The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

8.

Notes of Roger

Handwritten

November 7, 2015

1. Todd tracked person who was delivering rent for Gina and David—excellent work. Maybe there’s hope for my son yet.
2. We leave tomorrow for Freerbury in Massachusetts to pick up trail.
3. Freerbury is New England town, close to coast but inland with lakes—same as in pic from David’s room?

3. Questions remain: why send cash? Why the older denomination bills?
4. Their running away must have been funded by someone else. Someone who doesn’t want transactions tracked.
5. Point #4 especially troubling in light of Prof. Stoltz’s comment re: disappearances and “old god” obsessions, etc. G & D involved in cult?
6. Googled “Crimson Eye of Tsath”. Only websites about it were last updated in late ’90s (laughable HTML). Supposedly a staff with red crystal in it “used in ceremonies to guide initiates”. Lends credence to cult theory.
7. “Tsath” = some kind of god.
8. Searched G & D’s apartment. Erotic photos of Gina everywhere. Painful to see.
9. Sleep is disturbed. Dreams of Elisa, naked, telling me to give this up. Reaction to Gina photos, no doubt. Stay focused.
10. Took book on bedside table from G & D’s apartment: A Survey of the Religious Practice of the Pacific Tukkalas Tribes. Reviewed.

A Survey of the Religion Practice of the Pacific Tukkalas Tribes

Dr. Gilbert Howard Holliday

Oxford University Press

Copyright © 1948

rIn the Second World War’s Pacific Theater, small islands barely visited by European man since being mapped two or three hundred years earlier suddenly gained great strategic importance to both the American and Japanese navies. Thus, islanders who had had nil contact with modernity suddenly found their homelands hosting technologically sophisticated militaries

Modern militaries live and die by logistics and supplies, and it is those supplies that were often most fascinating to many of these islands’ natives. I refer to the so-called “cargo cults” that came to revolve around what, for the American sailor or Marine, were common or even throwaway products.

This typically arose in indigenous societies such as those of Melanesia where individuals gained prestige through gift exchanges. The rarity of an item, naturally, increases its value as a gift. Thus, for instance, to the islander an empty cereal box or bit of manufactured clothing would be something of immense value.

Since the war’s end and the withdraw of forces from these islands, we have seen cults arise where they fashion out of wood representations of the planes and ships that once delivered so many treasures to their shores.

Yet in addition to this more common model of cargo cult, I have observed another mode among the Tukkalas tribe amidst their atoll.

When I first visited the Tukkalas prior to the war, I found them to be much like the other indigenous peoples of the South Pacific in terms of political organization (a “big man” model of leadership) and religion.

The most remarkable thing about them in my 1939 survey was a small, breakaway group that lived in Tukkalas Island’s volcanic mountain region. I was never able to interview these exiles myself, but the natives that I befriended in the lowlands described the highlanders, bluntly, as perverse worshippers of a god that was both “seen and hidden”.

When I returned to the island in 1947, the reader might imagine my shock to discover that the perverse highlanders had converted the entire island to their religion.

Interaction with the outside world had clearly sparked this Reformation, the specific cargos obsessing this cult being the nylon fabric of parachutes, and also mosquito netting.

The common denominator between the two items is sheerness. Wrapped tightly around a human body, the thin material of a parachute is semi-sheer in the South Pacific’s unrelenting sun. Same, too, with mosquito netting, which the natives dyed darker colors using plants at their disposal. Given its greater translucence, mosquito netting was actually preferred.

Using either fabric, they had taken to wrapping every inch of their bodies in the material, practically mummifying themselves. The result being they were covered yet one could still see their genitals or breasts through the sheer fabric.

(A word about these aesthetics and how they affect an observer. At the risk of sounding like a red-blooded man rather than merely a detached anthropologist, there was something quite alluring about this. Like many Polynesian women, the Tukkalas have long dark hair with dark eyes. To see such petite beauty wrapped almost like a gift waiting to be opened was strangely compelling.)

In these sheer outfits, which they wore constantly, they would have sexual congress or masturbate, seeming to relish the ejaculate that stained their clothes. Such sexual congress often involved groups, which evidently was how their “seen and hidden” god was worshipped. While given their geographic isolation there had never been much genetic diversity, they were so fallen at this stage that they had taken to outright incest between parent and their adult children. Indeed, for all their constant coitus, it was strange to observe no resulting pregnancies.

I recognized some of my old friends from the 1939 survey through the sheer material covering their faces. Others were missing. When I asked where a given friend had gone when the seen and hidden god had taken over, I was met with uncomfortable shrugs. I gather the holdouts were killed.

There are other, obscure examples of this focus on being wrapped or encased, and of a resulting sexual perversion. There was the Adrecretus Christian offshoot of the Latter Roman Empire that reportedly conducted their rituals nude except for the fisherman’s nets they wore as religious garments. Hunted to extinction for supposed sexual crimes including incest, many modern academics have come to believe that tales of Adrecretus crimes were competitor Christian sects telling libels.

Then there were the G?ng G? Chinese. During the Tang Dynasty, this small group supposedly wrapped themselves in translucent silk for religious worship that culminated in sex acts of extreme depravity. Like the Adrecretus, the G?ng G? met a similar end at the hand of an empire’s soldiers.

So perhaps there is something elemental at work here? Some small part of the human psyche that transcends culture and race, yearning to be encased in sheer clothing, only comfortable indulging its most perverse excesses while partly seen and partly hidden?

Such musings, however, are outside the scope of this survey. And so with introductions to our subject out of the way, I begin a detailed discussion of Tukkalas society as it today exists.[…]

11. Went online to look up more about Dr. Gilbert Howard Holliday. According to Wikipedia, by 1950 he had gone native, embracing the Tukkalas religion.
12. Imported women’s hosiery to the island which the natives instantly adopted to their sexual practices.
13. Holliday became “big man” of the island thanks to these gifts, had his way with men and women both. Pervert.
14. Pictures not on Wikipedia but some fetish sites of Tukkalas men and women encased in the nylons Holliday brought. Black-and-white photos, they remind of the ones I saw of Gina wearing nothing but hose.
15. Fetish sites also have archived obscene photos of Holliday himself, encased head-to-toe, having sex with similarly dressed Tukkalas females. They are on beach as others in the tribe, also encased in pantyhose, masturbating while watching.
16. The academic community turned blind eye to the Tukkalas for years, embarrassed and disgusted by both the natives and Holliday’s conduct.
17. Another survey not attempted until 1960. Found the island abandoned. No sign of Holliday or his natives. No signs of violence, no mass graves discovered.
18. One theory is that Holliday arranged for a ship to evacuate island, but if so, where did they go? Neither Holliday nor any Tukkalas native ever seen again.
19. Island subsequently used in mid-60s as site of French nuclear weapon test.
20. Unsettling coincidence: not much about Holliday’s early years, but Wikipedia states his hometown was Freerbury, Massachusetts.

9.

Dana’s DropBox

MP4 files

Saved to folder “DO NOT PUBLISH”

November 8, 2015

[Timestamp: 11:25 a.m. Recording opens with close-up of Dana’s face looking into the camera. She winks into the camera, then speaks in a childlike voice.]

“Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

[Deborah’s laugh is heard form the front passenger seat. Roger’s voice cuts in.]

“Getting there.”

[The camera pans over to see Todd in the seat next to Dana. He is mumbling in his sleep. Dana’s voice can be heard commenting.]

“Man, wish I could sleep like him. Sounds like he’s having some crazy dreams, though.”

[The view turns to the highway on which they drive, Interstate 93. The sky is slate gray. They pass the exit for Arkham. Roger’s voice is heard again.]

“Should only be another half-hour.”

[Recording paused.]

[Timestamp: 11:57 a.m. Recording opens as they pass on low causeway over a river. Another immediately below it reads: “Caution! Low Bridge Prone to Flooding in Storms!” Once over the bridge, the land rises to tree-lined, residential streets. Well-kept Victorian houses are seen slowly passing by. Wooded hills loom in the distance. Dana’s voice is heard off-camera.]

“Cute area. Where’s the hotel?”

“Almost there.” [The camera pans quickly as Deborah speaks. She can be seen looking at her phone before the view returns to the scenery.] “No hotel chains in town, so we’re staying in a local place. Looked elegant on the website. Right on the town square.”

[As they pass local landmarks, Dana is heard giving commentary. The local library is seen.] “Looks like a haunted castle.”

[A short time later, a playground comes into view. Unlike the other areas of town observed thus far, it is neglected. The jungle gym is rusting, and ivy grows up the slide’s ladder.] “Guess no one has kids in this town.”

[Off-camera, Roger can be heard giving a low grunt at Dana’s comment. In the reflection of the window, he can briefly be seen looking grimly as they pass the sad play area. They turn onto the town square. The camera sees a large, 19th century Gothic Revival church. Its gray, stone siding nearly matches the surrounding sky.]

“Wow, so ornate. That thing looks like it belongs in Europe.”

[The camera continues to record from Dana’s passenger window. A locally-owned pharmacy can be seen on the town square, as can a small sheriff’s office. The larger, three story building is next seen overlooking the square. Deborah’s voice is heard from off-camera.]

“There’s the hotel.”

[Recording paused.]

[Timestamp: 12:07 p.m. Recording opens with panning shot of hotel’s interior: dark wood and cream-colored plaster walls. It’s very spacious, clearly built when its saloon would have acted as town meeting place. Portraits of town notables from a century ago line the walls. Though Dana is focusing on the architecture, Roger and Deborah can be seen checking in. The receptionist is a petite Latina, her dark hair pulled back tightly. Even from across the room, the camera captures how well-endowed she is. The camera moves off the receptionist and comes to a rest on Todd, who is sitting in an overstuffed chair.]

“You awake yet?” [One cannot see Dana’s face, but hearing her voice it is easy to imagine her teasing smile.]

“Barely.”

“Sounded like you were having some intense dreams.”

[He looks into the camera, a look of concern on his face.] “I didn’t say anything weird, did I?”

[Dana laughs.] “Wow, those must have been some great dreams. Don’t worry, you didn’t say anything. A few grunts though made me think they must have been real happy dreams. I don’t think my mom or your dad could hear over the radio, though.”

“You’re not putting this online, are you?”

[She angles the camera away from him.] “I won’t include this conversation, especially if you don’t want me to. It’s a little hard doing fashion and makeup videos on the road, so I thought I could pad things with some scenery shots, edit into some longer videos about the search when I get home.”

“Assuming it’s a happy ending.”

“Don’t be like that. We’ve had good luck so far. You finding out that they’re here, for example. Come on, let’s go see about getting the bags to the rooms.”

[They walk towards the reception desk as Dana continues to sweep the camera for scenery. As they approach, the Latina receptionist is seen getting two sets of keys from hooks lining the side wall. As the camera comes closer, the view can eventually see over the front desk. The Latina’s legs are sheathed in dark, caramel-colored nylon—sheer and very glossy.]

“Wow, no card keys?”

[The receptionist hands one key to Deborah and the other to Roger. This close, her gold name tag can be seen in HD detail: “Maria”. She smiles into the camera at Dana, her dark red lips a pleasing contrast to her light mocha skin.]

“We’re pretty traditional here in Freerbury. We believe in preserving things.”

[The camera for a second catches Todd. He is staring at Maria’s legs over the front desk. She, in turn, is looking at him. As Todd turns back to the camera, Dana’s voice is heard again.] “Leg man, huh?”

[Todd’s face is blank. He says nothing. Dana’s good-natured laugh dies out awkwardly. The camera quickly is back on Roger and Deborah as they take their bags, and head towards the elevators. Deborah regards the skeleton-style key, turns to Roger.]

“I have a feeling a man like you could pick these locks easily.”

“There might be some truth to that.”

[The camera spins around to a close-up of Dana who is walking behind them. She rolls her eyes and playfully whispers into the camera.] “Forty-somethings flirting—kinda hilarious.”

[Recording paused.]

[Timestamp: 1:34 p.m. Camera opens to Dana’s beaming face, her makeup freshened. The camera is steady on her; she has it on a tripod, apparently sitting on a desk in her and Deborah’s hotel room. Behind her, you can see the walls’ crimson, silk-patterned wallpaper. The edge of the carved headboard can also be seen off her shoulder.]

“Hey, what’s up YouTube, it’s me, Dana. Still on the road conducting the great brother hunt. Got a little time for a quick video, though, while Mom and her friend are scoping out our new search area. This will be a quick review of some discount tights that’ll make you look sexy, even if you’re living out of a suitcase like me right now.

“So anyway, today I noticed a guy checking out a girl’s legs. She was wearing sheer tights, so it got me to thinking about the things we girls wear to get some male attention. Specifically, sheer stuff. You know how we wear sheer stuff sometimes? Dresses with sheer panel backs, for instance. Sheer tights for formal occasions or big nights out. Or maybe that see-through teddy for big nights in.

“So when we want to look sexy, a lot us go for sheer, myself included. But I never really wondered why until today when I saw this guy checking out a hotel receptionist in her tights. What’s the big deal about sheer with guys, right? When you think about, it just covers up a girl, and her bare skin is pretty sexy itself. How’s it different than a form-fitting pair of jeans, or for that matter a burlap sack?

“Maybe it’s a tease. A hint of what you’ll be able to touch later, if you’re a good boy. Or maybe it’s like lipstick—a little something that, if we’re being objective, probably isn’t necessary but that you wear to show that you care and that you’re putting in effort to amp-up your look.

“Or maybe it’s the way darker sheer stuff emphasizes edges? You know, how sheer tights get darker at the curves of a girl’s legs? So it emphasizes edges, emphasis shape. Guys like the shape of girls, of course. They desire it. So maybe sheer magnifies that desire…”

[She deadpans into the camera. Then she starts laughing.]

“Note to self: edit all this egghead-theory bullshit out and just go directly from the intro to the actual review.”

[She takes a deep breath, getting back into character. Beaming smile back on once more, she holds up a couple packages of hosiery in black and coffee-colored.]

“So I just ran out and bought these at a mom-and-pop style pharmacy—you can get them pretty much at any drugstore, and they’re super-cheap. I know, the packaging still uses the fuddy term “pantyhose” instead of sheer tights or legwear, but if you’re on a budget who cares what they’re called, right? Anyway, I’ve got a pair on now, and even though they’re a less expensive pair, the quality is pretty good.

[She drops out of character again.]

“Note to self: edit in shots here of close-ups of them on me, especially at the knee, show that they’re no snags or—”

[She is cut off by a knock at the door. Dana looks at her watch, curses.]

“Hold on—be right there!”

[She reaches towards the camera intending to turn it off, but in her rush it’s accidentally left on. Dana stands up, and the view captures her in the sheer, black pantyhose she was reviewing. She grabs the waistband as if about to pull her nylons off, but changes her mind.]

“Fuck it, it’s cold outside anyway.”

[She grabs a pair of jeans from her suitcase, hikes them up her hips, then out of the camera’s view answers the door. Dana and Todd can be heard speaking.]

“Hey, was doing a quick video and lost track of time. Sorry I didn’t meet you in the lobby. Did you hear back from your dad?”

“Yeah. He and your mom spoke to the sheriff—actually knows Gina and David.”

“That’s great! So they’re okay?”

“Until my dad finds them. They’ve got jobs around here, the sheriff says. Your brother works at local library, apparently.”

“And Gina?”

“At one of the churches. I guess my big sis found religion.”

“Wow. I’m glad we located them and all, but it’s got to be a letdown for your big mystery.”

“Well, they’re not exactly found yet.”

“Does your dad still want us to go around town asking people if they’ve seen them?”

“Can’t hurt. Sheriff didn’t give their home address. Privacy concerns, I guess. It might not be the worst thing if we make first contact with them. My dad can be a little gruff.”

“Like he’ll make them want to run away again? Yeah, I can see it. Okay, I’ll just get my shoes on.”

[Dana comes back into view. She sits on the edge of the bed, about to put on pair of healed boots. Her nylon-encased feet are visible. Todd’s voice is very low when next heard.]

“What are you wearing?”

“Um…jeans?”

“On your feet.”

[Dana speaks slowly, not understanding why the question is being put to her.]

“Just some tights. I was doing a quick product review, didn’t bother to take them off.”

[Todd walks into frame. He looks at the desk, picks up one of the hosiery packages Dana had been about review. He is staring at the package as Dana speak to him. A look of concern is on her face.]

“You…really have a thing for those, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Is everything okay?”

[Todd squints his eyes. At his crotch, the camera catches movement—his growing erection pressing on the inside of his jeans.]

“No.” [His next words are whispered, only audible if the viewer turns up the volume up to max.] “Seen and hidden.”

“What?”

[Todd doesn’t answer her. Instead he turns, slaps away the boots she was about to put on, and kisses her. For a moment, it appears the kiss, though surprising, is not unwanted by Dana. Then he reaches for her jeans’ button.]

“Hey—easy there, tiger.”

[He ignores her request, continues trying to undo her jeans.]

“Hey—I said no!”

[He pushes her onto the bed; only her legs remain in frame. He reaches for her, and forcefully strips her jeans off her. Throwing them away, her stockinged legs are fully revealed. Dana’s scream is piercing.]

“What fuck is wrong with you?”

[Todd looks crazed. He is perspiring now. Quickly, he strips off his own jeans, revealing that underneath he too is wearing a pair of dark pantyhose. His erection is seen straining against the nylon.]

“Oh god, Todd, what the fuck has gotten into you?”

“The seen and the hidden.”

[He pulls down his waistband, freeing his erection. He climbs onto to the bed. Now only their stockinged legs are in frame. Her legs began to kick.]

“No! NOOOO!”

[Dana’s legs flip over as she is forcefully turned on her belly. Her cries are muffled. Though unseen, it is obvious that Todd is now covering her mouth with his hand. There is the sound of clothing being ripped. Todd’s legs are over Dana’s, pinning her.]

“Take it while I fuck you from behind. I can feel your pussy. It’s getting wet knowing what’s about to happen, feeling my cockhead on its lips. You can feel it too, how wet you’re getting, can’t you? So take it. Take it! Uhhhh—there. It’s in.”

[The bed creaks as he begins riding her. Her legs show she is still struggling.]

“You’re going to be marked, Dana, just like I was. Marked to be a bride of the Seen and Hidden. You’ve been dreaming of your father haven’t you? You didn’t say it, but he’s been nude in those dreams, hasn’t he? Don’t worry—you’re not going to have those dreams anymore. They’re going to be replaced with beautiful, encased bodies. Bodies that only want you to feel good.”

[The motion of Todd’s legs makes it obvious he is pumping her increasingly hard. Her own legs are struggling less. Her muffled cries persist.]

“Like this, Dana—this is just dream. I wouldn’t be raping you in the real world, wouldn’t be wearing pantyhose like a pervert. I would only do these things in my dreams. So accept it’s a dream as I have. Enjoy the dream.”

[Dana’s legs are no longer struggling. Her voice can be heard now, very softly.]

“A dream—oh god.”

“Yes, Dana.”

“It’s only a dream I’m being fucked through my sheer tights.”

“Through your pantyhose.”

“Through my pantyhose.”

“That’s right, Dana.”

“So it’s not wrong that my pussy feels good, getting raped?”

“No—it’s the way things should be.”

“It’s not wrong that I’m imaging us being fucked by others covered in hose?”

“No, Dana, I have those visions too. Aren’t they nice?”

“So nice. So nice, being fucked by men and women in their hose.”

“Men and women—all nice and encased.”

“Encased in all that sheerness…seen and hidden.”

“That’s right, Dana—seen and hidden.”

“People—our own parents—will see us after this, but they won’t know I was just raped through my pantyhose.”

“Yes, they’ll see us, but not know our legs are encased under our clothes.”

“They’ll see us, but not know that your cum is dripping out of my moist pussy.”

“My cum is going to flood your pussy.”

“That’s okay—it’s okay not to wear a condom in dreams, isn’t it? To just let a man’s cum shoot into my unprotected pussy”

“Yes, Dana.”

“It’s okay to like being raped in dreams too, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Then keep raping me. Mark me. Make me like you.”

[Todd begins to grunt. The bed shakes with his every off-camera thrust. The toes of his encased feet clench. Dana’s legs shift as she spreads them wider. She can be heard gasping at Todd’s every stroke into her. This goes on for a while, until Dana’s legs and feet are seen trembling.]

“Oh god, Todd, you’re making my pussy cum! My raped pussy is about to cum so hard!”

“I’m going to cum too—oh fuck, I’m going to cum inside you!”

“Do it, fucking do it, fucking mark me, fill my pussy and—oh fuck, oh fuck, uuggghhhh!”

“I can you feel you’re cumming, Dana, it’s making my cock feel so good, I can’t hold it, have to get it all out! Fuuuuuuckkkk!”

[The shaking of the bed reaches a crescendo, and then begins to slacken. Todd’s thrusts slow, and finally cease. In the field-of-view, the nylon-encased legs are still for a while. Only the sound of two lovers catching their breath can be heard. Eventually, Todd begins to move off of her. Sitting on the bed’s edge, he is again fully in the camera’s field of view. He is still in his T-shirt, dark in places with sweat. In his rush to rape Dana, he’d never bothered to take it off. His exposed cock is still semi-hard. It glistens with his own cum and Dana’s essence. He pulls the waistband of his black pantyhose over his cock. The slickness covering his dick almost immediately begins to soak through. He continues to sit on the bed as if entranced.

[Slowly, Dana gets off the bed and returns into the camera’s point of view. Her makeup is smeared. Her shirt is still on, damp with her sweat and Todd’s. The torn-out crotch of her pantyhose is seen. The expression on her face is completely blank.

[She approaches the desk where the camera is set up. This close, the HD view easily sees the semen leaking down her inner thighs. She picks up one of the packages of pantyhose she had been about to review moments before. It is the coffee-colored pair. She pulls the nylons over her face as a mask. Dana then reaches for her pussy, and begins to touch herself. The thick semen dripping from her coats her fingers. She takes the cum-covered hand to her masked face. Smearing cum on her mask as she does so, Dana licks her hand.

[She then opens the other package, pulls out the black hose within. Dana turns back towards her rapist, and pulls the black nylons over his face so that Todd is now similarly masked. She kneels between his hose-covered legs. Immediately before she begins to suck his dick through his nylons, she is heard chanting softly.]

“The Seen and the Hidden.”

10.Gmail Account of Deborah

Unsent Drafts

November 8, 2015

Still no reply? Perhaps that’s for the best, considering all that’s happened.

The day started out so promising. We checked in the nicest, old hotel—the Collant—right on the town square. Roger’s son Todd had been so sleepy, probably still catching up from having to get up early to do the stakeout at the landlord’s the day before. Dana, meanwhile, had wanted to shoot some video reviews, so we left the kids at the hotel this afternoon. The plan was they could ask the locals about Gina and David while we followed up on our own search.

I couldn’t believe how good a start we seemed to have! Roger and I headed for the local sheriff’s office, also on the town square. It was small, a duty roster mentioning all of four deputies along with the sheriff himself. Frankly, the town looked so crime-free I wondered how even that small group of police officers occupied their time.

It was only the chief in the office when we came visiting—Sheriff Ralston. He was handsome like you, Tom, and about your age. It stuck me that his brown uniform was almost the exact same shade as the high-gloss nylons the receptions at the hotel had been wearing. I didn’t think much of it at the time, though.

Roger did the talking, launched into his script that our (admittedly adult) children were missing, and that we’d like his help. Ralston kind of laughed, said Gina and David had been in the area the past couple months.

Gina evidently in training to become a minister at the non-denominational church on the town square, David working over the library.

I could have fallen out of my chair. After all this worry, all this searching, it was going to end that simply. I actually commented as much, but Roger’s face was as grim as ever. “Can you give us their home address then, sheriff?”

Ralston regarded us. “I think it might be best if I not. After all, they’re adults and decided to get some distance for a reason. I expect to be seeing them soon, however, and will be sure to tell them you two are in town at the Collant. I have a feeling, though, whatever they may have felt a few months ago, they’d like to see you now.”

Outside the sheriff’s office, a fine mist was beginning to settle on the town. “So should we wait for Sheriff Ralston to get up with the kids and see if they contact us?”

Roger shook his head. “After coming all this way? No.”

“At least we know for sure that they’re safe.”

“Do we? I’ll believe it when I have my eyes on them.”

“Come on, Roger…”

“There’s something more going on,”

“That’s being a little paranoid.”

“Ever work in darker parts of government? The lies you read in newspapers only work if they’re somewhat believable. I get that sense around here.”

His words made me shiver as the cold fog continued to thicken. “So what do we do?”

He handed me his keys. “You take my SUV, go to the library. See if you can find David there. We’ll meet back at the hotel.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

He pointed to the church across the square. I had thought it looked perfectly small-town-America when we’d first driven into town. In the fog now it looked like a giant’s looming shadow. “I’m going to go see where my daughter got religion.”

“Will they be open now?” I asked.

He was already walking into the fog. “Like that will stop me.”

I took his Chevy out to the library we’d passed on the way into Freerbury. Like the church, its gothic architecture looked much more menacing in the gray mist.

Only one other car in the parking lot, and it wasn’t David’s. So this was going to be a bust, I thought. Maybe if I talked to one of his coworkers, though, I could get my son’s home address.

There were a few computers as one entered, but otherwise, the library clearly belonged to another age. Rows of books densely packed with no cutesy posters about reading or open spaces for children to play or have story time.

There were librarians at the checkout desk, one was in her mid-20’s, the other early-30’s. Frankly, besides their conservative clothing, they both looked a little too good to be librarians. Both had long, beautiful hair, the 20-something’s a nice chestnut, the 30-something’s a shade of blonde close to Dana’s. Both wore makeup like they were going out on dates. And both had noticeably large busts. Given that the hotel receptionist did as well, I was beginning to think there was either something in the water, or the township subsidized breast augmentation.

They were nice enough, though, as they told me David wasn’t working there today. I was about to say I was his mother, and trying to find him when an idea occurred to me.

The checkout area barely accommodated the two girls manning it. Surely the actual librarians’ offices were somewhere else? If I could find David’s office, maybe I’d find a phone number or address for him.

Thanking the girls, I went about pretending to browse. As I passed through the anthropology stacks, I noticed a small, black-and-white photo and placard at the end of one of the shelves. The photo was of a mustached man with elegantly combed back hair. “The Gilbert Howard Holliday Memorial Collection”.

I eventually found the librarians individual offices in the basement stacks, and sure enough one of the door had a sign reading “David [redacted]”. It was unlocked, and I felt a thrill slipping into his office like a spy. Roger was clearly rubbing off on me.

The office blinds were closed, and I didn’t want to turn any lights on in case one of the other librarians might come down and notice. Using my iPhone’s screen as a flashlight, I rifled through his desk. No pay stubs or anything else immediately helpful. I was a little embarrassed to find a woman’s nylons—multiple pairs, multiple colors—in one of the drawers, which I quickly shut.

There was a book open on his desk, though. It was clearly something self-published before Kindle and the e-publishing revolution made that sort of thing borderline acceptable.

The shoddy binding of an old vanity press was obvious. Then there was the cover—a clearly amateur photo of a woman wearing a stocking over her face. Even though it didn’t reveal anything particularly obscene, there was something undeniably sexual about it.

Yet it was one of the library’s books, and my son thought it important enough to read in his office. I glanced at the back of the book, a black-and-white photo of a surprisingly pretty woman for an academic, Dr. Jeanine Strauss Carter.

I did a double-take. The author had been her own cover model—she was the masked woman on the cover.

It was all so weird even though I knew I should get out of there, I wanted to understand what David was doing reading this garbage. I quickly skimmed a page he’d bookmarked.

Succumbing to Sheerness: A Professor’s Surrender to Her Study Subjects

Dr. Jeanine Strauss-Carter

Printed by Aspiring Authors Press

Copyright © 1993

[…] In retrospect, the only thing that keeps all those years in respectable academic from feeling like a waste to me is that the research led me here, to a place where I could finally see the truth of God.

Still, it’s embarrassing as I look back to the time when I first I wrote about what I coined the encased. The definition I used then, “the subset of nylon fetishists whose paraphilia is less about the object of clothing itself, and more about the sensation of being enclosed by it,” is accurate as far as it goes, but ultimately stands revealed as facile. This is because it wholly ignores the fetish’s religious aspect.

It was something I didn’t realize until I started to dress like them in order to gain insight into the encaseds’ mindset. The sensation of being wrapped by the material connects to a deep human yearning to be held snugly and made to feel safe. On some level, isn’t that what humanity has always sought from its gods? A feeling of safety as we hurtle blindly together on a sphere of rock through the vast, horrifying coldness of space?

Man has also every asked of his gods to preserve him, typically in the form of an afterlife. Things that are preserved are often coated or wrapped in something, Egyptian mummies being a famous example. I can personally avow that encasement connects intimately to this need. Feeling the nylons’ tightness softly pressing around you gives that sense of being coated, and so that sense of being preserved.

Gods, too, typically contain elements of both the seen and the hidden. That is obvious manifestations of the the god’s power in the world, as ancients once regards thunderstorms, and the hidden reasons for, and the mechanisms by which, such manifestations come to us. Wrapped in nylon, our skin becomes both revealed for all to see, and also obscured as blemishes are hidden. We thus become closer to a god ourselves. We are elevated.

Taken together, we can understand why certain cults throughout history have taken to acts of encasement as forms or worship—the Adrecretus Christians, the G?ng G? Chinese, the Tukkalas islanders. Indeed, we can see the rightness of this worship, and the grave sin that was committed against humanity when those in power stamped out the truth these groups were trying to share.

We can see it because once elevated, we among the encased connect to a shared unconsciousness far more select and special that the general one shared by all humanity that Jung prattled on about. No, this shared unconsciousness is so unique, connects to something so elemental, that the encased share dreams. Often, these are dreams of deceased loved ones, nude because they reject the truth of encasement, trying to tell the encased to turn back from the special thing they are starting to become intimate with.

And what is this special thing of which I speak? It is God. Not a god, but the God, the true God, the one humanity has searched all its existence for—the God that will wrap us safely in Its hold, preserve us forever, loving us.

Its love is so good. Unlike the other false gods humanity has worshipped, this God wants us not to suffer for some hoped-for afterlife, but to be happy in the here and now. We know this because of the sexual pleasure being encased gives us.

A man’s cum in his pantyhose. A woman’s essence making slick her nylons. These are holy acts, submitting to God, and being rewarded by It! Moreover, these are acts that we should be missionaries to spread, bringing the truth to others, making them like us.

Our friends. Even our families. We will help them see the truth’s power, and its pleasure. Wouldn’t the entire world be better encased? Yes, it would be. And so I have committed myself to becoming a missionary for my God, The Seen And The Hidden. […]

It was all so perverse, Tom, and yet I only stopped reading when something fell out of the book. I shined by phone’s screen onto the floor, saw that it had been a photo that dropped.

Not just any photo, though. No, this was a photo that had to have been taken shortly after the one that Roger had taken from David’s room, that photo that showed Gina and David standing in front of the cathedral on a bright, sunny day. That shot had been a closer view, only showing the waists of their jeans.

This follow-up shot was from a wider angle, revealed their legs. They had taken off their jeans in this photo—I could see Gina’s cut-off shorts and David’s pants laying casually on the grass behind them in the middle of fucking town square. They wore the same exact smiles from the earlier photo, except in this shot I could see why they were smiling, the little secret I’d never know before, but that was now unhidden.

They were both in dark pantyhose in this shot. Sheer to waist, I could see everything: Gina’s shaved pussy, my own son’s erect cock. They were standing there, in the sunlight, in the middle of a town square, in front of the church. They’d have been easily seen from the nearby sheriff’s office—how could they do this and not be arrested? How could they do this and become part of this town?

I kept looking at David’s cock. There it was in the nylon, both seen and hidden. So big. I could actually see drops of precum staining his hose. I felt sick. I felt excited.

I bit my lip, and looked at the door. I knew I should get out of there. I should leave and try to forget what I saw, what I read. But the professor’s book and the image of David’s dick were too much.

You know my weakness, Tom. You’re the only one who knows it. I had to give into it then, if only to keep myself from going crazy. Locking the office door, I slipped off my jeans and panties, went to the drawer where I saw the pantyhose, and took them out.

They were cum-stained. My son’s, no doubt. Perhaps they had been worn by Gina, but they were queen-size, large enough to accommodate my strapping son. No, he had worn these, I could feel it. I felt light-headed as I pulled them on.

Their tightness against my legs and ass, I imagined it was David gripping me the way men should grip women, making them feel both safe and desired.

My son’s dried cum pressed against my soaking pussy. I masturbated, pushing the semen-stained fabric into my own slickness.

I closed my eyes, and was instantly greeted by an image of Carl, completely nude and washed in white light, telling me to stop, telling me to strip off the hose, telling me it was better to run from the library naked than to surrender to what I was feeling.

Carl was such a good man, a man whose pure heart was enough to keep my sinful one from straying to all the sick things you know I love, Tom. I wanted to make him happy, to stop masturbating in my son’s hose, but I couldn’t. It felt so fucking good, and he was quickly crowded out by images of encased bodies, men and women both, giving each other—and me—such pleasure.

And at the center of them was David, encased from head-to-toe.

So beautiful.

So powerful.

I imagined my own son plowing me, Tom. I imagined him pressing through my hose—not tearing them, but simply fucking me through them. I imagined my son’s seed shooting so deep into me through our nylons, and how happy and pleased he would be, returning to the pussy that had given him life.

I also imagined us being watched, watched by Professor Strauss-Carter’s God, and It being so pleased with David and I’s worship of It through our lovemaking.

I came so fucking hard, Tom. I managed to muffle my scream, but if anyone had been in the basement, they’d have heard me saying David’s name, heard me chanting “The Seen And The Hidden” again and again, uttering God’s wonderful name making my orgasm last so long.

Finally my orgasm passed. Good Lord, I had to get out of there. I could see myself playing with my clit all afternoon until I was finally discovered if I didn’t.

I pulled my jeans up over my drenched hose. I shoved my panties in my purse, but also more of David’s hose too. It was so dirty, but I imagined wrapping myself in his cummy nylons later, just like the professor on the book cover.

I practically staggered up the stairs to the library’s main floor. My clit was so sensitive, and my son’s hose seemed to be playing with it.

As I approached the checkout desk, the librarians were smirking like gossiping eighth-graders. Their nipples were firm against their blouses, but something was wrong—even though the thick material of their conservative sweaters, their nipples looked impossibly big and thick. Horny as I was, I couldn’t help but stare. “Find everything you were looking for?” the blonde 30-something asked.

I felt warm. I just wanted to get out of there. “Um, not really.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the brunette 20-something said, “I’d say you found what you needed.” She turned her computer screen towards me. On it was a recording of me, in David’s office. The camera had been mounted in the ceiling’s corner. Looking down on me in a night vision view, I could see my lewdly spread legs, my fingers which I occasionally licked pressing against my hose-covered clit.

Then the brunette turned up the audio: “Oh fuck, David, David, fuck me my beautiful son, Mommy wants it! Oh god, oh god—The Seen And The Hidden, The Seen And The Hidden!”

The librarian girls giggled some more, then started to kiss. They groped each other’s massive tits, and my jaw felt open as I saw lactation stains begin to appear on their sweaters.

The blonde turned to me as the brunette continued to kiss her neck and massage milk from her breast. “Would you like to see our hose now, Mrs. [redacted]?”

“We’ll show you what it means to be a bride to Tsath.”

The sickest thing was, I did. I was so horny I wanted the three of us in nothing but our hose, and to the drink from their huge tits, and then have my son walk in and fuck me from behind while I was got librarian milk squirted in my fucking face.

Jesus, it was so sick, Tom—I was so sick. I think the only thing that kept me from joining them, and only just barely, was how disgusted I was that I wanted to do it so badly.

I stumbled out of the library. “See you soon!” one of the girls called after me. I drove slowly through the fog back to the hotel. It felt like if I drove any faster than five miles-per-hour under the speed limit, I’d crash the SUV.

As I turned onto the square, I saw a figure wandering in the fog. It took me a second to realize it was Roger. I called to him, and he got into the passenger side.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

I was, but he wasn’t much better. He was so pale. His knuckles were bruised. “Oh my god, what happened at the church?” I asked, both out of genuine concern for him and also so I wouldn’t have to tell him what happened to me.

His head was in his hands. He looked like he was trying not to go insane. He opened his eyes, about to tell me the story, when his gaze fell on my shoes. “You’re wearing hose,” he said.

I hadn’t thought about it at the library, but the black nylon was painfully obvious in my nude-colored, open toe heels.

I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know how much of the truth he could handle. So he spoke instead. He pressed on: “Something happened at the library, didn’t it? Something sexual?”

“Yes,” I admitted. Before I could say anything else, he leaned over and kissed me on the lips.

“Something happened to me at the church too.”

“Did it…did it involve something sheer?” I would have asked him more but he was still shaking.

“Yes.” He groped my tits. I would have given anything for them to have been as big as the librarian girls, with thick nipples peaking through my shirt. Would have given anything for Roger to suck on them, and for milk to come out. I pressed my hand against his crotch. His dick was so hard.

Closing my eyes while we kissed, images of those encased bodies continued to dance in my mind. “I…I don’t know how to say this, but I have some sheer things in my purse.”

“Hose?” he asked in a way that made it seem like the word was both pleasurable and painful to him.

“Yes, pantyhose. They’ll fit you. And then we’ll match. Nice and snug in our nylons. Would…would you like to wear them?”

His answer was so pained, it was like he was admitting to murder. “Yes.”

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” I heard myself say.

We didn’t make it to our rooms. There was a small ballroom off the Collant’s first floor. The lights were off, only the fog-muted daylight shone in through the tall, leaded windows. Tables had been setup, and he laid me back onto a white tablecloth like a new bride’s bed. He stripped off my jeans, and seeing the wetness at the crotch of my hose, pressed his fingers into me. I moaned like a slut.

An image of David in his hose flashed through my mind. “Put them on—they’re in my purse.”

He breathed deeply. “Okay.” I watched as he pulled them, his large dick bobbing just beneath the tails of his button down shirt. He stood, and he hiked them up over his dick.

“God, this is so gay,” he muttered.

“Yet you’re so erect.”

“I am. It feels good. Right. The tightness. Being covered,” he said, looking down at his dick as it strained to break loose of the nylon. Then he saw the stains on them. “Oh fuck, is this cum?”

“It’s David’s.”

“Your son’s?”

“Yes. I found them in his office at the library, along with a picture of him wearing a pair.”

“Jesus Christ.” There was so much disgust in his voice, yet his dick grew even harder.

I had to tell him, Tom. I needed to get it out of me. “It turned me on, seeing my son dressed like that. It turned me on so fucking much.”

Roger pressed his nylon-encased cock against my covered pussy. “I think there’s something very wrong with us, Deborah. Something’s gotten into us. It’s corrupting us.”

“I am a bad person, Roger. I always have been.” I had to tell him the truth, Tom—I had to tell someone the truth. I was so turned on, but more than that, I was tired of hiding what I am. I wanted it to be seen. “Seeing my son in his hose got me hot because I’ve always been excited by the idea of fucking my family.”

Roger’s dick was positively gushing precum. “Oh fuck, Deborah.”

“It’s true, Roger. I’d been able to control it while Carl was alive—he’d been such a good man, always going to church, gave me two beautiful children. I was able to be imprint on him, be a good woman, control my most base instincts. But since he died, it’s been getting harder and harder.”

“There’s a difference between thinking about something that’s bad, and actually doing it,” Roger said in a way that made clear he fell into the latter category.

“But I have done it, Roger—twice.” I took a deep breath. “I fucked my brother. I fucked Tom, my younger brother.”

Roger started stroking his cock through his nylons, the smear of my son’s cum directly on his dick. “Oh god, Deborah.”

“The first time was when I was 20 and he was 18. I was visiting home for the weekend from college, had earlier that Friday night watched him make the game-saving tackle. Much later, he was coming back from a post-game party. And he looked so good, all young and strong, and since I’d never managed to seduce my father, well, he was the next best thing.”

I could see Roger centered between spread legs. He was masturbating himself hard now, unable to look away as I revealed my filthiness. I kept talking.

“God, he unloaded all that thick, young jizz into me, and I felt so dirty, but also complete. He didn’t talk to me again for years, avoiding me at family holidays, but it was worth it. And then, after a while, we pretended like nothing happened, like we were a normal brother-sister that had never shared one another’s bodies. He put away the jock schtick to go to Palo Alto and make money in Silicon Valley, I became a dutiful mother and eventually went to law school.

“All was right in the world, me controlling my sick urges to be what Carl wanted and deserved. Then, at his funeral, the old, real me came out again, and I trapped Tom after the reception, after everyone else had gone home, and my kids were downstairs cleaning up.”

It was out, Tom. My secret. Our secret. It felt good saying it all aloud. It felt good seeing the effect it had on a man.

“God, what’s wrong me with that I find that so fucking hot?” Roger said, pulling down the waistband of his hose to free his big dick.

“It would be hotter if our faces were covered like our legs,” I said, remembering the cover image from Dr. Strauss-Carter’s book. “There are two other pairs in my purse.”

He fished them out. “They’ve got cum on them too.”

“My son’s cum.”

“After what happened at the church, I guess it doesn’t matter—I guess this is who I am,” he said then pulled a navy pair of hose over his head. It was so hot, his face visible yet obscured. He looked like a burglar about to rape me.

I wanted to know what filthy thing had happened at the church to make such a man’s man as Roger become like this. But before I could ask, he leaned over, and pulled a black pair of my son’s hose over my face.

The tightness around my face felt good. It made me feel safe and loved. I flicked my tongue against the material to taste my son’s dried seed. It was nice enough, but how I longed for it fresh from his spigot.

Roger pulled my hose down my ass—I didn’t like my skin being exposed, but at least that meant they weren’t torn. And then he put his dick’s spongy head against my opening. “Pretend I’m your son. Pretend I’m your brother.”

“I was already going to.” His mask made it easy, a screen onto which I could project your or Dave’s face. Then Roger jammed his cock deep into my pussy.

In my mind, Tom, I was being fucked by you and David all at once. I looked up at Roger’s masked face as he lorded over my body. I could see his powerful legs through his nylons, the pantyhose accentuating his musculature.

“I love my brother’s cock, I love my baby boy’s cock.”

“Then take it—it’s whatever you need when we’re masked.”

And it was wonderful, yet not enough. Because the thing about kinks is that your partner needs to love it as much as you do. So it wasn’t enough for Roger just to indulge my fantasy—I needed him to love the same twisted things as I did.

“Imagine I’m Gina, Roger. Look at my mask and see your little girl’s face underneath it.”

“What?”

“My daddy finally found me, and I’m so grateful to him,” I cooed. “So grateful I want to give him my 20-year-old pussy.”

He groaned. “Oh god, Deborah, that’s so fucked-up.”

“I’m Gina, Daddy. Call me Gina.”

He was pumping me so hard it felt like a religious epiphany. “Gina—my beautiful daughter, Gina.”

“That’s right—we’re fucking, Daddy.” I was twisting my nipples through my shirt. “Fucking in our hose.”

I could see Roger’s eye fluttering beneath his mask, the pleasure warping his mind. “It feels so good, Gina—I love my baby girl.”

“Yes, Daddy—it feels good to have sex with your family. It’s right and natural.”

“It’s right and natural to fuck my family,” Roger repeated.

I wanted to push him. I wanted to make this even dirtier. “It would be right and natural for you to fuck Todd too, Daddy.”

He groaned as if I’d plucked some secret cord deep inside him. “Fuck my son?”

“Yes—fuck him while you’re both in your nice, tight pantyhose, just like us, Daddy. It wouldn’t be a big deal. You’re wearing hose with a man’s cum on them already, after all.”

“I would do it,” he grunted, pounding me so fast I knew he was close as I was. “I would do it, but only if you fucked Dana.”

I gasped. “Fuck my daughter?” For all my sick fantasies, I’d never considered same-sex incest.

“Yeah—fuck your beautiful, blonde daughter. Making her pussy feel good in its hose, and you teaching her how to make yours feel good.”

“So wrong…”

“No, Deborah, it’s like you said—it’s right and natural to have sex with your family. That goes for your daughter too.”

I could see it in my mind Tom: fucking not just you and my son, but my daughter too, all of us encase in nylon, committing this holy act. But why stop there, Tom? Your wife is beautiful, and so is your daughter. I’d fuck them both too.

“Oh god, oh god, I want that, I want to fuck my family, the men and women both! I fuck them while we’re all in our nylons. Say you want that too, Roger, say you want that too!”

“I want to fuck my family, I want to fuck my family, I want—oh my fucking god, I’m cumming, Deborah!”

I felt his seed flooding into my pussy, so hot, embracing me on the inside like the pantyhose did on the outside. Then I climaxed too, and my cry of “YES!” echoing in the ballroom. I knew this was worship, the ultimate form of prayer, our sex a kind of energy flaring hotly against the universe’s darkness, pleasing to God.

As our twin orgasms faded, I looked up at him, this man that had helped me pray. Could this be real? It felt too good to be. Perhaps it was all a dream.

Before I could ask Roger whether this was real, I heard a woman’s gasping moan. We both turned to see the hotel receptionist, Maria, in the corner of the ballroom. Her skirt was hiked up, her smooth pussy fully exposed through her glistening, seamless, sheer-to-waist hose. She had been watching us, pleasuring herself all the while. Like the librarians, the nipples of her huge tits each looked thick as a man’s thumb, pushing up against her blouse.

She licked her fingers, then pulled down her skirt. “If you or your families require anything during your stay, please just call the front desk. Everything is on the house. Consider it a pre-honeymoon gift for you brides-to-be.”