Thermal

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I want to open a parcel.
2.8k words
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Copyright jeanne_d_artois May 2013

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.

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Alan is working overtime this Saturday. The package arrived about ten a.m. I knew that he had ordered me something special to wear that weekend. He had been disappointed that it hadn't arrived yesterday, and even more upset that he had to work this morning.

The package is addressed to me, so of course I want to open it. But I shouldn't. Alan should be here so he can see my reaction. There is also an envelope addressed to Alan from the same company. I assume that is the receipt so that Alan doesn't have to tell me how much he paid for my present.

I make myself busy with the boring household chores. The washing machine is whirring away as I start to vacuum the hall, stairs and landing. The washing should be ready for the tumble dryer when I've done. I promise myself a cup of coffee before I start to clean the bedrooms. I have already cleaned the living rooms, bathroom and kitchen.

Before Alan returns I'll need a shower because my exertions are making me glow more than a lady should. If I'm going to wear something special I should be clean and sweet-smelling. But Alan won't be home for at least three hours. I should have time to do everything and shower, I hope.

The package intrigues me. Whatever it is, it is in a cardboard box inside the plastic packaging. It doesn't rattle. Why should it? It is something to wear. A dress, perhaps?

Alan and I like dressing up. We are part of a re-enactment group that covers several historic eras so I can be a Cavalier Lady, a Saxon wench, or a Crinolined Victorian Lady. I have dresses to suit all the roles in the large wardrobe in the spare bedroom. Will it be a different historical costume? I can't wait to open that package.

I look at the clock as I come back into the kitchen to transfer the laundry to the tumble dryer. Only a couple of hours more to wait. Once the tumble drier starts its cycle I make my coffee and perch on a kitchen stool to read the daily paper. I can't concentrate.

I finish my coffee hurriedly and stomp upstairs to clean the bedrooms.

The bedrooms take longer than I expect. How long has it been since I vacuumed them thoroughly? I thought it had been a couple of weeks but working it out carefully it must have been a couple of months. We have been to so many events in costume over recent weekends that I have had no time to do more than remove the obvious dust.

Our bedroom windows are smeary on the inside. I take the vacuum cleaner downstairs, put it away, and collect the window cleaning materials. Once they are clean I'll have enough time to fold the laundry and have the shower I've promised myself before Alan arrives in about an hour from now.

Again, the windows take longer than I had hoped. I rush downstairs, fold the laundry, rush upstairs and put the clean clothes in the airing cupboard. I am just about to strip for the shower that I barely have time for when my phone bleeps for a text message. Alan will be half an hour late. Phew! That leaves enough time for a proper shower. But I'll have to wait longer to open the package.

After the shower I put on an ordinary bra and cotton panties. I don't know what I'll be wearing but I prefer to be comfortable under dressing-up clothes. I wrap myself in a towelling robe. Perhaps it isn't a re-enactment costume but one of my other favourites, a tight-fitting Lycra item? I like wearing skin-tight leggings or a tight top that holds me firmly. I've always wanted a Zentai suit that completely encloses me, but I haven't yet dared to wear one.

Another text message from Alan.

"Jane. I'm leaving now. You can open the package before I get home. I'd like to see you wearing it."

I collect the package and take it to the bedroom, shutting the curtains so they neighbours won't see me dressing, particularly that creepy man across the street who always seems to be watching if I'm careless with the curtains. I have to use my nail scissors on the plastic bag, then the tape around the box.

The box label says "Thermal colour changing suit". "Thermal"? I have a T-shirt that used to change colour when I got warm. It doesn't now. Inside the box is another heat-sealed plastic bag. I cut that open carefully.

Whatever it is, it is a bright Royal Blue. I ease it out carefully. An instruction leaflet drops to the floor. Why is there an instruction leaflet? I pick it up and read.

Great! It's a Zentai suit/dress. It should be skin tight, body clinging, but apparently it will shrink to fit only once it is on. I should put my feet and hands in first, lift the dress part to rest on my shoulders, pull the hood over my head and fasten it, then zip it up at the front before easing/pulling the dress hem down to my ankles.

The illustration shows it as a long sheath-like dress with a hood that completely covers the head. It is a poor illustration. It doesn't seem to show the arms at all and only the toes poking out under the lower hem.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and feed my feet down the legs, wiggling them so that the feet are properly positioned. I have to pull the heels into place but everything seems far too large. I look at the box again. There are no size markings. The instruction leaflet? That says "will shrink to fit once it is worn". OK.

I wriggle my hands into the arms. They end in plain mittens without even a thumb. They flop around as I pull the dress up to my shoulders. Something seems odd even as I pull the hood down over my head. I can still see but everything is blue. How do I fasten the hood?

My phone beeps for a text again. I lift my hood and glare at the interruption.

"Sorry Jane. I'll be a few minutes late. There's an accident ahead."

OK. That gives me more time to get this Zentai dress on. I pull the hood down again. The dress part sitting on my shoulders slips. Clumsily I yank it back up and settle my shoulders into the suit. The fastener on the zip seems designed to be worked with the mittens on. That means I can get myself out if I have to.

I pull the zip up. As it reaches the top, the hood attaches to Velcro at the neck. I adjust it carefully so that the link is smooth and unwrinkled. I've done everything except pull the dress down. My hands reach for it and start to pull it down.

What? The dress is outside my arms. It is a sheath covering my arms. Once it is down I will be in a bag from shoulders to feet. No. From the top of my head to my feet. Oh well, it doesn't matter. This suit is so loose that I can easily pull the dress's hem back up to reach the zip's fastener and the Velcro on the hood.

I think that the material around my feet is changing colour. I can't be sure because everything is blurred and blue as I peer through the hood.

I bend over as I pull the hem lower and lower. How far does it go? Apparently it goes past my knees, my ankles, even beyond my feet. But it is rucking at the side seams as I pull it down. There seems to be some resistance, almost as if there are elastic cords in each seam. I lie back on the bed for a last pull at the hem. It ends up at least a foot beyond my feet. As I wriggle myself flat I feel a pull around my ankles. I sit up and peer down.

The hem has puckered itself together almost as if it has a self-closing draw cord. I kick my feet. Too late! I'm bagged with no way out. I kick harder, again and again.

My eyes seem to be seeing a different colour as I struggle for escape. If I can reach the zip I could get my hands out of the mittens and pull the hem apart. I can't. The outer dress has contracted around my arms. I can't move them from my sides. I roll frantically from side to side hoping for a little movement.

Beside me the phone buzzes again. I'm seeing red. Literally. The blue over my eyes has turned to red. Through a red blur I can barely read the text.

"Sorry Jane. This accident has caused a diversion and we're now stuck in a traffic jam. With you as soon as I can. I hope you're not dressed yet."

I bet Alan intended me to be a helpless parcel when he arrives. But when will that be? I'm struggling harder but my options are running out. This oversized suit is now skin-tight and hugging me in its embrace. Even the hood over my head, once flopping around, is clamping my jaw. If it shrinks much more I'll be unable to do anything but grunt.

My struggles have heated the suit and made it shrink. Will Alan be able to get me out? Perhaps if I lie still it will cool down and give me some movement? I try to relax. Inside the red dress I'm screaming silently in frustration.

I'm starting to get worried. Are the thermal properties just the colour change from blue to red, or does it include the shrinking? If it remains as tight as it is, Alan will have to cut me out. When he gets here. Whenever that will be. Am I stuck for a few more minutes, or several hours?

Despite my resolve to keep calm and relax I drum my legs on the bed. That is a bad mistake. The dress and legs tighten further. The contraction isn't painful yet, just like wearing a snugly fitting corset that pulls me in and holds. But it is holding me helpless, all of me, from head to toes. Until Alan arrives I'm a prisoner confined to this dress.

I have another worry. This suit/dress is so tight that Alan might not be able to get it off. The sheath of the dress is clamping so firmly around me that he won't be able to reach the zip. I try to wriggle my fingers, to push against the dress. There is so little give in the material that I doubt anyone looking at my encased body would have noticed my attempt.

I can roll. I can move my head. My body will bend at my hips. I might even be able to sit up, to swing my bound legs over the edge of the bed. But any movement produces heat. Even lying still I can feel my body getting warmer. What is the First Law of Thermodynamics? Work is Heat, and Heat is Work. My movements produce heat. Just resting inside this tight package produces heat as my body tries to cool itself. And every extra piece of heat produces more contraction in the suit.

Alan should be here soon. His journey from work normally takes twenty minutes. His third text was half an hour after his first. I hope that he knows how to get me out of my predicament. There was nothing in the Instruction Leaflet about how to release yourself. There were no warnings about the dangers of wearing the suit on your own. Was that deliberate?

I lie on the bed swearing at myself for being so stupid as to get trapped in a shrinking costume. Please, Alan, get here soon.

At last! I hear his key in the front door. I can hear him moving about downstairs. Come on! Get up here and get me out! I try to shout, but I only manage a faint grunting noise.

Eventually he comes into the bedroom. I can faintly hear a rustling of paper.

"Sorry, Jane," Alan says, "I didn't mean to be so long, but now we have a problem."

We have a problem? He doesn't. I'm the one tightly trapped in a shrinking Zentai dress. I try to shout at Alan to get me out. My words are muffled by the tight constriction around my head.

"I'll be back in a sec," Alan says.

I wriggle frantically but he's gone. Why? Get me out!

Alan is back in about twenty seconds but it seemed much longer.

"Sorry. This will be cold."

He wraps something dripping wet around most of my head, leaving the area over my nose and mouth clear. I struggle before I accept that he is trying to help. Gradually the tightness around my head begins to ease. The red colour in front of my eyes slowly changes and darkens.

Alan's fingers fumble at the Velcro under my chin before he peels the hood upwards and off my head. I pant for breath and Alan's concerned face comes into focus. His hand reaches out and strokes my sodden hair.

"There is only one way to get you out," he says quietly. "You're not going to like it, but that suit is intended to be worn for short periods only. The instructions," he waves a leaflet, "suggest a maximum of half an hour. How long...?"

I look at the bedroom clock.

"An hour and a half," I croak.

"Right! Then there's only one way out for you."

Alan gathers me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom. The bath is nearly full and the cold tap is still running. He lowers me into the water. It's freezing cold.

"Alan!" I shriek as the water laps around me.

"Sorry. Again. I'm always apologising today," he says conversationally as I start to shiver. "You and the suit have to cool down drastically if I am to get it off you."

Five minutes later I'm dripping all over the bathroom as Alan slowly peels me out the suit that is wholly blue. The cold water is draining out of the bath.

"I think you had better have a warm shower." He says.

My hands are too cold to remove my bra and panties. Alan takes them off, adjusts the shower temperature and stands me in the bath. He is dripping wet too as he props me up under the shower. Slowly my body temperature returns to normal as Alan rubs me dry.

He strips off too and his clothes join the sodden Zentai suit on the wet bathroom floor. Naked, he carries me back to the bedroom. I have enough feeling to help to dress myself in dry clothes.

Normally the two of us naked in the bedroom would mean passionate sex. Sex is the last thing I want. I need coffee and a rest.

Slumped on the sofa in the sitting room after my third cup of coffee I'm almost feeling human again.

"Why, Alan, why?" I ask.

"I thought you'd like it," he replies.

"I might have, but not for so long and on my own. That suit is evil."

"Is it?"

"It is, Alan. You should try it. At first it's great but once inside you're trapped, helpless, and it keeps shrinking until you're just a bagged bundle, gagged, blindfolded, and mummified."

"Perhaps, Jane..."

"You should try it, Alan. Then you will appreciate what I've been through."

"I can't now. It's sodden."

"We have a tumble drier. A spin in the washing machine first, for that suit and our clothes, and then the drier. It will be dry by the time we go to bed."

It was. I'm resting on my elbow watching Alan struggle as that suit gradually turns red. He can't get out. He can't even get off the bed because I've tied him to it.

Will I leave him for twenty minutes? Half an hour? The hour and a half I endured?

I can't pick him up and take him to the cold bath but he's lying on a plastic sheet. I could pour cold water over him.

I have an evil thought. I roll over and start to cuddle him, stroking his erection through the tight Lycra. The suit gets redder and redder. Will he cum before I let him out? Or will I see just how red that suit can get?

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