She's curious about the shape of the clothing

"Like I said, they've never hurt me," you tell her, "but you might not want to encourage them too much. They're kind of suggestible."

"Oh...really?" She says, watching the outfit pacing around her. "What kind of suggestible?" She giggles. She reaches out, running two fingers across the chest of your shirt across from her. "They're just clothes, right? What is it that they...whoa!" One of your sleeves aims toward hwer, and suddenly her weight is pushed back on her heels as she's turned toward the empty short-sleeve somehow. Both her palms land on the chest of the shirt now that she's leaning against it, and she takes a moment--looking down into the empty collar as she feels the empty space gently clutch around her back. "Th-there's nothing actually holding me?"

"It's some kind of invisible, mutable ****," You explain to her. "I don't really understand how it works. Once they come to life, they're able to act as if there's a person inside. Most of the time, that theoretical 'person' can reach out and touch things, but we can't touch it...unless it wants us to be able to."

"A-a person?" She squeals a little as your shirt and the skinny pants below whirl away from her, and the extended short sleeve points at her, swinging her as if it's dancing with her. She looks in awe at the end of her arm, watching her soft palm deform as if a strong invisible hand is holding hers. She looks as if she's on the first drop of a rollar coaster--fear and thrill in her eyes all at once, but the clothing pulls her back and wraps her up against itself again. She runs her hand over the side of the shirt, and down over a hip of the skinny pants--not so much with sensuality, but more to assure herself there's something behind her holding up her weight. Her face has a rosier hue when she looks back at you.

"Are-are these moves something they learned from you?" She asks. When you shake your head in self-defense, she looks a little disappointed in your answer. She actually likes what's happening!

You're still caught up in the line of parading pants when you watch the first pair in the line turn and head for your jeans--the ones you were actually wearing when you came in. They turn toward the cart, above which is the mass of swirling fabrics they picked up around the store. In the cart, the boots and shoes begin to twitch and shake. Boot cuffs fill, sneakers tie themselves, and pair-by-pair, they all begin to leap out of the cart. Your dance line surrounds the event in a wide circle, and you watch as bras begin to sail away from the mass, each one heading for a different pair of jeans.

A particularly big pair of shiny black satin cups belonging to a wide-strap bra swell with ghostly breasts, and your eyes bulge when you realize that you can see conspicuous emulated nipples, even through the well-padded fabric. Your pantyhose can sense your excitement, and they squeeze your crotch as the outfit steps you out of the circle and toward the enchanted brassiere.

"Wh-what are you..." You stop mid-sentence and swallow hard as your outfit puts you between the bra and its apparent destination--the curvy size 20 jeans from earlier. The satiny bra bobbles its cups in your face before it decides to push itself against you, smothering you between the two satin cups. You raise your hands to either side of the bra to catch the ghostly tits, and now the pantyhose beneath your curvy jeans may as well be stroking your cock.

The bra eventually slides its way around you, hovering over to the waiting size 20s, and it hovers above their waistline as the pairing begins to pose together. As other bras join up with other jeans, one of the soft, microfiber nightgowns in the pile takes on a volupuous, almost cartoony shape as it bounces over to you.

The clerk laughs at you, watching your reaction to the full-figured gown. When you look back at her, she's swaying with your shirt and the skinny pants, har arms around the red waist of your tee as she lets the outfit lead her.

"This is unbelievable," she says, "but it's...oddly exhilirating in some weird way." You watch her peek ddown the collar of your shirt again. "Are they always so, um--playful?" She raises an eyebrow, gasping a little as she feels something behind her. You both look down at her butt, where two hand impressions are pushing against her grey slacks.

"Does that answer your question?" You ask. "It's time to cool off now!" You try shouting to the other clothes. "It's not just me you're playing with now! Not everyone wants to be treated like a pet!"

"No, it's..." The clerk stops herself, rubbing her hands up and down the back of your hollow t-shirt. "I mean, like you said, they're pretty harmless, right? They just seem to...like having fun." She bits her lip a little, leaning into the outfit and reaching her hands down until she reaches the hem of the tee--moving down to the tighly-filled skinny jeans. "It's like they're...flirting, sort of," she giggles. "Even with each other..." She motions to your original jeans with a nod, and you look over to see them shimmying and working their hips against a pair of red and black plaid leggings.

"Yeah, they're...uh, a little...single-minded...in that sense," You say. The blouse you were **** to wear wraps its sleeves around the nightgown's massive hips, and its curves bounce against you. You're focused hard on trying not to make the carnal attention going on under your jeans any more noticable, but with the clerk taking more and more to the clothes' behavior and your total lack of control over the situation, you imagine they're only going to get bolder.