Shelacta Tales Ch. 01

“Would you like an autograph?” Angela asked. She meant it as a joke but the boy was so excited that she had to give him her signature on a piece of writing paper produced by her hostess. Then she had to give autographs to all the children, the young adults and even the parents.

Eventually she was able to go upstairs and meet the old man. He looked surprisingly sprightly for a dying man. Angela was left alone with him.

“You look very young,” he said. “Much younger than you did on television.”

“You look younger and healthier than I’d expected too. You look ready for many more years.”

“Thank you for that, Miss Angela. It isn’t true. I might have six months of increasing pain before I die. Knowing you were coming to end my pain has made me happy.”

“Are you ready?” Angela asked.

“Yes. What will you use?”

“This.” Angela produced the blue silk night dress.

The old man looked at it.

“It’s beautiful. I had expected just a scarf or a pair of soiled panties, but that night dress is a wonderful thing.”

“I chose it just for you.”

Angela bent forward and kissed him on the forehead.

“Now, can you sit up?”

“Yes.”

He sat up. Angela threw the night dress over his head and pulled it down to his waist. She had tied the neck as small as it would go. He could not put his head through, nor could he have breathed much air if the night dress allowed him to.

The silk slid down past his hips. He slumped back against the pillow as the night dress covered his legs and feet, folding back on itself to seal him inside.

Angela watched with growing excitement. The silk contracted around him as if the air inside was being sucked out. His face was outlined by the material. His aged prick stood to attention for one last time. Angela gasped at its length and size. It was much bigger than any she had seen.

He began to shudder as her trap took effect. Angela knew the progress of her trap-induced fantasy very well. He was beginning the series of orgasms that would last until he sensed that her pussy had engulfed him. When that happened he would start to ejaculate and continue until exhausted but this time would be different. This time he would ejaculate until he died. Angela knew what to do. She had to excite herself to orgasm and focus herself on containing him in her trap as she lost herself in pleasure.

She slid a finger inside her panties and sought her pleasure centre. She began to caress it and grew warm inside. She rubbed with a firm pressure and watched his body arch and strain in time to the waves inside her. When she reached her peak she heard a gentle sigh from the bed. She’d never heard any man whose head she had wrapped make any noise. She instinctively recognised that the old man had gone at the peak of ecstasy.

She wiped her finger on the outside of her panties and untied the neck of her night dress. She eased his head out and laid it on the pillow. He had a blissful expression on his face. She pulled the bedclothes up to his shoulders and quietly left the room.

Downstairs she met her hostess. The children had been banished.

“Is he?” she was asked.

“Yes. He’s gone. I’ve left him in my night dress. He liked it so much I think he’d like to be buried in it.”

Her hostess clutched Angela’s hand and pressed it to her lips.

“Thank you! Thank you! And for the night dress. That is a great honour for him!”

Angela made her excuses and left. She couldn’t understand what an ‘honour’ she’s done. She’d killed a gentle old man. She could feel the change in herself. She was now fertile. What did she need another night dress for? Let the old man keep a souvenir.

Outside the taxi was still at the kerb. She opened the back door. The taxi driver was jerking and twitching. Angela lifted her headscarf off his face and he slumped into unconsciousness. Yet…

His penis was outside his trousers and still erect. Angela stripped off her panties and lowered herself on the erection. She pushed her damp panties across the taxidriver’s face. He shuddered back into action and pumped into her, sending a stream of semen into her. She clamped her newly acquired muscles shut preventing his seed from going too far. She lifted her panties from his face and herself off his shrinking tool. She climbed out of the cab and stood by the roadside as the spermicidal juices washed out between her legs.

The taxi driver had been her hundredth, and her first. Now he was her slave. A taxi driver was a useful slave. But now she had a little black book full of names. How many slaves could she make by Friday night? Ten? Twenty? Was there a record? If there was, Angela intended to break it.