Tell Me a Secret

John’s heart was thumping. The white shirt bobbed in front of him now, its sleeves turned inward toward its own inflated tits. He watched as the shirt gave him an incredible display—some elaborate illusion that invisible hands were playing with the heaving translucent breasts.

When they gripped and squeezed, there seemed to be real mass displaced inside the shirt. John saw this evidenced in the deformed fine mesh of the see-through fabric, and he could only watch for so long before he reached out to touch the breasts again himself. His fingers passed right through the negative space of the emulated hands, but when he actually made contact with the fabric, the invisible digits disappeared.

The white fabric stretched outward in all directions from the imaginary points in the center of the two enormous teardrop shapes, filling John’s hands as black satin gripped his ass. His cock was slowly being pumped by the shiny shorts, and now the robe joined in as well. He could only groan, squeezing the soft white fabric in both hands. The shirt pressed back even harder against his grip, and John shuddered as the black satin shorts tickled against the sensitive tip of his cock.

He felt fingertips at his scalp, and he raised his head to the mirror to see a red leather glove playing with his hair. The other wasn’t far away. He let out a shrill little pout when the black satin robe began to play with his nipples.

“Th-this is like something out of a d-dream,” John said. “You don’t let up.”

The other red glove hovered in front of him, touching his nose with its pointer finger before tracing down over his lips, pressing against him as if making a ‘shush’ with his mouth and their fingers.

John was quiet. He wasn’t sure what they were trying to say, so he just watched. He mainly watched the white, long-sleeved shirt in front of him, sliding his hands down its tremendous chest and guiding them down its sides. His cock swelled under another satiny squeeze as he watched the breasts magically perk again.

Thinking cloth. Taking on whatever dimensions it wanted. Whatever dimensions he wanted.

No…whatever dimensions his dick wanted. These self-fitting clothes wanted something from him, after all. His mother’s more-or-less battalion-sized army of “SFCs” apparently wanted his cum.

The other red leather glove pointed at the center of John’s chest, and then flipped from pointer to thumb, indicating back to the white shirt. The red leather fingertip of the other glove finally left John’s lips, and the glove seemed to make the exact same gesture in front of itself—this time coordinating with the sleeve of the white shirt. It held the same pointed finger where its lips would be, only it didn’t have a head.

He thought they were telling him to be quiet before, but with the gesture mirrored back at him, he took it to mean they were trying to say something a little more detailed. He paid close attention now—and not just because of the titillating shape the shirt had taken on.

The leather gloves coordinated with both sleeves now, and the signs began again. This time, one of the gloves indicated to the shirt, patting itself on the chest. The other leather glove pointed to John’s eye, tapping him on the cheek, then making the ‘silence’ gesture on his lips again.

Both limbs reached out to take John’s hands. He watched the motion of the gaps between the gloves and the cuffs of the sleeves as the red leather fingers clasped around his own. They pushed John’s hands against his chest, and then one of the gloves let go, pantomiming putting its cupped hand to its ear. Then it made the same ‘silence’ gesture against lips that weren’t there once more.

John began to nod, his eyes narrowed in thought even though the sensual **** continued from the black satin shorts and robe. He thought he understood.

“You mean I know your secret now,” He said. “I promised to keep yours, so you want to keep one of mine…right?”

The shirt did a little shimmy in front of him. He wiggled a little as the shorts played with his ass. These things didn’t just want him—they wanted him in their pocket. John wasn’t so sure it was the right move to indulge these things, but how could he hold out any hope of resisting? Maybe the only way to learn more was to follow their lead and give them what they wanted.

_

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