Tantalised - Part 1
Fiona’s first week in a new job ends with her getting a rather bizarre insight into the brand of hosiery created and marketed by her employer.
Fiona gazed out of the window at the October sunset and smiled. The slim, attractive, twenty year old was more than pleased with her first week working here, but now she was looking forward to a quiet weekend of relaxation. She checked her watch. Nearly four thirty; only half an hour to go now. As this fact registered in her brain, however, the door opened slightly and the head of her boss, Monica, suddenly appeared in the ensuing gap.
“Fiona, would you mind staying on for just a little while after work? There are a couple of things I want to run through with you.”
She must have seen the consternation flash across Fiona’s face.
“Nothing to worry about, just a few routine procedures that I always go through with my new employees after their first week. It won’t take too long.”
Fiona smiled nervously. Much as she liked her new boss, there were occasions when she felt ill at ease in her presence. Several times during the week she’d caught Monica staring at her. Fiona found this a bit creepy, to say the least; it was as if Monica was looking her up and down, sizing her up for something, or weighing up her potential. And each time that this happened, and Monica realised that her attention had been noticed, the smile she gave Fiona, although outwardly friendly, made the unease increase one hundredfold.
However, Fiona was young, shy and unsure of herself. This was her first real job since leaving college and she wanted to make a good impression and not upset her new employer. So she meekly agreed to her superior’s request.
“Sure, no problem.”
Fiona was wondering what this could be about. Probably just routine paperwork that had to be filled in, she thought to herself. But Monica’s next remark seemed to suggest otherwise.
“Great, I’ll see you at about five o’clock then. If you come down to the stockroom in the basement, I’ll meet you there.”
Most mysterious. Fiona tried to put this upcoming meeting to the back of her mind, however, as she once more concentrated on the laptop screen in front of her.
Monica Tantala, the tall, raven-haired beauty of Italian extraction, had founded her own line of hosiery at the tender age of just eighteen, and had rapidly built up her business empire from scratch. Now, at just twenty eight, she was the managing director and CEO of the global brand ‘Tantalising Tights’, a multi-million pound business which employed several thousand people in more than twenty countries worldwide. She’d remained true to her roots, however, with her head office still situated in her home town. To the outside world, she was charming and approachable. But her employees, at least those with whom she came into regular contact, knew a very different Monica. Arrogant, self- assured and at times brutally oblivious to others’ feelings, she was single-minded in her business dealings, and cared not a jot for those she trampled on or left discarded in her wake. Put bluntly, she was feared and despised by a plethora of former employees and business associates, as well as many of her current staff, who found themselves quaking in their boots at her approach. Needless to say, staff turnover was brisk, and no position more so than that of the person who had to work closest to her, namely her secretary/PA.
Into this environment had stepped meek and shy Fiona, the total antithesis of her new boss. Oblivious when she accepted the post, she soon began to hear reports and mutterings of the tyrannical practices and questionable business ethics that her employer was infamous for.
But what was all the fuss about? Even though she began to become acquainted with the unflattering gossip and rumours that circulated around the staff room, Fiona found Monica the epitome of charm and good humour from day one, and the two had got on famously from the off.
There was, however, one rather disconcerting fact that Fiona had found out only this lunchtime. Whilst relaxing in the staff canteen, another member of the management team had casually remarked that, if Fiona came back into work on Monday, then she would have lasted longer than the previous incumbent of that particular position within the firm. In fact, as Fiona was soon to be informed, Monica had gone through seventeen different personal assistants in the last twelve months. Many, she was told, didn’t last more than a week.
At first Fiona had thought that her fellow workers were exaggerating. Or perhaps winding her up; having a bit of a joke at the new girl’s expense. But after a while, as more of the current workforce began to corroborate their colleagues’ stories, it became apparent that perhaps there was something to this after all. But when Fiona asked why this should be - why the turnover for this particular job was so high - nobody seemed able to give an answer. Or maybe, Fiona had a sneaking suspicion, some of them knew more than they were willing to tell.
When five o’clock arrived, Fiona packed up her things, shut down her computer, and began to make her way towards her rendezvous. Being a Friday, many of the other staff had already left for the day, and those still here were in the process of vacating the premises. Fiona found, as she made her way along the corridor, that she was the only person going in the direction of the storerooms, with everyone else making a beeline for the exits. By the time she reached the stairway that led to the underground section of the building, there was no one else to be seen.
Once below ground level, Fiona traversed a short passageway with doors on either side, all but one of which was closed. She’d only briefly been in this area of the building before, on her first day when she was being shown around, and so knew very little of what lay behind those doors. But now, in the dim light of the corridor, she could see ahead of her a light shining from the one open door, and it was towards this source of artificial illumination that she now made her way. For some reason, butterflies were doing all sorts of aerobics in her stomach, and it was with more than a little trepidation that she found herself stopping just short of the entrance and peering nervously in.
By the glare given off by the single strip light on the ceiling, Fiona could see that this room was indeed the place where much of the product which this business was synonymous with was stored, as on all sides of the room, row upon row of metal shelves held boxes and packages with the distinct logo of the ‘Tantalising Tights’ brand emblazoned upon them. But it wasn’t the mass of accumulated stock that drew Fiona’s attention, but the sight of her boss waiting in the centre of the windowless room. She was standing next to two upright wooden chairs, on one of which had been placed several pairs of tights; some still within their packaging, others hanging loosely from the chair’s back or lying in crumpled heaps on the seat itself. At the precise moment that Fiona appeared in the doorway, Monica was busy unfurling a black opaque pair which shimmered in the light as she laid them out along with the others. Within a second or two she seemed to sense Fiona’s presence, however, and turned towards the door.
“Ah Fiona, do come in.”
She strutted swiftly on her high heels towards the entrance and ushered her new employee towards the chair that was devoid of the accumulated hosiery, shutting the door behind her. For some reason, the slamming sound that accompanied the blocking of the only exit sent a shiver up Fiona’s spine, and she almost – irrationally it seemed – found herself turning around and making her excuses as to why she couldn’t stay here any longer; a hurriedly concocted story about some until now forgotten dentist appointment taking shape in her mind. But she managed to control this urge to flee. She was being stupid, she told herself. There was nothing to be frightened about. And besides, she needed this job, and it probably wouldn’t do her career prospects any good to suddenly let her new employer down so soon after joining the firm. So meekly Fiona walked towards the vacant seat and, when prompted to do so, sat down. Monica picked up a pair of sheer black tights from the pile she’d compiled and began absentmindedly stretching out one of the legs. As she began to speak, she paced the room, every few seconds glancing in Fiona’s direction. For her part, Fiona gazed wide-eyed at the attractive female sauntering back and forth in front of her.
“So Fiona, I guess you’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you to stay behind today.”
She paused for a second, but when Fiona failed to respond, she smiled and continued.
“Well the answer is very simple. As my PA, I need you to be very passionate and enthusiastic about the luxury goods we sell. So, I brought you here today to give you some understanding and experience of just how superior our tights are compared to our competitor brands. So that when customers ring up, you’ll be able to speak with fervour and firsthand knowledge of the products we market. And to do that, I’ll need you to get – how shall I put it? – wrapped up in just how special and sensual these garments feel against your skin.”
Monica stopped pacing momentarily, standing directly in front of the unmoving Fiona.
“Now, whilst I’ve been extremely pleased with your enthusiasm and willingness to learn this week, I couldn’t help but notice that the hosiery adorning your legs for work each day doesn’t appear to be ‘Tantalising’. Am I correct?”
Fiona sheepishly had to admit that none of the pairs of tights she’d worn to the office this week were those created by her employer’s company. They were, she admitted, a well known high street store’s own brand. Having been unemployed until a week ago, she had to hold her hands up and admit that she couldn’t afford the higher priced leg-wear that ‘Tantalising Tights’ offered.
For a brief few seconds, Monica looked sternly at her, and Fiona wondered if she’d angered her boss.
“Rule number one from now on, is that you wear ‘Tantalising Tights’ and no other, inferior brand. That’s the standard I set, and I expect all my employees to abide by this... well, at least the female members of staff...”
She paused again, then added as an aside,
“...Although I know that Steve, in the finance office, wears them under his trousers habitually as well....Even though he thinks I don’t know.”
For a second, Monica seemed to dwell on this image, and for a brief period of time she seemed lost in a distant, silent world of her own; a half-smile etched on her face. But this brief interlude appeared to lighten her mood, and when she resumed speaking, any hint of annoyance that Fiona’s revelation might have stirred in her seemed to have dissipated. She smiled warmly.
“But don’t worry my dear, once you’ve totally immersed yourself in all the styles and varieties of my extensive range, I’m sure we’ll make you a fan for life, and you’ll be keen to pass on the joys of wearing these wonderful tights to all who enquire about them.”
Monica came to a halt and leaned on the back of the tights-covered chair. She sighed and absentmindedly twirled the pair she’d been playing with in front of her.
“So what I need you to do now is take your skirt and tights off.”
Fiona’s mouth must have dropped open at this sudden, completely unexpected announcement.
“What?...I’m sorry...I don’t understand...Why do I need to...?”
Monica cut her off in mid faltering sentence.
“Because, my dear, I need to give you a crash course in the sensual qualities of ‘Tantalising Tights’. Now do as you’re told.”
To say that Fiona was slightly unnerved by this request – or was it an order? – would be an understatement. However, she meekly stood up and began to unbutton her skirt. After all, she wanted to make a good impression on her new boss and prove that she was willing to carry out instructions, no matter how odd they might at first appear. And she reasoned that, despite the strange way in which the request had been phrased, all that Monica wanted was for her to try on a few pairs of tights. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? With the skirt now loosened, she allowed it to fall to the floor, and began the process of unpeeling the tights from her legs. With this task complete, Fiona was just about to stoop and pick up her discarded clothes, but it was at this precise moment that Monica - who had been watching the disrobing procedure from the sidelines - once again took over.
“Now sit down again.”
Fiona did as she was told, and Monica bent down, picked up the skirt and threw it onto one of the nearby shelves. The discarded tights she took a slightly greater interest in, however, checking the label in the waistband.
“Marks & Spencer? Not bad quality, but definitely not up to the high standards we set ourselves here. I know we can do better than these.”
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed - what she clearly thought of as - the inferior hosiery away, then rifled through the pairs that she’d placed on the chair. Finding what she was looking for, she handed a black pair to Fiona.
“Put these on. These are from my new top-of-the-range line. They’re thirty denier semi-opaque and very, very smooth on the skin. I’m sure you’ll notice the difference as soon as they touch your flesh.”
Fiona leant forwards and began sheathing her legs in the delicate stretch material, taking extra care not to snag them as she did so. She had to admit that they were extremely soft and velvety as they brushed over her skin. Standing up, she pulled them over her buttocks and hips to her waist. As her hand skimmed across the material in the region of her thighs, however, Monica was once more close at hand; encouraging her to sit down again. In her hands she carried another pair of tights, also in black. She looked Fiona’s legs up and down.
“Feel good, don’t they?”
Fiona’s affirmation came out as not much more than a whisper. But if Monica in any way sensed the other woman’s unease, she failed to show it.
Ok, I’d like you to lift your feet up now.”
Fiona must have hesitated for a fraction of a second too long on this occasion, because Monica quickly crouched down and grabbed her by the ankles. This was odd enough in itself, but a second or two later things were to suddenly get a whole lot weirder.
As if in a trance, Fiona watched as Monica stretched out one foot of the tights and began to insert her recent recruit’s feet into the resulting chasm. But within a second it became apparent that something odd was taking place here. For Monica wasn’t sheathing one of her feet into a single leg of the tights in the normal way of things, but instead encasing both feet in the same leg! Upon seeing what was happening, Fiona tried to pull her legs away. Monica, however, kept a firm grip on her ankles.
“What are you doing? Why are you putting both my feet into one leg of the tights?”
Monica looked up from her crouching position and smiled.
“Just relax darling. I’ve been doing this sort of thing for years and I’ve found that the quickest way to initiate someone into the wonders of my products is to give them what I call the ‘Complete Sensory Guide to Hosiery Appreciation’. Now sit still and don’t worry about a thing. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the experience, and in the end you’ll thank me for introducing you to a whole new world.”
By now, Monica had eased the tights up past Fiona’s calves and over her knees. With her lower legs now encased in one restraining tunnel of nylon, without a word Monica helped Fiona stand up again, before continuing with the upward journey over her thighs and hips. By now, the fabric was stretched to its limits, and a sense of being constrained came over Fiona, as if her legs were no longer her own. A quick glance downwards showed that her feet, as she tried to part them, were held in check, and the visual impression she received was that of a mermaid’s tail. This was all too bizarre for words! Part of Fiona’s brain told her that she needed to be rid of this restrictive mesh and get out of the building - and Monica’s clutches - as quickly as she could. But on the other hand, she didn’t want to jeopardise what was a really good career opportunity by doing anything rash. Her thoughts, however, were soon interrupted as the immersion of the lower half of her body came to a halt, with the waistband of the tights now in their correct position and the spare leg hanging limply down from her buttocks in the manner of a tail.
“There, doesn’t that feel nice and snug? These are from my forty denier opaque ‘Luxury Legs’ super-soft range. I’m sure now you can appreciate the quality of my products over the cheaper brands you’ve been accustomed to.”
Pushing gently down on Fiona’s shoulder, Monica bade her sit once more on the wooden chair.
“Now we need to get that blouse off.”
To say that Fiona was shocked by this remark would be an understatement of epic proportions. So stunned was she, that she at first thought she must have misheard.
“Off with the blouse.”
Fiona was beginning to get the impression that Monica didn’t like to have to repeat her instructions twice, as the second time it came out almost as a barked order. As she began to explain her reasoning behind this latest directive, however, she seemed to realise that getting too heavy-handed was likely to spook her confused member of staff, which wasn’t what she wanted...at least not yet.
“As I said earlier, the object of this exercise is to give you full comprehension of wearing my brand of hosiery. And for that to happen, you need to be unhindered by loose fitting clothes of any description. Come on Fiona, you’re not going to let a promising start to our business relationship deteriorate already, are you? I have high hopes for you.”
Against her better judgement, Fiona found herself unbuttoning, then slipping her arms out of, her top. Now in only her bra, she felt self-conscious and vulnerable, and automatically her arms came up to cover her breasts. But, as it soon transpired, her sense of being almost naked wouldn’t last long.
Fiona’s mind was reeling now, with so many fears and unanswered questions buzzing around in her brain. So much so, that she failed to comprehend exactly what Monica’s next intensions were, even when she found her arms being gently – stealthily even - eased around behind her back. Then suddenly she realised what was about to happen. But by then it was too late. Monica must have had previous experience of sheathing a person’s arms inside one leg of a pair of tights; that was all Fiona could think of to explain the dexterity, expertise and swiftness with which the avenue of pliable nylon rose up her arms and the waistband stretched around her shoulders. With the makeshift mono-glove in place, Fiona attempted to pull her hands apart, but she found the fabric unyielding and resistant to tearing.
“What are you doing?...Get these things off me.”
Fiona struggled briefly, but the pressure of Monica’s fingers on her shoulder, although laid gently without too much force, told her that any increase in her attempt to resist might be treated with a harsher hand.
“Now, now Fiona, there’s no need to get panicky. All I’m doing is giving you a lesson in just how soft yet strong these tights can be. This is a pair of my sixty denier, opaque ‘Healthy Legs’ support tights, which I’ve recently brought out. As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, they’re virtually rip resistant. I chose a pair in the smallest size that we make, so that you could really get a feel of how compressing and snug they can be.”
Suddenly Fiona felt something being wrapped tightly around her elbows, and it took her a few seconds to understand that this was the spare leg, being wound around her arms several times until it was ultra-taut, then somehow tied off to itself to prevent it coming loose.
This was simply the last straw for Fiona. Ok, so being encased in tights was odd in the extreme, but at least up to now she could see a purpose to all this...albeit a rather unconventional one. But being trussed up? Surely this was above and beyond the call of duty, and most definitely not in her job description.
“What’s going on here?...Why have you tied me up?”
As always, Monica seemed to have a readymade explanation prepared.
“As I’ve said Fiona, it’s all about complete absorption in the feel of the material. The more restrained you are, the less you can move around. Which means that you’ve got more time on your hands to really take on board the feel of these gorgeous tights gliding across your flesh...”
The CEO briefly turned away and picked something up off the nearest shelf. When she turned back, Fiona squealed as she noticed an enormous reel of two inch wide grey duct tape in her hand.
“...And so, I’m going to immobilise you a little bit more, so that you can really experience them in all their true glory. I know it’s hard to get to grips with at first, but be patient and you’ll soon be enlightened as to what I’m talking about.”
Fiona squirmed and tried to get up off the chair, with the intention of heading for the door and getting as far away as possible from this obviously deranged woman. But with her limbs swathed in restrictive cul-de-sacs of Lycra-enhanced nylon, there was never any chance of her escape bid succeeding. In fact, she didn’t even manage to get to her feet before Monica was upon her and pushing her back onto the hard, upright chair.
“Not thinking of leaving before the conclusion of the experiment, are you Fiona? I don’t think I could work with someone who walks out without completing a task to the best of their abilities.”
Fiona wanted to tell Monica that she had decided that the job wasn’t for her after all, and that she quit with immediate effect. But for some reason she held back. For surely this whole ludicrous drama couldn’t go on indefinitely, could it? If she were to just grin and bear it for a bit longer, then this whole initiation ceremony - for that was what Fiona was now hoping that this whole thing was – would be over and they could both have a good laugh about it. As these thoughts flashed through her mind, Monica moved around to the back of the chair and Fiona heard the ripping of the tape away from the spool. Within no more than a second, something was being wound around her wrists and pressed down onto the mesh of the tights. Fiona closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that she was going through this ordeal for the sake of career advancement. But as another binding of tape began to encircle her upper arms, she found herself wondering whether the job – any job in fact – was worth this much grief. And these feelings only grew stronger when, after satisfying herself that Fiona’s arms were well and truly secured, Monica knelt down on the floor by her trainee’s feet and began supplementing the cocoon with multiple circuits of tape around her ankles, before moving upwards to repeat the process just below her knees.
It was in the brief interlude after Monica had concluded taping her now doubly trapped limbs, that the now truly helpless blonde decided that she’d had enough. No more pussyfooting about trying to comply with her clearly insane boss’s weird demands and strange fetishes. It was time to put a stop to this madness once and for all. But now she was encased and taped, what could she do? Well she could start by making her feelings about this whole idiotic game known to Monica.
“Look, this has gone too far. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, but I demand that you let me out of this immediately. If you don’t let me go, then you’re holding me against my will, and that’s kidnapping. Now get this tape off me and help me out of the tights, or I’ll....”
But that was the last coherent sound she was able to make. As she’d been delivering her protest speech, she’d noticed that Monica was handling yet another pair of tights. Under normal circumstances she may have cottoned on to the fact that, instead of stretching this pair out and expanding the waistband in readiness for cocooning purposes, her tormentor had been scrunching this latest set up into a ball. Due to her fragile state of mind at present, however, she simply didn’t grasp the relevance of this action until it was too late.
Holding the back of Fiona’s head with one hand, Monica forcibly thrust the tightly packed wedge deeply into her unsuspecting secretary’s astonished mouth.
“These are another forty denier opaque pair, just like the ones encasing your legs. Even in your mouth, I’m sure you’ll be able to appreciate how smooth and luxurious they are.”
As soon as she’d twigged the nature of this latest development in the ongoing saga, Fiona did everything within her powers to hinder the insertion of this vocal inhibitor, and indeed made every effort to reverse the process by attempting to spit the cavity filling gag out again. But in her parlous state, she was no match for Monica’s greater freedom of mobility, and within seconds her mouth was full to capacity. But worse was to follow, for as soon as this latest addition to her woes had been embedded behind her teeth to the extent that only a fraction of the black mesh was now visible between her trembling lips, Monica set about ensuring that this oral stuffing remained in situ, by quickly sealing Fiona’s mouth with several circuits of grey tape around her face and lower head.
Fiona felt the tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes, as the thought that she wasn’t going to be getting out of this any time soon hit her. But although a state of hysteria seemed to be welling up in her, she knew that to give in to such urges could only be detrimental. For one thing, now that her mouth was sealed and she was being forced to take air in through her nose alone, any prolonged bout of sobbing would undoubtedly see her nasal passages becoming blocked, and with it the ability to breathe would be made much more difficult. Forcing down the rising panic, Fiona could therefore only watch in complete impotence as Monica unfolded yet another pair of tights and prepared to increase Fiona’s misery still further.
“Now I’m sure you’re going to love this next pair. These are from my new fifteen denier ‘Shimmer and Shine’ range. They’re gossamer thin with extra Lycra... and they’re ultra gorgeous, as you can see...”
Monica stretched the fabric out in front of her to allow Fiona a brief preview of what would soon become the latest affront to her liberty. In the glare of the overhead light, a sparkling effect was clearly visible rippling through the translucent mesh.
“I thought, as a first layer, we’d start off with taupe.”
Fiona could only watch and whimper as the thin membrane approached her face, and within no more than two or three seconds, Monica was dexterously teasing the silky-soft garment over her victim’s head and pulling it down until the waistband resided at her throat. Without pausing, the two legs were quickly wrapped around Fiona’s lower head two or three times until they had been stretched to the limits of their endurance, before being secured with a tight knot over her sealed lips.
Despite the see-through nature of the hood, the twenty year old trainee now gazed out onto a world that was slightly blurry. As she sat there in complete helplessness, she watched the now hazy figure of her employer opening yet another pack of tights and, taking the toes in one hand and the top in the other, stretching them out to their full length. Despite her less than perfect vision, Fiona’s eyes were greeted by a pair of tights that were bright pink in hue.
“I thought maybe a splash of colour wouldn’t go amiss Fiona. I think a cerise pair from my twenty denier ‘Splash of Colour’ line will suit you.”
For the second time in less than a minute, Fiona found her head being sheathed; the knotting of the legs taking place with the same attention to detail as before, to ensure that no slippage was likely to occur. But even with this second makeshift mask obscuring her vision still further, Fiona could still make out the image of Monica standing before her. She was gazing down on her nylon-clad creation, legs apart, arms akimbo, as if admiring her handiwork and pondering whether any further adornments or adjustments were required. It soon turned out that they were.
“You know darling, I’ve change my mind. Pink just isn’t your colour at all. I think maybe you’re a powder blue kind of girl, to match your eyes.”
Instead of removing the bright pink encumbrance from Fiona’s face, however, Monica simply unfurled the newly unpacked coloured tights and slid the third instalment of the layered hood over the top of her skull. This time though, she failed to tie the legs across Fiona’s face; instead leaving them to dangle freely, one at the back of her head, with the other hanging limply in front of her left eye.
“Hmm yes, definitely a big improvement. Blue is so your colour.”
For a minute or more now, Monica circled around the chair on which Fiona had no option but to sit; examining her work of art from every possible angle. For a while Fiona endured this inspection, but soon the silence became unbearable, and she felt she just had to speak up, in order to let Monica know of her unhappiness.”
“Let me go! I want to go home!!”
The words came out muffled and garbled, although Monica seemed to get the gist of the message.
“Let you go? After I’ve been through all this trouble of getting you lovingly rigged up to look so stunningly glamorous? I don’t think so Fiona, not for an hour or two yet. We’re not finished here...In fact, we’ve only just started.”
As if to prove this latter point, Monica pulled several more pairs of tights from their wrappings and readied them for use. Fiona squirmed in her seat at the realisation that she was to be burdened still further. But where were these latest additions to Monica’s arsenal going to be employed? After all, her limbs were already cocooned and taped beyond use. Surely there was no need for any further enhancement?
She should by now have known better. For as with her head covering, it seemed that Monica was never going to stop at just one layer. The upshot was that within only a few minutes, another two strata of fine black mesh had enveloped her arms, with a similar number being employed from toe to waist. Naturally, between each layer of nylon, more tape had been added to create the sensation of being well and truly immobilised, and this was supplemented with the unused leg of each pair being wrapped around the now terrified woman’s trembling limbs, pulled as tight as any pliable material of this nature would allow, before being tied to either itself or the spare leg of one of its other, now rather numerous, counterparts.
All the while, as her transformation into a tights-skin sausage continued, Fiona pleaded and begged Monica to desist; to see sense; to set her free from this ever worsening situation. But her words went unheeded; either due to incomprehension, or more likely due to the fact that her boss was simply insensitive to the feelings of others. Instead, Fiona was treated to a running commentary on exactly which fashion and design of tights Monica was working with at that particular moment.
“These are the most hardwearing brand on the market...fifty denier with an extra glimmer finish, to give you the Wow factor...sheer, thirty denier and beautifully crafted...”
And so it went on. Finally, after what seemed to Fiona like forever, Monica stepped back again and announced that they were almost done.
“Just one final flourish, to make sure we maximise your experience to the full.”
Even through the distortion caused by three layers of tights, Fiona could see that the pair now in Monica’s hands were considerably larger than those in which she’d been entombed thus far. As always, of course, the company’s managing director was eager to talk about any product that she had designed herself and was intensely passionate about.
“These are from our extra large range. Fifty denier and run resistant, with reinforced gusset.”
Without further ado, she began to pull these down over Fiona’s head. But unlike the other pairs that she wore as a stifling hood, Monica didn’t stop working these downwards once she’d reached her reluctant volunteer’s neck, but instead stretched the outsized leg over her captive’s shoulders and continued the journey past her quivering breasts and down to her waist, where they met the tops of their counterparts from the opposite direction. A few circuits of Fiona’s midriff with the clinging duct tape ensured that this final embellishment wouldn’t ride up.
With her work now complete, Monica lifted her severely hampered secretary off the chair and laid her, face upwards, on the bare floor.
“Right Fiona, now is your opportunity to build up a really good, long, intimate relationship with the products that you’ll be representing while you work for me. You may not realise it yet, but in a couple of hours you’ll be grateful to me for giving you this unique insight into how much of an extraordinary brand we manufacture and market here. The idea is that, as you can’t get away or do much else at the moment, all five senses can be allowed to fully focus on the attire that you’re modelling right now.”
Monica’s enthusiasm for all-things-hosiery knew no bounds. Indeed, if anything her zeal now stepped up a level. And as she got into her stride, she began to pace the room again, getting more excited and animated as she went along.
“Firstly, there’s the delightfully seductive swishing sound as they glide across your skin and rub against each other. Just listen for a few seconds and I’m sure you’ll agree. Then there’s the unmistakable smell of hosiery just out of the packaging. Take a good, long breath in through your nose, and you’ll find the scent intoxicating to the point of ecstasy. Often overlooked is the taste, of course, and this is the reason I’ve planted those lovely silky threads against your tongue, in order for you to understand the indescribable sensation on your taste buds”.
Momentarily, she stopped and crouched down next to Fiona’s head, before looking deeply into her barely visible eyes beneath the four layered facial mask.
“Of course, the sight of top quality hosiery on a woman is always exciting, but I’ve given you a close up look at the immaculate weave that we at ‘Tantalising Tights’ insist on in our products. All you have to do is concentrate on the intricate fibres right in front of your eyes to understand how much dedication and love goes into the creation of each individual item, every one of which has to pass through our stringent quality control regime.”
Fiona flinched and let out a pathetic whimper as Monica’s hands gently stroked her captive creation; beginning at her breasts and slowly working their way down over her abdomen, to finish at her thighs.
“And lastly there’s the pleasure that comes from the feel of these beauties gently caressing your skin. And that’s why I’ve totally covered you from head to toes in a second skin of slinky, sensual elegance. All you need to do is to move any part of your body or limbs just a fraction of an inch in any direction, in order to experience the most wonderful feeling known to womankind; that soft but seductive, light yet reassuring sensation that constantly reminds you of just how wonderful tightly fitting leg-wear can be.”
Monica stood up to her full height and once more walked across the room. It seemed that her monologue on the joys of tights and tights wearing was beginning to wind down. Within seconds she had reached the door and was opening it; a fact deduced by Fiona as much through the sound of the hinges creaking, as her capacity for visualising this event was hampered by the semi-blindfolding effect of the multi-layered hood.
“But of course, the whole experience is far more than the sum of its parts, and for maximum enjoyment I’d try to excite all five senses at the same time if I were you.”
Monica stood in the doorway and delivered her parting shot.
“So Fiona, try to take on board all I’ve said. I sincerely hope that you get to know intuitively the very ethos of what I’m trying to achieve with this business. But above all else, make sure you enjoy yourself.”
Through the haze before her eyes, Fiona could just make out the image of her tormentor, as she raised her arm and checked her watch.
“Anyway, my dear, I’m sure you’re getting fed up with me rabbiting on and on, and that you’d much rather be left to your own devices so that you can experiment for yourself. I’ll be back in an hour or two to see how you’re getting on. I do hope you didn’t have anything else planned for this evening.”
And with that she was gone; the sound of the door slamming shut confirming the grainy visual image of her departing figure.
Continued in Part 2...