Tamara - The Case Of The (corrupted) Suits (6) (Patreon)

Tamara - The Case Of The Corrupted Suits

(Damn! Where Is The Zipper? - Movimento 3 - (Don't forget to read the update in part 5))

Part 6

Hours later, Tamara woke up lying on what looked like a sofa to her . . . the texture and the smell were familiar . . . With difficulty she tried to focus, but her vision remained blurry. While her arms refused to react, she was feeling a strong tingling throughout her body. The same sensation that she felt when a foot, a hand or a limb had fallen asleep, but now she felt it all over her body. Just moving her eyelids took a lot of effort. Her neck ached when she turned it to look around her after struggling to lift her head.

Strangely she felt content, a happy woman, but disoriented, very disoriented.

She could barely remember what had happened to her. She sank back onto her cushion as she savored what little was left of that sensation she had felt then. With her eyes closed, she made an effort to remember, and the first thing that came back to her was how weak she had been to allow herself to be carried away by her temptation. A giggle made up of innocence crept into her mouth, she admitted to herself that she was tempted to do it again. Images of her garment in her hand came up, making her have the need to put it on, as if she had waited her whole life for that opportunity.

"Hee hee," escaped her in a low tone when she remembered how she had undressed, trembling with anxiety for the opportunity to put on that panty. Felt that cold fabric on her skin, noticing that it made her have goose bumps. Felt how sensual that strange fabric was. Remembered the excitement that had made her unable to control herself and lead her to bind herself with those black chains. And while her shackles were closed, to notice that it seemed that the garment of hers became like her own skin, part of her own sex and of her ass.

"Oh God," she said, and suddenly she was able to move her whole body again. Her right hand went straight to her mouth, then she bit her index finger. A forgotten sensation was taking over her body. Then she realized, that she was now sitting. Her vision came back clear out of the blurry haze and she suddenly had the feeling of seeing better than ever. Tamara without stopping biting her index finger, looked around the room . . . It couldn't be. . . she was no longer in the warehouse, nor in the port, she was back in the hall on her floor in her apartment house.

"Like . . !" she tried to curse . . . but something was stopping her.

Her other hand rested on her chest, thus noting the strong beating of her heart. And little by little her hand began to descend in search of her crotch, and when it arrived there, she felt a strange high. Or rather, she was surprised not to feel something. But there was something wrong . . .

"But what?" she asked herself.

She jumped up from the sofa and went directly to the mirror that had always been a mere ornament on one of the walls. What she saw left her in shock. The young woman who was reflected in the mirror could not be her . . . in a way yes, but . . . that was impossible . . . unless . . .

"But . . . what have I done?!" she almost yelled.

It was only now that she realized that she was still wearing the panties, that had grown in size, now covering more of her. And that the bra had changed into a regular top. Both felt like her own skin, so she had not noticed them before. It also explained the strange feeling in her crotch. Looking down on herself she discovered that she was wearing thigh high latex stockings too, instead of the socks she had worn last night.

The woman standing before her was about twenty-three years old, maybe a year more or less. She had a gorgeous figure, full red and brown hair and a beautiful face, free of all signs of age or other imperfections. In short, she was the dream girl of every man and woman. She looked and felt extremely sexy. As she turned in front of the mirror, admiring herself, she saw her clothes and other belongings lying beside the sofa. Lost in her own beauty, she just stood there without a thought.

There was something hidden both in her reflection and inside her, a vain streak. On the one hand, she felt like her blood was boiling for fear of the consequences. On the other hand, without her admitting it, she loved what she saw. It was this something that fed on the fear that boiled her blood, making her feel again the irresistible heat, which had seduced and had rewarded her not only with the new perfect vision but also with being young and beautiful again. There was much more, it was something new about her and it made her feel young and sexy, and it was something that was already eroding the self-control she had cultivated over the years, her maturity and her wisdom.

Suddenly noise erupted! Startled, she jumped and put her hand to her breast, hearing her smartphone ringing with the tone reserved for her Superior . . .

"Shit . . !" she said from the depths of her being, "it's Frank!"

She then quickly picked up her things and when into her flat, ignoring her mobile. The incoming call had brought her back to earth and helped her to start thinking straight again. Looking out of the window she realised that it was the next morning. A whole night had gone by. She could not remember how she gotten into the hall.

Tamara started pacing up and down her little living room, feeling that latex fabric covering her chest, the most intimate parts of her and dressing her legs, and liking it. She knew she should have removed them the moment she became aware that she was still wearing those garments. But she did not want too, in a childish and tempting way, she wanted to continue wearing the forbidden fruit. And this was what puzzled the strict and self-disciplined Tamara most.

She wondered how she was going to explain why she looked like she was in her early twenties again. Tamara did not want to end up in an induced coma, in one of those capsules, where the infected were confined. What she totally failed to realise, was that she might have been set free and brought home for a reason.

She cursed her curiosity, and her urge to understand, once and for all, why the victims, not being themselves, wore a suit that would doom and steal their will. Now that she had played with fire, she knew that she had felt what the victims had felt, but she still did not understand what it was that drove them to go further. And she, also, did not understand why she did not want to take off her clothes, despite the danger to which she was exposing herself by continuing to wear them.

She knew she had to gather all of her willpower and remove them from her. Then talk to the office, and invent some credible excuse. If they asked for her on the phone, she would say she would be 2 hours late. The latter would be easier, despite the unknowns that could arise and the annoying questions, than to remove just one of the garments that should be removed.

At the same time, her phone started ringing for the third time. Her boss, Frank, had never had to call her at home before. What's more, Tamara had never been late for work. She was always one of the first to arrive, when ever it was, where ever they were. And Tamara realized, that she must answer that call, or otherwise the agency would send some agents to check her apartment, in case she had been the target of an attack. Tamara, her pulse throbing, decided to hit the green key on her screen.

"Yes. . Hello. And what is it?" Tamara said, glad that her voice still sounded like always.

"By the gods, are you okay?" Frank asked in an urgent tone.

"Yes, I stayed up late analyzing some data and . . . I think I've had too little rest lately," she said improvising an excuse, "I fell asleep."

"Ok, but answer me quickly, it's important," he said seriously. "At what time did you leave our offices?"

"I . . ," she tried to remember the time, but the question of why Frank required it distracted her for a second. "About eight ten. . . eight twenty . . ."

"Thank the gods!" a more relieved tone sounded from the phone,

"What is it Frank?" she asked in a business like tone, going back to being who she always was. Except in this case she had sat down on the couch and her fingers played with her hair like a teenager.

"Yesterday we suffered a massive attack," he began to say in his typical cool and controlled tone. "I will tell you, because I trust you. You and Sam will be the only other two people who will know the real version, and not the official one. Someone managed to infiltrate our facilities, sabotage our firewall and disable the cameras. We are still trying to recover the images, but up to now, we have not discovered how they have done it. In addition, four of our agents have been infected, we suspect that at least one of them is an accomplice of the attack. It all started around 21:30 hours, shortly after Sam was sent out to investigate two murders of strange consequence in the Imperial Capital."

"We have been attacked?" Tamara excitedly asked. Hearing that, she felt a strange mixture of fear, indignation and a strange satisfaction.

"Do not worry, everything is under control here," he said with a more controlled tone, to calm Tamara. "Now more than ever we must show determination. I want you to call Sam and take a flight to the Imperial Capital. I just sent you two an email with all the details. Meanwhile I will go to Spain, to capture a girl that . . . Medusa, . . who apparently has been transformed into a Gorgone."

"A jellyfish girl?" she said surprised, "what jellyfish girl?"

"Not a jellyfish, . . Medusa as in the Greek mythology. What's going on, Tamara?" he said, surprised by the question. "Where have you been that you haven't heard about her? She's on all the TV-channels since last night."

"Sorry, Frank. As I said, I worked late and fell asleep. Without my first coffee I'm not myself. Getting up to speed right now," she replied, faking a yawn.

end...?