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Chapter 8 by Vestiphile Vestiphile

What's next?

Justine isn't stopping anything.

“You don’t really want down, do you?” Justine asked. “We’re flying!” Her mother just looked down again, her hairpin tumbling out and 12 feet to the ground as her long sandy blonde locks fell around her face.

“This isn’t normal, Justine!” Her flustered mother brushed back her hair with one hand, gripping her skirt with the other as if she was about to fall out of it.

Justine’s eyes narrowed as her jeans sent what felt like squishy rolling pins up her thighs—with just enough pressure to massage her in the tight denim. The feeling disappeared at the tops of her thighs, and she sighed, hugging the billowing pajamas harder.

When she finally looked over at her mother, she couldn’t understand how she’d see this as anything other than amazing. She almost seemed to still be fighting her clothes—despite the fact that they were keeping her in the air. Justine leaned into the pajama collar now, clinching her legs as she whispered something to the outfit.

“Justine, are you listening to me? If you’re able to influence this in some way—please get them to…” Her mother gasped, turning to look behind her as best she could while she remained hovering. Something had pinched her ass, but what? Her leather skirt was still tight as a drum, inflated with nothingness and apparently propelling her all around the store with her other clothing. “Justine!?”

Her daughter turned away from her by now, practically riding against the pajamas as they sailed her toward the floor and down an aisle toward another disturbance.

That disturbance was Travis. He was surrounded by the biggest bras the store carried, coming at him at all sides, three ranks deep. They’d turned his attempts to avoid them into a game of bumper cars, bouncing their inflated cups against him and penalizing him one piece of clothing per hit.

He was already down to his skivvies and a couple of socks. When a massive white strapless bra bounced against his back—off went a sock. Another two dove in front of him to catch his fall, and off went the other.

Travis gritted his teeth and clung to his briefs with his life—wondering if this was going to leave him totally in a center aisle of this very, very lively big-box.

And to make it worse—the cute girl was back to see Travis barely clothed.

She peeked over the collar of a pair of over-inflated pajamas. Travis could see her sort of rocking back and forth against the hovering silk outfit. And she seemed to be...whispering to it?

Travis’ underwear shifted, and he gulped—holding it tighter.

“You know I haven’t said a word to her?” The crimson bra that started it all circled Travis, shoving itself against his face. “She likes all this,” the bra continued, pulling away to allow Travis to stare at the bobbing cups. “She wants to play with us a whole lot more...but she asked us to lead the way with you.”

“Wh-what do you mean?!” You shouted, trying to back away. Your underwear were getting more active now—jumping like an animal trying to escape.

“So they do talk to you,” The girl said, sailing closer to you as she leaned forward, laying across her companion silk pajamas. “They talk to you, but they don’t listen. They listen to me, but they don’t talk...” She laughed.

“If they listen to you—maybe tell my underwear to cool it so that I’m not standing here naked?” Travis begged, gripping them with both hands. He could hear the crimson bra laughing.

“Honey, she already made a deal with us.” Travis’ eyes jumped from the grinning Justine to the crimson bra. He felt like prey.

“Uh...a fucking deal?!” Travis looked at Justine, hurt. It didn’t shake her at all. In fact, she smirked at his struggle, looking down at his waistline.

“Come on already,” Justine giggled. “Let’s see it. Is it hard?” Travis’ grip was strong enough that he was nearly pulled to the ground with the underwear when they tried to slip down his legs with a renewed effort.

When he stood his ground, he let out a prematurely satisfied “Hmph” and doubled up his grip on the briefs while they weren’t moving. They responded by going precisely the other direction—up.

“Heyyyyyy!” Travis’ rear was hoist into the air as his animated underwear gave him a magically-administered wedgie. His briefs pulled against his cock and balls—the pouch in the front shrinking and compressing him as his weight centered against the suspended underwear.

Seeing Travis’ butt hanging in the air by his hovering underwear gave Justine an idea...

What's next?

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