Author's Note: Fiona's first week in a new job ends with her getting a rather bizarre insight into the brand of hosiery created and marketed by her employer.


Part 1

Fiona gazed out of the window at the October sunset and smiled. The slim, attractive, twenty year old was more than pleased with her first week working here, but now she was looking forward to a quiet weekend of relaxation. She checked her watch. Nearly four thirty; only half an hour to go now. As this fact registered in her brain, however, the door opened slightly and the head of her boss, Monica, suddenly appeared in the ensuing gap.

"Fiona, would you mind staying on for just a little while after work? There are a couple of things I want to run through with you."

She must have seen the consternation flash across Fiona's face.

"Nothing to worry about, just a few routine procedures that I always go through with my new employees after their first week. It won't take too long."

Fiona smiled nervously. Much as she liked her new boss, there were occasions when she felt ill at ease in her presence. Several times during the week she'd caught Monica staring at her. Fiona found this a bit creepy, to say the least; it was as if Monica was looking her up and down, sizing her up for something, or weighing up her potential. And each time that this happened, and Monica realised that her attention had been noticed, the smile she gave Fiona, although outwardly friendly, made the unease increase one hundredfold.

However, Fiona was young, shy and unsure of herself. This was her first real job since leaving college and she wanted to make a good impression and not upset her new employer. So she meekly agreed to her superior's request.

"Sure, no problem."

Fiona was wondering what this could be about. Probably just routine paperwork that had to be filled in, she thought to herself. But Monica's next remark seemed to suggest otherwise.

"Great, I'll see you at about five o'clock then. If you come down to the stockroom in the basement, I'll meet you there."

Most mysterious. Fiona tried to put this upcoming meeting to the back of her mind, however, as she once more concentrated on the laptop screen in front of her.

Monica Tantala, the tall, raven-haired beauty of Italian extraction, had founded her own line of hosiery at the tender age of just eighteen, and had rapidly built up her business empire from scratch. Now, at just twenty eight, she was the managing director and CEO of the global brand 'Tantalising Tights', a multi-million pound business which employed several thousand people in more than twenty countries worldwide. She'd remained true to her roots, however, with her head office still situated in her home town. To the outside world, she was charming and approachable. But her employees, at least those with whom she came into regular contact, knew a very different Monica. Arrogant, self- assured and at times brutally oblivious to others' feelings, she was single-minded in her business dealings, and cared not a jot for those she trampled on or left discarded in her wake. Put bluntly, she was feared and despised by a plethora of former employees and business associates, as well as many of her current staff, who found themselves quaking in their boots at her approach. Needless to say, staff turnover was brisk, and no position more so than that of the person who had to work closest to her, namely her secretary/PA.

Into this environment had stepped meek and shy Fiona, the total antithesis of her new boss. Oblivious when she accepted the post, she soon began to hear reports and mutterings of the tyrannical practices and questionable business ethics that her employer was infamous for.

But what was all the fuss about? Even though she began to become acquainted with the unflattering gossip and rumours that circulated around the staff room, Fiona found Monica the epitome of charm and good humour from day one, and the two had got on famously from the off.

There was, however, one rather disconcerting fact that Fiona had found out only this lunchtime. Whilst relaxing in the staff canteen, another member of the management team had casually remarked that, if Fiona came back into work on Monday, then she would have lasted longer than the previous incumbent of that particular position within the firm. In fact, as Fiona was soon to be informed, Monica had gone through seventeen different personal assistants in the last twelve months. Many, she was told, didn't last more than a week.

At first Fiona had thought that her fellow workers were exaggerating. Or perhaps winding her up; having a bit of a joke at the new girl's expense. But after a while, as more of the current workforce began to corroborate their colleagues' stories, it became apparent that perhaps there was something to this after all. But when Fiona asked why this should be - why the turnover for this particular job was so high - nobody seemed able to give an answer. Or maybe, Fiona had a sneaking suspicion, some of them knew more than they were willing to tell.

When five o'clock arrived, Fiona packed up her things, shut down her computer, and began to make her way towards her rendezvous. Being a Friday, many of the other staff had already left for the day, and those still here were in the process of vacating the premises. Fiona found, as she made her way along the corridor, that she was the only person going in the direction of the storerooms, with everyone else making a beeline for the exits. By the time she reached the stairway that led to the underground section of the building, there was no one else to be seen.

Once below ground level, Fiona traversed a short passageway with doors on either side, all but one of which was closed. She'd only briefly been in this area of the building before, on her first day when she was being shown around, and so knew very little of what lay behind those doors. But now, in the dim light of the corridor, she could see ahead of her a light shining from the one open door, and it was towards this source of artificial illumination that she now made her way. For some reason, butterflies were doing all sorts of aerobics in her stomach, and it was with more than a little trepidation that she found herself stopping just short of the entrance and peering nervously in.

By the glare given off by the single strip light on the ceiling, Fiona could see that this room was indeed the place where much of the product which this business was synonymous with was stored, as on all sides of the room, row upon row of metal shelves held boxes and packages with the distinct logo of the 'Tantalising Tights' brand emblazoned upon them. But it wasn't the mass of accumulated stock that drew Fiona's attention, but the sight of her boss waiting in the centre of the windowless room. She was standing next to two upright wooden chairs, on one of which had been placed several pairs of tights; some still within their packaging, others hanging loosely from the chair's back or lying in crumpled heaps on the seat itself. At the precise moment that Fiona appeared in the doorway, Monica was busy unfurling a black opaque pair which shimmered in the light as she laid them out along with the others. Within a second or two she seemed to sense Fiona's presence, however, and turned towards the door.

"Ah Fiona, do come in."

She strutted swiftly on her high heels towards the entrance and ushered her new employee towards the chair that was devoid of the accumulated hosiery, shutting the door behind her. For some reason, the slamming sound that accompanied the blocking of the only exit sent a shiver up Fiona's spine, and she almost - irrationally it seemed - found herself turning around and making her excuses as to why she couldn't stay here any longer; a hurriedly concocted story about some until now forgotten dentist appointment taking shape in her mind. But she managed to control this urge to flee. She was being stupid, she told herself. There was nothing to be frightened about. And besides, she needed this job, and it probably wouldn't do her career prospects any good to suddenly let her new employer down so soon after joining the firm. So meekly Fiona walked towards the vacant seat and, when prompted to do so, sat down. Monica picked up a pair of sheer black tights from the pile she'd compiled and began absentmindedly stretching out one of the legs. As she began to speak, she paced the room, every few seconds glancing in Fiona's direction. For her part, Fiona gazed wide-eyed at the attractive female sauntering back and forth in front of her.

"So Fiona, I guess you're probably wondering why I've asked you to stay behind today."

She paused for a second, but when Fiona failed to respond, she smiled and continued.

"Well the answer is very simple. As my PA, I need you to be very passionate and enthusiastic about the luxury goods we sell. So, I brought you here today to give you some understanding and experience of just how superior our tights are compared to our competitor brands. So that when customers ring up, you'll be able to speak with fervour and firsthand knowledge of the products we market. And to do that, I'll need you to get - how shall I put it - wrapped up in just how special and sensual these garments feel against your skin."

Monica stopped pacing momentarily, standing directly in front of the unmoving Fiona.

"Now, whilst I've been extremely pleased with your enthusiasm and willingness to learn this week, I couldn't help but notice that the hosiery adorning your legs for work each day doesn't appear to be 'Tantalising'. Am I correct?"

Fiona sheepishly had to admit that none of the pairs of tights she'd worn to the office this week were those created by her employer's company. They were, she admitted, a well known high street store's own brand. Having been unemployed until a week ago, she had to hold her hands up and admit that she couldn't afford the higher priced leg-wear that 'Tantalising Tights' offered.

For a brief few seconds, Monica looked sternly at her, and Fiona wondered if she'd angered her boss.

"Rule number one from now on, is that you wear 'Tantalising Tights' and no other, inferior brand. That's the standard I set, and I expect all my employees to abide by this... well, at least the female members of staff..."

She paused again, then added as an aside,

"...Although I know that Steve, in the finance office, wears them under his trousers habitually as well....Even though he thinks I don't know."

For a second, Monica seemed to dwell on this image, and for a brief period of time she seemed lost in a distant, silent world of her own; a half-smile etched on her face. But this brief interlude appeared to lighten her mood, and when she resumed speaking, any hint of annoyance that Fiona's revelation might have stirred in her seemed to have dissipated. She smiled warmly.

"But don't worry my dear, once you've totally immersed yourself in all the styles and varieties of my extensive range, I'm sure we'll make you a fan for life, and you'll be keen to pass on the joys of wearing these wonderful tights to all who enquire about them."

Monica came to a halt and leaned on the back of the tights-covered chair. She sighed and absentmindedly twirled the pair she'd been playing with in front of her.

"So what I need you to do now is take your skirt and tights off."

Fiona's mouth must have dropped open at this sudden, completely unexpected announcement.

"What?...I'm sorry...I don't understand...Why do I need to...?"

Monica cut her off in mid faltering sentence.

"Because, my dear, I need to give you a crash course in the sensual qualities of 'Tantalising Tights'. Now do as you're told."

To say that Fiona was slightly unnerved by this request - or was it an order? - would be an understatement. However, she meekly stood up and began to unbutton her skirt. After all, she wanted to make a good impression on her new boss and prove that she was willing to carry out instructions, no matter how odd they might at first appear. And she reasoned that, despite the strange way in which the request had been phrased, all that Monica wanted was for her to try on a few pairs of tights. That wasn't too much to ask, was it? With the skirt now loosened, she allowed it to fall to the floor, and began the process of unpeeling the tights from her legs. With this task complete, Fiona was just about to stoop and pick up her discarded clothes, but it was at this precise moment that Monica - who had been watching the disrobing procedure from the sidelines - once again took over.

"Now sit down again."

Fiona did as she was told, and Monica bent down, picked up the skirt and threw it onto one of the nearby shelves. The discarded tights she took a slightly greater interest in, however, checking the label in the waistband.

"Marks & Spencer? Not bad quality, but definitely not up to the high standards we set ourselves here. I know we can do better than these."

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed - what she clearly thought of as - the inferior hosiery away, then rifled through the pairs that she'd placed on the chair. Finding what she was looking for, she handed a black pair to Fiona.

"Put these on. These are from my new top-of-the-range line. They're thirty denier semi-opaque and very, very smooth on the skin. I'm sure you'll notice the difference as soon as they touch your flesh."

Fiona leant forwards and began sheathing her legs in the delicate stretch material, taking extra care not to snag them as she did so. She had to admit that they were extremely soft and velvety as they brushed over her skin. Standing up, she pulled them over her buttocks and hips to her waist. As her hand skimmed across the material in the region of her thighs, however, Monica was once more close at hand; encouraging her to sit down again. In her hands she carried another pair of tights, also in black. She looked Fiona's legs up and down.

"Feel good, don't they?"

Fiona's affirmation came out as not much more than a whisper. But if Monica in any way sensed the other woman's unease, she failed to show it.

Ok, I'd like you to lift your feet up now."

Fiona must have hesitated for a fraction of a second too long on this occasion, because Monica quickly crouched down and grabbed her by the ankles. This was odd enough in itself, but a second or two later things were to suddenly get a whole lot weirder.

As if in a trance, Fiona watched as Monica stretched out one foot of the tights and began to insert her recent recruit's feet into the resulting chasm. But within a second it became apparent that something odd was taking place here. For Monica wasn't sheathing one of her feet into a single leg of the tights in the normal way of things, but instead encasing both feet in the same leg! Upon seeing what was happening, Fiona tried to pull her legs away. Monica, however, kept a firm grip on her ankles.

"What are you doing? Why are you putting both my feet into one leg of the tights?"

Monica looked up from her crouching position and smiled.

"Just relax darling. I've been doing this sort of thing for years and I've found that the quickest way to initiate someone into the wonders of my products is to give them what I call the 'Complete Sensory Guide to Hosiery Appreciation'. Now sit still and don't worry about a thing. I'm sure you'll enjoy the experience, and in the end you'll thank me for introducing you to a whole new world."

By now, Monica had eased the tights up past Fiona's calves and over her knees. With her lower legs now encased in one restraining tunnel of nylon, without a word Monica helped Fiona stand up again, before continuing with the upward journey over her thighs and hips. By now, the fabric was stretched to its limits, and a sense of being constrained came over Fiona, as if her legs were no longer her own. A quick glance downwards showed that her feet, as she tried to part them, were held in check, and the visual impression she received was that of a mermaid's tail. This was all too bizarre for words! Part of Fiona's brain told her that she needed to be rid of this restrictive mesh and get out of the building - and Monica's clutches - as quickly as she could. But on the other hand, she didn't want to jeopardise what was a really good career opportunity by doing anything rash. Her thoughts, however, were soon interrupted as the immersion of the lower half of her body came to a halt, with the waistband of the tights now in their correct position and the spare leg hanging limply down from her buttocks in the manner of a tail.

"There, doesn't that feel nice and snug? These are from my forty denier opaque 'Luxury Legs' super-soft range. I'm sure now you can appreciate the quality of my products over the cheaper brands you've been accustomed to."

Pushing gently down on Fiona's shoulder, Monica bade her sit once more on the wooden chair.

"Now we need to get that blouse off."

To say that Fiona was shocked by this remark would be an understatement of epic proportions. So stunned was she, that she at first thought she must have misheard.

"I'm sorry?"

"Off with the blouse."

Fiona was beginning to get the impression that Monica didn't like to have to repeat her instructions twice, as the second time it came out almost as a barked order. As she began to explain her reasoning behind this latest directive, however, she seemed to realise that getting too heavy-handed was likely to spook her confused member of staff, which wasn't what she wanted...at least not yet.

"As I said earlier, the object of this exercise is to give you full comprehension of wearing my brand of hosiery. And for that to happen, you need to be unhindered by loose fitting clothes of any description. Come on Fiona, you're not going to let a promising start to our business relationship deteriorate already, are you? I have high hopes for you."

Against her better judgement, Fiona found herself unbuttoning, then slipping her arms out of, her top. Now in only her bra, she felt self-conscious and vulnerable, and automatically her arms came up to cover her breasts. But, as it soon transpired, her sense of being almost naked wouldn't last long.

Fiona's mind was reeling now, with so many fears and unanswered questions buzzing around in her brain. So much so, that she failed to comprehend exactly what Monica's next intensions were, even when she found her arms being gently - stealthily even - eased around behind her back. Then suddenly she realised what was about to happen. But by then it was too late. Monica must have had previous experience of sheathing a person's arms inside one leg of a pair of tights; that was all Fiona could think of to explain the dexterity, expertise and swiftness with which the avenue of pliable nylon rose up her arms and the waistband stretched around her shoulders. With the makeshift mono-glove in place, Fiona attempted to pull her hands apart, but she found the fabric unyielding and resistant to tearing.

"What are you doing?...Get these things off me."

Fiona struggled briefly, but the pressure of Monica's fingers on her shoulder, although laid gently without too much force, told her that any increase in her attempt to resist might be treated with a harsher hand.

"Now, now Fiona, there's no need to get panicky. All I'm doing is giving you a lesson in just how soft yet strong these tights can be. This is a pair of my sixty denier, opaque 'Healthy Legs' support tights, which I've recently brought out. As I'm sure you've already guessed, they're virtually rip resistant. I chose a pair in the smallest size that we make, so that you could really get a feel of how compressing and snug they can be."

Suddenly Fiona felt something being wrapped tightly around her elbows, and it took her a few seconds to understand that this was the spare leg, being wound around her arms several times until it was ultra-taut, then somehow tied off to itself to prevent it coming loose.

This was simply the last straw for Fiona. Ok, so being encased in tights was odd in the extreme, but at least up to now she could see a purpose to all this...albeit a rather unconventional one. But being trussed up? Surely this was above and beyond the call of duty, and most definitely not in her job description.

"What's going on here?...Why have you tied me up?"

As always, Monica seemed to have a readymade explanation prepared.

"As I've said Fiona, it's all about complete absorption in the feel of the material. The more restrained you are, the less you can move around. Which means that you've got more time on your hands to really take on board the feel of these gorgeous tights gliding across your flesh..."

The CEO briefly turned away and picked something up off the nearest shelf. When she turned back, Fiona squealed as she noticed an enormous reel of two inch wide grey duct tape in her hand.

"...And so, I'm going to immobilise you a little bit more, so that you can really experience them in all their true glory. I know it's hard to get to grips with at first, but be patient and you'll soon be enlightened as to what I'm talking about."

Fiona squirmed and tried to get up off the chair, with the intention of heading for the door and getting as far away as possible from this obviously deranged woman. But with her limbs swathed in restrictive cul-de-sacs of Lycra-enhanced nylon, there was never any chance of her escape bid succeeding. In fact, she didn't even manage to get to her feet before Monica was upon her and pushing her back onto the hard, upright chair.

"Not thinking of leaving before the conclusion of the experiment, are you Fiona? I don't think I could work with someone who walks out without completing a task to the best of their abilities."

Fiona wanted to tell Monica that she had decided that the job wasn't for her after all, and that she quit with immediate effect. But for some reason she held back. For surely this whole ludicrous drama couldn't go on indefinitely, could it? If she were to just grin and bear it for a bit longer, then this whole initiation ceremony - for that was what Fiona was now hoping that this whole thing was - would be over and they could both have a good laugh about it. As these thoughts flashed through her mind, Monica moved around to the back of the chair and Fiona heard the ripping of the tape away from the spool. Within no more than a second, something was being wound around her wrists and pressed down onto the mesh of the tights. Fiona closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that she was going through this ordeal for the sake of career advancement. But as another binding of tape began to encircle her upper arms, she found herself wondering whether the job - any job in fact - was worth this much grief. And these feelings only grew stronger when, after satisfying herself that Fiona's arms were well and truly secured, Monica knelt down on the floor by her trainee's feet and began supplementing the cocoon with multiple circuits of tape around her ankles, before moving upwards to repeat the process just below her knees.

It was in the brief interlude after Monica had concluded taping her now doubly trapped limbs, that the now truly helpless blonde decided that she'd had enough. No more pussyfooting about trying to comply with her clearly insane boss's weird demands and strange fetishes. It was time to put a stop to this madness once and for all. But now she was encased and taped, what could she do? Well she could start by making her feelings about this whole idiotic game known to Monica.

"Look, this has gone too far. I'm not sure exactly what's going on here, but I demand that you let me out of this immediately. If you don't let me go, then you're holding me against my will, and that's kidnapping. Now get this tape off me and help me out of the tights, or I'll...."

But that was the last coherent sound she was able to make. As she'd been delivering her protest speech, she'd noticed that Monica was handling yet another pair of tights. Under normal circumstances she may have cottoned on to the fact that, instead of stretching this pair out and expanding the waistband in readiness for cocooning purposes, her tormentor had been scrunching this latest set up into a ball. Due to her fragile state of mind at present, however, she simply didn't grasp the relevance of this action until it was too late.

Holding the back of Fiona's head with one hand, Monica forcibly thrust the tightly packed wedge deeply into her unsuspecting secretary's astonished mouth.

"These are another forty denier opaque pair, just like the ones encasing your legs. Even in your mouth, I'm sure you'll be able to appreciate how smooth and luxurious they are."

As soon as she'd twigged the nature of this latest development in the ongoing saga, Fiona did everything within her powers to hinder the insertion of this vocal inhibitor, and indeed made every effort to reverse the process by attempting to spit the cavity filling gag out again. But in her parlous state, she was no match for Monica's greater freedom of mobility, and within seconds her mouth was full to capacity. But worse was to follow, for as soon as this latest addition to her woes had been embedded behind her teeth to the extent that only a fraction of the black mesh was now visible between her trembling lips, Monica set about ensuring that this oral stuffing remained in situ, by quickly sealing Fiona's mouth with several circuits of grey tape around her face and lower head.

Fiona felt the tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes, as the thought that she wasn't going to be getting out of this any time soon hit her. But although a state of hysteria seemed to be welling up in her, she knew that to give in to such urges could only be detrimental. For one thing, now that her mouth was sealed and she was being forced to take air in through her nose alone, any prolonged bout of sobbing would undoubtedly see her nasal passages becoming blocked, and with it the ability to breathe would be made much more difficult. Forcing down the rising panic, Fiona could therefore only watch in complete impotence as Monica unfolded yet another pair of tights and prepared to increase Fiona's misery still further.

"Now I'm sure you're going to love this next pair. These are from my new fifteen denier 'Shimmer and Shine' range. They're gossamer thin with extra Lycra... and they're ultra gorgeous, as you can see..."

Monica stretched the fabric out in front of her to allow Fiona a brief preview of what would soon become the latest affront to her liberty. In the glare of the overhead light, a sparkling effect was clearly visible rippling through the translucent mesh.

"I thought, as a first layer, we'd start off with taupe."

Fiona could only watch and whimper as the thin membrane approached her face, and within no more than two or three seconds, Monica was dexterously teasing the silky-soft garment over her victim's head and pulling it down until the waistband resided at her throat. Without pausing, the two legs were quickly wrapped around Fiona's lower head two or three times until they had been stretched to the limits of their endurance, before being secured with a tight knot over her sealed lips.

Despite the see-through nature of the hood, the twenty year old trainee now gazed out onto a world that was slightly blurry. As she sat there in complete helplessness, she watched the now hazy figure of her employer opening yet another pack of tights and, taking the toes in one hand and the top in the other, stretching them out to their full length. Despite her less than perfect vision, Fiona's eyes were greeted by a pair of tights that were bright pink in hue.

"I thought maybe a splash of colour wouldn't go amiss Fiona. I think a cerise pair from my twenty denier 'Splash of Colour' line will suit you."

For the second time in less than a minute, Fiona found her head being sheathed; the knotting of the legs taking place with the same attention to detail as before, to ensure that no slippage was likely to occur. But even with this second makeshift mask obscuring her vision still further, Fiona could still make out the image of Monica standing before her. She was gazing down on her nylon-clad creation, legs apart, arms akimbo, as if admiring her handiwork and pondering whether any further adornments or adjustments were required. It soon turned out that they were.

"You know darling, I've change my mind. Pink just isn't your colour at all. I think maybe you're a powder blue kind of girl, to match your eyes."

Instead of removing the bright pink encumbrance from Fiona's face, however, Monica simply unfurled the newly unpacked coloured tights and slid the third instalment of the layered hood over the top of her skull. This time though, she failed to tie the legs across Fiona's face; instead leaving them to dangle freely, one at the back of her head, with the other hanging limply in front of her left eye.

"Hmm yes, definitely a big improvement. Blue is so your colour."

For a minute or more now, Monica circled around the chair on which Fiona had no option but to sit; examining her work of art from every possible angle. For a while Fiona endured this inspection, but soon the silence became unbearable, and she felt she just had to speak up, in order to let Monica know of her unhappiness."

"Let me go! I want to go home!!"

The words came out muffled and garbled, although Monica seemed to get the gist of the message.

"Let you go? After I've been through all this trouble of getting you lovingly rigged up to look so stunningly glamorous? I don't think so Fiona, not for an hour or two yet. We're not finished here...In fact, we've only just started."

As if to prove this latter point, Monica pulled several more pairs of tights from their wrappings and readied them for use. Fiona squirmed in her seat at the realisation that she was to be burdened still further. But where were these latest additions to Monica's arsenal going to be employed? After all, her limbs were already cocooned and taped beyond use. Surely there was no need for any further enhancement?

She should by now have known better. For as with her head covering, it seemed that Monica was never going to stop at just one layer. The upshot was that within only a few minutes, another two strata of fine black mesh had enveloped her arms, with a similar number being employed from toe to waist. Naturally, between each layer of nylon, more tape had been added to create the sensation of being well and truly immobilised, and this was supplemented with the unused leg of each pair being wrapped around the now terrified woman's trembling limbs, pulled as tight as any pliable material of this nature would allow, before being tied to either itself or the spare leg of one of its other, now rather numerous, counterparts.

All the while, as her transformation into a tights-skin sausage continued, Fiona pleaded and begged Monica to desist; to see sense; to set her free from this ever worsening situation. But her words went unheeded; either due to incomprehension, or more likely due to the fact that her boss was simply insensitive to the feelings of others. Instead, Fiona was treated to a running commentary on exactly which fashion and design of tights Monica was working with at that particular moment.

"These are the most hardwearing brand on the market...fifty denier with an extra glimmer finish, to give you the Wow factor...sheer, thirty denier and beautifully crafted..."

And so it went on. Finally, after what seemed to Fiona like forever, Monica stepped back again and announced that they were almost done.

"Just one final flourish, to make sure we maximise your experience to the full."

Even through the distortion caused by three layers of tights, Fiona could see that the pair now in Monica's hands were considerably larger than those in which she'd been entombed thus far. As always, of course, the company's managing director was eager to talk about any product that she had designed herself and was intensely passionate about.

"These are from our extra large range. Fifty denier and run resistant, with reinforced gusset."

Without further ado, she began to pull these down over Fiona's head. But unlike the other pairs that she wore as a stifling hood, Monica didn't stop working these downwards once she'd reached her reluctant volunteer's neck, but instead stretched the outsized leg over her captive's shoulders and continued the journey past her quivering breasts and down to her waist, where they met the tops of their counterparts from the opposite direction. A few circuits of Fiona's midriff with the clinging duct tape ensured that this final embellishment wouldn't ride up.

With her work now complete, Monica lifted her severely hampered secretary off the chair and laid her, face upwards, on the bare floor.

"Right Fiona, now is your opportunity to build up a really good, long, intimate relationship with the products that you'll be representing while you work for me. You may not realise it yet, but in a couple of hours you'll be grateful to me for giving you this unique insight into how much of an extraordinary brand we manufacture and market here. The idea is that, as you can't get away or do much else at the moment, all five senses can be allowed to fully focus on the attire that you're modelling right now."

Monica's enthusiasm for all-things-hosiery knew no bounds. Indeed, if anything her zeal now stepped up a level. And as she got into her stride, she began to pace the room again, getting more excited and animated as she went along.

"Firstly, there's the delightfully seductive swishing sound as they glide across your skin and rub against each other. Just listen for a few seconds and I'm sure you'll agree. Then there's the unmistakable smell of hosiery just out of the packaging. Take a good, long breath in through your nose, and you'll find the scent intoxicating to the point of ecstasy. Often overlooked is the taste, of course, and this is the reason I've planted those lovely silky threads against your tongue, in order for you to understand the indescribable sensation on your taste buds".

Momentarily, she stopped and crouched down next to Fiona's head, before looking deeply into her barely visible eyes beneath the four layered facial mask.

"Of course, the sight of top quality hosiery on a woman is always exciting, but I've given you a close up look at the immaculate weave that we at 'Tantalising Tights' insist on in our products. All you have to do is concentrate on the intricate fibres right in front of your eyes to understand how much dedication and love goes into the creation of each individual item, every one of which has to pass through our stringent quality control regime."

Fiona flinched and let out a pathetic whimper as Monica's hands gently stroked her captive creation; beginning at her breasts and slowly working their way down over her abdomen, to finish at her thighs.

"And lastly there's the pleasure that comes from the feel of these beauties gently caressing your skin. And that's why I've totally covered you from head to toes in a second skin of slinky, sensual elegance. All you need to do is to move any part of your body or limbs just a fraction of an inch in any direction, in order to experience the most wonderful feeling known to womankind; that soft but seductive, light yet reassuring sensation that constantly reminds you of just how wonderful tightly fitting leg-wear can be."

Monica stood up to her full height and once more walked across the room. It seemed that her monologue on the joys of tights and tights wearing was beginning to wind down. Within seconds she had reached the door and was opening it; a fact deduced by Fiona as much through the sound of the hinges creaking, as her capacity for visualising this event was hampered by the semi-blindfolding effect of the multi-layered hood.

"But of course, the whole experience is far more than the sum of its parts, and for maximum enjoyment I'd try to excite all five senses at the same time if I were you."

Monica stood in the doorway and delivered her parting shot.

"So Fiona, try to take on board all I've said. I sincerely hope that you get to know intuitively the very ethos of what I'm trying to achieve with this business. But above all else, make sure you enjoy yourself."

Through the haze before her eyes, Fiona could just make out the image of her tormentor, as she raised her arm and checked her watch.

"Anyway, my dear, I'm sure you're getting fed up with me rabbiting on and on, and that you'd much rather be left to your own devices so that you can experiment for yourself. I'll be back in an hour or two to see how you're getting on. I do hope you didn't have anything else planned for this evening."

And with that she was gone; the sound of the door slamming shut confirming the grainy visual image of her departing figure.


Part 2 (added: 2019/05/03)

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't you dare....get your hands off me...you can't do this to me..."

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

"Shut up you bitch...keep still or you'll get hurt...I'm going to teach you a lesson..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get off me... You're trespassing...You have no right to be here!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Black, forty denier, patterned. These will do for starters."

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

"The more you struggle Monica, the greater number of restraints I'll be forced to use on you."

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

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

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

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

Hannah laughed spitefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She motioned towards the hapless Fiona,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hannah turned towards the stacked shelves at her side.

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

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

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

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

"Goodnight ladies. I hope you don't get up to too much mischief!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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