A small moan escaped her lips; hips rocking in her seat. She gnawed at her lower lip, her eyes lost in a distant downward gaze. Her mind was as trapped as she was. It yearned, as much as her body did, for some form of release.
Her face mask only served to trap the heat radiating from her cheeks. Beads of sweat balanced delicately upon her forehead, threatening to roll across her face.
Carefully, as if she were an overfilled wine glass, she rose from her seat. Her stockinged legs rasped noisily as they slid against each other within her skirt.
For a brief eternity, she stood awkwardly. A trained eye might spot the familiar dance of a body fighting against unseen bindings. The buck of the hip… the roll of her shoulders… the wiggle in her abdomen. Her arms held up limply to either side in a distracted balance, as if she slept, dreaming of figure skating.
But to everyone else she was merely a girl leaving her desk.
No one paid her any attention as she took a breath, then gathered her belongings gingerly. Hugging her laptop to her sweater-clad bosom, she poorly hid a few furtive glances to either side before taking her leave.
The warmth of the library was quick to leave her as she stepped into the frigid air beyond its doors. The spring breeze effortlessly found its way between her legs, wrapping her body in its tickling embrace. She stood against it, eyes shut. Every pore in her body seized, hyper-aware of the sensations that enveloped her skin.
She re-did her scarf, and for the briefest moment one might have spotted a hint of something extraordinary. But the girl continued unmade, stepping off of the foyer and into the city beyond.
No one paid her any heed as she made her way into the subway station. Attractive as she was, it was nowhere near enough to be noticed in a city like this. Or perhaps the lengths she had gone to blend in, conscious or otherwise, had rendered her invisible.
Her crowd poured into the train carriage, an amorphous blob of individuals, downcast faces illuminated by their phones.
The train door closed and the carriage shuddered into motion. She bit her lip. The feeling was coming again.
Bodies pressed close but not touching.
A warm breath on the nape of her neck.
A brush of the waist.
A bag against her calf.
Every fiber of her body fought the urge to let herself feel.
She closed her eyes, chewing her lower lip. She must seize the coming moan in her throat. Her body held stiff as she released it into a long, silent exhalation.
Her pocket vibrated.
She jumped, sensations coalescing into a soft, sensual ‘mmph’ through the fabric of her mask. Her hand shot up, covering her mouth beneath eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“Bless you,”
An older woman entered her life for the briefest moment, before returning to her own.
“T-thank you,”
Her voice went unheard; she opened her eyes slowly. The world remained undisturbed.
Her breathing steadied. She was thankful for the distraction. Carefully, she reached for her phone.
Hello Throwaway4269! Your laundry is ready and has been successfully delivered to your doorstep by rider ID#54932! Please reuse the biodegradable bag for your next load. Thank you for saving the Earth, and for using Laundra!
To schedule your next pickup, please swipe right.
She did as she was instructed.
Welcome back, Throwaway4269! Your premium membership with Laundra ends in 46 days! Tap here for exclusive deals and offers and 15% off your next renewal!
How may we help you today?
The girl navigated the laundry app, thankful for the distraction from other more inconvenient distractions. Her body expertly and unconsciously compensated for the movements of the train as she did so; swaying in sync with the other bodies in the tin can.
Confirm collection for TODAY, 9-10PM?
She looked for the time in the corner of her screen: 19:19.
"...very tight..."
She bit her lip, warmth flooding her cheeks once more.
Collection confirmed. Please leave your reusable biodegradable bag at your doorstep for contactless collection. Thank you for saving the Earth, and for using Laundra!
Do note that Friday collections will not be processed until Monday. If you would like to cancel your collection, please contact our offices during working hours, from 10AM to 3PM, Mondays to Friday.
She was committed.
Her station approached. Pocketing her phone, the girl strode out. The plaza leading to her apartment was underground, and directly connected to the train station. The crowd thinned as individuals filtered out into the various corridors and byways that branched out from the central hub.
By the time she arrived at her residence, she was alone in front of an excessive metal gateway. A grid of pigeonholes adorned a side wall, and she quickly found her number. There sat a thin, brown-gray bag of an unknown material somewhere between plastic and paper. She squeezed it tightly in her arms, heart warmed by the familiar rituals of home.
A quick facial ID resounded in a loud digital blare, followed by a heavy metallic slide as the deadbolt released. The gate released with a heavy pop.
She pushed through and entered the only doorway into a single elevator carriage. On its own, the car began to move, shuddering as it vibrated to life.
She squeezed her knees together. The feeling was returning once again.
The treble notes of crinkling plastic punctuated the air as her fingers clutched her prize tightly. She shifted uncomfortably in place, eyes glazing, closing and opening as she drifted in and out of lucidity. Her breath came in a slow shudder and she could feel a thin wisp of drool begin to escape her lips.
She was so close…
The door opened directly into her apartment. The warm lights of her home were a warm hug amidst the cold of the city beyond its walls.
She spilled out of the elevator, dropping her belongings on her couch.
Like a dam fit to burst, she staggered forward, instinctively grabbing at the wall for stability. Her free hand tore the mask off of her face.
The girl's body was twisted into an arch, writhing; pulling against some imperceptible bondage. Her forehead pressed against the wall as she pushed a long, yearning moan through tightly grit teeth.
Stumbling away, her body rocked in waves, as if grinding her hips against an unseen saddle. Her knees squeezed and spread, then squeezed again as she tugged sloppily at the sweater that clad her body.
She found herself sat on her haunches; back arched, grinding her sex against the floor; the act hidden away by the skirt that had fallen around her hips. Reaching around with both hands she pulled the sweater off of her body, tossing it in a random direction and out of the picture.
Underneath, her body was hugged tight by her skirt that apparently continued up her torso, collaring her into a turtleneck with long, mesh sleeves. She pulled on the hem but it didn’t budge, instead snapping back securely and tightly into place around her body — her old figure skating leotard; plain enough to be hidden in plain sight.
She reached beneath her skirt, pawing at the gusset that locked her within the ensnaring garment. She ground against her hand, but the act brought only a twisted frustration across her visage. She mewled longingly to no one in particular.
She reached behind her neck and undid the snaps, rising to her feet to better peel the leotard off of her body.
Another layer of black microfiber cladded her from neck to toe. The catsuit appeared painted on, encasing her in a tight, wrinkle-free embrace. A single zipper ran up along her spine, ending behind her neck in a small, silver padlock.
She was damp between the legs; her wetness had gotten through at some point. She tugged at the suit, pushing and pulling against the soft fabric that encased her so.
She knew that there would be no release for her. Spandex was never enough to take her all the way… but fuck if it wasn’t going to keep her marinated until her latex returned.
Her phone buzzed once briefly — her twenty minute warning.
Nooooo.
She’d lost track of the time. If she didn’t hurry she wouldn’t have any time left for relief.
The girl scrambled across the tiny room. She almost tore the bag emptying its contents on the bed. A few items fell into a small pile but her attention was locked onto a single garment – a fresh catsuit of metallic navy blue.
She pulled it out from the pile and turned it around. Dangling from the back of its neck and hanging from a zipper was a small golden padlock, and nestled within it, a small key.
The girl pulled the key out of its slot.
Reaching behind her neck, she struggled to align its metal to that of her own suit. As soon as it slotted, she twisted the key.
The click reverberated across her body as a warm shudder.
Almost all at once she could feel the layers upon her body relax its grip on her.
She was free.
The girl undid the zipper; chest heaving as the fabric slowly released her upper body. Underneath the catsuit she wore a thin lycra leotard. It clung to her torso tightly, trapping a thinner body stocking taut against her sex. The thin fabric hid nothing — every crease of her body clad in damp spandex.
The leotard followed the catsuit onto her apartment floor in no time.
The remaining layer of sheer nylon appeared painted on, stretched tight across her naked body and subjecting her to its soft, seamless encasement. It was always with mild reluctance that this skin was shed.
But as the pressure across her body was relieved another need quickly demanded her attention. A frustrated sigh, and the girl strode to her bathroom, leaving the body tight behind. It's narrow, wispy sleeves marked a trail to her toilet door.
Clearing her bladder was almost orgasmic, and for a brief moment she could think clearly through her nymphomaniac haze.
There wasn’t much time left before the collection, but maybe if she hurried, she could…
Her phone buzzed aggressively.
Too late.
The buzzing continued. It was a call.
She padded, naked, across her room to answer it.
“H-hi! I… Yeah… You’re already here…? Okay uh… could you give me five minutes? …I know, I know… I’m sorry, I’ll be super quick! Please don't leave!”
The call disconnected. She threw her phone on to the bed and stared at it for a moment.
She reached up with both hands and rubbed her head wildly, groaning in frustration as she made a mess of her overgrown hair.
She had to get dressed.
The only clothes that she had to wear came in the Laundra bag she’d brought in with her. This was her design.
A fresh bodystocking was first, identical to the one she had just freed herself from. The soft tactel nylon slid across her skin with an electric rasp, clinging and conforming to every curve of her body. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be without the soft embrace of nylon.
For the weekend, this was followed by another layer of the same.
The layering gave the suit strength and power over her. The narrow sheath held her tightly, heightening her awareness of her body.
The catsuit was next.
Inch-by-inch, the hyperelastic fabric encased her ultrasensitive body tighter than a second-skin. The made-to-measure suit fit perfectly, patterned specifically for the extreme comfort of its occupant.
She guided the zipper up her back, until it met its counterpart at the back of her neck.
Her phone rang again.
She reached for the silver padlock and slid the metal bolt between the loops. The familiar metal jangle rattled her spine.
No luxury for hesitation.
A very different click reverberated across her body, and her breath quickened.
It was as if the suit tightened around her body all at once.
She was encased once more.
For the weekend, she threw on a light shirt dress and did up the buttons. The semi-sheer linen danced across her shimmery skin like a soft ticklish breeze.
Quickly, she repacked her soiled clothing into the Laundra bag, affixing the only key to both locks to the microfiber suit within. The face mask went on next, and she sealed the Laundra bag in the elevator, checking her attire as the car transported her to the city floor.
The rider stood waiting, displeased but not angry. They completed their transaction.
The girl leaned out against the grate of her building, hips gently swaying beneath her dress as the key to her bondage rode off into the city beyond.