Stockings Cocoon

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

In summer, the school organized a field 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 today, and my feet ached after walking all day, so I couldn't walk fast. Just around a bend, a figure flashed behind me, and then a towel was covered my mouth and nose.

My first reaction 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 tied to a large chair, unable to move at all. Everything was dark, and my eyes were covered. "

Ugh," I struggled in terror, but the ropes didn'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, and then he locked the door and left. I struggled helplessly, the ropes tightening painfully.

The room was stiflingly hot; I was drenched in sweat, my clothes soaked through, my stockings clinging to my legs. This went on for a long time. My mouth was gagged, and I was incredibly thirsty, exhausted, hot, and hungry. I felt I couldn't hold on much longer. Then someone came in, ripped off the gag, and without a word, fed me some food and poured several bowls of water down my throat, bloating my stomach. Then they gagged me again and left.

That night, mosquitoes swarmed the room, biting me all over. My clothes were sticky and smelly, and my feet ached 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 feared wasn't just being tied up, but also being gagged, blindfolded, and the urgent need to urinate. In the morning, I couldn't hold it in any longer, 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 my classmates had been waiting for me to return for a long time and, worried that something had happened to me, called the police. The kidnappers hadn't actually kidnapped me; they had arrested the wrong person. After this experience, I became even more terrified of being tied up, 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, making me even more captivating. I had no idea 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 drugs. 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 drove into a villa, and the man carried me upstairs and placed me on a soft, large bed. Then he gave me some more sleeping pills; it looked like another big project was about to begin.

Sure enough, he pulled a bunch of things out of the cabinet—pantyhose and such. Could it be…yes, that guy kidnapped me again. He picked up a pair of flesh-colored pantyhose 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 US, creating these pantyhose with excellent breathability, high elasticity, and the ability to automatically clean the skin and regulate temperature. They were thin, soft, yet incredibly durable, and had a form-fitting curve. Of course, like last time, they covered from foot to 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, 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 enamored with 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 encased in the stockings. Then, as the stockings were pulled up to my chest, he carefully slipped them onto my arms, laboriously putting my fingers into the gloves within the bodysuit. Finally, the stockings climbed over my shoulders and neck. The man carefully gagged my mouth with stockings, tidied my hair, and put a hood on me. It was so beautiful. I believe no man could resist such temptation. The man pounced on me, caressing me passionately. Then he used the same method to put on a second, and a third, stocking. It felt as if I was 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 exquisitely 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, perfectly encased in pantyhose. Next came the tight binding. The man grabbed several bundles of soft, long cotton rope and began binding me even more carefully and meticulously 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 binding technique was incredibly skillful. He had studied the human skeletal structure, blood circulation, and metabolism. Each knot of the rope was interconnected, preventing any from loosening. It didn't need to be tightly bound; just a slight tension was enough to keep me incapable of escaping without affecting my blood circulation. He could bind me for as long as he wanted, as long as he 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 dressing me in a garment made of rope. The bondage didn't end there. The man took out the same tight-fitting stockings and pullover as before, 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 perfect bondage before him, the man could no longer suppress his desire and began groping me. Now he just waited for me to wake up so he could admire my beautiful figure as I struggled. I woke up soon after, and the familiar feel of the stockings immediately told me what had happened. "

Ugh," I struggled desperately, not wanting to be tortured like last time, but I realized with despair that it was impossible to break free from these restraints. "Please, let me go..." I pleaded, but could only manage weak, desperate "ugh" sounds.

I struggled desperately, gradually losing my 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 bind you perfectly, 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 "mmm" sounds. I tried desperately to break free, otherwise I would be finished, maybe he really would torture me to death by binding me. But how could I break free? The bindings and restraints were so tight. "Be my pet, okay? I'll take good care of you, but you absolutely can't 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, 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 in the stockings, rubbing greedily. The new nylon mixed with my faint body fragrance, stimulating his nerves. He held me tighter, and his legs clamped around me. Bound tightly, facing this sudden "violation," my bound body could only clumsily roll from side to side to struggle, while my head shook desperately, and I made "uh-uh" cries for help, but the sound of my body rubbing against the bed was much louder because of 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 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 pee 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, and 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. Gags are so uncomfortable, I beg you, mmm." The man completely ignored my pleas; he just loved hearing my "mmm" sounds—they were 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 even through the stockings, I could only see a blurry outline. I spent several days in despair. 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, yet 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 again. Having been so tightly bound for so long, perhaps I couldn't even stand up straight now. One day, as I was struggling desperately, a group of police officers suddenly burst into the house. 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 packing his things at home, not caring whether I lived or died, like a pet that had been abandoned. No wonder, with his mind so focused on me, this stocking-clad beauty, 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 writhing stocking-clad figure before them. They quickly realized 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. 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 bodysuit stockings. After a period of rehabilitation and psychological counseling, I returned to that happy world, and at that moment, I deeply understood how wonderful freedom is.

[The End]

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