’t have succeeded anyway. She knew what was expected of her. She took the rock hard cock in her mouth, and immediately a powerful grip pressed her head to his groin. Amy nearly gagged on the hot, engorged member, nearly panicked and choked. She managed to keep control of herself in time.
She was doing her best to give him pleasure; make him come; make him spurt his hot white jism into her mouth. It wasn’t easy; he kept jerking his hips around, or pressing her head back and forth. There was no doubt that he was the one in control, and Amy found herself enjoying the idea more than she usually would. She tried to work with her tongue when she could, but there weren’t many chances. She tried to swallow as much of his penis as she could, but the angle wasn’t right, and in any case she wouldn’t dare try that: she was so terrified of choking.
Even with the clumsy efforts, the awkward situation, he still seemed to be enjoying it. He’d better make the best of it, thought Amy. It can’t be often that he has a rubber clad slut on her knees in front of him, she pondered. Circumstances distracted her from trying to figure out the implications of her ‘slut’ thought, or no doubt she would have been thinking about that when her mind should have been more focussed on what was happening.
Amy couldn’t help but focus when she felt a pair of hands grasp her breasts from behind. She knew it couldn’t be the man she was sucking: his hands were knotted into her hair. Somebody she couldn’t see had grabbed her! She tried to turn to see who it was, but the hands in her hair wouldn’t let her move. She tried to call out, but the cock muffled her words, and nobody could ever have heard her loudest scream over the throb of the music.
For an instant, Amy lingered on the brink of a decision. She wondered if she should resist – hard – or whether she should go along with whatever was happening and make the best of it and enjoy it if she could. She knew at that instant that the rubber, the drugs and the alcohol didn’t matter. Despite those things, she still had the power to decide. Her future teetered on the balance, and then she knew how it was going to play out.
She let herself relax into the controlling grip, and worked her tongue on the cock in her mouth. She let the foreign hands knead her tits through the relentlessly tight grip of her rubber dress. The erotic sensation of giving herself up to the unknown overwhelmed her unexpectedly. She almost came just from the idea of it. She could swear that her juices were practically gushing out of her, dribbling out of her pussy lips, and then onto the rubber where she couldn’t feel it any more.
Amy wondered if the man behind her could see the streams of pussy juice running down her rubber tights. She assumed it was a man behind her, but she didn’t know for sure. That was so good. Amy wondered if she would prefer the ‘other’ to be a woman. That was very strange: she’d never thought like that before. She didn’t wonder for long though, the other wasn’t about to allow her that luxury.
Her attention was grabbed, firmly and rather sharply as the strong fingers pinched hard at her nipples, each in turn and then both together. That hurt, but the cruel twisting that followed hurt more. She loved it. Amy whimpered unheard into the musky groin of the stranger, not from the pain but from an excess of pleasure. It was excess made greater by the knowledge that it was obtained in a forbidden way. It would only be later that Amy would have the opportunity to reflect on how what gave her pleasure was in such contradiction to how she knew she was supposed to feel.
Amy couldn’t believe that the man whose crotch was in her face was taking so long to come. In her experience blowjobs lasted a few minutes at most, and this one seemed to be taking forever. Perhaps it was just an illusion. Most of Amy’s attention was on the roving hands though: they were circling her nipples, and the muted sensations transmitted to her through the rubber were maddening. She was getting to the stage where she wanted more, a lot more, and harder.
A stranger’s fingers dragged down her belly, making her spasm. Then they were lifting her ass up and peeling back her dress. Her ass had been resting on her feet as she knelt to suck, but now her bottom was being pulled up. She complied with the simple physical directions by sliding her knees back a little, and hanging onto the stranger in front’s waistband with both hands to help support her head.
Amy could feel that her dress had been peeled up, and that her rubberised ass had been exposed by a cool draught and a reduction in the tightness around that area. Then she felt someone sliding their knees between her legs and underneath her, helping to support her at a proper height to suck cock. The hands eased her down, and she felt something long and hard sliding easily into her as she descended. In a moment she was impaled on a rock hard cock, and with four hands holding her there was no chance of escape.
For a horrifying instant, she couldn’t tell if the man behind her was using a condom, but as the cock moved inside her, she was able to convince herself that she was protected. Amy was covered in rubber and filled with cock from both ends, and even if she wasn’t capable of analysing it, there was no way she could ignore her situation.
She came almost straight away. The stranger behind just let her ride for a while, but soon put the merciless roving hands to work on her breasts, on the insides of her thighs, on the back of her neck, and down her spine. Like the heroine of the pornographic stories she’d secretly read as a teenager in her step-brother’s closet, she couldn’t help but orgasm again, and again. Controlled and invaded she was helpless in the throes of her ecstasy.
Almost before Amy knew it, the stranger behind slipped out from beneath her and was gone. She wondered if the hands would return, but they didn’t. Instead, the man in front of her ejaculated a hot stream of cum forcefully into her mouth. She swallowed back the thick sticky stuff, barely able to distinguish the taste at the time. As he stepped back, he wiped his softening member across her face, streaking her with a sticky track.
While he popped closed the buttons on his fly Amy looked around for the other, but there was nobody close behind her and no way of telling who it could have been amongst the crowd. Relieved that nobody seemed to be watching her, Amy dragged herself to her feet by clinging onto the massive speaker stack. She could feel the vibration of the music numbing her fingers.
Her mouth was full of the bittersweet taste of semen, and no amount of licking and swallowing would make it go away. She could feel the unpleasant sensation of the stream of cum smeared across the thick makeup on her face. She could feel it already drying to a horrid, snot-like stickiness. She silently cursed the bastard for doing that to her. For some reason it was a thousand times more humiliating than been fucked from behind by an unseen stranger, or the initial act of sucking cock on her knees in a public place.
The stranger gave a cruel little smirk and turned, soon vanishing into the crowd. It was not exactly the romantic situation that Amy usually fantasised about. She half walked, half ran to the ladies room to wash the horrid sticky smear from her face. Her face flushed with embarrassment at what she knew everyone else would see she was doing.
It seemed like the musky male stink was ground into her skin or permanently resident in her sinuses, ever present and inescapable. Amy spent the rest of the night smelling it, unable to stop thinking about what had happened to her as she waited for her friends to get bored and leave.
She bought some more pills to try to take her mind off it all. By the time they left it was nearly 6am . She didn’t see the man who’d smeared his penis across her face again. She assumed he’d left after he’d finished with her, but it was a big club and she didn’t know for sure. She told herself that she didn’t really care. She hated him: he could fuck himself and die. If she saw him again, he wouldn’t like the look on her face. There was no way she would forgive him for that final act of humiliation.
Amy arrived home with her friends. Her head was still buzzing from too many amphetamines. The coke had worn off long ago. Amy hadn’t been sure what the pills were until now. Her jaw was cramping up from the endless ‘chewing’. She sky was getting light but Amy knew that there’d be no sleep for her until Sunday evening. The feeling wasn’t a good one, and other thoughts were starting to intrude on her mind.
She wished there was something she could take to make the ever-present urge to do something – anything – go away. She wanted to sleep but she couldn’t. She wanted to stop the thoughts rushing into her head, but she couldn’t. The implications of what she’d done, and what she’d been thinking while she was doing it were crashing around her head like a whole city of roaring taxis controlled by a mob of mad taxi drivers who cursed and shouted and hooted in foreign languages. She knew she was a dirty girl, a bad person, a slut, worse than a whore. At least whores got paid. Who would ever love her now?
Amy sat on the sofa in the living room pulling at her hair and making small angry, frustrated noises that were drowned out by the deafeningly loud TV. Sometimes she would get up to pace. She hated speed, and dexedrine, and benzedrine, and all that stuff. Why did she take so much of it? Why did it have to be such strong stuff this time? Her ears were ringing, and she was glad she wasn’t really listening to the TV as she flipped incessantly through the channels. The others were all so tired that they could sleep through the din that vibrated the walls. Why do I feel like I’m falling into a bottomless abyss? Amy thought to herself.
She’d made a few efforts to remove the dress, but she couldn’t even loosen the belt. She’d removed the boots at some point, and had already forgotten where she’d left them.
The infuriating belt had some kind of fiddly little ratchet on the buckle that would need something thin and pointy to lever it open, and in her current state she didn’t have the patience to cope with it. With the belt in place, she couldn’t remove the tights. In other circumstances, it might have bothered her, perhaps to the point of panic, but not now. She had a vague idea that there was some reason that she couldn’t unzip the dress, but her mind was racing too fast to stop and tell her why.
She eventually realised that she didn’t have the zipper tag and busied herself plotting to break into the shop to find it, in between devising ways to cut the dress open and methods of taking revenge on the cum-wiping bastard. The bastard that had made her suck him while someone fucked her from behind. Had she been exposed to a disease? She knew for a fact neither of the men had used a condom. That seemed to matter more now she wasn’t aching to be fucked. She had invested in slow release contraceptives, so she probably wouldn’t get pregnant, but the idea of disease rattled around and around in her head.
By lunchtime, she was beginning to slow down. The feelings of total exhaustion coupled with the inability to rest were a torture. The others were getting up, so she retreated to her room and collapsed on the bed, unable to sleep, unable to move.
Amy had slipped into a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when a banging on her bedroom door roused her to mobility. Amy wondered what the problem was. She realised that she was still wearing the rubber clothes, but she was past caring.
“Hello, it’s Dehlia. Open up Amy,” came the cry through the door.
Amy was too dazed to think about what was going on. She opened the door and stood framed in the doorway, clinging to the doorframe to hold herself up: a pitiful sight.
“What’s up?” Said Amy. “Oh… It’s you. Whatever…” Amy mumbled, pretty much ignoring Dehlia and walking back to the bed.
“You don’t look very well Amy,” said Dehlia as Amy collapsed face first onto the bed with a sigh. Amy made no reply. “I realised I’d left something back at the shop, and while I was there I found this,” said Dehlia once she realised that Amy wasn’t going to say anything. She held up the zipper tag for Amy’s dress. Amy eventually turned her head to look.
“Oh, the zippy thing. Just leave it there, I don’t feel like talking now,” said Amy.
“I feel really bad about letting you leave without that, but it can’t be that which has made you so upset. You don’t look well Amy,” said Dehlia.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Amy. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“It doesn’t look like that to me. It looks like you’ve been up crying all night,” said Dehlia, coming properly into the room and closing the bedroom door quietly behind her.
Amy buried her face in the bed again – hoping the pain that was somehow part of her would go away. Dehlia pulled over the fluffy stool from the dressing table and sat down by the head of the bed. Her hand gently touched Amy’s shoulder. Amy shuddered at her touch.
“Did something bad happen last night?” Said Dehlia. Amy mumbled something, but Dehlia couldn’t work out what it was. Dehlia searched out Amy’s hand and took a firm hold of it.
“Amy, Amy, talk to me,” said Dehlia in a very concerned tone. “I’d hate to think that anything that happened to you might have been my fault, but whatever the cause… Please let me help.”
“Don’t waste your time,” mumbled Amy. Amy fought back the urge to sob. Her throat was so sore and painful that she didn’t want to speak. She didn’t want to seem so pathetic in front of this near stranger, but it was all she could do to keep from tears.
“That’s a pretty sad thing to say,” said Dehlia. “You must be exhausted, and dehydrated as well.” Amy made no comment. “I think I ought to get you out of that dress and into a warm bath before you start to develop a rash.”
“Whatever,” said Amy.
Dehlia gently rolled Amy over and using a metal nail file from her bag opened up Amy’s belt. Amy put her arm across her face to hide the tears that were beginning to run down her cheeks.
“Feel better?” Said Dehlia.
“Not really,” said Amy.
“Not to worry,” said Dehlia moving over to the washbasin and filling the glass there with cold water. She returned to her seat, and removed something from her bag. Dehlia dropped tablets into the water, fizzing. “Here, drink this. You need all the liquids you can manage. Don’t gulp it though,” she added.
Amy was reluctant to take the glass and reveal her tears, but with a little prompting, she gave in. She dragged herself into a partially sitting position and reached out to clasp the glass in both hands. She looked down at the glass in her shaking hands. She knew there was something broken in her. She was pathetic. So pathetic that she needed help – serious help. She had an idea why, but she crushed it away. Some thoughts would never be acceptable. She couldn’t understand why the woman from the shop would want to help her, but she didn’t have the strength to refuse anything.
While Amy sipped at the water Dehlia had ample opportunity to glance around the room, and she missed nothing. It was a surprisingly innocent place, like the room of a young teenage girl but without the clichéd boy band posters.
The wardrobe was open, and Dehlia could see that apart from work clothes, Amy didn’t have an extensive collection of outfits, but what she had was good. Her stereo was a cheap portable with a limited selection of dance CDs.
The jewellery scattered across the dressing table cheap junk apart from four different coloured G-Shock watches, and from Dehlia’s perspective, they were junk too: overpriced junk.
Dehlia considered pragmatically that at least her own Rolex was overpriced quality, and she hardly ever wore that. There was nothing of value in the room, and nothing made to last. Dehlia also noticed that there was nothing unusual or alternative in it either. It was an object lesson in conformance.
The possibilities of the room quickly exhausted, Dehlia turned her gaze back to Amy. Dehlia smiled reassuringly at the ragged remains of the physically and emotionally exhausted young woman. Amy almost wished that Dehlia would stop being so nice. It just didn’t feel right at a time like this. She had such an urge to cling to the incredibly neat and tidy woman with her winning smile, such an urge to unburden all her awful feelings onto her. She resisted and concentrated on trying to control the sobs that wouldn’t completely stop, and on drinking her water. At least the water made her throat feel a little better.
“You really should get out of that dress as soon as you can. It must be hurting you by now?” Said Dehlia as Amy finished the water.
“Only when I move,” said Amy weakly. Dehlia took a firm grip of Amy’s hand and half guided, half followed Amy to the bathroom. Inside, Dehlia locked the door behind them. She turned on the taps, checking the temperature of the water before shifting her attention to Amy. Dehlia soon had the dress unzipped, but that was the easy part. Peeling it from Amy’s arms without hurting her took a delicacy and skill that Amy was exceedingly glad Dehlia possessed.
Amy didn’t even stop to think about the situation. She was letting a strange woman undress her, but she knew now that she couldn’t do it herself. She just gave in and let Dehlia do as she pleased. It was a plan that seemed to be working OK. She felt safe with the older, dark-haired woman from the strange little shop.
The realisation was too much for Amy, and unable to hold back the flood any longer she collapsed into wracking sobs in Dehlia’s arms. Dehlia held her tight, whispering reassuring nothings to her, letting things run their course. If she was enjoying holding a half naked young woman pressed against her, she wasn’t showing it. Eventually Amy began to calm, and Dehlia continued her task.
“This should be the hard part. I expect these tights will really be stuck in place. Unlike the dress, they’re made of water-permeable synthetic rubber that really grips the skin. They’re made that way so they’ll stretch instead of sliding around and chafing. The longer you wear them the tighter they stick, but they’re not really designed to be worn for more than a few hours,” explained Dehlia.
Amy wasn’t really listening, but she liked the sound of the woman’s voice. It had a reassuring, almost mothering tone. Dehlia used her metal nail file to loosen the top of the tights, which really were stuck tightly in place. Once she could get a start she began to peel them off. They were firmly stuck in place.
“Ah! Please stop, you’re hurting me,” said Amy.
“If I leave them on it will be worse later,” said Dehlia pausing in her removal of the tights.
“Do it quickly then,” said Amy tiredly. Embarrassment at the thought of baring her most private parts to the strange woman was the last thing on her mind. Dehlia didn’t pay much mind to Amy’s request and kept on peeling back the rubber as best she could.
When the tights were finally peeled free, Amy looked down to see that she was covered in unpleasant red and white marks. She looked a mess, but she’s expected it to look worse given the pain she was feeling. It felt as if her soft, delicate skin had been sandpapered raw. Dehlia checked the temperature of the bath and turned off the taps.
“Soaking in the bath for a while will help. You’re quite lucky really, not much of a rash at all, maybe you’re a natural for this stuff,” said Dehlia.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” said Amy, sinking into the warm bath, replete with bubbles.
“I’ll be back when it’s time for you to come out,” said Dehlia, picking up Amy’s clothes.
“Uh, thanks,” said Amy emptily as Dehlia unlocked the door and left, closing it behind her.
Dehlia returned to Amy’s room. She dropped the rubber clothes onto the bed and looked around. She doubted that Amy had much of an idea how to clean the rubber garments, but that didn’t matter. She soon found Amy’s long coat and slipped the keys that she’d stolen the day before, back into Amy’s pocket. Dehlia didn’t know for sure if Amy knew they were missing. Even if she did, she’d almost certainly assume that she didn’t check her pockets properly, and besides Dehlia was fairly sure that Amy would have other things to occupy her mind.
As it happened Amy had never needed her keys, so Dehlia’s little contrivance had gone completely unnoticed. Dehlia dropped her nail file back into her bag, pausing to grin to herself for a moment. She reached into the bag, and pulled out her phone, thumbing the quick dial.
“Hello,” said a woman’s voice at the end of the line.
“It’s me,” said Dehlia.
“ Dee ? So how’d it go?”
“Perfect. She’s a natural for it. She just doesn’t know it yet. I think it’s her. I think she’s the one,” said Dehlia.
“Ha, ha, about time. What now?”
“I’m still thinking about that. I’ll talk to you later. Alright?”
Dehlia took off her coat and draped it over the stool, then picked up Amy’s big bottle of baby talc from her dressing table, and hooked her bath robe from the back of the door. She returned to the bathroom and locked the door behind her again. Amy was asleep in the bath. Fortunately, her head hadn’t slipped down to water level. Dehlia rolled up her sleeves and then woke Amy gently. Amy didn’t seem to be fully conscious, but Dehlia began to wash her with the roughest sponge she could find as she drifted back to reality.
“Was I asleep?” Said Amy.
“Probably. Are you feeling any better?” said Dehlia.
“In some ways,” answered Amy.
“Do you want to talk about what’s got to you? I know something must have happened. It doesn’t matter what it is, there’s nothing… Well, I guess I just want to do my best to help you. You know there’s not much that would surprise me,” said Dehlia.
“I think I know what you mean, but I can’t talk now,” said Amy.
“If you ever change your mind you know where to find me. Which reminds me: I feel really bad about letting you go without your slider. I want to make it up to you. If you come round the shop, I’ll have something for you. My present to you, no strings attached, OK?”
“I…” Amy trailed off and then just nodded.
Dehlia smiled happily, “Good. I won’t take no for an answer. We’ll get some measurements later.”
Dehlia helped Amy out of the bath, and encouraged her to towel thoroughly but carefully. Then Dehlia handed her the talc bottle and helped her massage the talc into her skin.
“Uh, my feeling bad doesn’t have much to do with your dress,” said Amy.
“Not to worry, let’s get those measurements,” said Dehlia leading Amy back to the bedroom.
It seemed like Dehlia was extremely thorough with her measuring, but it seemed that Amy had become almost used to letting Dehlia handle her now, and she didn’t really notice what was going on. She just wanted to sleep and couldn’t stop herself from yawning and Dehlia seemed to go on and on with her measuring.
“I guess I’ll leave you to get some rest,” said Dehlia finally. “If I was you I’d take tomorrow off work and take it easy. Whatever’s happening in your life it’s taken quite a toll. If you don’t rest now it’s bound to catch up with you,” she added.
Amy didn’t take Dehlia’s advice, instead returning to work on Monday. She did her best to forget what had happened but something had changed for her and everything that was once familiar now seemed alien and strange.
When she was alone, she found herself bursting into tears without knowing why, and she couldn’t sleep. Sometimes she would start to shake and she’d have to hold herself until it stopped. She couldn’t concentrate on anything for long without drifting off into a kind of non-thought, her eyes staring at infinity.
That week her work suffered and she had to work late to catch up. Her housemates knew something odd was going on but after a few enquiries and rebuffs, they stopped asking about it and the strange woman that had visited her. While Amy’s evasive answers only made them more intrigued, no information was forthcoming and by the end of the week, they were used to her odd behaviour and no longer let it bother them. They had lives of their own to worry about, after all.