Replace more of his body

As John was trying to figure out exactly what happened to his legs, a silvery sports bra was carefully making its way behind him. He reached down, crouching as he looked at the strange empty space between his leggings and the floor. He put one arm back to balance him, reaching down with the other hand and pulling up on his cuff. There was no foot there, no leg, no nothing!

Yet he could still stand on this 'nothing'. He could balance himself on the empty space under the leggings themselves. When he stood back up, the cuff slid back down his l--well, his emptyness.

"Okay, I'm fairly certain that my mom's experimental clothing wouldn't do anything to hurt me, but, I'm, uh...a little more than freaked out about this. Can you just--hey!" The silvery sports bra hooked around one of his arms, the elastic strap pulling it behind him. As he reached behind himself to swat it with the other hand, it swooped around him. "No, wait a minute! Stop!"

The straps slid up his arms, and as the thing prepared to bring its front clasps together, he grabbed both cups, fighting them.

"NO! You stole my legs with a pair of leggings! If you wrap that thing around my chest, what happens to my torso!?" John shouted. As he fought against the cups, they pushed against him harder. He wasn't exactly a paragon of arm strength, but he didn't think for a moment that self-fitting fabric could overpower his triceps and shoulders.

He was wrong. The cups pulled together and snapped, and John finally let go, gasping as he watched the shiny silver overlayer pair up its zipper ends. The zipper ascended its track, and John panicked, trying to tug at the bra. He didn't do it for long though.

"Wh-what the f...?" John wriggled his hips as he felt something strange against his nipples. He grabbed the silvery sports bra cups with both hands, trying to press against them to stop whatever was messing with the most sensitive points on his torso. The cups seemed to repel his hands, pushing back out against him. "Ungh...oh, god..." John moaned.

He could feel the arousal coursing through him, despite the horrifying feeling that he didn't know what was happening with his body. Something was swirling around the parts of his chest covered by the bra, and at the same time there was something between his legs--or his leggings--reacting to the attention.

"What are you doing to me?!" John cried, feeling pressure against his chest now. It was like someone was squeezing his pecs all while tweaking his nipples, and when he tried to stop the feeling by pressing against the outside of the cups again, something else happened.

The cups started swelling.

"Aw, come on!" John cried. The silvery form of the bra filled with curves that weren't his own. His breathing got heavier, and he could feel swelling between his legs. He found his reflection in his mother's full-length mirror and got disoriented all over again, seeing the light play slightly through his hips and the leggings hovering a couple of inches over the floor. "This...this is crazy," He said, feeling up his new curves in the mirror.

The blouse, miniskirt and pantyhose outfit from before approached John. The red leather gloves at the end of their sleeves squared up on his shoulders, caressing them.

"Um, that's nice and all...but what the hell happened to my legs?" John cried out. He wasn't going to get an answer. A tight, long sleeved exercise top in black and red floated behind him. Thanks to the mirror, he saw it as it approached, beginning to hover over his head. "No, no! until you give me some kind of explanation, you're not going to dress me up anymore!" He held his hands over his head to block the stetchy shirt, and he was about to find out why this wasn't a very sound strategy.

The shirt ballooned at the waist, stretching beyond his attempts to block it and swallowing him like the mouth of a net. The shirt positioned itself to aim his arms right at the appropriate holes, and before long, the thing was on him. His hair, then the rest of his head, popped out of the neckhole.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," John muttered, feeling the same disorienting feeling he'd felt in his legs before. He steadied himself in front of the mirror, looking down at his waistline.

It was...awfully small. The shirt clung to him, and his stomach seemed flatter. His torso seemed narrower. Somehow he felt lighter.

"Okay, I'm..." He pulled up the waist of the shirt, blinked, and dropped it. "No, no, no, no, no. That's not possible. That's not..." He lifted the shirt again, looking in the mirror. The pair of red leather gloves clapped next to him as he stared at his waist silently.

It wasn't there.

He pulled up on the shirt until he could see the empty sports bra. When he reached his fingers into the gap, he had the same disorienting feeling, along with a tingling sensation.

Part of him wanted to cry. He looked at the blouse and gloves outfit, which seemed all the more pleased with itself.

"I thought we--we were just having fun--but you're actually making me disappear!" He was scared about what came next. First his legs were gone--then most of his torso. He tried not to think about it, pulling the shirt back down and trying to ignore the strange feeling of his insubstantial body. He could still walk. He could pivot. And now...

He looked in the mirror again, and despite his protests, he posed. The shapely, semi-translucent hips, and now the breasts filling the exercise shirt--the trim waistline...he could feel the strange stirring somewhere in his leggings again, and he pushed back against his own thoughts.

"No! This isn't right! I have no idea what you're doing to me, and I'm--I'm--" There was a lump in the leggings now, but it wasn't the kind of lump a guy would make in skintight clothing. This lump was rounded. It had a cleft in it. It was a...cameltoe?! John couldn't help but pull on the waist of the shiny black leggings, looking down into the empty space. "I don't even have a DICK anymore!" He shouted, putting his hand inside. "How can I possibly feel like this is turning me..." He trailed off, gasping a little. "On?" Exploring the inside of the leggings had a terrifying effect on him. There was literally nothing inside, but when he brushed against the inside of the shapely clothing...

"Auuuughhhhoooh, fuuuuck!" The words came out as a shudder. He pulled his hands back, letting go of the leggings. "H-holy shit," he said, looking at himself in the mirror again. By now, the outfit that started all this was behind him. When it patted his butt--the leggings' butt, really--he jumped. "Y-you have to undo this," he begged, looking back at it. "I want my body back!"

The blouse and glove outfit did a flourish as he watched it in the mirror again. It was clearly motioning to the outfit--where his body WOULD be if it wasn't a hollow shell of this curvy outfit.

"No, this is NOT my body!" John protested, seeming to understand the outfit's silent intentions. "Underneath these clothes, there's..."

John gasped as the gloves detached from the blouse's sleeves and rose up to grab the exercise shirt's tits. Their leather fingers swirled around what appeared to be slight protrusions in the front of the shirt's chest, and John felt the unmistakable sensation of something teasing around his nipples--even though they weren't his nipples.

"Oh, god-damn, that feels..." Great. It felt great. But John came to his senses once more, knowing that he couldn't allow this weirdness to tempt him any further. "Stop!" John shouted, his shining black hips wiggling in their leggings. "Come on, stop!" The feeling between his legs was intensifying, and he had no idea how to explain it. There was no body down there, yet he seemed more sensitive than ever.

John reached out to grab the red glove, trying to pull it away from his chest. He struggled against it, bringing both of his hands up to one leather glove. The other went behind him, grabbing his rear.

"No! Not...fair!" John cried, grabbing the wrist of the glove behind him. It deflated handily, slipping through his fingers and diving between his legs. John's voice cracked as it slid a single red finger between his legs. "H-hey!" John tried to squeeze his thighs together, but it didn't stop the glove. It only had to push against stretchy fabric--after all, John's real legs weren't there. He was practically mewling as the gloves assaulted his new fabric body. "Oh god...why are you doing this to me?"

The black satin opera gloves and black leather gloves joined the other pair now, with the opera gloves heading right to John's breasts, groping him hard this time instead of simply teasing. He practically fell backward, but the black leather gloves slid behind his shapely hips, slapping his ass before they grabbed it just as handily.

"Ungh...that's--too much..." John said. Much as he protested, he couldn't fight off one of the gloves, let alone three pairs. It didn't stop him from trying, but when he let go of the leather glove floating away from his chest to try to hold back the opera glove instead, it moved much quicker. "Shit, NO!"

It slipped itself right on to his hand. Now he really didn't have a chance. His gloved hand moved right over to his ungloved hand, and he essentially grabbed himself by the wrist, holding his other hand in place as the other red leather glove rose up toward his fingers.

"No, no, no--I think you've got enough of me, don't you!?" He balled his fingers into a fist, trying to keep the other glove from going onto his hand. While the opera gloves continued playing with his tits, the leather gloves let go of his ass to assist in forcing him spread his fingers. "What-will-my-mom-say-if-you-make-me...disappear!?" John demanded. The other red leather glove found its way onto his digits easily, despite him trying to curl his fingers against it.

The wrist cuffs of the gloves tightened, pulling his hands up and out.

"You made your point, didn't you?! I'm sorry for messing around in mom's room and messing with all of you. I just--I just want my body back!" He felt a tickling in his palms as if the red gloves were manipulating them. Then, suddenly, both of them fluttered away from the compression shirt, turning back to wave at John.

His limbs (well, the compression shirt, at least, which felt like his limbs,) were still pulled out on either side of him, but now, something was missing. At this point he wasn't surprised. He didn't have any hands.

"Please. Please give me my body back," he said to the red gloves. The blouse raised its sleeves in a sort of shrug, as if to ask why. "Can't you see it's all a little bit disconcerting to see every part of me being...absorbed, or something? If you have a hooded sweatshirt somewhere I'm liable to just disappear entirely!"

John tried to wiggle his fingers, and he felt something, but the sensation was strange. He made fists--at least he thought he did--and the red leather gloves in front of him did the same.

"What the..." He tried touching each finger to his thumb on his left hand, and the glove did exactly was he was attempting. "Oh, shit...really?" He tried to clap his hands together, and despite the sensation of his arms being held out in front of him, the gloves came together in a leathery clap.

"Wow, that's...that's crazy!" Just like the leggings, the sports bra and the compression shirt, he could feel the gloves! "Those are...still my hands somehow, aren't they?" One of the opera gloves gave him a thumbs up. John struggled to move his arms again, but the compression shirt wouldn't budge. "Hey, if--if these things are still my body, or like, I'm somehow inside of them, why can't I move my arms?"

The black leather gloves responded by gliding down his slender arms, tracing along his shoulders and testing beneath his armpits. He giggled a little.

"Hey, stop..." John laughed. The tickling relented as the black gloves moved to the tits of the compression shirt. "Oh god, not again..." The black gloves massaged his chest again, but this time John didn't try to protest as much. He wiggled against the touch, squeezing his thighs together again, but he gritted his teeth instead of giving any audible protest.

When he felt a stretching, weighty feeling from the same place, he looked down at himself. His already unnatural body shape in the clothing was changing. The breasts were growing!

"Ungh...oh, god..." John said, biting his lip. The feeling between his legs was even more pronounced now, and the black leather gloves bounced his growing tits, jiggling and slapping them as they seemed to gain invisible mass. "That's...that's crazy..." John said. His limbs were suddenly free, but when the empty sleeves of his compression shirt reached down, the black gloves seemed to fit themselves on the ends of the sleeves. He could still feel his arms, but they weren't under his control. One of the black gloves went straight between his legs while the other started making him slap his own ass.

"Oh, fuuuuck..." John was fingering himself through his leggings now. Well, he wasn't, since he couldn't really feel the functioning fingertips of the black gloves, but they may as well have been his since they were at the ends of his sleeves. It was getting hard to keep track of everything now.

The red gloves gripped the footboard of John's bed as he moaned. It was taking all of his concentration just to keep himself steady under the . There was a slick, hot feeling coming from between his legs, despite the fact that looking down at his streched waist and wide hips, he could literally see light through the leggings and panties.

The heightened sensitivity of his breasts were paired with a stretchy, bouncy feeling that unnerved him even as it turned him on. The black gloves were still playing with John's mound and grabbing at his ass, but the compression shirt was bouncing and stretching all on its own, as if the thing were playing with itself. He could only watch, out-of-control and helpless as the fabric orbs stretching against the sports bra and compression shirt seemed to defy gravity, lifting and squeezing themselves.

John couldn't reconcile the ecstatic heaven from these novel sensations with the growing fear that he'd never be normal again. These clothes were supposed to be some kind of new technology, but they were doing things that seemed way outside the scope of even experimental or military technology, let alone haute couture!

He tried not to imagine what his mom had done with these things. She had to know something about their abilities, didn't she? Something about their apparent self-awareness, their weird sentience and their ability to silently communicate?

"Ohhhh...god, oh god, oh god..." John could feel the heat rushing to his face. The stretching clothes were still expanding, and not just in the chest. He stumbled backward (he wasn't even sure how that worked without feet), and he could feel a strange, reverberating bounce from his ass and thighs. He cooed a little as the opera gloves gripped his rear, kneading and squeezing his glossy translucent ass as the leather gloves freed themselves of his sleeves once more.

"Oh, fuck...I think I'm gonna cum." He said the words, but he didn't exactly know how that would work. He didn't have a dick, as far as he knew, and his new 'parts' were nothing more than a couple layers of exceedingly thin fabric.

Now he realized that he wasn't stumbling at all--he was being directed. Just like when the compression shirt sleeves held themselves in place, now his shiny leggings were pacing themselves toward his mother's bed. He could feel every step, every wiggle of the shiny leggings stuffed with invisible curves, but now he couldn't control them. Trying was what gave him the 'stumbling' sensation in the first place.

His "hands"--the red leather gloves--had been gripping the footboard while he tried to deal with everything that was going on. When the leggings bent him over toward the bedside, John put his sleeves out to his sides to catch himself.

Just as the cuffs of his empty leggings hovered a few inches off the ground where his feet would be, the ends of the sleeves seemed to push negative space into the bed where his hands should be. He couldn't feel the bed, and his hands themselves still had a hollow, leathery feeling to them--but he couldn't feel them gripping the footboard anymore!

"Where did you...oh, GAWWWWWD!"

He could tell exactly where the gloves were now, because he could feel one of them playing with his asshole--and he could feel THAT from both sides of the equation! It was like his own hands were being to engage in assplay now--and the fact that his 'ass' was nothing but stretched high-gloss fabric didn't take away from the immediate reactive flush of embarrassment John was feeling at the moment. He couldn't begin to imagine how someone else would react walking in on this scene.

"Oooooooh!" His voice cracked again. One of his own hands--on the part of the red leather glove, of course--was happily spanking his bent-over rear. He bit his lip as the fabric shoulders of his compression shirt pushed into the plush mattress, his head turning to the side as he quivered with horrified delight. The other red leather glove was caressing the space between his glossy, overinflated asscheeks, teasing against where his hole would be if he still had flesh.

Countless 'Self-Fitting'™ outfits seemed to watch all of this happening, giving John the sense that he has an audience, even if they were only made of clothing. After everything that he was witness to, he knew they were aware. He knew they were watching, in whatever sense they were capable. Everything seemed content to stand and watch as John mewled on the bed, stroked and prodded by six gloves--two of them functioning as his own surrogate hands. At this point, the only part of his body he had any control over was his head. He could feel, literally firsthand, what the red leather gloves were doing. His tits in the compression shirt still jiggled on their own, even as they were squeezed and groped by the long opera gloves. One black glove played at the cleft of the mound shape in his leggings while the other greedily clinched his quivering thighs.

He couldn't describe it in words if he wanted to, but he knew he was going to come. There was no bulge that looked relatively male in his leggings, but he was hard. He KNEW he was, and even if he had his hands back, he knew there was nowhere on this plane of reality he'd find his own body...but it was somehow inside the clothes, lost in some strange sexual hammerspace.

No amount of pleading could get these things to revert what they were doing. No protest slowed them down, and by now they'd zoned in on a host of fetishistic explorations that John would never want to be exposed engaging in. These 'smart clothes' had tapped him to the core from nothing more than him being a little curious about trying them on.

He was practically drooling on the comforter, every part of his surrogate body humming with pleasure. He was going to come. He didn't have to know how that experience was going to present itself. He didn't care. He just knew he was going to come.

"Please..." He moaned. "Please let me. Please. You have every part of me, just...just let me..." His compression shirt tweaked the puffing phantom nipples showing through two layers of spandex, and the red leather glove teased over his asshole as it happened. "Fuck, fuck, fuck...fuckfuckfuckfuck...unGHHHH!"

John's hips bounced up and down as he absentmindedly humped the air. Just as he suspected, he could feel himself ejaculating. He could feel the cum flowing from him, even though his body didn't appear to be present. His sleeves went to his crotch, the red leather gloves immediately locking into place at the end of his sleeves as if he'd suddenly gained some modicum of control at the moment of his strange phantom orgasm.

And the leggings-were-soaked.

"H-holy-holy fuuuuuuck..." John moaned, feeling the dampness with his leather gloves. The fabric was pulsating all around him, stretching even further, ballooned out to ridiculous proportions and in no way releasing him like he'd expected. Something about his orgasm had made them stronger. He had a feeling that they were feeding on him--his arousal, his attempts at resistance, his cum.

He had no idea why or how.

All he knew was that his form as a voluptuously shaped fabric doll didn't magically go away when he came. He had rolled over on the bed, panting, staring at the ceiling as his chest heaved up and down. The gloves--not just his, but the other four as well--stroked and massaged his crotch and his hips as if they were trying to soak up the sexual mana he'd somehow spilled into them with his missing body.

His release was doing something to them....and he had no idea what they'd make him do--what they'd take from him next.