My boyfriend likes my stockings.

I think I'm quite pretty and could attract my boyfriend, but he seems to like me more when I'm wearing stockings. I remember back in elementary school, some boys said they liked me, but maybe back then it was just infatuation. In middle school, another boy confessed his feelings, and the teachers found out, so I was constantly being called to the office. I felt so wronged; it wasn't like I initiated anything. And when my mom found out, I got a scolding from home. I spent my junior high school years constantly being scolded for not dating too early. But things changed in high school. My mother was a middle school teacher, and my father was the deputy manager of a joint venture company. My life was quite comfortable, and as the only girl in the family, I was pampered from a young age. Even now, I still believe my parents wanted me to marry into a wealthy family. During my high school years, they often took me to an uncle's house, sometimes even letting me stay overnight. This uncle had a boy a year older than me. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Later, in my second year of high school, during a meal together, my father suggested that I marry into his family when I grew up. I felt my face burning; I must have blushed! Later, I realized that his uncle's family was very powerful and wealthy. Perhaps my parents truly believed that money could bring me happiness. But I didn't like that boy. Although we had played together since childhood, I always considered him my older brother! He was the flamboyant type, while I preferred someone as deep and reserved as my father. So, under my parents' strong pressure, I had my first love. Actually, the wealthy young man liked a girl in his class. We only chatted about our daily lives; he definitely didn't like me. He never kissed me, only pretending to be close to his parents. In my second year of high school, he got into university. He was quite handsome, so in his second year, he brought home a girlfriend—his classmate, of course. I felt like the one who was dumped, even though there was nothing between us. Later, I also went to university, though only a vocational college. I was lucky; in my first year, I became a host at my school. Of course, I didn't host many programs, as there were quite a few hosts at the school, but I was already very happy. During this time, I met another host—let's call her "Yun." She was a year older than me, and we gradually became inseparable best friends. Her home was in the city where I went to school, so I often went to her house; it felt like my second home. And her home changed my destiny. It was my first summer vacation in college. I had just finished hosting a program for students staying on campus and was about to go back to my dorm to rest when I realized that Yun had sent me a text message while I was hosting the program, inviting me to her house. She said she would show me around. By the way, my home is in Beijing, and I was studying in Tianjin. Actually, they are both big cities, so they are all the same. What's so fun about that? So, without even changing my clothes, I took a bus to her house. When I arrived at her door, I rang the doorbell, but no one answered. How could that be? Then someone came up from downstairs. I didn't pay attention at the time, but I felt someone covering my mouth. When I woke up again, I was in Yun's house, and in front of me was a stranger, or rather, a boy who looked like a student. He was holding my leg. I think I must have looked very sexy that day. I was wearing a white lace dress and white canvas shoes. Now that I think about it, what probably attracted him the most was my flesh-colored sheer stockings. My hands were tied to the radiator next to the bed, my mouth was taped shut, and my legs were spread apart and secured to ropes under the bed. He was licking my legs, which were completely wet, probably from his saliva. When he saw I was awake, he smiled at me and continued kissing my legs. I was dizzy and didn't know what I was feeling. About twenty minutes passed like this. I needed to go to the bathroom, so I silently told him my needs. When he saw I was about to speak, he lifted his head from his kisses and said something I'll never forget: "To possess your legs and feet, you must first possess your body." Without another word, he started tearing my skirt apart and shredded it, throwing the pieces on the floor. Seeing this, my heart broke. I knew what was about to happen. I struggled desperately, but it was no use. He stripped me naked, including my sanitary napkin, until I was left only in my stockings. He was on top of me, and he was taking advantage of me. It hurt so much. Can you imagine what that felt like? I was holding my urine, being violated, my mouth sealed shut. His movements were swift; my breathing was rapid, but with my mouth blocked, I could only breathe through my nose. His neck kept swaying near my face, making it hard to breathe. I couldn't hold it in any longer; urine streamed down my thighs onto the bed, but he ignored it and continued his actions. My mind was in turmoil. A moment later, he got up and kissed my entire body. It was quite hot that day, and I was a little nervous hosting the show, so I must have smelled a bit. But he kissed me from my face to my feet, the kisses raining down on me. He finally tired and lay on top of me. The room was filled with the smell of my urine and sweat, and the first blood I had ever shed, because the air conditioning was on. I was terrified. I was afraid he would kill me. I remembered arguing with my family before school, I remembered that I wouldn't see tomorrow, I remembered that I would never be pure again, that I was dirty. I cried. He silently dressed and knelt by the bed: "***
(My name is kept secret) I've liked you for a long time. Ever since the first day you came to school and hosted your first program, I've been hopelessly in love with you. Do you know Yun? She's my cousin. Her family went to South Korea yesterday, and now it's just you and me in this house. I just wanted to have a good talk with you, but I couldn't control myself. Actually, I'm in a lot of pain. I like you, but I don't dare to say it because I'm afraid of rejection, so I took this extreme measure." He pointed to a knife next to him. "If you think I deserve to die, just say so, and I'll die right in front of you." "After saying that, he untied the ropes binding my legs and my hands to the radiator. I was free, but I was confused. Just a moment ago I was on the verge of death, but now? This wasn't like the TV shows I'd seen before. How could he do this? I lay on the bed, clutching a blanket, while he knelt before me, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, he stood up, left the bedroom, and came back a moment later with a set of clothes, throwing them on the bed. He then said, 'If you want to report this, go ahead, I'll pay the price,' and left. My God, how could there be such a person? At that moment, I only had one thought: get out of there. I changed my clothes, put on my shoes, and ran outside. My hair was a mess; I must have looked terrible. In the hallway, I took off my stockings. I didn't even have enough for the bus fare back because my small bag was still at her house. I walked back to school step by step. It was already evening, and many people had already gone home for the holidays. Not many people at the school saw my disheveled state. I returned to my dormitory, where I was temporarily the only one living there. The first thing I did was..." After that, I took a shower. I showered for a long time, hoping to wash away all the dirt on my body, but what about the inside of my body? At that moment, I really wanted to cut myself open with a knife and clean myself inside. That night, I thought a lot. If I reported it to the police, what about my reputation, my school? After all, many people at the school know me. How would I live after that? In the end, I decided not to report it to the police, but I couldn't just let it go like this. I had to find Yun and ask her what happened. Looking at the train ticket I had booked, I called my dad and said I had to rehearse at school and would be back a week late. Two days later, Yun called me. I went to her house, and only Yun and her cousin were there. Yun first introduced her cousin Feng (I'll use that name for now) to me. Yun hugged me and cried, saying she never expected her brother to be such a scoundrel, and that she was sorry for me. I really wanted to die with them, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. We sat there silently, not saying a word. That day, I learned that her cousin Feng had come to the school to see Yun do her show. He liked me from the moment he saw me, but he didn't dare to say it directly. He was going to study in another province (he was a senior at a university in Zhejiang). He wanted to have a proper talk with me this time, but I never expected this to happen. My mind went blank. I didn't say anything, just grabbed my bag and left. During the summer vacation, I was afraid I was pregnant, so I went for a checkup. Sure enough, I was pregnant. I was scared, so I bought some medicine and took care of it. During this time, I didn't do anything. Every day I just thought about what to do. As a woman, I was already someone else's. I even thought about suicide, but I was afraid and couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't know what the future held. Actually, Feng was quite handsome. If I had talked to him properly back then, maybe I would have accepted him as my boyfriend, but… I spent the summer in a daze. School started again, and I even had an artificial hymen re-implanted at the hospital. Since I didn't choose to die, I still had to finish my studies. Every day I saw Yun and his brother Feng at school, but we didn't say anything. Yun took the initiative to contact me. I spoke to her, but I ignored her. What happened later made me regret it deeply. That weekend evening, I had just finished hosting a program. The night air was cool and refreshing, and I was feeling very down. I always seemed insecure. Just then, a van pulled up beside me on the street, and suddenly the door opened. Several men grabbed me and tried to force me into the van. It happened right next to my school. How could this happen? This happened twice in less than four months. They locked me in a small, dark room with seven men. They just kept me inside; they didn't touch me. I didn't know what they wanted. Several days passed in this state of confinement (the windows were blocked). One day, in a daze, I was taken to another room. They told me to serve the man on the bed—he looked to be under twenty! They wanted me to have sex with him. How could I agree? One of them said to me, "If you don't agree, we'll strip you naked and throw you at the gate of your school. Let's see what you do then!" "They made me lie on the young man's bed, but I refused. They then took me to a van and stripped me naked. One of them said, 'We're at your school gate now. If you don't agree, we'll push you out of the van. You'd better watch out!' I just wouldn't agree. They really tried to open the car door, but how could I let them? I blocked the doorway with all my might. Finally, I had no choice but to give in and was taken to the young man. He was barely twenty years old and kept staring at me. He held my legs and kept kissing me without saying a word. Finally, he couldn't hold back anymore and pounced on me like a hungry wolf, relentlessly violating me inch by inch. This was the second time. Why is my life so miserable? Then they wrapped me up from head to toe in lots of stockings. Actually, I quite like stockings. I remember it was when I was..." When I was in elementary school, I once wore my older cousin's stockings and looked at myself in the mirror for a long time. They let me go after that, but that was the first time. Unexpectedly, two months later, it happened again. It was a late autumn evening, and I was walking home alone in a dress, trying to catch up on an upcoming Korean drama. A gust of wind blew, and I shivered. Suddenly, I realized I needed to pee, so I quickened my pace. I was afraid it would happen again, so I moved out. Because it was cold, I wore two layers of stockings: a flesh-colored inner layer and a gray-black outer layer, paired with a pure white dress. The cotton socks were simply alluring. I arrived home, went up to the top floor, and reached my apartment. Just as I was about to take out my key to open the door, a man suddenly pounced on me from behind. Before I could react, my mouth agape as I was about to scream, a towel was pressed against my mouth and nose. As I struggled, a strong smell of medicine assaulted my senses, and gradually I felt my limbs go numb, and waves of drowsiness washed over me… The man dragged me into the room next to mine. He was called "that guy," and he had just moved in, but I didn't recognize him. He had been planning to kidnap me for a long time. "Such an easy success," the man said, looking at me… I lay unconscious on the bed, seemingly unable to believe it. Looking at his prey, the man nervously swallowed. This was the girl next door, with fair skin, small, slightly pursed lips, and short, slightly disheveled black hair that only accentuated her youth and vitality. A dress hugged her slender figure, her long, shapely legs, stockings, and white cotton socks creating an irresistible allure for the man. He felt a moment of dizziness, but quickly regained his senses; it was time to get down to business. He pulled out a pre-prepared rope from under the bed and bound me. The man turned me over... He turned around, placed my hands together behind my back, and took a soft but very strong cotton rope, carefully tying them together. He wrapped it horizontally several times, around several times, crossed several times, and then vertically several times, his technique very skillful. After tying my hands, he tugged at them—good enough, not enough to hurt me, but enough to prevent me from escaping. Then he used a similar method to tie my legs tightly together. Then he lifted me up and carefully tied my arms and body together. This way, no matter how much I struggled, I could only twist my body; unless the man untied the rope… Otherwise, I would never be able to break free, but that man wouldn't let me go; after all, he'd been lusting after me for so long. Next, the man took out a pair of clean stockings, gently pinched my cheek with one hand, and as my mouth opened unconsciously, he carefully stuffed the stockings into my mouth, sealing it tightly. Then, he took a flesh-colored thigh-high stocking and tightly covered my mouth with it, tying a knot behind my head to secure it, so my mind couldn't possibly spit the stockings out. The man then took another stocking and blindfolded me. Then… Then the man took out a small bottle of nasal decongestant and had me inhale it to prevent me from suffocating. Finally, he used a thick, DIY hood made of stockings to cover my head, so I couldn't possibly remove the stockings covering my eyes and mouth. This stocking hood was quite good; it snugly covered my head and neck. The man then picked me up and put me into a sleeping bag fixed to the bed, with only my head sticking out. This sleeping bag was modified by the man; it was very tight, and the neck opening could be tied with a rope, so even if I wasn't tied up... "Don't even think about getting out of the sleeping bag." The man looked at his "masterpiece" with satisfaction and smiled smugly. Then he turned on the TV, tuned it to a 24-hour channel, locked the door, and left. He was going to the suburbs to retrieve the rest. Because the building was so expensive, few people lived there, and the soundproofing was excellent. The man had installed soundproofing material in every corner of the room where I was tied up, and even the windows were double-glazed. Even if we were fighting in the room, no one could hear us. Soon, I woke up from a very uncomfortable sleep. In the darkness, it seemed like I was the only one there, and my head was still a little foggy.A dull ache throbbed, and it felt like something was still covering my mouth and eyes. I suddenly remembered what had just happened and tried to sit up in terror, but found my body completely unresponsive, as if it were glued shut. I realized I was tied up, so I struggled desperately, but could only wriggle around in my sleeping bag on the bed, trying to scream for help, but only managing weak "mmm" sounds from deep in my throat. I couldn't scream, I couldn't see, and I was terrified, desperately trying to break free of my restraints. The feeling on my face was familiar; it was my favorite stockings, but now I desperately tried to rub them off, but no matter how hard I tried, the hood remained firmly in place, and the stockings covering my mouth and eyes were even more impossible to remove. I couldn't help but cry, but the tears were quickly absorbed by the stockings. I felt like a tightly bound rice dumpling. I gradually understood my situation; I had been kidnapped, and I didn't know what would happen next, so I could only continue my futile struggle, desperately twisting my body. Gradually, I grew tired, breathing heavily through my nose. Only then did I notice the television chiming on the hour; it was ten o'clock. My despair subsided slightly; after all, this futile effort was just a waste of energy. But just as I was trying to find a solution, I discovered an even more troublesome problem—I needed to pee. I hadn't even had a chance to go home and relax before being tied up. Now I was terrified again. I didn't know how long I'd be tied up, or what would happen if I couldn't hold it in. I struggled desperately, trying to distract myself, but the urge to pee seemed to be deliberately working against me. The more afraid I was, the more urgent it became; forgetting the urge was impossible. I deeply regretted drinking that huge cup of milk tea on the street earlier. Now I felt even worse, tightly bound, gagged, and blindfolded. I wanted to cry out, but I could only manage soft "mmm" sounds.
Faced with the increasingly urgent urge to urinate, I could only tightly clamp my legs together, even though they were already firmly bound together. I could only laboriously wriggle my body; I couldn't even sit up. I realized I was completely wrapped up and secured to the bed with ropes. So, with my last bit of strength, I tried to break free of the ropes binding me, then I could move, use a doorknob or something similar to pull off the hood, spit out the stockings in my mouth, and use my teeth to bite a pencil or something to call the police. I had hope again, but the man wasn't stupid; the sleeping bag was securely fastened and impossible to break free of, and I couldn't crawl out of it either, so no matter how much I struggled, it was futile. Realizing this, I quickly despaired and could only try to hold back the ever-increasing urge to urinate. I didn't even have the strength to cry anymore; I could only occasionally move my body with difficulty, trying to find a more comfortable position. I had been thinking of breaking free and escaping before my kidnapper returned, but now, in my despair, I actually hoped he would come back soon, perhaps even letting me use the restroom to ease my discomfort. After enduring this for a long time, the TV chimed in again, it was already 11 o'clock, and I felt I was about to burst. Just then, I heard the door open, and the man returned carrying a large box of drugs. I mumbled anxiously, and the man pulled me out of my sleeping bag, pounced on me, rubbing his face against my body through my stockings, his hands roaming over my skin. He was a pervert. I was utterly desperate now, futilely trying to avoid his groping hands. The man's gaze swept over my body, and when it lingered on my slender legs, which were pressed together and rubbing against each other, he understood what I wanted to say. He leaned close to my ear and said, "Want to pee? If you're good, I'll let you." I nodded frantically. The man lifted my skirt, reached for his underwear and stockings (I like to wear my underwear over my stockings), and chuckled lewdly, "Your outfit really excites me." He untied the rope binding my knees, then removed my underwear and two layers of stockings, picked me up, and placed me on the toilet, spreading my legs wide. He aimed his penis at the toilet bowl and softly said, "We're here, you can relax now." My upper body trembled, and I kept making "mmm" sounds, clearly ashamed of the position. However… however, ultimately, the physical pressure overcame my reason, and a clear liquid gushed out… The man carried me back to bed, straightened my clothes, and "locked" me back into the sleeping bag. Through the hood… The man couldn't see my expression, only hear my heavy breathing through the hood; it sounded like I was sobbing. He then put on an Arab mask, completely obscuring his face. His fingers roamed over my neck before removing the hood and blindfold. My eyes were filled with sadness and fear, and the tear stains at the corners of my eyes, combined with my tightly gagged mouth, made me look even more pitiful. "If you promise not to scream, I can take the gag out of your mouth, okay?" "Do you want to be gagged like this forever?" "Mmm...mmm..." I nodded vigorously. "Please let me go, don't hurt me, I won't tell the police, as long as you let me go..." "Mmm..." My mouth was gagged again. "I like tying up women, seeing them like this makes me feel good and comfortable. As long as you obey, I won't hurt you, otherwise..." As he spoke, a switchblade appeared in his hand as if by magic. "I have a bad temper, sometimes I don't know what I'll do when I get excited, so you'd better behave yourself." I nodded in terror. The man "bandaged" my head again, then turned off the lights and TV, locked the door, and went to sleep in another room. I was once again plunged into endless fear and darkness. In the morning, the man shook me awake, untied all the restraints on my head and face, wiped my face, made me rinse my mouth, then made me go to the toilet like last night, and finally fed me, and then... Then they gagged me, blindfolded me, put a hood over my head, and put me back in my sleeping bag. I only got minimal relief during mealtimes. I could only use the toilet twice a day, morning and evening, and also defecate at night, so I still had to hold my urine. A week passed like this, and I was almost desperate from being tied up, no longer struggling as fiercely as before. After all, I hadn't showered or changed clothes for a week, and I started to smell. My dress was cut to shreds, and my stockings and underwear were taken off and thrown aside; the ropes binding my body were loosened, but I still wasn't free—my hands were handcuffed behind my back with even stronger handcuffs. When I lay naked in the bathtub filled with water, I thought I was about to be violated, but the man simply gagged and blindfolded me as usual, then covered me with a gauze mask. Suddenly, the man reached out, cupped my head, and forcefully pressed it down into the water. "Ugh~"
"I shook my head, struggling desperately, but because my hands and feet were restrained, I couldn't exert any force. I was terrified, thinking my life would end like this. Suddenly, the pressure on me vanished, and I sprang to my feet. The man reached out and removed his mask, revealing my face, flushed red from suffocation. I sniffled, breathing in the long-awaited air, making muffled 'hmm, hmm' sounds from my gagged mouth. The man's actions had made it clear: don't try to resist; he had absolute power of life and death. And it worked. I didn't resist at all, only letting out a couple of soft moans, almost inaudible under the stockings. After drying me, the man wrapped me in a large bath towel and placed me on a chair. He fed me breakfast; the towel seemed too thin, as I trembled. I quickly finished the hot food he fed me, not finding any sleeping pills in it, and soon drifted off to sleep." The man carried me back to bed and pulled out a box he'd brought back the night before from under the bed. It contained several pairs of pantyhose, a bodysuit, and tight gloves. Looks like this is going to be a big undertaking. First, he stuffed cotton into my anus, then put a sanitary napkin on it, put on ultra-thin pantyhose, and gagged me with the pantyhose. Next was a full-body, flesh-colored pantyhose that covered my entire body—very tight, but very elastic. After putting it on, the man used a mini sewing machine to sew up the opening, so even if I… Without being bound or using any tools, I couldn't remove the soft, snug, yet incredibly durable, specially made full-body pantyhose. Through the pantyhose, the man used another pair of long stockings to gag me. The stockings didn't affect the shape of my face; only my lips protruded slightly, but it didn't detract from the overall smoothness. Then he put on another layer of flesh-colored pantyhose and a layer of white pantyhose, both neatly covering me from my feet to my neck. Then he used elastic bandages to seal my entire lower body tightly. And so it continued... Stockings covered my entire body, exuding a mysterious allure. The man then took out a full-body, pure white, tight-fitting elastic bikini and carefully helped me put it on, smoothing out every wrinkle. The white, semi-transparent bikini clung tightly to my stockings, gleaming with a seductive sheen. Next, the man put on long, white, tight-fitting elastic gloves that extended past my elbows. He then blindfolded me with stockings, took a more exquisite, tighter, and more fitting stocking hood, wrapped it around my head, and connected it to the stockings and bodysuit, then sewed them together with a miniature sewing machine. The man's hands greedily caressed my body from head to toe. With the man's "help," I gradually donned the pure white swimsuit-style bodysuit, stockings, and elbow-length tight gloves. Next came the tight binding. The man grabbed several long strips of cloth and bound me up as before, adding more bindings to the crucial areas. It was reinforced, making escape impossible. However, this time he didn't put me in a sleeping bag; he had another plan. The man slipped my legs into a specially made single-layer pantyhose, which covered my buttocks and extended to my waist. The restraint wouldn't end there; he turned and took another pair from a large stack of identical pantyhose, wrapping me up a second layer. This continued until all five pairs of pantyhose were on my slender legs. The excellent elasticity of the multiple layers of pantyhose became the most powerful restraint, completely binding my legs together. To maintain the overall proportions, my upper body was also covered. A white sleeveless stocking top covered my upper body, along with my restrained arms, and the long hem reached my buttocks, tucked into the pantyhose and sewn in. Of course, five layers were also worn, ensuring the upper body was equally tightly restrained; I felt like a cocoon of stockings. On this cold autumn day, it felt so warm and gentle. The man then took out another… It was a very tight stocking pullover, but much longer at the hem than the previous one. After covering my head, a large portion of it draped over my shoulders, so the man pulled it over my entire shoulders. Then he pulled the opening down, over my chest, abdomen, buttocks, and toes, until it covered every corner of my body before finally sewing the opening shut with a miniature sewing machine. But it wasn't over yet. The man brought a large bundle of wide strips of cloth and bound the stocking cocoon tightly. My current situation can only be described as "the worst": my eyes were blindfolded, my mouth was completely gagged, and with three layers of stockings covering my head, making it impossible to speak was impossible. Breathing was also restricted, but the stockings were very breathable, so as long as I didn't struggle violently and become breathless, I could breathe. I couldn't see anything, couldn't speak or move; perhaps the only thing I could move was my brain. The man rubbed against me, now just waiting for me to wake up… After a while, I woke up, although my head was still groggy. I felt heavy, but soon I realized I was encased in layers of stockings. I tried to remove them, but quickly found it impossible, as I was bound even more tightly, only able to writhe my body on the bed. Suddenly, I felt the man press tightly against me, constantly caressing and rubbing my genitals.
I struggled desperately, but had to give up immediately because I couldn't breathe. Gradually, my genitals became sensitive; the man's stimulation had aroused my lust, stimulating my sensitive nerves. I didn't know what to do anymore, so I desperately twisted my body, moaning loudly, hoping this beast would stop. But my struggles and cries only aroused the man's senses, and he caressed my body even more enthusiastically. By this time, I was beyond control, and could only let this pervert torture me; I felt like I was about to faint. Seeing that I was about to pass out, the man stopped and sat on the edge of the bed, admiring me. I was panting heavily. I was exhausted and soon fell into a deep sleep. In my dream, I was walking down the street when suddenly a veil seemed to cover my vision, and I couldn't see anything. I tried to reach out and remove the veil, but my hands wouldn't move. I tried to call for help, but no sound came out. The passersby walked away, and I tried to chase after them, but I couldn't take a step. Suddenly, everything disappeared, leaving only darkness. I woke up and moved. At that moment, I couldn't distinguish between reality and nightmare. I couldn't help but cry, but the layers of stockings held me back. I didn't understand why that pervert kidnapped me, why he deprived me of my freedom, and why he tortured me like this. At noon, Cheng didn't feed me, nor did he intend to untie me. He couldn't bear to unwrap the veil, letting me struggle and moan. The sight before him made the man's blood boil, and he couldn't resist pouncing on me again… The constant stimulation assaulted my senses. After a long while, I couldn't bear it any longer. I struggled frantically, desperately trying to scream, but it was all in vain. I struggled for a while, then stopped moving. I fainted from the overwhelming emotion and lack of oxygen. The man quickly blew air into my nose through the hood, performing CPR. What a pervert! Even at this point, he wouldn't remove the restraints, not even to let me breathe more easily. Perhaps the man expected me to be alright, because he wasn't worried at all. Sure enough, I recovered quickly. By then, I had no strength left to struggle; the thought of dying even crossed my mind. The man covered me with a blanket, and I quickly fell asleep. I slept for a long time before waking up, woken by the urge to urinate. Gradually, the urge became more and more urgent, and with the stimulation from the cotton plug in my urethra, I soon felt I couldn't control this damned urge. I strained, making loud "uh-uh" sounds, my body twisting and turning on the bed. The man understood what I meant, grinning slyly, "Want to pee again?" I won't let you go! If you dare pee on my bed, I'll definitely beat you up! You'd better watch out! I really don't want to untie you, and I don't want to let you go, you perfect person... I was terrified. I remembered the descriptions in novels of girls being forced to urinate in front of their kidnappers and then being raped. I desperately held back the urge to pee, not knowing how much longer I could hold on, only knowing that every little bit more time meant a little more hope. I desperately squeezed my legs together, which were impossible to separate. After struggling for a long time, I finally couldn't resist the physiological urgency any longer and peed. However, due to the obstruction of the cotton and the layers of sanitary napkins, stockings, and bandages tightly binding me, a large part of the urine... My urine was blocked inside, only slowly flowing out. The more I urinated, the more urgent the urge became, and I couldn't stop. My urine slowly soaked through my clothes and wet the bed. Just as I was filled with terror, the man pulled down his pants, pounced on me, and almost frantically hugged and rubbed against me. Then he climbed up and greedily sniffed and kissed my stockinged feet, which were now soaked. He then pressed my feet against his penis. I struggled, my bound feet moving incessantly, intensely stimulating the man's lust. Soon he ejaculated
.
Oh, a milky white liquid stained my foot. Just when I thought I was doomed, I smelled that drug again, and before I could struggle much, I passed out. Actually, the man didn't rape me in the end; after he finished, he removed all my restraints... I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, I found myself lying in my warm bed at home, all my restraints gone. My skin felt like it was wrapped in something soft, comfortable, and warm—a long-lost feeling of comfort. I smelled nice; I had obviously just taken a shower. Was that a nightmare? No! I realized I was only wearing a clean, ultra-thin white pantyhose, with faint marks on my wrists. I scrambled up in fear, struggled to remove the pantyhose, and looked down. My artificial hymen was still intact. I breathed a sigh of relief. I made an excuse to discuss moving with my parents, and my life gradually returned to normal. Even after this incident, my fascination with stockings remained unchanged. I was even reluctant to take them off when showering; to be precise, I never took them off unless they were torn. Showering cleaned them, and they dried easily, so there was no need to take them off. Stockings had become my second skin. I often recalled the feeling of being wrapped in layers of stockings, but later I became afraid of ropes; being tied up was too uncomfortable. However, my story of being tied up was far from over… The following summer arrived, and the school organized a trip. Today I was still wearing stockings, but instead of a skirt, I wore sweatpants. The friction between the stockings and the pants felt very comfortable. On the way down the mountain, I gradually fell behind the group, so I told my classmates to go ahead, saying I was tired. Actually, it was because my shoes were too tight; my feet ached after walking all day, and I couldn't walk fast. Just around a bend, a figure flashed behind me, followed by a towel covering my mouth and nose. My first thought was that I had been kidnapped. Remembering my last experience, I struggled desperately, but my consciousness quickly faded. When I woke up, I found myself tightly bound to a large armchair, unable to move. Everything was dark, and my eyes were covered. "Ugh," I struggled in terror, but the ropes wouldn't budge. Then I felt someone pinching my face. Was it another pervert? "Ugh," I cried out in despair. "You can't escape. Don't waste your energy," a man's voice said, then he locked the door and left. I struggled helplessly, the ropes digging painfully into my skin. The room was stiflingly hot; I was drenched in sweat, my clothes soaked through, my stockings clinging to my legs. After a long time, gagged and parched, I was incredibly thirsty, exhausted, hot, and hungry. I felt I was about to collapse. Just then, someone came in from outside, ripped off the gag from my mouth, and without saying a word, fed me some food and then poured several bowls of water down my throat until my stomach was almost bursting. Then they gagged me again and left. That night, mosquitoes swarmed around the room, biting me all over. My clothes were sticky and smelly, and my feet hurt from being squeezed by my shoes. After sitting for most of the day, my buttocks ached, and after drinking so much water, I gradually felt the urge to urinate. Actually, what I was afraid of wasn't just being tied up, but also being gagged, blindfolded, and the urge to urinate. In the morning, I couldn't hold my urine anymore, but no one came. I held on for a long time, but finally, I urinated, soaking my pants. Just when I was in despair, the police broke down the door and rescued me. It turned out that my classmates had been waiting for me to return for a long time and were worried that something had happened to me, so they called the police. The kidnappers hadn't kidnapped me; they had arrested the wrong person. After this experience, I became even more terrified of bondage, but my cheerful nature quickly made me forget about it… University life passed quickly, and it was another late autumn evening. I was walking home after a dance. I was still the same incredibly beautiful me, only less childish and more mature and charming. Little did I know that tonight awaited me a long period of bondage and restraint. Reaching a deserted street corner, I instinctively quickened my pace. Suddenly, a dark figure flashed behind me. Before I could react, I smelled a drug. I struggled a few times, then quickly lost consciousness. The man dragged me into a car parked by the roadside and sped away. The car eventually pulled into a villa, and the man carried me upstairs, placing me on a soft, large bed. Then he gave me some more sleeping pills; it looked like there was going to be a big undertaking. Sure enough, he pulled out a large pile of clothes from the closet—pantyhose and the like. Could it be… yes, that man had kidnapped me again. He picked up a pair of flesh-colored pantyhose that were so thin they were almost transparent, and smiled smugly. To clarify, these weren't ordinary pantyhose. Although they had the same texture, feel, and appearance as high-end pantyhose sold in the market, they were made of a special material. Originally invented for astronauts exploring Mars, Cheng somehow managed to obtain the equipment and materials from the United States, creating these pantyhose with excellent breathability, high elasticity, and the ability to automatically clean the skin and regulate temperature. They were incredibly thin, soft, and yet extremely durable, with a form-fitting silhouette. Of course, like last time, they covered from the feet to the neck, and included a hood made of the same material. Except for a small opening at the crotch that could be opened and then closed tightly, there were no seams anywhere on the body, not even the gloves. It seemed that the man wasn't planning on taking off these specially made pantyhose for a long time. The man took off my shoes and socks, passionately sniffing, licking, and kissing my stockinged feet, soaking them completely. He hadn't always had a foot fetish, but ever since seeing my delicate feet last time, he'd become deeply fond of them. After his ecstasy, it was time to get down to business. He stripped me of all my clothes, trimmed my nails, removed my pubic hair with hair removal liquid, wiped my entire body with wet wipes, and even washed my hair with a special dry shampoo, though I already smelled quite nice. He took the specially made full-coverage bodysuit, the opening at the neckline revealing its remarkable elasticity. The man carefully slipped my feet into it, gradually pulling it up until my legs were completely encased. Then, as the bodysuit reached my chest, he carefully slipped my arms into it, laboriously putting my fingers into the gloves within the bodysuit. Finally, the bodysuit climbed over my shoulders and neck. The man carefully gagged my mouth with stockings, tidied my hair, and put a hood on me. Ah, that was it. I believe no man could resist such temptation. The man pounced on me, caressing me with abandon. Then he used the same method to put on a second, and a third, stocking. I felt as if I were being swallowed whole by these specially made, fully enclosed bodysuits; every corner of my body was perfectly covered, the stockings becoming my second skin. Next, the man put on a thick, ordinary black bodysuit, covering me from my feet to my neck, with an opening at the crotch for easy urination. Then came the same bodysuit as before, but this time without gloves, because the bodysuit itself had perfectly fitting gloves without any seams. The crotch of the bodysuit could also be opened, though it was a bit more difficult. The man then took a delicate little tool and carefully opened the crotch opening layer by layer. He stuffed a small wad of sterilized cotton tightly into my anus, then covered it with a sanitary napkin, and finally sealed the opening shut layer by layer. These openings were very ingeniously made, automatically and tightly closing on their own. Opening them required external force and special tools and techniques, making it impossible for me to remove the pantyhose myself. The man then took a thick black pantyhose hood and completely covered my head. Because all the hoods had a close-fitting curve and were very tight, the pantyhose covering my mouth was unnecessary. Since the outermost hood was opaque, the pantyhose covering my eyes was also unnecessary, thus preserving my facial features. At this point, my attire could be described as seamless, completely covered by the pantyhose. Next came the tight binding. The man grabbed several bundles of soft, long cotton rope and began binding me even more carefully and tightly than before. After the man tied my hands together, he grabbed a cotton rope, threaded it under my armpits, wrapped it around my upper body several times, and then around my arms, securing the upper part of my upper arms tightly to my body. He also wrapped it around my lower body several times, connecting the lower part of my upper arms to my body. At my cleavage, the ropes were pulled together, tied with another rope, and wrapped around my back, making my breasts appear even more alluring. Next, another rope wrapped around my waist several times, securing my wrists to my slender waist. Then, the rope tied around the middle of my lower arm, wrapped around it, and tied it with the remaining rope behind my back, securing my entire arm to my body. Finally, he pulled two ropes from my wrists, threaded them through my breasts, tightened them, and tied them around the ropes in front and around my abdomen, like putting a rope thong on me. This way, if I struggled even slightly, the friction of the ropes would be unbearable for my sensitive breasts. The man's method of binding me was extremely skillful. He had studied the human skeletal structure, blood circulation, and metabolism. Each knot of the rope was interconnected, preventing any from loosening. Moreover, it didn't need to be tightly bound; just a slight tension was enough to ensure I could never escape without affecting my blood circulation. How long could it be bound?Anything was fine, as long as the man was willing to take care of my basic needs. My legs were also tightly bound together in a similar way. My already beautiful legs, now bound with cotton rope, became even more sexy and alluring. Gradually, the ropes covered my entire body, as if I were wearing a garment made of ropes. The bondage didn't end there. The man brought out the same tight-fitting stockings and pullover as last time, tightly wrapping me from head to toe, and finally securing it with wide strips of cloth to prevent it from slipping off due to my struggles. Admiring the complete bondage before him, the man could no longer suppress his desires and began groping me. Now he was just waiting for me to wake up so he could admire my beautiful figure as I struggled. Soon I woke up, and the familiar feeling of the stockings immediately told me what had happened. "Ugh," I struggled desperately. I didn't want to be tortured like last time, but I realized with despair that it was impossible to break free from these complete constraints. "Please, please let me go..." I pleaded desperately, but could only manage weak, desperate "mmm" sounds. I struggled, gradually losing strength, lying on my side on the bed, breathing heavily. "How's it going? Comfortable, right? I let you go last time because I couldn't completely bind you, but this time it's different. I'm going to keep you bound like this every day. As for how many days, I don't know. Maybe a day, maybe a month, or even longer, it all depends on my mood." That familiar voice made me even more desperate. It's that pervert again. Wasn't binding you like that last time enough? Who will save me? What should I do...? I couldn't help but cry, but could only let out low "mmm" sounds. I tried desperately to break free, otherwise I would be finished, maybe he would really torture me to death by binding me. But how could I break free? The bindings and restraints were so tight. "Will you be my pet? I will take good care of you, but you absolutely cannot escape." "Mmm," I struggled, naturally unwilling. "Oh, you agreed? Since you agreed, why are you still twisting and turning so unwillingly? Be good, I've knitted you a warm and cozy little nest with stockings and rope. Just enjoy it and stop thinking about escaping." I couldn't refute him, so I could only shake my head and twist my body in protest. But the man didn't care about any of that. Once I tied you up, you can forget about being free. Who told you to be so beautiful? Suddenly, the man pounced on me again, burying his head in my breasts, which were covered in stockings, and rubbing them greedily. The new nylon mixed with my faint body fragrance, stimulating his nerves. He held me tighter and squeezed my legs together. Bound tightly, I could only clumsily roll from side to side to struggle against this sudden "violation." At the same time, I shook my head desperately and made "uh-uh" cries for help, but they were not as loud as the sound of my body rubbing against the bed, thanks to the stockings. With each pull of his hand, the ropes mercilessly stimulated my genitals, and I quickly became aroused, producing vaginal fluid. The man didn't stop for a long time; by then, I was exhausted. As I gradually calmed down, I realized that without these bonds, wearing the bodysuit was actually quite comfortable. This damn bondage! As my thoughts wandered, I realized I was starting to urinate again; I needed to hold it in, and I immediately became frightened. The cotton stuffed into my vagina further aggravated the urge, and soon I felt unbearable. "Ugh," I struggled, but dared not exert myself too much, because the two ropes would only intensify the urge. "Ugh," I hoped he would understand and carry me to the toilet like last time. But the man seemed to be deliberately playing dumb, putting me in a sleeping bag like last time, locking the door, and leaving. "Ugh," I didn't want to wet myself again, or I'd be raped. "Ugh, ugh," I struggled, the stimulation from the rope and cotton was excruciating. I didn't understand why that pervert wouldn't even let me go to the toilet. Even pets should have to go to the toilet. All I could hear in the room were my own cries for help and the rustling of my sleeping bag against the bed. I told myself I had to hold on, but after more than an hour, I finally couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of anger, I forcefully urinated, trying to empty my bladder completely. But because of the cotton blocking the flow, the more I urinated, the more urgent it became, a painful and difficult process that I couldn't stop. Finally, I realized that although I had urinated, it wasn't wet at all. "Did he put a diaper on me? But I could only clearly feel that silky soft sanitary napkin." Never mind, as long as it wasn't wet, that was fine. Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. It turned out that the sanitary napkin was specially made; thin but capable of absorbing at least a liter of liquid quickly through a series of internal reactions—that was why I hadn't gotten wet. This way, the man wouldn't have to bother carrying me to the toilet all the time. He could just let me poop at night and change my sanitary napkin, minimizing the number of times he had to loosen my restraints even a little. In the morning, the man would shake me awake, untie the outermost strip of cloth and the stocking hoodie, flip the hood up a little to expose my mouth so I could rinse it and he could feed me. "Please don't gag me, okay? I promise I won't scream, please, I'll be good, gagging is so uncomfortable, I beg you, mmm." The man completely ignored my pleas; he just loved hearing my "mmm" sounds, it was too stimulating. This time, he didn't immediately put the black hood back on me; he wanted my eyes to see some light, otherwise I'd go blind after a while. Through the semi-transparent hood, he admired my beautiful face, and I tried hard to see the man's face, but through the stockings, I could only see a blurry outline. I spent several days in despair like this. These specially made, fully enclosed bodysuits were indeed extraordinary; I remained clean, exuding my unique fragrance. However, after these days of confinement, I gradually felt that my body no longer belonged to me. I felt as if I had lost control of my own movements, no different from a cripple. I was utterly desperate and gave up resisting. Although I had lost my freedom, the man took good care of my daily needs, and I gradually accepted the reality that I had become a "pet." Days passed like this, and my colleagues thought I had resigned, and no one suspected anything. A long month passed, and I no longer hated the man in front of me so much, but I still fantasized that one day I would be free. Having been tightly bound for so long, perhaps I could no longer even stand steadily. One day, as I was struggling, a group of police officers suddenly broke down the door. It turned out that the man's company had run into trouble; he had swindled a large sum of money and tried to escape, but his actions were exposed, so he killed me to cover it up. He was currently cleaning up the house, not caring whether I lived or died, like a pet that had been abandoned. No wonder, with his mind so focused on me, the "perfect woman in stockings," and my tight bondage, it's no wonder the company went bankrupt; the police came to his house to arrest him. I struggled desperately, making "uh-uh" sounds. The police rushed into the room and were stunned by the constantly writhing cocoon in stockings before them. They quickly realized that this was me, bound for a long time. So the male police officer left the room, leaving two female officers who spent over an hour untying all my bonds and restraints. I threw myself into the arms of one of the female officers and cried loudly… After a month of being bound, I could barely walk, but my figure had been sculpted even more alluring by those specially made, fully-covering stockings. After a period of rehabilitation and psychological counseling, I returned to that happy world. At this moment, I deeply felt how wonderful freedom was. Later, that man was sentenced to death, and now I was safe. But irreparably, I now desperately miss those specially made, fully-covering stockings. Although I'm afraid of being bound, I still can't change my fascination with stockings, longing for the day when I can wear them comfortably. A few days later, I received a large package. When I got home and opened it, I almost fainted. Inside were five packs of those special sanitary napkins and three pairs of those special full-coverage pantyhose, the difference being that they didn't have openings in the crotch area. I composed myself and opened a letter inside: "I know I'll be arrested sooner or later. I believe these two kidnappings will be unforgettable for you, so I left you this. I believe you'll like it." The letter ended with the man's dashing signature. Later, I also received a small booklet from him, recording his various actions and thoughts. Based on this and my own experiences at the time, I wrote the article above.I could only manage weak, desperate "uh-uh" sounds. I struggled desperately, gradually losing strength, lying on my side on the bed, breathing heavily. "How's it going? Comfortable, right? I let you go last time because I couldn't completely bind you, but this time it's different. I'm going to bind you like this every day. As for how many days, I don't know. Maybe a day, maybe a month, or even longer, it all depends on my mood." That familiar voice made me even more desperate. It's that pervert again. Wasn't binding you like that last time enough? Who will save me? What should I do...? I couldn't help but cry, but I could only let out low "uh-uh" sounds. I tried desperately to break free, otherwise I would be finished, maybe he would really torture me to death by binding me. But how could I break free? The bindings and restraints were so tight. "Will you be my pet? I will take good care of you, but you absolutely cannot escape." "Uh-uh," I struggled, naturally unwilling. "Oh, you agreed? Since you agreed, why are you still twisting and turning so unwillingly? Be good, I've knitted you a warm and cozy little nest with stockings and rope. Just enjoy it and stop thinking about escaping." I couldn't refute him, so I could only shake my head and twist my body in protest. But the man didn't care about any of that. Once I tied you up, you can forget about being free. Who told you to be so beautiful? Suddenly, the man pounced on me again, burying his head in my breasts, which were covered in stockings, and rubbing them greedily. The new nylon mixed with my faint body fragrance, stimulating his nerves. He held me tighter and squeezed my legs together. Bound tightly, I could only clumsily roll from side to side to struggle against this sudden "violation." At the same time, I shook my head desperately and made "uh-uh" cries for help, but they were not as loud as the sound of my body rubbing against the bed, thanks to the stockings. With each pull of his hand, the ropes mercilessly stimulated my genitals, and I quickly became aroused, producing vaginal fluid. The man didn't stop for a long time; by then, I was exhausted. As I gradually calmed down, I realized that without these bonds, wearing the bodysuit was actually quite comfortable. This damn bondage! As my thoughts wandered, I realized I was starting to urinate again; I needed to hold it in, and I immediately became frightened. The cotton stuffed into my vagina further aggravated the urge, and soon I felt unbearable. "Ugh," I struggled, but dared not exert myself too much, because the two ropes would only intensify the urge. "Ugh," I hoped he would understand and carry me to the toilet like last time. But the man seemed to be deliberately playing dumb, putting me in a sleeping bag like last time, locking the door, and leaving. "Ugh," I didn't want to wet myself again, or I'd be raped. "Ugh, ugh," I struggled, the stimulation from the rope and cotton was excruciating. I didn't understand why that pervert wouldn't even let me go to the toilet. Even pets should have to go to the toilet. All I could hear in the room were my own cries for help and the rustling of my sleeping bag against the bed. I told myself I had to hold on, but after more than an hour, I finally couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of anger, I forcefully urinated, trying to empty my bladder completely. But because of the cotton blocking the flow, the more I urinated, the more urgent it became, a painful and difficult process that I couldn't stop. Finally, I realized that although I had urinated, it wasn't wet at all. "Did he put a diaper on me? But I could only clearly feel that silky soft sanitary napkin." Never mind, as long as it wasn't wet, that was fine. Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. It turned out that the sanitary napkin was specially made; thin but capable of absorbing at least a liter of liquid quickly through a series of internal reactions—that was why I hadn't gotten wet. This way, the man wouldn't have to bother carrying me to the toilet all the time. He could just let me poop at night and change my sanitary napkin, minimizing the number of times he had to loosen my restraints even a little. In the morning, the man would shake me awake, untie the outermost strip of cloth and the stocking hoodie, flip the hood up a little to expose my mouth so I could rinse it and he could feed me. "Please don't gag me, okay? I promise I won't scream, please, I'll be good, gagging is so uncomfortable, I beg you, mmm." The man completely ignored my pleas; he just loved hearing my "mmm" sounds, it was too stimulating. This time, he didn't immediately put the black hood back on me; he wanted my eyes to see some light, otherwise I'd go blind after a while. Through the semi-transparent hood, he admired my beautiful face, and I tried hard to see the man's face, but through the stockings, I could only see a blurry outline. I spent several days in despair like this. These specially made, fully enclosed bodysuits were indeed extraordinary; I remained clean, exuding my unique fragrance. However, after these days of confinement, I gradually felt that my body no longer belonged to me. I felt as if I had lost control of my own movements, no different from a cripple. I was utterly desperate and gave up resisting. Although I had lost my freedom, the man took good care of my daily needs, and I gradually accepted the reality that I had become a "pet." Days passed like this, and my colleagues thought I had resigned, and no one suspected anything. A long month passed, and I no longer hated the man in front of me so much, but I still fantasized that one day I would be free. Having been tightly bound for so long, perhaps I could no longer even stand steadily. One day, as I was struggling, a group of police officers suddenly broke down the door. It turned out that the man's company had run into trouble; he had swindled a large sum of money and tried to escape, but his actions were exposed, so he killed me to cover it up. He was currently cleaning up the house, not caring whether I lived or died, like a pet that had been abandoned. No wonder, with his mind so focused on me, the "perfect woman in stockings," and my tight bondage, it's no wonder the company went bankrupt; the police came to his house to arrest him. I struggled desperately, making "uh-uh" sounds. The police rushed into the room and were stunned by the constantly writhing cocoon in stockings before them. They quickly realized that this was me, bound for a long time. So the male police officer left the room, leaving two female officers who spent over an hour untying all my bonds and restraints. I threw myself into the arms of one of the female officers and cried loudly… After a month of being bound, I could barely walk, but my figure had been sculpted even more alluring by those specially made, fully-covering stockings. After a period of rehabilitation and psychological counseling, I returned to that happy world. At this moment, I deeply felt how wonderful freedom was. Later, that man was sentenced to death, and now I was safe. But irreparably, I now desperately miss those specially made, fully-covering stockings. Although I'm afraid of being bound, I still can't change my fascination with stockings, longing for the day when I can wear them comfortably. A few days later, I received a large package. When I got home and opened it, I almost fainted. Inside were five packs of those special sanitary napkins and three pairs of those special full-coverage pantyhose, the difference being that they didn't have openings in the crotch area. I composed myself and opened a letter inside: "I know I'll be arrested sooner or later. I believe these two kidnappings will be unforgettable for you, so I left you this. I believe you'll like it." The letter ended with the man's dashing signature. Later, I also received a small booklet from him, recording his various actions and thoughts. Based on this and my own experiences at the time, I wrote the article above.I could only manage weak, desperate "uh-uh" sounds. I struggled desperately, gradually losing strength, lying on my side on the bed, breathing heavily. "How's it going? Comfortable, right? I let you go last time because I couldn't completely bind you, but this time it's different. I'm going to bind you like this every day. As for how many days, I don't know. Maybe a day, maybe a month, or even longer, it all depends on my mood." That familiar voice made me even more desperate. It's that pervert again. Wasn't binding you like that last time enough? Who will save me? What should I do...? I couldn't help but cry, but I could only let out low "uh-uh" sounds. I tried desperately to break free, otherwise I would be finished, maybe he would really torture me to death by binding me. But how could I break free? The bindings and restraints were so tight. "Will you be my pet? I will take good care of you, but you absolutely cannot escape." "Uh-uh," I struggled, naturally unwilling. "Oh, you agreed? Since you agreed, why are you still twisting and turning so unwillingly? Be good, I've knitted you a warm and cozy little nest with stockings and rope. Just enjoy it and stop thinking about escaping." I couldn't refute him, so I could only shake my head and twist my body in protest. But the man didn't care about any of that. Once I tied you up, you can forget about being free. Who told you to be so beautiful? Suddenly, the man pounced on me again, burying his head in my breasts, which were covered in stockings, and rubbing them greedily. The new nylon mixed with my faint body fragrance, stimulating his nerves. He held me tighter and squeezed my legs together. Bound tightly, I could only clumsily roll from side to side to struggle against this sudden "violation." At the same time, I shook my head desperately and made "uh-uh" cries for help, but they were not as loud as the sound of my body rubbing against the bed, thanks to the stockings. With each pull of his hand, the ropes mercilessly stimulated my genitals, and I quickly became aroused, producing vaginal fluid. The man didn't stop for a long time; by then, I was exhausted. As I gradually calmed down, I realized that without these bonds, wearing the bodysuit was actually quite comfortable. This damn bondage! As my thoughts wandered, I realized I was starting to urinate again; I needed to hold it in, and I immediately became frightened. The cotton stuffed into my vagina further aggravated the urge, and soon I felt unbearable. "Ugh," I struggled, but dared not exert myself too much, because the two ropes would only intensify the urge. "Ugh," I hoped he would understand and carry me to the toilet like last time. But the man seemed to be deliberately playing dumb, putting me in a sleeping bag like last time, locking the door, and leaving. "Ugh," I didn't want to wet myself again, or I'd be raped. "Ugh, ugh," I struggled, the stimulation from the rope and cotton was excruciating. I didn't understand why that pervert wouldn't even let me go to the toilet. Even pets should have to go to the toilet. All I could hear in the room were my own cries for help and the rustling of my sleeping bag against the bed. I told myself I had to hold on, but after more than an hour, I finally couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of anger, I forcefully urinated, trying to empty my bladder completely. But because of the cotton blocking the flow, the more I urinated, the more urgent it became, a painful and difficult process that I couldn't stop. Finally, I realized that although I had urinated, it wasn't wet at all. "Did he put a diaper on me? But I could only clearly feel that silky soft sanitary napkin." Never mind, as long as it wasn't wet, that was fine. Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. It turned out that the sanitary napkin was specially made; thin but capable of absorbing at least a liter of liquid quickly through a series of internal reactions—that was why I hadn't gotten wet. This way, the man wouldn't have to bother carrying me to the toilet all the time. He could just let me poop at night and change my sanitary napkin, minimizing the number of times he had to loosen my restraints even a little. In the morning, the man would shake me awake, untie the outermost strip of cloth and the stocking hoodie, flip the hood up a little to expose my mouth so I could rinse it and he could feed me. "Please don't gag me, okay? I promise I won't scream, please, I'll be good, gagging is so uncomfortable, I beg you, mmm." The man completely ignored my pleas; he just loved hearing my "mmm" sounds, it was too stimulating. This time, he didn't immediately put the black hood back on me; he wanted my eyes to see some light, otherwise I'd go blind after a while. Through the semi-transparent hood, he admired my beautiful face, and I tried hard to see the man's face, but through the stockings, I could only see a blurry outline. I spent several days in despair like this. These specially made, fully enclosed bodysuits were indeed extraordinary; I remained clean, exuding my unique fragrance. However, after these days of confinement, I gradually felt that my body no longer belonged to me. I felt as if I had lost control of my own movements, no different from a cripple. I was utterly desperate and gave up resisting. Although I had lost my freedom, the man took good care of my daily needs, and I gradually accepted the reality that I had become a "pet." Days passed like this, and my colleagues thought I had resigned, and no one suspected anything. A long month passed, and I no longer hated the man in front of me so much, but I still fantasized that one day I would be free. Having been tightly bound for so long, perhaps I could no longer even stand steadily. One day, as I was struggling, a group of police officers suddenly broke down the door. It turned out that the man's company had run into trouble; he had swindled a large sum of money and tried to escape, but his actions were exposed, so he killed me to cover it up. He was currently cleaning up the house, not caring whether I lived or died, like a pet that had been abandoned. No wonder, with his mind so focused on me, the "perfect woman in stockings," and my tight bondage, it's no wonder the company went bankrupt; the police came to his house to arrest him. I struggled desperately, making "uh-uh" sounds. The police rushed into the room and were stunned by the constantly writhing cocoon in stockings before them. They quickly realized that this was me, bound for a long time. So the male police officer left the room, leaving two female officers who spent over an hour untying all my bonds and restraints. I threw myself into the arms of one of the female officers and cried loudly… After a month of being bound, I could barely walk, but my figure had been sculpted even more alluring by those specially made, fully-covering stockings. After a period of rehabilitation and psychological counseling, I returned to that happy world. At this moment, I deeply felt how wonderful freedom was. Later, that man was sentenced to death, and now I was safe. But irreparably, I now desperately miss those specially made, fully-covering stockings. Although I'm afraid of being bound, I still can't change my fascination with stockings, longing for the day when I can wear them comfortably. A few days later, I received a large package. When I got home and opened it, I almost fainted. Inside were five packs of those special sanitary napkins and three pairs of those special full-coverage pantyhose, the difference being that they didn't have openings in the crotch area. I composed myself and opened a letter inside: "I know I'll be arrested sooner or later. I believe these two kidnappings will be unforgettable for you, so I left you this. I believe you'll like it." The letter ended with the man's dashing signature. Later, I also received a small booklet from him, recording his various actions and thoughts. Based on this and my own experiences at the time, I wrote the article above.Actually, wearing pantyhose is very comfortable. This damn bondage. I was lost in thought when I realized I was starting to urinate again, and I was terrified. The cotton stuffed in my anus further aggravated the urge, and soon I felt unbearable. "Ugh," I struggled, but dared not exert myself too much, because the two ropes would only intensify the urge. "Ugh," I hoped he would understand and carry me to the toilet like last time. But the man seemed to be playing dumb, putting me in a sleeping bag like last time, locking the door, and leaving. "Ugh," I didn't want to pee on myself again, or I'd be raped. "Ugh," I struggled, the stimulation from the ropes and cotton was extremely uncomfortable. I didn't understand why that pervert wouldn't even let me go to the toilet. Even pets should have the right to go to the toilet. But all I could hear in the room was my own "cries for help" and the sound of the sleeping bag rubbing against the bed. I told myself I had to hold on, but after more than an hour, I finally couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of anger, I strained to urinate, thinking I might as well empty my bladder completely. But because of the cotton pad blocking my way, the more I urinated, the more urgent it became, and the more uncomfortable and difficult it was to urinate, yet I couldn't stop. Finally, I realized that although I had urinated, it wasn't wet at all. "Did he put a diaper on me? But I could only clearly feel that silky soft sanitary napkin." Never mind, as long as it wasn't wet, that was fine. So, exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. It turned out that the sanitary napkin was also specially made, thin but capable of quickly absorbing at least a liter of liquid through a series of internal reactions, which was why I had urinated without getting wet. This way, the man wouldn't have to go through the trouble of carrying me to urinate all the time; he could just let me have a bowel movement at night and change the sanitary napkin, which would also minimize the number of times he had to loosen the restraints even a little bit. The man woke me up in the morning, untied the outermost strip of cloth and the stocking hood, and flipped the hood up a little to expose my mouth so I could rinse it and he could feed me. "Please don't gag me, okay? I promise I won't scream, please, I'll be good, gagging is so uncomfortable, please, mmm." The man completely ignored my pleas; he just loved hearing my "mmm" sounds—it was too stimulating. This time, he didn't immediately put the black hood on me; he wanted my eyes to see some light, otherwise I'd go blind after a while. Through the semi-transparent hood, he admired my perfect face, and I tried hard to see the man's face, but even through the stockings, I could only see a blurry outline. I spent several days in despair like this. These specially made, fully enclosed bodysuits were indeed extraordinary; I remained clean and exuded my unique fragrance. After these days of confinement, I gradually felt that my body no longer belonged to me. I felt as if I had lost control of my own movements, no different from a cripple. I was utterly desperate and gave up resisting. Although I had lost my freedom, the man took good care of my daily life, and I gradually accepted the reality that I had become a "pet." Days passed like this, and my colleagues thought I had resigned, and no one suspected anything. A long month passed, and I no longer hated the man in front of me so much, but I still fantasized that one day I could regain my freedom. After being tightly bound for so long, perhaps I could no longer even stand steadily. One day, as I was struggling, a group of police officers suddenly broke down the door. It turned out that the man's company had run into trouble, and he had swindled a large sum of money and tried to escape. When his actions were exposed, he killed someone to cover it up. He was currently cleaning up at home, not caring whether I lived or died, like a pet that had been abandoned. No wonder, with all his attention focused on me, the woman in stockings, and my tight bondage, it would be strange if his company didn't collapse, and the police came to arrest him. I struggled desperately, making "uh-uh" sounds. The police officers who rushed into the room were stunned by the writhing, silk-stockinged cocoon before them. They quickly realized that this was me, bound for a long time. The male officers left the room, leaving two female officers who spent over an hour untying all my bonds and restraints. I threw myself into the arms of one of the officers and wept bitterly… After a month of being bound, I could barely walk, but my figure had been sculpted even more alluring by the specially made, fully-covering silk stockings. After a period of rehabilitation and psychological counseling, I returned to that blissful world. At that moment, I deeply understood how precious freedom was. Later, the man was sentenced to death, and I was safe. But irreparably, I now craved those specially made, fully-covering silk stockings. Although I feared being bound, I couldn't shake my fascination with them, longing to one day wear them comfortably. A few days later, I received a large package. When I got home and opened it, I almost fainted. Inside were five packs of those special sanitary napkins and three pairs of those special full-coverage pantyhose, the difference being that they didn't have openings in the crotch area. I composed myself and opened a letter inside: "I know I'll be arrested sooner or later. I believe these two kidnappings will be unforgettable for you, so I left you this. I believe you'll like it." The letter ended with the man's dashing signature. Later, I also received a small booklet from him, recording his various actions and thoughts. Based on this and my own experiences at the time, I wrote the article above.Actually, wearing pantyhose is very comfortable. This damn bondage. I was lost in thought when I realized I was starting to urinate again, and I was terrified. The cotton stuffed in my anus further aggravated the urge, and soon I felt unbearable. "Ugh," I struggled, but dared not exert myself too much, because the two ropes would only intensify the urge. "Ugh," I hoped he would understand and carry me to the toilet like last time. But the man seemed to be playing dumb, putting me in a sleeping bag like last time, locking the door, and leaving. "Ugh," I didn't want to pee on myself again, or I'd be raped. "Ugh," I struggled, the stimulation from the ropes and cotton was extremely uncomfortable. I didn't understand why that pervert wouldn't even let me go to the toilet. Even pets should have the right to go to the toilet. But all I could hear in the room was my own "cries for help" and the sound of the sleeping bag rubbing against the bed. I told myself I had to hold on, but after more than an hour, I finally couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of anger, I strained to urinate, thinking I might as well empty my bladder completely. But because of the cotton pad blocking my way, the more I urinated, the more urgent it became, and the more uncomfortable and difficult it was to urinate, yet I couldn't stop. Finally, I realized that although I had urinated, it wasn't wet at all. "Did he put a diaper on me? But I could only clearly feel that silky soft sanitary napkin." Never mind, as long as it wasn't wet, that was fine. So, exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. It turned out that the sanitary napkin was also specially made, thin but capable of quickly absorbing at least a liter of liquid through a series of internal reactions, which was why I had urinated without getting wet. This way, the man wouldn't have to go through the trouble of carrying me to urinate all the time; he could just let me have a bowel movement at night and change the sanitary napkin, which would also minimize the number of times he had to loosen the restraints even a little bit. The man woke me up in the morning, untied the outermost strip of cloth and the stocking hood, and flipped the hood up a little to expose my mouth so I could rinse it and he could feed me. "Please don't gag me, okay? I promise I won't scream, please, I'll be good, gagging is so uncomfortable, please, mmm." The man completely ignored my pleas; he just loved hearing my "mmm" sounds—it was too stimulating. This time, he didn't immediately put the black hood on me; he wanted my eyes to see some light, otherwise I'd go blind after a while. Through the semi-transparent hood, he admired my perfect face, and I tried hard to see the man's face, but even through the stockings, I could only see a blurry outline. I spent several days in despair like this. These specially made, fully enclosed bodysuits were indeed extraordinary; I remained clean and exuded my unique fragrance. After these days of confinement, I gradually felt that my body no longer belonged to me. I felt as if I had lost control of my own movements, no different from a cripple. I was utterly desperate and gave up resisting. Although I had lost my freedom, the man took good care of my daily life, and I gradually accepted the reality that I had become a "pet." Days passed like this, and my colleagues thought I had resigned, and no one suspected anything. A long month passed, and I no longer hated the man in front of me so much, but I still fantasized that one day I could regain my freedom. After being tightly bound for so long, perhaps I could no longer even stand steadily. One day, as I was struggling, a group of police officers suddenly broke down the door. It turned out that the man's company had run into trouble, and he had swindled a large sum of money and tried to escape. When his actions were exposed, he killed someone to cover it up. He was currently cleaning up at home, not caring whether I lived or died, like a pet that had been abandoned. No wonder, with all his attention focused on me, the woman in stockings, and my tight bondage, it would be strange if his company didn't collapse, and the police came to arrest him. I struggled desperately, making "uh-uh" sounds. The police officers who rushed into the room were stunned by the writhing, silk-stockinged cocoon before them. They quickly realized that this was me, bound for a long time. The male officers left the room, leaving two female officers who spent over an hour untying all my bonds and restraints. I threw myself into the arms of one of the officers and wept bitterly… After a month of being bound, I could barely walk, but my figure had been sculpted even more alluring by the specially made, fully-covering silk stockings. After a period of rehabilitation and psychological counseling, I returned to that blissful world. At that moment, I deeply understood how precious freedom was. Later, the man was sentenced to death, and I was safe. But irreparably, I now craved those specially made, fully-covering silk stockings. Although I feared being bound, I couldn't shake my fascination with them, longing to one day wear them comfortably. A few days later, I received a large package. When I got home and opened it, I almost fainted. Inside were five packs of those special sanitary napkins and three pairs of those special full-coverage pantyhose, the difference being that they didn't have openings in the crotch area. I composed myself and opened a letter inside: "I know I'll be arrested sooner or later. I believe these two kidnappings will be unforgettable for you, so I left you this. I believe you'll like it." The letter ended with the man's dashing signature. Later, I also received a small booklet from him, recording his various actions and thoughts. Based on this and my own experiences at the time, I wrote the article above.Bound, I threw myself into the policewoman's arms and wept bitterly… After a month of being tightly bound, I could barely walk, but my figure had been sculpted even more alluring by the specially made full-body stockings. After a period of rehabilitation and psychological counseling, I returned to that happy world, and at that moment I deeply felt how wonderful freedom was. Later, the man was sentenced to death, and I was safe now, but irreparably, I now desperately miss those specially made full-body stockings. Although I'm afraid of being bound, I still can't shake my fascination with them, longing for the day I can wear them comfortably. A few days later, I received a large package. When I got home and opened it, I almost fainted. Inside were five packs of those special sanitary napkins and three pairs of those special full-coverage pantyhose, the difference being that they didn't have openings in the crotch area. I composed myself and opened a letter inside: "I know I'll be arrested sooner or later. I believe these two kidnappings will be unforgettable for you, so I left you this. I believe you'll like it." The letter ended with the man's dashing signature. Later, I also received a small booklet from him, recording his various actions and thoughts. Based on this and my own experiences at the time, I wrote the article above.Bound, I threw myself into the policewoman's arms and wept bitterly… After a month of being tightly bound, I could barely walk, but my figure had been sculpted even more alluring by the specially made full-body stockings. After a period of rehabilitation and psychological counseling, I returned to that happy world, and at that moment I deeply felt how wonderful freedom was. Later, the man was sentenced to death, and I was safe now, but irreparably, I now desperately miss those specially made full-body stockings. Although I'm afraid of being bound, I still can't shake my fascination with them, longing for the day I can wear them comfortably. A few days later, I received a large package. When I got home and opened it, I almost fainted. Inside were five packs of those special sanitary napkins and three pairs of those special full-coverage pantyhose, the difference being that they didn't have openings in the crotch area. I composed myself and opened a letter inside: "I know I'll be arrested sooner or later. I believe these two kidnappings will be unforgettable for you, so I left you this. I believe you'll like it." The letter ended with the man's dashing signature. Later, I also received a small booklet from him, recording his various actions and thoughts. Based on this and my own experiences at the time, I wrote the article above.
Thank you for your hard work and selfless sharing.

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My boyfriend likes my stockings.

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