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Shelacta Tales Ch. 14

If this is the first Shelacta Tale you have read, please go an appendix on one of the earlier tales to learn about this world.

Copyright Oggbashan July 2012

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.


Tale 14: Fashion Faults

I had just eased my arms out of the sleeves of my formal gown. Andy was lifting the voluminous folds of the dress off me. Soon I would be wearing nothing but bra and panties...

He pushed me hard on to the bed and his body flattened me. My lungs emptied with a gasp. He rammed a soft ball gag into my open mouth and yanked the strap tight around my head, cutting into my cheeks.

How could he do that? He was my slave, and had been for at least a day. Slaves, even unwilling ones, had to obey their mistress's orders. Suddenly I realised that I was in real trouble. With that ball filling my mouth I couldn't order Andy to do anything. I was helpless, unable to sound more than a grunt.

"You should have waited, bitch!" Andy hissed in my ear.

His body was still flattening me, his hands fumbling with the folds of my dress. He opened the entrance to the dress's trap and pushed my head inside.

"See how you like it, Sarah," he said, dragging the opening over my shoulders.

I tried to back out but my own invention stopped me, exactly as I had designed it to. I sank further into the enveloping satin as Andy pulled the dress down my body, just as I had done to him today and yesterday at the dress rehearsal. I writhed and wriggled. The satin held me tight. With a final twitch Andy pulled the trap's entrance beyond my thrashing feet.

My hands and feet were free but I couldn't move my hands up to my head to release the ball gag. The constricting bands of my trap held my legs together and my arms tight to my sides. Each time I tried, the bands clamped harder before relaxing a little to give the illusion of escape.

Andy lifted my pinioned body in his arms and walked across the bedroom. I heard the wardrobe door open. Surely he wouldn't?

He did. I heard the pulleys moving. He fitted the hanger to the top of my dress and raised it gradually at first as he transferred the weight from himself to the apparatus that he had installed for me to keep long-trained dresses suspended. My head sank to the far end of the satin trap as the dress was lifted. The bands around my body, arms and legs held me as the dress rose from the ground.

Andy gave a final pull and locked the lifting mechanism in place with me swinging slightly in the confining darkness of clinging satin.

"Enjoy your own work, bitch. No one will know you are there. I'm going out for a beer or two."

The wardrobe door slammed shut, followed by the bedroom door and finally I heard the unmistakable sound of the key locking the flat's entrance door. I was alone, unable to speak, suspended upside down, trapped by Andy in the trap I had designed to capture him, hanging in my own wardrobe, smothering inside thick satin folds, all because I had been unable to control my own slave's actions.

Only Andy could release me. No one else had access to the flat. No one would know I was imprisoned there. If Andy didn't return, the next person to enter would be the landlord when the rent wasn't paid, and that was paid automatically by direct debit so it could be months before that happened.

I struggled against the constricting satin even though I knew my efforts were futile. My design was made to be inescapable. The victim can only be released by someone else. I stopped thrashing and began to think back. How had I annoyed Andy so much? Why had he imprisoned me?

We students who had graduated this year at the Acme College of Fine Arts hold a show on a Saturday at the beginning of the next academic year. The intention of the show is to demonstrate to new students what is possible, to exhibit the graduates' skills to their new employers, or for those few still unemployed to try to impress potential employers.

All the graduates had reached the age of 21 in their final year, having started in the academic year after their 18th birthday. Any potential students under 18 at the time they wanted to start at the Acme College could attend a Pre-Foundation course for the year until they were old enough to start the 3 year graduate course.

But the rules of the College could be irritating, particularly one rule:

No female student could enslave a male student while they were both students. If she did, her studies were terminated and she had to leave the College no matter how close to graduation she might be.

But after graduation? Anything is fair in love, war, and capturing a graduate male.

This year three female students, including me, and three male students, including Andy, had graduated as fashion designers. During the college's Saturday show, our fashions would be shown on a catwalk, each of us taking it in turn to parade our work of three casual male outfits and three formal gowns for the ladies, a total of thirty-two designs. Unusually we three women had decided to cooperate on a final set of three gowns to be the finale of the fashion parade, escorted by the men wearing their own casual designs.

Despite the college rule, the men and women had effectively paired off during their studies, working together, going out together if often in the group of six. The men knew exactly which sexual traps we women had, and had avoided them carefully. We three women had weak scent traps. Our bodies produced a perfume that could overpower a man but the man needed a long exposure, several minutes at least, for the trap to work.

We wore perfume to nullify our traps when we were in close contact with the male students. The men wore scented nose plugs if they were likely to be very close to us, for example when fitting a gown.

One required element of our course had been to examine capture garments and make some of our own. Variations on the capture bra for those with breast traps were popular and the men had produced interesting ideas. But those ideas, although not useless for women with weak scent traps, would not work well without the male's willing surrender. Although the man's head might be firmly held against our breasts, our scent trap would take too long to subdue him. We might be injured by the man's struggle for release.

We needed a trap that would immobilise the man, or seriously impede his movements long enough for our scent trap to work. All three of us produced variations of the cloak or cape which we could wrap around him, seal shut, and detach from ourselves. The man could struggle inside his wrapping but his thrashing wouldn't affect us. We took it a step further for the graduation display with one way entry bags built as part of our formal gowns.

Once partly inside, the trapped man could only go forwards, deeper into the trap. Although the traps were part of our gowns, they could be detached if necessary. Mine had a zip along the seam linked to my waistband. With practice I could undo that zip in under a second, leaving the trapped man struggling while I walked away. The disadvantage of all the traps was the weakness of our scent. Before use, we had to wear the trap for some time ourselves to impregnate it with our female odour.

With the cloaks and capes that wasn't too difficult. We just covered or disabled the sealing and wore the cloak/cape as a nightdress before use.

The formal gowns were more complicated and risky. At one time or other all three of us had accidently imprisoned ourselves in our own traps, but whenever we had tried them we had been together, so that a friend could release us, if necessary. But now? I was hoist with my own petard, hoisted upside down in a wardrobe, swinging helplessly in the darkness inside the clinging satin of my gown, waiting for an angry Andy to release me – if he intended to.

I had another worrying thought. Did Andy know how to let me out? I had let him out twice, at the dress rehearsal and at the real fashion parade but he wouldn't have seen how I did it while he was bagged in the dark. The whole point of capture clothing is that the victim shouldn't know or learn how they are freed by their mistress. I couldn't tell him how to operate the release with my mouth silenced by a gag. I suppose he could ask one of my friends but that would be really embarrassing for me. I'm supposed to be Andy's mistress, not his captive. I shook my head in frustration.

The strap holding the gag in place slipped slightly. Andy couldn't have locked it firmly. The pressure on my cheeks had eased a little. I shook my head violently. There was another faint movement but no matter how hard I thrashed my head there was no more give in the strap. The gag was still firmly in place but I felt a little more comfortable. Comfortable? That was a joke. I was still upside down, hanging in a satin embrace, shut in a wardrobe inside a locked flat.

Why was Andy so angry? After graduation the other two men had willingly surrendered to their partners' traps while in bed together. When their partners told them about the traps built into their formal gowns they had willingly entered those traps. Even if they hadn't willingly surrendered their freedom, their mistresses could have ordered them to enter the traps for the rehearsal and the parade.

Andy had said that he wasn't yet ready to surrender to me. Although I had respected his reluctance, I was worried that he was vulnerable to being trapped by any designing female, including pre-fertile ones that might kill him. I knew that my trap was weak, weaker than most of the traps other women had. If I didn't trap Andy within the week or two after graduation, I might lose him forever. I didn't want that. I loved Andy and wanted him to be mine.

By the dress rehearsal I was getting desperate. There were several other recently graduated women hovering around Andy. Any one of them could have trapped Andy in seconds instead of the minutes I needed. So I lied to Andy.

I asked him to allow himself to be caught in my gown's trap, both at the rehearsal and the real event. I wanted him to pretend to struggle and orgasm as if he had been sexually trapped but that I wouldn't impregnate the trap with my scent. But I did. I slept in that trap the night before the rehearsal. As he let me fling my gown over his head and shoulders he thought he would be acting helpless submission. Once inside the trap he knew that I had lied. He felt my scent beginning to take effect.

Andy behaved better than I should have expected. He could have yelled for release and embarrassed me in front of our friends. Instead he struggled as he had said he would, knowing that his struggles would enhance the effect of my scent and lead to his inevitable surrender to me.

He didn't even complain until we were alone together. He could have told everyone that I had lied, had tricked him, had taken his cooperation and abused his trust. He didn't. All he said was:

"Sarah? Was that fair? Couldn't you have waited until I was ready?"

I can't remember exactly what I said. I tried to explain my fears about other women claiming him. He didn't listen.

"I'll go along with the farce at the fashion parade tomorrow, Sarah, if only because it's important to me as well as you, but afterwards? We need to talk and you need to apologise."

He walked away and I didn't see him again until shortly before the parade was due to begin. And then I had trapped him again. I could have soaked my gown in perfume to cover my scent. I hadn't. I had slept in the trap again, adding to my scent. Andy had had more involuntary orgasms totally under my control, in public in front of his family and our friends. Could he ever forgive me? Would he ever release me?

I felt some of what he must have experienced. I was wholly controlled by Andy, at his mercy whether I lived or died. I was aware of the beginnings of sexual surrender. My hand began to edge towards my warm pussy, lifting the edge of my panties. It took a real effort to stop my hand and move it away. My desire to pleasure myself was almost overwhelming.

But I couldn't be surrendering to Andy. That wasn't possible. No man had a sexual trap. A woman could voluntarily surrender to another woman. All men could voluntarily surrender to a woman, whether the man was protected or not and as long as she didn't reach orgasm, he was safe. But some women would lie to a man or might not be able to stop before she reached her orgasm.

I couldn't be surrendering to Andy yet my sexual feelings were becoming overwhelming. My hand started to move towards my panties again and this time I couldn't stop it. My fingers reached inside my panties and nearly touched my pussy.

Shit! I couldn't surrender sexually to a man, but I could submit to a woman's sexual trap if I was exposed long enough. But the only woman involved was myself. I was bagged in my own capture garment strongly impregnated with my own scent. I had been exposed to it for far longer than necessary to enslave a man and I had no way to escape. I was enslaving myself! If I had an orgasm my self-slavery would be permanent. I didn't want to think of the implications of enslaving myself. Even the experts at the Temple might not be able to extract me from that predicament.

I had to get out. Now! A few minutes longer and it would be too late. I thrashed violently, hoping at least to dislodge the ball gag so that I could shout for help even if no one could hear me. The hanger rattled against the lifting mechanism as my struggles made my gown heave and swing in the wardrobe.

Suddenly I dropped into cradling arms. Andy hauled me out of the satin's embrace quicker than I had ever managed to extricate him. He carried me across to the bed and put me down gently. He unbuckled the ball gag as my tears streamed down my face. Even as he tossed it away my arms grabbed him, pulled him to my lips and kissed him as if my life depended on it.

One of his hands ripped my panties away before we coupled, hard, violently and passionately. I reached several shattering orgasms before I noticed that he was completely naked. As we slowed our thrusting I unclipped my bra and dropped it off the bed. Andy's lips began kissing my breasts before moving down to my welcoming pussy. I held his head against me as his tongue licked and caressed.

I started to speak. His hand gently stifled my words. I reached another orgasm produced by his mouth's expert attention before hauling him back to my lips. Exhausted, we lay in each other's arms, stroking gently and cuddling.

"Well, Sarah?" Andy asked, "Are you going to apologise?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. I was scared I'd lose you."

"I know. I was scared I'd lose you too, but forcing me twice was too extreme, wasn't it?"

My lips answered him. We lay together in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry too," he said. "I shouldn't have left you so long. I didn't leave the flat. I shut the wardrobe door then opened it quietly. I did the same with the bedroom door, and locked the outer door on the inside. I crept back to the bedroom, stripped, sat on the bed and watched you struggle. What made you suddenly go berserk just before I got you out?"

"I felt myself surrendering sexually," I said, shuddering at the reminder.

"But that's not possible!" Andy objected.

"I know. I can't surrender to a man, but I can surrender to a woman..."

"What woman? There isn't another woman."

"I know, Andy. There isn't another woman. But there is a woman. Me! I was surrendering to my capture inside my self-designed trap and to my own body scent. What that would have meant if I had reached orgasm, I don't know, and I don't want to think about. You got me out just in time."

"Can we call it quits?" Andy asked. "You trapped me. I trapped you. You let me out. I let you out."

"But you are still my slave, Andy. I can't reverse that. Only another woman can claim you by overriding my capture."

Andy kissed me.

"I don't want to stop being your slave. I want to be with you. I just wanted to surrender willingly..."

"You could, if someone else..."

"No. Later on, this evening, when we've recovered I want you to wear that gown again and capture me. Then I'll surrender to you, again, this time willingly. Will you do it?"

"Of course. If that's what you want."

"It is."

We kissed again. Tonight Andy will willingly surrender to his mistress Sarah, will enter her gown's trap, be confined in her dress breathing her body's perfume, and both of them will reach orgasm as they confirm their commitment to each other.
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