16 Pantyhose
Copyright Oggbashan December 2013/November 2014
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
************************************
Pantyhose
I shouldn't have accepted her invitation to use her flat's bathroom while mine was being fixed. We are both final year university students living in a block of student accommodation. But the building was nearly forty years old and hadn't been maintained properly until this year. Gradually the whole building was being rewired, re-plumbed, and renovated. We students generally had the option of moving out to very temporary accommodation in residential caravans in the grounds, or swapping flats while the work was done.
The workers hit a problem when some of the old plumbing failed. There wasn't enough spare accommodation for everyone. Monica and I had agreed to share our bathrooms for a week or so. Her bathroom was completed first and she had used mine. It hadn't been difficult. She and I had worked out a timetable.
It would have been impossible except that the toilets were originally separate from the bathroom and had a small washbasin. I could wash and shave in that. All we needed was the bath and shower. I got up slightly earlier than normal and was out of the bathroom before Monica needed it. She slipped into my flat wrapped in a bathrobe, and left fully dressed. During the whole week I saw her in that bathrobe about three times. We were too busy with our final examinations to take much notice of each other.
I should have remembered the University's rules about female students trapping male students. It was forbidden during the three years of the basic degree. Postgraduate students were allowed to do what they liked, and once the final examination of the finals was completed, although we remained students for the last week or so, we were considered post-graduate.
Monica and I had been neighbours, friends and students on the same course for nearly three years. Our relationship hadn't progressed beyond friendship and being occasional partners at events. I liked her. She liked me. We had been closer to each other than almost everyone else despite having temporary love affairs with others.
Whenever the current boyfriend/girlfriend relationship ended, Monica and I were there for each other. We offered a sympathetic ear, supplies of coffee, and, if needed, a shoulder to cry on. It was usually Monica crying on my shoulder, but once or twice I had needed her shoulder. She would offer her shoulder freely, hugging me to her soft breasts.
Monica's scent attracted me. I assumed that she had a weak scent trap because the attraction wasn't overwhelming. I was wrong. Monica had been very careful to abide by the rules. She showered at least twice daily, always after sport or exercise, and wore a perfume to nullify her scent trap whenever she might be close to male students.
I was wrong about the strength of her trap. I was also wrong about Monica's intentions for me. She wanted me as her sex slave, and not just as her sex slave, but as her husband. I should have known better. We had just finished our final examinations yesterday and male students were off limits to women's sexual traps until then. I should have been on my guard, but I had known Monica as a friend for three years. I liked her but had forgotten that she would be a threat once the finals were over.
The work on my bathroom started on the Monday morning, after I had showered. That evening I knocked on Monica's door at the agreed time. I was carrying my towel and wearing a well-wrapped bathrobe with nothing underneath. She let me in and showed me where her bathroom was. It was sparklingly new. The partition between the bathroom and toilet had been removed and the room seemed much larger than the two had been.
There was one difference. Suspended from the ceiling in her bathroom was a drying rack. I would have to slide through the washing hanging from it to get to the bath. Why? If the rack had been pulled up to the ceiling I should have been able to walk under the washing.
Pantyhose brushed against my face. I hadn't noticed but everything hanging from the rack was pantyhose. I stopped dead. There was a strong perfume from the nylon and it overwhelmed my senses. It was the familiar scent of Monica but much, much stronger. My face was pressed against it as her scent trap caught me. The towel fell from my useless hands.
I barely noticed Monica coming behind me. Her hands reached up to pull the pantyhose from the rack. She pulled the crotch area across my nose and mouth before wrapping the legs round and round my head. She knotted it in place as I stood there transfixed, drowning in her scent.
She untied my bathrobe and let it fall to the floor. She took the other pantyhose off the rack. One pair she wound around my chest and tied my elbows. The next went at my waist to secure my wrists. She gently guided me from the bathroom to her bedroom, pushed me on the bed and swung my legs up. She tied my legs at the ankles and above my knees. I was a helpless pantyhose tied parcel.
"You're mine, James," Monica said quietly. "All mine. There is no way you can resist my scent trap when it is combined with my sweat. I've been saving my used pantyhose for today and you walked straight into them."
I couldn't answer. My brain was telling me that my face was deep between her legs, pressed hard against her pussy. I felt her legs clamp around my head, her hands pulling me closer. Yet through the nylon over my face I could see Monica standing beside the bed looking down at me.
I hadn't noticed when I walked in that Monica was wearing her bathrobe. She shrugged her shoulders out of it and let it slide. I could see her erect nipples standing proud. Her trap had worked and I was her slave. My erection was harder than I had ever known, insistent.
Although I could see Monica's wonderful body, my sensation was still that my face was buried between her legs. Even when she straddled me and slid my erection inside her I still believed her pussy was swallowing my face. Gradually I became aware that Monica was engulfing me. My head was sinking deeper into her. Her breasts were spreading over my chest. My body was wholly wrapped by Monica and sliding inside her.
I came, shatteringly, into her. As I did, I knew I was Monica's slave for life. She, and her pantyhose, had claimed me.
One usual effect of a sexual trap is almost instant recovery from a climax and a succession of climaxes until the victim is exhausted. My body thrust up against Monica again and again until she took pity on me and lifted herself off.
She untied the pantyhose from my head but I was still helplessly bound on her bed. She walked across to her wardrobe and reached to the top shelf. She came back with a mass of dark black nylon in her hands.
"James, I'm keeping you here for a while," Monica said as she lifted my feet from the bed.
I was too exhausted to resist as she pulled the nylon up my legs and rolled me from side to side to ease it up my body to my neck. I looked down. It seemed impossible but all of me was inside a single opaque black stocking.
Monica laughed at my expression.
"It's a giant stocking, intended as a joke. But it's no joke for you. I crawled inside it while in my bed for three nights and it's strongly scented by me. I don't think I need to, but to make sure you are totally enslaved, it's going to encase all of you."
She lifted my head and shoulders. She yanked the stocking upwards. My head was covered. I tilted my head back looking at the light through the end of the stocking as the top began to close as Monica twisted it.
