A Few Short Tales of Trapped Females

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Tantalised - Part 2

With Fiona all cocooned and helpless, Monica may have thought she had complete control of the situation.

That was until her ex-employee Hannah decided to turn up.

And she only had one thing on her mind: revenge.

Continued from Part 1...

For a few seconds, the sound of the closing door reverberated around the room, rattling the metal shelves on which were stored thousands of pairs of tights and stockings. But this cornucopia of hosiery in all its variety of styles, sizes, colours and deniers, was of no interest to Fiona right now, as her focus was centred upon the numerous pairs that had been taken from their packets and used to enshroud her. Just how many pairs was she encumbered by altogether? Including the pair worn in conventional fashion, she estimated that there were eleven. She may have miscalculated of course, such had been the whirlwind nature of her journey into this world of encasement, that she really wasn’t certain whether a pair or two might have slipped her notice.

But something that definitely wasn’t slipping in any way right now was the insulating shell of tights and tape which held her fast. In fact, once Monica had departed, it had taken Fiona no more than two minutes of vigorous, frantic, yet ultimately futile struggle to realise that there was no getting out of her mummified state. And it became evident also, when she tried to articulate her displeasure to the world beyond these four walls, that the crumpled up tights in her mouth, together with the tape that sealed her lips and the four-ply mesh hood, were all conspiring to make certain that her efforts to summon assistance would come to nought.

But even if she could have vocalised freely, who was there to hear her? Monica had been crafty in this respect, having ensured that not only had she chosen a time when the building was empty, but also picked a location that was windowless, underground and probably virtually soundproof to all but those in the immediate vicinity. And the only person who fell into this latter category, as far as Fiona knew, was her boss, Monica Tantala. At least this had been her initial assumption.

The first inkling that Monica wasn’t the only other person left on the premises, came once this preliminary burst of activity aimed at escaping her predicament had run its course, and she was lying on the floor, motionless save for the heaving of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. At first, Fiona presumed that her hearing was at fault. Maybe the mesh covering her ears was transforming some more mundane sound - such as water in the plumbing or a breeze in the ventilation shafts - into something akin to the sound of whispered human voices. But as the seconds progressed, those voices gradually began to increase in volume, until it was evident that there were at least two people – both female – still in the building, and that they were having what seemed to be some kind of disagreement. And as the sound continued to get louder, it became obvious that these two argumentative women were heading in the direction of the stockroom in which Fiona lay imprisoned.

But what was happening here? For as the commotion gradually rose in volume until it seemed that the voices were directly outside the door, Fiona began to get some insight into the nature of the heated discussion, and it appeared that this was more than just a simple argument brewing. For not only could she make out some of what was being said, but interspersed with this heated debate, several loud thuds and bangs could be heard, indicating that there was some kind of scuffle going on.

Fiona recognised one of the voices, of course. Monica was clearly one of the participants in this animated encounter. But as she listened, she heard a side of her new boss that she’d not come across before. For Monica, it seemed, was not getting things her own way for once.

“Don’t you dare....get your hands off me...you can’t do this to me...”

Remarks such as these, accompanied by grunts, groans and the occasional stifled scream, clearly originated from Fiona’s boss-turned-captor.

“Shut up you bitch...keep still or you’ll get hurt...I’m going to teach you a lesson...”

These were some of the threats and insults that issued from the mouth of the other party, whose voice Fiona didn’t recognise. What exactly was going on out there?

Fiona was given less than thirty seconds to form an opinion on this matter, before suddenly the door burst open. Through the gauze of her hood, she immediately witnessed Monica entering the room; recognisable chiefly by the long, black hair that cascaded halfway down her back. But even through the fog of her four-ply tights hood, it was evident that, far from the elegant entrance that she would have expected her boss to make, on this occasion she stumbled and almost fell, as if she’d been pushed with some force. And it soon became apparent, as another figure stepped into view, that this was probably what had actually happened. For as soon as she’d regained her balance, Monica was rushing back in the direction she’d just come, as if she were keen to exit again as swiftly as possible. The other woman - a tall, slim red-head - had other ideas however.

Fiona watched in disbelief as a minor skirmish ensued in the doorway; Monica’s anxiety to vacate the room countered by her opponent’s determination that she stayed put. And the latter seemed to be winning this battle. Why, though, did it appear that this other female had the upper hand? After all, the duo looked to be about equals in height and build. But for some reason Monica appeared to be labouring somewhat, and the newcomer easily managed to repel her attempts to leave. It took a few seconds, but Fiona soon sussed out the reason for the uneven nature of this contest. For even though her vision was severely impaired, it was evident to Fiona that Monica’s use of her hands seemed to be hampered somewhat.

And then, suddenly, Fiona cottoned on to why Monica seemed so handicapped. For when the latter turned towards the door, the encased woman could just make out the fact that her boss’s arms seemed to be stuck fast behind her back, and a splash of grey around her conjoined forearm’s revealed that the tables had been turned, and that Monica herself was now a prisoner; her wrists having succumbed to a similar taping regime to her own. And another thing that became clear shortly, as Fiona’s hampered vision tried to take all this in, was that Monica’s blouse had been ripped in several places, so much so that her bra-cupped breasts were fully revealed, as was her left shoulder. The right sleeve also showed signs of having been torn.

The methods that this other woman had used to overpower her victim, Fiona could only guess at, although it seemed probable, given the short time since she’d last seen Monica, that her assailant must have been waiting in ambush somewhere in the building for her, and had then surprised and overpowered her quarry before the latter had been able to take preventative action.

But this was pure speculation. What did become obvious almost as soon as the latest arrival began to speak, however, was that Fiona’s presence here had been unknown to her.

“Ah, I see you’re up to your old tricks again, Monica. How fitting then that I chose today to come back seeking revenge.”

By now, the mystery woman had managed to manipulate the protesting Monica into a position face down on the floor, only a few feet from where Fiona languished in her helplessness. This was accomplished with brute force.

“Get off me... You’re trespassing...You have no right to be here!”

The woman laughed harshly at these idle threats, and simply held Monica down by sitting astride her. When she did speak again, her words were addressed not to her squirming prey, but to the completely enveloped and totally bewildered Fiona.

“Hi there, I’m Hannah. I guess you must be Miss Tantala’s new secretary. I bet you weren’t expecting to be spending Friday evening like this, were you?”

Monica bucked and writhed beneath the weight of the female pinning her to the floor, and Hannah briefly turned her attentions back to her captive. A forearm pushed firmly into the back of her neck caused a shriek of pain to issue from Monica’s mouth, but seemed to have the desired effect of halting her struggles. Hannah once again looked over at Fiona and continued. And although her monologue was punctuated with rhetorical questions, the conversation, by necessity, was all one way.

“I know just how you’re feeling now girl; frightened, angry and unsure of why this bitch has hoodwinked you into a situation from which there’s no escape. How do I know? Because a while back I innocently took the job as her PA, and I was forced to endure exactly the same type of thing that you’re going through now. I bet she gave you some spiel about experiencing the quality of her products through total tights and tape isolation, didn’t she? Well don’t be fooled by that bullshit. She’s secretly filming you squirming about in your helplessness.”

Hannah raised one hand and pointed up to the ceiling, where Fiona could just make out what looked like a security camera in one corner of the room. Hardly stopping to draw breath, Hannah continued.

“Why? Well, because she’s a kinky, deviant bitch, who loves watching videos of women in all manner of bondage situations. The tighter and more helpless the better. Not only that, but she’s on some perverted power trip, and likes to make her employees suffer by humiliating them, just to show who’s in control. Believe me, she’s got a whole library of DVDs in her office, showing every secretary that she’s ever employed, plus a number of other employees too, all frantically trying to wriggle free from a plethora of pantyhose.”

She briefly looked down at the woman she was sitting on, and addressed her in mocking tones.

“Sorry Monica, I know you hate the word ‘pantyhose’ don’t you? Too American for you, isn’t it? Well it makes no difference whether you call them tights or pantyhose, because tonight you’re going to get a taste of what it was like for me and every other gullible, unsuspecting young woman who ever had the dubious pleasure of being held captive in the name of your ‘Complete Sensory Guide to Hosiery Appreciation’, or whatever you’re calling it these days.”

Reaching over to the nearest shelf, Hannah grabbed the first pack of tights that she could get her hands on, and began to read the label.

“Black, forty denier, patterned. These will do for starters.”

Monica obviously knew what was coming next, and desperately tried to buck Hannah off her rodeo style, but the latter was evidently prepared for such resistance, and pushed her mount down again.

“The more you struggle Monica, the greater number of restraints I’ll be forced to use on you.”

Splitting the wrapper, Hannah retrieved the goods from within and unfolded them to their full length. Although unable to see the design clearly, Fiona was left in no doubt by Hannah’s next utterance as to the pattern knitted into the weave.

“Ah, flowers of some description. Very decorative, I’m sure. I’m not certain exactly what type of blossoms they’re supposed to be, but for you Monica, they’re going to feel like bindweed.”

Hannah gathered the material up and began attempting to slip her former boss’s taped hands into the corridor of nylon. Monica fought for all she was worth to stop this happening, of course, but with Hannah having the upper hand, it was clear that all attempts to prevent the encasement of her arms up to the shoulders was doomed to failure from the start. This didn’t stop Monica airing her protests vocally, of course, although her threats had been toned down somewhat, and were now being interspersed with desperate pleas for leniency.

“Come on Hannah, don’t be stupid. What’s this going to achieve? If it’s compensation you’re after, let me go and I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

Hannah laughed spitefully.

“Money? Do you really think you can pay me off, after humiliating me for hours on end?All the cash in the world wouldn’t be recompense enough for what you did to me...or to any of the other girls that you put through this whole obscene ordeal. No lady, you’re here to stay for the weekend. Now shut up and let me get on with my work.”

The next phase of Hannah’s ‘work’ involved the binding of Monica’s single-sleeved arms with more duct tape, beginning at her wrists and working up to the tops of her arms. And this was supplemented by the, until now, redundant leg of the tights wending its way around her elbows and being knotted tightly.

But this wasn’t the end of the process. Far from it, in fact. For as soon as this task had been accomplished, the whole cycle began again. Another pair of patterned tights - these ones with butterflies strategically fluttering around in the area that would normally be associated with the wearer’s ankles - followed the same path up Monica’s arms, with the waistband once more stretched around her shoulders. Another bout of taping then ensued. And just to prove the old adage that bad luck - for Monica, at least - always comes in threes, Hannah made sure that the movement of her arms was restricted to an even greater degree, by applying a third layer of hosiery; this one fifty denier, black and opaque.

Of course, all this time Monica hadn’t been passively accepting this brutal onslaught, and at the mention of being trussed up for the next two days, her endeavours to break free went into overdrive. But as she’d so recently informed Fiona, these tights that she was so proud of were resistant to ripping or tearing, and held her arms firmly in check. And after a minute or two, as the layers multiplied and her mobility decreased, she seemed to get the message that physical effort would get her nowhere. So a change of tactics was required.

“Look, I’m attending a hosiery convention in Switzerland this weekend, and I’m flying out in a couple of hour’s time. If I’m not on that flight, people will wonder what’s happened and come looking for me. In fact, they’re probably already wondering where I’ve got to, and will be here in a few minutes.”

Hannah laughed again as she wrapped more tape around her captive’s hands and fingers, to form an unbreakable mitten.

“Really Monica? Do you honestly believe anyone will care if you don’t show up? You think you’re so special that the world can’t do without you for a second, don’t you? Well you’re delusional, lady. No one will even realise you’re missing until they come in on Monday morning and find you all snugly wrapped up in layer upon layer of your own brand of tights.”

Hannah examined Monica’s severely taped and encased arms at this point. Seemingly satisfied that she was inescapably trapped, she quickly rose from her position straddling her victim, and in one swift movement flipped the restrained woman over onto her back. Grabbing a pair of tights from the chair – one of the pairs Monica had unpackaged earlier, but not used on Fiona – she quickly bent down and grabbed her writhing prisoner’s ankles. Monica tried to kick out at her persecutor, but she was no match for the superior mobility that Hannah enjoyed, and within seconds her feet had been inserted into one leg of a pair of sparkling novelty tights, deep purple in hue, which were – as Hannah was quick to point out to both members of her captive audience - part of the ‘Tantalising Teens’ range. As Monica’s calves, then her knees, lost their separate identities, however, Hannah suddenly realised that a stumbling block to complete encasement was foreseeable on the horizon. This proved only a momentary setback however, as she quickly rolled Monica over onto her side, pulled down the zipper on her short skirt, and hastily whipped the offending garment away. Now with unhindered access to Miss Tantala’s legs, she manoeuvred the encasing tights upwards over the black pair worn in more conventional fashion, past her knees and thighs, before lifting her buttocks off the floor and edging the stretch material, inch by inch, up past her hips to the waist.

For the next few minutes, the bindings of the company’s CEO/managing director in a combination of her own merchandise and copious amounts of tape, continued apace. Although visually hindered, Fiona watched as Monica’s legs succumbed to four more coverings of smooth, fine hose in an assortment of different deniers, textures and finishes; sheer and opaque; seamed and seamless; shiny and matte. During this period, Hannah remained silent, concentrating on the task in hand and the need to keep her victim from kicking out and generally trying to hinder progress. So it was left to Monica to provide the soundtrack to the proceedings; and this soundtrack was not an easy listening experience. In fact, the more the build up of tights surrounding her limbs and body, the greater the cacophony that slipped endlessly from her lips, which covered the entire spectrum from enraged threats and curses to pathetic pleas and whimpers.

In the end, this constant whine became too much for Hannah to put up with. Having now ensured that there was no way in the world that Monica could extricate herself from her nylon prison, she decided to bring a halt to this unholy racket.

“Right Monica, time to silence you once and for all.”

Fiona watched from her vantage point as Hannah began to screw a sheer, black, twenty denier pair of tights into a ball. But then, just as she was about to stuff these unceremoniously into the mouth of her former employer, she stopped; a soft smile creasing the corners of her lips.

“No, I’ve got a better idea. Nice new tights, fresh out of the packet, are much too good for your foul mouth.”

Fiona watched in amazement as Hannah rose to her full height, kicked off her shoes, lifted her short skirt up to her waist, and began to unpeel the flesh-coloured hosiery that adorned her slender legs.

But if Fiona was dumbfounded by what was obviously about to happen, Monica was clearly filled with revulsion by the notion of having a pair of well worn tights filling the gap behind her teeth, and the stream of obscenities reached new heights as she tried to back into a corner to repel the incoming gag. It did her no good of course, for Hannah had the advantage over her well and truly restrained adversary, and within no more than half a minute from the second leg being slipped from the tips of her toes, the quickly scrunched up ball of still warm leg-wear had been driven with force deep into Monica’s oral chasm. Naturally, something was needed to discourage the now vocally impaired woman from working this bundle out again, and having used duct tape extensively in the binding process, it was obvious that Hannah would persevere with this tried and tested method. Slowly but surely, Monica’s face and lower head disappeared behind a wall of grey.

“There you go Monica, how does it feel to have my used tights wedged half way down your throat? I remember when you put me through this whole ordeal, that you were quick to promote the taste and smell of tights as part of your sensory stimulation guide. Well now you’ll get the chance to experience what it’s like to breath in my perfume, sweat and...well, maybe a few other bodily fluids too. Not so nice is it?”

Monica shrieked with both terror and anger at this latest indignity, but the tape held firm to her flesh and her words came out as a mere mumble. But Hannah hadn’t finished yet. And it was obvious to the hooded Fiona that, as Monica’s encasement had followed fairly closely the pattern of her own incarceration, her head wouldn’t remain immune from the feel of nylon mesh enveloping it in the very near future. And so it was to prove.

Unlike Fiona’s facade, however, Hannah shunned the use of tights of many colours, instead favouring black, high denier numbers to not only hide Monica’s features from view, but also restrict the outlook from within. And this she did with three identical pairs of tights, hastily taken from the shelf and placed over her prey’s shaking, protesting skull; taking great pains to ensure that the reinforced gusset of each pair nestled snugly over Monica’s nose. As with Fiona’s masking, the legs of each pair were wound around the head and tied with a secure, neat knot. Unlike Monica’s earlier handiwork, however, these avenues of silky hosiery were strategically placed higher up than the region of the mouth, and were instead concentrated across the remonstrating woman’s eyes, in effect blindfolding her in the process.

With her work almost done now, Hannah stood up and examined her creation from every angle.

“Yes not bad, but I think a couple more embellishments would just finish things off nicely. So just like your little friend here...”

She motioned towards the hapless Fiona,

“... I guess I should enmesh you in one final layer from head to waist. After all Monica, I wouldn’t want you to feel that you weren’t getting the full treatment that you mete out to your employees.”

Hannah went over to the shelf and began browsing through the hundreds of different styles of tights available to her. Discarding most of those she came across, it appeared her focus was upon obtaining one specific design for this final flourish. And after a minute or so of rummaging, she found what she was looking for.

“Ah, here we go. These are just the thing for you Monica.”

Even through her sight restricting hood, Fiona could just about read the words printed on the packaging that Hannah was holding. The word ‘Fishnet’ immediately jumped out at her. Being sightless now of course, Monica was oblivious to this latest development, and had to wait a second or two longer to experience the netting of these specially selected tights sliding down her face and being pulled over her shoulders and breasts. If she hadn’t twigged the precise style of this latest covering, however, Hannah was eager to enlighten her as to their nature.

“There you go, Monica, a nice pair of fishnets to finish off with. After all, nets are for catching wild animals in, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly what you are. Or to be more precise, vermin. It certainly gives you that ‘caught-like-a-rat-in-a-trap’ look. I hope you enjoy squirming around for the next couple of days in all those lovely tights that you’re so keen to get everyone else into.”

Monica swore and screamed as loudly as she could, supplementing this with a writhing, wiggling motion that reminded Fiona of a worm or snake in distress. Hannah ignored this latest outburst, however, and once more wrapped her victim in several more bindings of tape – tactically placed at various points from ankles to shoulders - designed to keep movement to a minimum.

Having accomplished this to her satisfaction, Hannah turned her attention back to the other helpless creature who had been a mere observer for the past few, extraordinary minutes. But if the arrival of this third woman, and the subsequent events leading to Monica’s encasement had boosted Fiona’s hopes that she might be released from her own predicament, then she was to soon be dissuaded of this notion.

Kneeling down beside her, Hannah checked Fiona’s bonds over. But instead of instigating the start of the release programme, she merely began explaining why this wasn’t on her agenda.

“Now I expect you’re thinking that I’m going to let you go, aren’t you? Well I’m sorry, but you’re going to be disappointed on that score.”

She stood up again and looked down at the woman-shaped parcel at her feet.

“You see, if I let you go, how do I know you won’t take pity on this loathsome creature here, and help her out of her casings? After all, you may be here of your own accord for all I know. And even if you’re not, there’s always a chance that you’re a compassionate soul with a good heart, who’ll feel sorry for this bitch and set her free.”

Fiona shook her head and made sounds that she hoped answered that accusation in the negative.

“Well you would say that, wouldn’t you? No, I’m dreadfully sorry if you’re not here of your own free will, but I’m afraid I’m going to err on the side of caution and leave you like that. I guess you could say that you’re just collateral damage in this dispute between Monica and myself. It’s unfortunate, but you’ll have to stay here until you’re both discovered on Monday morning.”

Hannah turned to leave, but as she did so, something seemed to catch her eye on one of the well laden shelves. She picked up a packet of tights and read the label. Then she looked across at first one, then the other of the women in their almost identical states of bondage.

“You know something Monica? I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’ve just found a use for these triple extra large tights that you so kindly manufacture for - how shall I put it? – the slightly larger lady. But now I can see how they might come in handy.”

She came back across the room and bent down between her two captives. Fiona had no idea what she had been alluding to, but she could only watch as Hannah grabbed Monica by the feet and pulled her across the tiled floor, until the tights-trussed duo were only inches apart from each other. Fiona peered with her less than perfect vision as Hannah stripped the tights from their wrapper and stretched them out as far as they would go. They were huge, Fiona had to admit. But how was Hannah intending to utilise them now? She didn’t have to wait long before an answer was forthcoming.

Placing the sightless Monica’s legs next to Fiona’s, shin to shin, Hannah began to insert the two women’s mermaid tails into one leg of the oversized tights. It was an extremely snug fit, but having chosen a pair with a higher denier count ensured that the material was durable and elastic enough not to split. Both Fiona, who could see what was about to happen, and Monica, who must have come to the same conclusion by touch alone, baulked at the idea of being sheathed in such intimate proximity to each other. But there was very little either could do. For despite their best evasive efforts, within no more than two minutes Hannah had pulled the sizeable waistband up over their knees, their thighs and their buttocks, to rest at their now conjoined abdomens. Fiona tried to pull away, and she felt Monica attempt to do likewise. But she found that they were now closely welded to each other, without even the ability of bend their knees fully anymore.

Hannah must have been pleased with the results of this experiment, as before Fiona knew what was happening, she found that her oppressor was unwrapping another pair of the same size and hue, before embarking on a similar project to that just completed. This time, however, she worked from the heads of her guinea pigs downwards, so that Fiona found her face and that of her boss were now held in check - nose to nose and cheek to tights-enmeshed cheek - so that neither could pull away from the other. And as Hannah continued the process over their shoulders and down their backs, the sense of constriction became ever more intense and claustrophobic, as inch by inch, the two women became one inseparable entity.

Finally, the two sets of gigantic tights met somewhere near the combined captive’s waists. But even now Hannah wasn’t completely happy with the results of her endeavours. Having a few yards of tape remaining on the spool, she decided that this bonding adhesive shouldn’t go to waste. Making several circumnavigations around the torsos of the indivisible pair of females, she swiftly moved down to their legs and did likewise in several strategic locations between thigh and ankle. Fiona felt the tape tighten around her, and with it the pressure of Monica’s body increased against her own. Lying side by side with her now joined-at-the-hip colleague, she had to turn her head awkwardly to view Hannah, but just as she did so, the tape finally ran out and she could be seen standing up again and admiring her evening’s achievements.

“There we go, that should keep you from getting lonely this weekend. Won’t the staff be amused to find you two all bound up like this on Monday?”

Hannah gave a snort of laughter, at the thought of the embarrassment that being discovered in this state would undoubtedly give rise to.

“But then, what do you think they’ll do? Do you think they’ll let you go...or just laugh and leave you here? After all, you know that the whole workforce detests you, don’t you Monica? I’m sure they’ll be delighted to let you suffer for a while longer...or maybe a lot longer!”

She laughed again, this time for a period of several seconds.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to ponder on that one. I hope you girls make the most of your time together and really enjoy yourselves. I’m sure, given the wonderfully soft nature of your attire, that you’ll love every minute of it.”

Hannah turned towards the stacked shelves at her side.

“But just before I go, I think I’ll help myself to a year’s supply of free tights. After all, it’s the least I’m owed after that horrendous ordeal you put me through.”

Monica had been subdued for a minute or two now, seemingly resigned to the fact that no amount of screaming and shouting would alter the dire circumstances that had been bestowed upon her. The realisation that she was about to be relieved of a portion of her stock, however, acted as the catalyst for a renewed wave of anger and indignation to spout forth from her gagged mouth. Hannah, however, paid this no heed, simply picking through the various styles and giving a running commentary on her choices as she did so.

“These forty denier ‘Hip Shapers’ are really nice...I love these sheer ones with the seams too...Now how about a few pairs of these black, sixty denier opaque ones, seeing as winter is just around the corner?...Oh, and a couple of pairs of these footless ones will do nicely for my aerobics classes...and maybe a few from the ‘Shimmer and Shine’ range, for when I go out on the town...”

And so it went on for several minutes, as Hannah filled two carrier bags with contraband. Once she seemed content with her selections, she headed for the door.

“Goodnight ladies. I hope you don’t get up to too much mischief!”

And with that she was gone; the slamming of the door informing the blinded Monica what had been visually obvious to Fiona; namely that they had now been abandoned.

Monica began to struggle as if her life depended on it, furiously thrusting and bucking in a desperate effort to escape from a situation that she had inflicted on so many others in the past. Fiona, too, did her best to extricate her arms from the numerous confining layers of finest hosiery and insulating duct tape which held her in seriously strict subjugation. But being detained at such close quarters, Monica’s almost violent thrashing motions meant that her efforts became the dominant force in the reluctant partnership, to a point where Fiona could do very little accept mirror her partner-in-bondage’s physical exploits.

Being in such close proximity, every movement, however slight, caused each gossamer-like layer to slip and slide with fluidity across its adjacent stratum. And so intimately packaged had the tights-encased twosome been secured, that Fiona could feel the vibration of Monica’s heart beating, and experienced the constant rubbing of the other’s breasts against her own, as they heaved and writhed in helpless frustration. But it wasn’t just the upper torso region of their adjacent forms where the copious layers of mesh interacted to create a whooshing, swishing murmur at every slight shift of their bodies. For further down, the jiggling of Monica’s hips as she frantically fought to break loose, caused Fiona’s own abdomen to unwittingly strike up this same rhythm in tandem with her unwilling associate. And with their heads trapped together within one avenue of Lycra enhanced leg-wear, Fiona couldn’t help but experience Monica’s exhaled breath on her face, which came in short, staccato bursts between the banshee-like howls and shrieks that were intended to draw the attention of potential rescuers, but in reality only reached the ears of the woman just a few inches away from her.

For what seemed like several minutes, Monica’s battle to be free of her bonds continued unabated, with Fiona being buffeted and bounced against the hard floor, as her boss selfishly attempted to get herself loose at all costs. It crossed Fiona’s mind that, in the unlikely event of this escape bid reaching a successful conclusion, Monica would probably not wait around to release her too, but would simply leave her here as had been originally intended, such was her disregard for the needs of others. And in one of the brief interludes in Monica’s screeching sessions, the fact that she began to plead with Fiona to help her – singular - escape, rather than in any way acknowledging that there were actually two people in the same unenviable predicament, only added to Fiona’s gut feeling that Monica was interested solely in saving herself. And these thoughts only led to Fiona wishing that she’d never agreed to meet her boss in this dimly lit underground storeroom, which had now become their joint incarceration chamber for the coming two days. In fact, Fiona now wished that she’d never applied for this job at all.

But as time rolled on, a strange thing happened; something subtle and unfathomable which couldn’t be explained in logical terms...if indeed it could be explained at all.

For as time passed, Fiona began to experience a strange sensation, which, as the seconds turned to minutes, began to increase and spread. Initially perceived in the lower abdomen, the impression arose of a tingling sensation on her skin, which ebbed and flowed with the glide of the tights induced by Monica’s constant struggles. Whether this was caused by a build up of static electricity in the nylon hose, Fiona wasn’t sure. Or perhaps it was simply a reaction to the constant chafing of the tights against her flesh which instigated this prickling effect. But as the sensation heightened in its intensity, Fiona soon realised that it was neither of these. Or, more correctly, a combination of both ... plus something else far more abstract and subjective in nature. For this was not a mere quivering of the skin that she was feeling now, but something far more substantial and intimate, which seemed to well up from her inner being. In fact, as the sensation grew ever stronger, the realisation that the energy being released was of a sexual nature suddenly hit her. And it occurred to her that it was during the periods when Monica’s struggles were at their peak that this phenomenon could be experienced at its most powerful.

At first, Fiona was disgusted by this revelation. How could it be, she asked herself, that in a grim situation from which there was no chance of escape and little prospect of rescue in the near future, she could be experiencing the first stirrings of sexual arousal? But as the strength of these urges became more concentrated, she recognised that there was very little to be achieved by trying to fight against these impulses, and that she might as well go with the flow. After all, if she had to be stuck here the whole weekend, she might as well at least get some light relief along the way. Thrusting her hips in time with her opposite number, whilst also rubbing her breasts and thighs as provocatively as she could against Monica’s, a rhythm was soon established that seemed to augment and intensity the vibes that were by now coursing through her entire body.

And after no more than a minute or so, it seemed that Monica, too, became aware of the wonderful nature of this shared familiarity, and added to this whole pleasurable occurrence by reciprocating in the well orchestrated sensual massaging of their restrained and tightly packaged bodies and legs, until, finally, with their thighs and abdomens grinding as hard as they could against one another, both women reached a synchronised ecstatic climax; the accompanying stifled moans of delight echoing around the room from two well sealed but joyous mouths.

Soon, with their energies now spent, the duo lay on the floor in motionless silence, both basking in the afterglow of a shared but totally unexpected event. No longer did either strive for freedom or see the need to call for assistance. And within a few minutes, it became obvious to Fiona from Monica’s rhythmic breathing, that her boss had fallen into a peaceful sleep beside her.

Fiona lay awake however, running through the events of the day; a thousand thoughts and questions running through her head. She now knew that Monica had been right about the quality of the ‘Tantalising Tights’ brand, and would certainly be able to vouch for the ladder resistant qualities, the strength of the weave and the silky smoothness of the product.

But more than anything, she now understood intuitively the wonders of complete sensory immersion in tights, which Monica had been trying to convey to her. If she was to remain an employee here after this weekend, then she would certainly be able to speak with great passion and knowledge to potential customers about just how gloriously sensual ‘Tantalising Tights’ could be.

And with that thought in mind, and Monica’s warm body beside her, Fiona drifted off into a serene, contented sleep.

The End

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