Tamara - The Case Of The (corrupted) Suits (4) (Patreon)

Tamara - The Case Of The Corrupted Suits

(Damn! Where Is The Zipper? - Movimento 3)

Part 4

She then began to undress, leaving her clothes neatly stacked to one side of her. What Tamara was going to do was extremely risky, she knew there was a very high probability of falling under the influence of that thing. But she was so obsessed with wanting to meet her enemy, that she didn't think twice about what she was really doing. The risk to her was worth it, if it gained her some information.

When she was totally naked, she picked up the garment again. Without realizing it, she was biting her lip, while she held the stretched panty in her hands. In her mind the surprised question could be heard from afar, "Wasn't it a thong before?" without her wanting to hear it. But before that warning hesitation could make her stop, Tamara slipped her first leg into the garment, the other soon to follow. She had some difficulty pulling it over her hips, but eventually succeed. It was a tight fit at first, but then the panties adapted to her body and gave off some of the same substance as before.

Her legs trembled with nerves and fear when wearing the garment. "I must be careful, . . take it off when I begin liking it too much," she told herself, hoping to be able to do just that. But when she had the tight garment on well, she couldn't help but sensually caress herself all over the fabric, feeling a sensation so pleasant and strange, meanwhile absorbing more of the fabric's influence.

She kept repeating to herself that she had to be careful, that she had to remove her garment when she felt her mind go cloudy. But her own voice inside her, became more and more silent the more she caressed those parts of her body covered by that garment. One of her fingers, her middle one, rediscovered that woman's cleft, where she had only touched herself in the bathroom for a long time. Even through that waterproof fabric, she could feel the rising moisture from inside her. And suddenly, an image of her, bound in chains, appeared in her mind.

"OOOHHH!" . . . That "oh!" that escaped her, from between her lips, was long, fiery, pleasant and intense.

That "oh!" was something small that she had not felt for a long time. Offensively small for the time she hadn't felt it. But big enough to remind her that that area of her body was still alive, awake, and hungrier for sensations than she could imagine.

That little orgasm was insufficient . . . But intense enough to awaken what she had been denying herself for years, and start a hunger that filled her with an urge that would later make her reckless. The two phrases that kept her on the path of being cautious slowly disappeared from her mind, obscured by the sensation that had led her to a small orgasm. That mental image of her being bound, made her look at those chains that fell from the ceiling and start biting her lip like a teenager. For some reason unbecoming of her, it made Tamara want to have them on her.

The struggle between her reason and her desire was almost non-existent, though not immediately resolved. She debated with herself for about five minutes before making up her mind. Tamara, somewhat doubtful of what she was going to do, looked, without being able to think clearly, at the shackle that was going to be used to imprison her ankle. Her eyes managed to move away from that object to her clothes, trying to remember who and where she was. But her temptation got the better of her. Tamara wanted to know what it was that made those women not only let themselves be carried away, but why, when they were released and knew well what had happened to them, they all admitted that they would let themselves be imprisoned again.

"What is your secret?" she asked herself with a tone almost whispering, but without realizing it, it was a purr influenced by desire.

The click of the first shackle made her wince and feel something flutter in her stomach. Her head felt somewhat dizzy. Soon the second shackle around her other ankle helped to increase these feelings. And as she stood up, a thought that was not typical of her came to mind. Her hands reached up for one of the shackles that would imprison her by her wrists. The short, taut chain forced her to stand on tiptoe to put her first hand into the shackle and close it. She saw her bare feet against the ground and realized that those shackles called for HIGH heels. Yes or Yes.

Tamara's mind went blank then, until she shook her head to clear it, driving the mist from her. What thought was that, she wondered. She only owned eight pairs of shoes, and of those eight only one pair was with any real heels. This would say a lot about her in a personality analysis. Tamara never had that need for a shoemaker, for her footwear was more a necessity than a vanity. So why did she suddenly think she needed high heels. Perhaps it was the suggestion that all the victims had been wearing high heels, thin and clearly looking very uncomfortable. What she failed to notice, was that she was smaller than the other victims. Even in high heels she should not have been able to reach the hanging shackles.

Refocusing, she watched the black mask swing, like a pendulum, back and forth in front of her, almost as if it wanted to hypnotize her. With her last free hand she stopped that almost annoying movement, before reaching for the last shackle. Tamara hesitated a long moment before wrapping it around her wrist and thereby being totally trapped by those chains.

An afterthought made her stop. She released that shackle and brought her free hand to the shackle that held her other hand. Her fingers circled the metal, so her thumb could press that switch shaped like a red gem. A simple metallic click followed and suddenly her arm was free again. Tamara relaxed her feet and supported herself over all of her sole as she reflected on what she was doing. But she had come too far, she had her ankles pinned and then there were these panties. Both of her hands caressed that magical material again.

to be continued...