Start to seduce him

(By mariofan of writing.com, edited by Vestiphile)

A pair of shapely nylons strutted toward the bed. John watched as they approached, paying close attention to the waggle of the hips as they stood over him. They then leapt into the air and deflated, tying one end of themselves around his ankles, and looping the other end around a horizontal brace in the bed's footboard. The long satin gloves holding his legs let go.

He tried to get up, but the nylons squeezed, inflating around his ankles a bit when he struggled against them. Somehow they seemed too strong, keeping him bound to the bed.

The gloves hovered over his body, and one of the satin gloves wagged a finger, as if to tell him he'd done something wrong.

"I'm...I'm sorry! If I promise not to tell anyone I've seen this, will you at least let me go?" The gloves folded over each other as if they were considering John's trade...but then they separated again and seemed to shrug, palms up.

The red leather gloves holding his wrists pulled his arms higher over his head, holding them nearly together. The brown leather ones holding his sides eased their weight--however it was they were putting pressure on him--and slid up his sides and over his chest.

Watching the shiny, empty leather gloves was unreal. As they rubbed his pecs, his nipples reacted under his t-shirt, hardening against their touch. The gloves seemed to notice this and began playing their pointer fingers over them, making John sputter a slightly distressed laugh.

"Don't--please...I'm..." Ticklish. He knew better than to say it aloud since these 'self-fitting' things seemed to understand English, but his body had already given it away. The red satin gloves descended against his sides and flew toward his armpits, wiggling a couple fingers against them. He howled now, knowing he was doomed. As he twisted and squirmed--mostly involuntarily now--another part of his body reacted below. The red leather gloves quickly shifted, letting go of his wrists for just a second as John tried to thrash--but in an instant he found them gripping his palms now, knitting their leather extremities with his own. He tried to pull his hands back, but they just pressed them against the bed, stretching out his arms in a V-shape again. Not knowing what else to do, he gripped the red gloves back, feeling the cool, milky leather between his fingertips.

Playing with him. These clothes were playing with him--wrestling, tickling--punishing him in a good-natured (if not flirtatious) way. John moaned as the brown leather gloves tweaked his nipples now--while the red satin ones with the long cuffs backed off from his armpits again. They slid down his sides and to the waistband of his jeans where they found something a little more interesting to poke around at.

John was clearly tenting against the denim, and one of the satin palms traversed the pants right-to-left, running gently over John's crotch as his cock pulsed against the touch--perking the tented area ever so slightly.

A few various pairs of panties broke from one of the orbiting rings of single items. They flew over his laid-out and restrained body, and he watched, abashed, as he beheld the forms of inflated hips and slightly puffing mounds. A pair of baby blue full-coverage briefs turned around and wiggled their butt at him--and he couldn't help but stare at the show. His unbroken gaze must have been enough to incite them, because now two more pairs of panties turned away from him, showing their butts and hovering down toward his thighs.

A pair of black satin bikini briefs and pink microfiber boyshorts began rubbing their backsides against his jeans. He could almost swear that there was someone in them, due to how solid the behinds of the panties felt. When a third pair--tangerine-colored tangas dropped straight against the tent of his pants, it felt like he was getting a nice lap dance all over his body from the various panties.

The baby-blue briefs wiggled their ass closer and closer to his face, and below, he could see the red satin gloves maneuver just above the tangas, beginning to tug on the button of his pants.

"N-no...you shouldn't--" John paused his plea when the gloves did. All of the panties slowed their grinding motions against him and lifted their unseen weight. The gloves shrugged again, and now there was a struggle in him. Was he sure he wanted them to stop?

The gloves' posture seemed to reflect this same question--palms still up as if asking him. Are you sure we shouldn't?