A Submissive Sissy

Here you'll find my favorites Sissy & Femdom stories, the best one I've ever read over the net since many years and believe me, that's a lot ! I'm also a wool fetishist, so you may come accross this type of topic around here too... Hope you'll like it !

Sian Seteyan

The Hypnotist

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I heard her footsteps approaching, the soft tap-tap-tap of her heels on the wood floors. Beneath the covers my dick stirred in anticipation. She pushed open my bedroom door and entered - just as I imagined - dressed perfectly. She wore a latex miniskirt, a pair of stiletto

heels, and fishnet stockings, and - of course - a fuzzy pink angora sweater, practically sheer over her big tits. It was also obvious that beneath the sweater she wore nothing at all - just as I imagined.

In one hand she carried my coffee, my newspaper, and she set them down with exaggerated carefulness,

her lips framed in an o of concentration. Those big dark lips. I always wanted them to be that wine red color. She tugged the sweaters mock turtleneck up to her chin and said, "Don't read that paper - I feel...I feel like fooling around."

"Again?" I asked this question like an actor playing my part.

"Again," she said and slipped out of her heels. She slowly crawled on to the bed, her breasts hanging down loosely in the tight pink sweater. God, she was gorgeous. Her mane of dark hair writhed uncontrolled above her broad forehead, her black eyebrows. She stared hard at me for an instant - maybe she was trying to figure out why she was doing this - and then tore the sheet away to get at my hard cock. I groaned as she took me in her mouth. She was unbearably good at this - surprising really for such a prude. She swiveled her body around until her angora tits were within my reach. That drove me wild. Soon she was riding me, her tits in my hands, her head twitching back and forth - just as I always imagined.

I should probably explain. The girl fucking me is my girlfriend. Or was my girlfriend. I mean chances are she would have dumped me by now. Her name is Galia Montez St.Croix. She is a

real thing of beauty, a mix of Spanish and Italian blood, with a little bit of Lebanese and French Creole mixed in. She is one of those girls who turn heads, if not for her unconventional looks then for her curves - she had those in spades. I met her the first day I moved here, to this big ugly city, as she was then dating my friend Edward. I had no idea how Edward had managed to meet her, or why she was going out with him. He was, like me, a bit of a geek. And she was this stunning girl, even under the drab school marm clothes she wore, and the way she pulled her hair back in a tight bun. She had a knack for burying her looks, maybe because she didn't like that kind of attention.

Anyway, it ended badly between her and Edward, and I kind of asked her out when the appropriate two weeks had passed. Much to my surprise she said yes, and we started dating. Movies. Dinner. And then I learned why she had split with Edward. She was a prude, a real, buttoned down conservative (not surprising considering her Catholic Girls School upbringing and her weirdo parents). Oh, she would have sex, but only on alternating Fridays and only after she had reduced me to begging. It was tiring. Every once in a while you would see this flash of passion beneath this tight lid she kept on her self, but if you tried to draw her out she would sulk.

I watched her now, mewling like a kitten, as I fucked her. Her tits were enormous, too big probably - which made her even more self-conscious about her body. But they were incredible under the tight angora sweater, the nipples rolling around beneath the soft fabric like gumdrops.

The angora was my idea - shit, the whole thing was my idea.

So we had dated for maybe four months, and things were OK, not really great, but OK. Then I made the incredible mistake of sharing my fetish with her - my love of soft, soft sweaters. Preferably tight, soft sweaters. Around the female form. Preferably her female form. She didn't take that piece of personal information too well. She thought I was "objectifying" her, that I just wanted to have sex with her, or wanted everyone to have sex with her. I was a creep. An asshole. She flew off the handle, and stomped out of my apartment. I remember thinking that it

was a good thing I hadn't shown her my stash of sweaters in the back of my closet. Or the pictures in there. If she thought I was a creep now, what would she have thought if she had seen those pictures. I mean sweaters are one thing, but bondage...

Now, with my face buried in her angora tits, I exploded, finishing inside her. As I slumped back into the mattress, exhausted, she stretched and arched her back, sticking her breasts out like the figurehead on an old ship. God she was beautiful, and almost insatiable. I looked at the clock. Only 10:30 AM. Most weekends I was just waking up, but here I had already had sex. Now the paper, some coffee, maybe some more sex in a couple hours. I hoped she had remembered to take her birth control. I would make sure to remind her. For a moment I felt guilty about what I was doing, but she looked so happy sitting on the edge of the bed, her skin flushed with heat. She stood up uncertainly, looking for her miniskirt, her stockings. Amazing, she was getting dressed again! Her body looked incredible, just her round naked ass sticking out from under the sweater. Her thighs were big and strong, and glistened with sweat. She found her tights on the floor and began to roll the leg so she could slip her feet in. Time to make some changes:

"Galia, how does that angora feel?"

She looked up, her brown eyes widening - as her mind went blank. Her face was broad, almost Mayan. Usually her brow was furrowed, but now she just looked innocent. And eager.

At the sound of the word angora, she stood waiting for more instructions. It was one of two post-hypnotic command words. I had picked them out myself. Still, I could not believe any of this actually worked. I kept expecting her to snap out of it, and tear my head off. But so far, so good.

"Galia, I want you to think about wearing the sheer green mohair dress in the chest behind you. You will go and take out all the sweaters. As usual, the feel of the sweaters will make you horny. After you take them out, you will try them on, one by one. When you get to the green mohair dress, you will be uncontrollably excited. Do you understand?"

She nodded once, like a little girl. I felt myself growing excited. Again!

"After you put on the dress, you will try to fuck me again. If I resist, you will...you will tie me to the bed, and fuck me until you are satisfied."

I waited a moment to see if I would get away with this. It was almost beyond my imagination. She just looked at me expectantly, like the perfect student... "You will find ropes and stuff in the bottom of the same chest. You will use them as if you are entirely accustomed to tying people up. As if bondage is your business."

I was winging it now. This was beyond my initial fantasy, this was more like a forest fire.

"When I snap my fingers you will go about your day, but you will be irresistibly drawn to the chest in my closet. You will remember nothing about this moment. You are content, dreaming of the green dress. Just this single object will hold your concentration. One...two...oh, and you will also take your birth control pills, ...one, two, THREE."

I snapped my fingers. Galia jerked back. Startled. She looked at her self in the sweater, and for a second I thought she might freak out. But the hypnosis was pretty strong. Sweaters affected her sex drive with animal intensity - just as they had always affected mine. Now that sex drive overwhelmed any doubts she might have had.

She looked at me, smiled, actually stroked herself for second. She said, " I am going to take a quick shower. You wanna...come with me?"

I shook my head, grinning from ear to ear. It was incredible.

How had this happened? How had I gone from a rocky relationship to living out my sexual fantasies? It seems just as unbelievable to me. One week ago Galia and me were on the outs. After the sweater confession, where I told her how I felt about all things soft and fuzzy, she didn't speak to me for a few days. Finally I apologized and promised to take her to her favorite restaurant downtown. She complained the whole way, not about me, or my problems, but about the way my car smelled. Typical Galia. She had an obsessive mind, and could worry a subject until it was dead. Which probably made her so receptive to hypnosis. Anyway, we had gone to dinner. Half way through she accused me of staring at her chest (which I was, even in a t-shirt she was incredibly sexy), so we had a big fight. But we had agreed to meet up with some mutual friends later at this new coffeehouse called Spirals - so the evening did not end at dinner. Thank god.

We drove to the coffeehouse in a thick silence, I could feel the break-up speech coming. But I drove like a maniac and we parked in front of Spirals in a few minutes. It was intentionally funky , an old stage warehouse, with room for a band to play, or comedians. And that night, that wondrous night, the entertainment was..a hypnotist. His name was Enger. The Magnificent. Or something like that. He was an incredibly good looking, arrogant magician-type, a real David Copperfield, with those eyebrows, the smile, the perfect head of hair, but less cheesy somehow. First he amused the crowd with some magic tricks, real sleight of hand, and he was helped out by an incredibly tall black woman (his 'lovely assistant') who just stood there in her fishnets and sparkly costume with a blissed-out look on her face. Then he got to the real act - he started off by hypnotizing one guy into believing he was a dolphin (he squeaked and tried to swim across the stage). Then another guy, who believed he was going to bed on stage.

Then he got a hold of Galia. I still don't know why she went up there. I mean, she was generally pretty shy. But she had been drinking wine all night. She went up on stage, and the Magnificent Enger slowly put her under. I can still see her framed by the stage lights, as she slowly slumped forward, her face casting a shadow across her broad bosom.

She did nothing too crazy, she danced with an imaginary partner, but I could see the change that had come over her. She had relaxed finally, the tight clamp she kept on her feelings was gone. She moved with animal grace, and the crowd reacted, with whistles and cries of encouragement. At first I was jealous, jealous that I could never awaken these feelings in her, but then I remembered it was hypnosis. It would end, and she would have no recollection. It would not change her personality...

After her stint on stage, she returned to the table breathing hard, flushed with embarrassment. I gave her a brief embrace, but she shrugged me off with this irritated look on her face. The hypnotist finished his act, but asked that all those who had participated to come backstage so he could clear out the post-hypnotic suggestions. I think that was when I got the idea.

The magnificent Enger put her back under with a word, Millicent, or Millimeter, or something like that, and he seemed unsurprised by my proposal - he must hear them all the time. He gave me two words to use - words that I chose - angora and whore. Mean words I admit, but I was feeling desperate. When she heard me say those words she would slip under, and be completely susceptible to my commands. We spent a few minutes seeding the idea of post-hypnotic suggestion, and for those few minutes I paid the Magnificent Enger two hundred dollars. Luckily I had the cash on me.

When we came back out all of our friends had left, which was rude, but maybe we had spent too long with Enger. Anyway, I wanted to go home, to see if this hypnosis stuff would work... I knew that I was crossing some line here, but I didn't care. I was tingling with excitement. At the door to her place I watched her gather her things...I could see she wanted to get inside, away from me. Then I asked her the fatal question:

"Galia, would you like to try on one of my angora sweaters?"

She gaped at me. And for a second I thought it might not work. But I barreled through:

"Why don't you wear some angora, and be my little whore tonight?"

I waited for her outraged reaction, but it never came. Her head slumped forward. I relaxed. "You will get back in the car. You will come home with me. You will remember, um, you will remember nothing of this evening except our arrival there."

Slowly, like a sleepwalker, Galia got back in the car. My mind raced with the possibilities. Where to begin? "Galia," I said, "from this moment forward you will be a sexual creature, you will think about sex, about having sex with me, and pleasing me. Your

objections to sex and your problems with our relationship are forgotten...from now on you will be happiest when you are having sex with me...do you understand?"

She nodded. Her lips hung open, loose and full. I fought down the impulse to get a blowjob right here in the car - I was feeling that excited - but that seemed cheap somehow, smaller than the plans now forming in my head.

"Galia, when I count to three you will awaken with an incredibly strong sex drive. But most importantly, your drive to please me, your sexual desires will be even stronger when you come in contact with a sweater, especially a soft, fuzzy sweater. The feel of wool, of mohair, of any sweater on your tits will drive you wild. When you wear a sweater you will want to dress like a streetwalker, in high heels and a miniskirt, fishnet stockings. Red lipstick."

I was going over the top now. My pants felt tight. "In a sweater you will want to please me, to suck my dick, to do anything. And you will even want me to..to.." I swallowed, I was sure she was going to snap out of it, to slap my face any second. Oh well, I was committed, might as well live out all my fantasies:

"You will want to be tied up, bound in ropes and leather. The feel of your body, constricted, while you are wearing a sweater, will drive you wild."

She nodded, imperceptibly. I thought I had better wrap this up. That hypnotist said it was better to feed her behavioral patterns a little at a time, so it would seem natural. I hoped I hadn't overdone it.

"Now I am going to count to three. When you awaken, we will go back to my house. It will seem the most natural thing in the world. You remember nothing of our arguments, of this conversation. One...two..three."

Slowly slowly her head came up, and she looked around. I thought for sure that she was going to get out of the car. Then she looked at me, and she smiled, a big, devilish leer, her dark eyes sparkling. "What are we doing here?," she asked, "Let's go back to your place."

So that was how it started. That night when we arrived at my apartment, which is a garden duplex in a big freestanding building, she was incredibly physical, more flirty than I had ever seen her. I was barely able to control myself. She took every opportunity to touch me, and when I say touch I mean all over my body. I excused myself, and went upstairs. In my bedroom I quickly unlocked the big chest I had hidden in the back of my closet. I was shaking I was so excited. Carefully I took out the plastic bags on the top, two angora sweaters, fresh from Ebay. One was pale pink, tight and stretchy with a mock turtleneck. It was semi-sheer, with a light layer of fuzz, only being 30% angora, and mostly nylon to give it elasticity. The other was incredibly fuzzy, a minidress, made of at least 70% angora. As black as night, with short cap sleeves, and a bold v-neck. I had bought them both a month ago. The feel of them made me crazy.

On impulse I dug out my favorite sweater, a weird thrift store find that always made me excited. It was camel colored, knit from big fat strands of some sort of soft wool, with an enormous collar, and equally long sleeves. You were supposed to cuff both, but uncuffed it was fun to play inside the long neck, the constricting sleeves. I imagine it was part mohair - here and there wisps of fuzz shot off the loose weave, but the tag had been ripped out in the thrift store. I put all three sweaters on the bed. Arranged them carefully. Then I called Galia, who was still downstairs rattling around the kitchen. As she bounded up the stairs I looked at the sweaters and thought, she will laugh in my face, or call me a creep. But instead her eyes lit up. I could see a physical change come over her - it was that powerful. Now she knew how I felt.

"What are these?," she asked.

"A present for you." I suddenly felt hot, embarrassed, like any fetishist who reveals his secrets. "Look," I said, "you can try them on, I am going to go grab a shower." I paused, waiting for a response, but she would not take her eyes from the sweaters. So I headed for the bathroom.

Five minutes later, as I let the warm water wash over my face, she came in the door. I slowly peeked my head out from behind the shower curtain, and there she was. She had let her hair down. She was slowly applying lipstick, lipstick which I had never seen her wear. And the dress - the black angora dress was wrapped around her curves like the pelt of an animal. The vneck cut down to the tops of her big breasts. Her somewhat bulbous ass (her big butt as she called it) jutted out, causing the dress to sit just above her thighs. She straightened it across her body, and I watched her slowly touch her self. She was staring in the mirror, smiling, as she ran her hands down the edges of her body. It was that same look, the free, wild look I had seen when she was dancing with her invisible partner. Then she saw me. Her tongue flicked across her lips.

"What do you think?" she asked. Before I could answer she was in my face, kissing me, then she was IN the shower, the water running down her body, as she feverishly grabbed for my cock, driving her lips into mine. It was over in a flash, her tits in the sodden angora, her lips pumping around my shaft, her smile as I exploded. It was like a train wreck.

We both stumbled out of the shower, wet and dazed. She was apologizing, I was saying something, I don't know - anything I could think of, as she moved with sinuous grace across the room. The wet sweater dress clung to her like pantyhose.

I watched her take it off, peeling it away from her skin. And then she started caressing the other two sweaters. Soon enough we were in bed, and amazingly I was hard again. She had chosen the camel colored sweater and the loose cowl neck framed her face in a big circle of brown fuzz. I watched her nailed fingers slip through the weave at the end d of the long sleeves and I moaned in ecstasy. It didn't take long to cum again.

The next time was a little painful as she barely stopped to catch her breath before she was trying to get me hard again, rubbing the sweater along my groin. All the while she flexed her hips and tried to satisfy her self on my thighs. She was undeniably the most gorgeous sight I had ever beheld.. But her desire was getting way ahead of my physical abilities. I remembered some of the ideas I had put in her head. I reached out and grasped her hands and slowly drew the sleeves toward me. They stretched, and her fingers disappeared up inside the sleeves. She moaned, as I slowly twisted the sleeves together, locking her in the sweater. She thrust forward, whispering little sounds, and I pulled her hands back behind her and held them there. She twitched her crotch on mine. She wanted more.

By the time I had her bound to my bed frame, spread-eagle, I was hard again. The straps I used came from the bottom of my chest where my real secrets lay, and they were quite effective. She was held tight, and for good measure I had wrapped the one piece of line I had around her tits, over and under, until they bulged forward. Under the loose weave I could see the engorged nipples. I had brought out my little leather collar but not the ball gag. I wanted to hear her moan - I just hoped the neighbors wouldn't complain. When I fastened the collar around her neck, the rest of the cowl neck sprang upward to frame her face in an inverted cone of wool. It was too much for me. The ensuing sexual act surpassed any thing in my memory. I collapsed on top of her and slept.

I was awoken an hour later. She had worked her feet free and was wrapping her thighs around me, slowly pumping herself against me. She had not even complained, or tried to get me off her. She was just trying to get off. I was astounded, and a little scared. I felt like Mickey Mouse in that cartoon when he steals the sorcerer's hat.

"Galia," I said, "Don't you want to sleep a little?"

She made a disappointed sound. "Let me just fuck you once more." I would have rolled away, but her thighs were locked tight. This had to stop. "Galia, you might want to try on that last sweater - it is made of angora...Well, mostly angora." She relaxed, and I got off of her. I tried to think of some way to undo, or partially undo this spell. I mean I loved the sight of her in that sweater, even if I couldn't fuck her again. But she had to sleep. I had to sleep. So I told her to close her eyes, that she would sleep peacefully and deeply until morning. Then I got greedy:

"When you wake up you will find some clothes at the foot of the bed. You will put them on. And then you will get my coffee and the papers, and come back to bed. And you will feel horny again. Do you understand?"

She nodded, deep in the cowl of the sweater. I slowly untied her, undid the leather collar and counted to three. She rolled over, and fell into a deep sleep, still in my sweater. So beautiful, so angelic. I slowly put away the straps and the rope. And the collar. And then took out some of the treasures I had hidden away in the chest - my fetish chest. High heels, fishnet stockings. A novelty miniskirt made of dull black latex. I put those on top of the chest and laid the pink sweater on top. Then I climbed back in bed. Truthfully the feel of her sweater made sleeping hard, but I managed. And then, when I woke up, she appeared - dressed in that pink sweater, those tits, the miniskirt...The heels. All to my instructions.

Which brings me to today. After that morning tumble, she seemed satisfied. I watched her wander the apartment, dressed only in one of my t-shirts, and s he seemed distracted, but happy. She read the newspaper with me, snuggled in close. I wondered idly if maybe I hadn't done something wonderful for her, by freeing her of her inhibitions.

Then, abruptly, she got up and went upstairs. I heard the chest open, the creak of the hinges. I thought about how she would have killed me last week if she had found that. How I would have felt, hearing her open the lid. Now she was looking through my sweaters. I tried to finish the article I was reading but the type swam before my eyes. I had to go upstairs.

When I got there she was in an angora tank top of deep maroon - at least 80% angora and tight. She barely fit. She was carefully caressing her tits through the feathery fabric. She was naked except for that sweater, and the image of her, and her reflection in my closet mirror was amazing. What had I done to deserve this?

She finally noticed me, and she smiled shyly, embarrassed. "I was just trying these sweaters on," she said, "Do you mind?" I shook my head. She fished them out slowly, six sweaters, each one I knew intimately. She paused as she held up a light blue sweater made of mohair and lycra,

it had long long sleeves that I knew stretched well over the fingertips. "Davey," she said, "How did you get all these sweaters?"

I swallowed. Of course she was curious. It didn't matter that she was obsessed with them, where had they all come from? I lied, told her I had bought them for her.

She turned away from the mirror. "How did you know?" I stared at her. "How did you know..that I liked them, so much? I mean, did I tell you?" I just nodded. She shrugged her shoulders, then pulled the ruby red angora tank up over her tits, and over her tousled black hair. Then, with an abstract look on her face she slid her body into the stretchy mohair sweater. I held my breath, as it wrapped itself around her body. The sleeves lay bunched at her wrists - the taut edges around her braless breasts seemed to shine as the fibers of the sweater stood up straight with static electricity. It was a moment to remember - and suddenly, I wanted to take pictures.

Galia was absorbed in her image again, tugging the sweater tight by pulling the hem down over her crotch. She moaned quietly, and clutched at one of her tits. I was frantically trying to get my Polaroid camera out of the bureau. "Oh Davey," she said, "I can't tell you what they do to me." She turned around slowly, and saw me standing there, pathetic me, with an obvious erection, pointing the Polaroid camera at her. She cocked her head, looked at me funny. "What are you doing?"

"I thought, I thought I might take some pictures, you know, I just love, um, to see you so excited..." It sounded lame, but she smiled. She slowly looked down at my crotch, then back at me.

"You seem pretty excited too. " She slowly moved towards me, rocking her back slowly, pointing first one breast at me then the next. Without thinking my finger squeezed the button, the picture popped out, and then she was on me, kissing me, grinding her body into me. I thought I might explode, but she stopped short. Her hands snaked inside the sleeves and she held my face in a fuzzy embrace. Her big brown eyes looked into mine, and she said, "Oh Davey. What is happening to us? I have never felt like this." For a second I thought she might slip away, that this dream would end - the words 'angora and 'whore' were on the tip of my tongue - but she shrugged again and walked back to the pile of sweaters.

And so it continued, she would strip out of one to put another on - she would smile, and preen in front of the mirror, then tease me for a moment. In a big, bulky grey mohair tunic she took my pants off and rubbed her scratchy tits across my cock. In a fuzzy blue sweater dress she danced above me while I snapped picture after picture. In a weird mesh like sweater made of loose white strands of wool she took my shirt off and pressed herself to me. In another favorite of mine, a dark brown mohair sweater with the look of fur, with an enormous cuffed turtleneck she looked like some sort of alien creature. And in a cheap little acrylic sweater - two sizes too small, with fuzzy white fibers over gray stretched perilously over her tits - she did a passable impression of a sex kitten.

And finally she got to the green mohair dress...It was made by a British designer: olive green, loose knit, with a good deal of acrylic, and it was fitted. Fitted for a snake. Around Galia's curves it was murderous. And sheer. I could see it all. She was on me with a growl - trying to get me inside of her THROUGH the dress. I moaned, thrashing around, trying to help - but she took it as resistance and stood up from the bed her eyes flashing. "I will show you to refuse me," she said, and her voice sounded different. Deeper. Foreign. And then I remembered my instructions to her - to tie me up, to take her pleasure from me - until she was satisfied. She stumbled over a high heel shoe, and with a cruel sneer I watched her put it on, and then slip on the other. She sauntered to the chest and began pulling everything out. Magazines flew one way, a video tape, and a packet of highly incriminating photos followed. Then she found the rope, and the straps. And all my dirty secrets. I rolled to my left to get the camera - I needed at least one shot of Galia as the Mistress, as she slashed lipstick across her big lips. I was pressing the button, when she reached me, and pulled my wrist to the headboard. While I admit I did not put up much of a fight, I was astounded by the force she used. The straps, d-rings and nylon webbing, tightened with a pull, and to her credit she had my wrists lashed in an instant. She sat on top of me for an instant savoring my helplessness, and I laughed partly out of fear. She smiled back at me and sat straight up putting her full weight on my abdomen. She looked amazing, her body swathed in a filmy, fuzzy layer of green mohair. Her nipples held the sheer mohair out from her full breasts.

I strained against the bounds, wanting to caress her. She took it as struggling, and slid off of me, to return with more straps. One minute later my ankles were tied off to the footboard - I was bound head and foot to my own bed. And I was terrifically excited. She was pacing now, staring down at me, her lips compressed into a tight smile. I watched her, and felt the thrill of fear combine with sexual energy. This was truly beyond my wildest dreams. She stalked away for an instant, and I turned to see if I could catch my reflection in the mirror above my bureau. And then, suddenly, everything changed. I felt her return, she landed on top of me, and something round and smooth and BIG was shoved into my mouth. She had found my BALL GAG - and now she was cinching it in TIGHT. I moaned my protest, and tried to get the post-hypnotic commands out before she finished tightening the strap, but it came out as 'aggoraaa'.

She sat back and looked at me, smiling triumphantly. I bucked against the bounds. Then she fucked me. It was quick and rough. I came, and moaned into the pitiless rubber ball in my mouth. I knew already what would happen.

She was not satisfied. She fucked me again in a few minutes, pulling me to an erection. It hurt a little the second time. The third time was worse. She slowed down then, but it continued all night. She could not be satisfied, I thought, because her sex drive was revving at top speed in these sweaters. She had begun to put on other sweaters over the green mohair, and to prowl around the bedroom like a caged animal. The room reeked of sweat and sex. I strained against the bounds, my throat dry. I watched in horror as she paged through some old bondage magazines she found at the bottom of that chest. I was worried it would give her new ideas. It did.

She satisfied herself on the red rubber ball, smashing it further into my mouth, and then she tied my legs apart, spreading me wide, like some sort of trussed game bird. She may never stop, I thought, I have created a monster. A monster in angora and mohair. I groaned as she came at me again, her face framed by a black angora turtleneck. I created a monster.