Attacked By Silk GlovesChapter 3: Completely Trapped free porn video

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Paul did not sleep soundly. His dreams were full of disembodied, self-animated gloves caressing his body, of Rosemary humiliating him as he tried to explain why the gloves were stained with cum, and of him naked in front of her as she verbally abused his enormous rock-hard cock.

Then he dreamt he had become a glove, able to move like an inchworm, able to grasp onto an unsuspecting hand and swallow it down his throat. The scene changed and he was a pair of panties, being put on by the daughter and somehow his arms and legs made loops for the leg holes and his face was the strip of fabric at the crotch. She started walking across the room and the panties rode up her ass crack, and his face was rubbed across her anus. Then the daughter changed into a man and his face mashed into musky male pubic hairs. Then the man changed into Rosemary and her shriveled buttocks.

"Unh!" Paul woke with a jolt and shook the images from his mind. That last, intimate picture of Rosemary turned his stomach.

Paul rolled over, put his feet on the floor, and reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.

The gloves! He had forgotten about the gloves, but there they were; white silk gloves covering his hands up past the elbows. He sighed and looked at them, wondering what to do. Would Rosemary go ballistic when she saw that he was wearing them? He expected that Rosemary was responsible for them in the first place, and he knew for sure that he would be wearing them until he got her help to take them off. Perhaps it was her plan to get him to ask for her help, to make him feel more humble ... or something.

He took a closer look at the hem of the glove. It was not so restrictive that it cut off his blood, just a nice firm fit. However, it had absolutely no give at all. He could not force even a fingernail underneath it. It was like a steel band around his upper arm, allowing no hope for escape. He tried pushing the glove down his arm, but each time he did the glove simply wriggled back into place. Not that he could have gotten very far, anyway.

Of course, he could always just cut the gloves from his hand. But he was sure that the glove would defend itself (and god only knows what that would mean!) and besides, the gloves were beautiful, and he didn't want to destroy something so magical, which was, for the moment at least, totally mysterious and unfathomable to him. This was exactly what he had been so desperately searching for.

Paul looked at his watch. 2:14 AM. He let out another sigh; 5 hours left until morning. He looked around the room.

"That's strange," he said. There was a bra lying on the bed, off to the side. "Was that there before?" He reached over and picked it up.

The bra was perfectly ordinary; white, with simple elastic straps. The cups were nylon fabric with a stiff underwire. He tossed the bra back where he had picked it up.

"Now hold on." This time there was a body cincher on the bed.

"I swear, that wasn't there before." He wondered if it had been obscured by shadows, or by the folds in the bed covers.

Paul picked up the cincher and looked at it. It was simply a wide strip of satin, about a foot wide and two feet long, which went about the waist and cinched the waist in a few inches. There were eight hooks on one end, and three rows of eight eyes on the other, for three possible levels of tightness, each about an inch tighter. It was lightly boned with plastic stays and had tabs hanging down for holding up stockings.

Paul had never seen a cincher before and he was curious. It seemed so feminine, somehow. He sucked in his belly and held up the cincher, wondering how it would work. The fabric was pretty stiff. The tabs dangled down his legs.

"HUP!" he gasped, as his breath was caught short. A sneak attack! The ends of the waist cinch whipped out of his hands (easily done because his silk gloves had no grip) and curled around his body with a snap as the first hook caught the first eye.

Later, Paul would kick himself for being so stupid. Why had he stayed in the bedroom at all? Shouldn't he have realized he was in danger? He had honestly thought that the glove trick was all that there was, and would have scoffed at the idea that the other pieces of clothing might be similarly inclined.

But no longer. Paul frantically reached behind his back with both hands, trying to grip the ends of the cincher to undo the hooks. snap, snap, snap! Three more hooks coupled with three more eyes. Damn! snap, snap ... His gloved fingers just couldn't get a grip! snap! Nor did it seem like he could budge the cincher at all. snap! He pushed and twisted, but he couldn't even undo the first hook.

Paul let go and tried to twist around to see if he could see what was going on. Snap! The first hook had moved to the next tighter row of eyes. His waist felt like it was clamped in a satin vice grip. Snap, snap! Two more cinched in.

"Aaahhck!" Paul felt his breath grow short, frantic now that he was being cut in half. He looked down at his waist and saw that it had visibly shrunk, much more than should have been possible. Snap, snap, snap! Three more hooks cinched in another inch.

Something brushed over his hand. It was the bra! Paul looked down and saw that his right hand had become encircled by a bra strap.

"Oh no you don't!" he shouted, yanking at the bra and pulling it completely off. But now his other hand was entangled with straps!

"Damn!" He waved his hand frantically through the air, the bra wildly whipping around him.

Snap! The final hook on the cincher had made it to the second row of eyes.

It wasn't long before Paul had both hands tangled up in bra straps. He looked around, trying to find some way, any way, to get it off!

Snap! The first hook now moved to the next row of eyes, pulling the cinch another terrifying inch tighter. What the fuck is going on?? he thought, in panic. His waist was shrinking! It had to be! But ... that was impossible!

Snap, snap! Two more hooks each tightened up an inch to the next row of eyes. The constriction was horrible and his breath came out in short gasps. He looked back to the brassiere and what he saw made his heart sink. The gloves were against him! While his attention had been diverted to the cincher, the gloves had untangled the bra straps and the bra had actually slipped up his left arm, past the elbow!

"Nooooo!" He reached with his right hand, trying to push the straps back down his arm. As he did, the right bra strap slipped up his right arm up to the elbow.

Snap! Another hook pulled the cincher still tighter around his waist. Each snap was taking longer now, as the cincher struggled to pull each one in to the last and tightest position. The pressure was unbearable.

Moving back to the bra, he reached for the bra straps, trying to grasp them and pull them back down his arms, but the fingers refused to grasp! All he could do was paw at the straps, but they easily worked their way up his arms.

Snap! Another hook tightened. His waist was being inevitably shrunk to a diameter of 26 inches, a full six inches smaller than normal. Snap! Only two more to go.

The bra, having completely evaded his feeble defenses, now slipped up over his shoulders. The ends of the bra slithered around his back, snugly embracing his torso, and the first hook and eye engaged with a snap.

Snap, the cincher pulled in further.

Snap the second hook on the bra pulled the bra firmly into place, solidly encasing his chest in its silky grip. Paul could just barely breathe, and couldn't bend over at all.

Snap, the last hook on the cincher was firmly set in its final position.

Snap, Snap, the hooks on the bra snapped in another position, tightening the bra. And then finally, Snap, SNAP! The bra pulled tighter into its final position, sealing his fate.

Paul beat the bed in frustration, gasping and sobbing. He had been fully defeated by two simple articles of woman's underwear, which had magically trapped his body in a virtual silk prison!

As the tears streamed down his face wetting the bra, he looked down and saw something he absolutely couldn't believe; his breasts were growing.

It was unmistakable; his breasts were expanding to fill the bra. What had been empty, loose fabric cups were now slowly filling out. He reached up with his hands in a ridiculous attempt to push the growing bosoms back into his body. But try as he might, his new tits grew steadily causing his fingers to part.

Pretty soon they were at about an A cup, then B, then C, before stopping somewhere between C and D. Complete and full breasts, which the bra was just barely able to contain; bosoms which bulged out over the top of their silk confinement.

Paul looked with horror at his body as the final goal of these events became clear to him; he was being transformed. As each piece of clothing attached itself to him, that part of his body would be transformed into something smaller, more delicate, and more feminine. He didn't notice it with his hands and waist, because they could have been simply due to the compression of the tight fabrics. But his breasts provided conclusive evidence.

"Got to get the fuck out of here!" Paul told himself, realizing now that there was not a moment to lose if he was to keep what was left of his body intact. He hopped to the floor, grabbed his watch and wallet, and strode for the door...

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"Julian, we would like some more wine and that hashish you and I had the other night............yes, that night, dear...........is any of that left?.............but before you go............ "Rachel what do you prefer, men or women?" "Silkie, you are messing with me..........I like............ummmmm...what shall I say?.............I like to have my face between a woman's thighs while I feel a man do me from behind..........oh..I like that a lot.....Julian, I packed Sylvia's ass with...

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I once read somewhere that only mature women can wear purple successfully. I hate the word mature. It connotes old age, rather that sophistication, which is closer to the mark. But you can be sophisticated and not mature. If you have not experienced this, you will just have to trust me until you experience it for yourself. Besides, old was not a term I would use. She admitted to being over 40, but standing in the opening of my cube, I would not have put her at more than 35 and judging by the...

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"Thank you." I said softly, twisting my hands. Billy merely inclined his head. "I mean, I had a few things of my own of course, but nothing that would be this..." I waved at the tree where the crystal ornaments reflected the lights causing prisms to dance. Still nervous I blew out the candles on the kitchen island. The candles in the living room I'd let stay. There were some on each table, some on the mantle. I flipped the light off in the kitchen. The tree, candles, and the fire was...

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Like most fine summer evenings, Ann, a married, 50 year old brunette, loved to take a leisurely walk through her local wood. Not only did it allow her to relax after a gruelling day at the office, but the peace and isolation gave her an opportunity to clear her head and instead concentrate on her favourite topic - sex! As she straddled the gate that marked the entrance to the wood, she savoured the sensation of her clit pressed against the cold metal of the top rung, and began to contemplate...

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Imagining herself, for a moment, in the half-light of the evening, Rachel is standing on the balcony of my penthouse blindfolded...the warmth of a little delectable morsel radiating from her soft belly, as I slowly lower her top from her shoulders, my firm hands massaging her arms and breasts into relaxation, as the garments fall away....The natural ease of my touch makes her weak in the knees, but she is not permitted to lie down just yet: I place her hands on a polished mahogany railing,...

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