The clothes get into the changing room and try to make out with Travis

Travis' jockey briefs floated him over to the changing rooms while his jeans, socks and shoes mimicked a hovering walk. Somehow the magic clothing floating behind him avoided being seen by anyone else in the store. Regardless of their confidence and Travis' lack of control, he had to do something.

He opened his mouth to cry out for help...but the moment he did, an item from a display of women's shapewear sprang to life, filling with exactly the big, bouncy curves they were intended to control. Before Travis had a chance to react, there was a soft, cream-colored spandex & cotton crotch clamped to his lips, muffling him. When he reached his hands up to try and pull the shapely ladies' control briefs away, the ample curves promptly imploded to a tight wad of fabric, easily stuffing themselves into Travis' mouth to securely silence him.

“Tsk, tsk...you really need to be whipped into shape, little boy,” the entity muttered as they approached the changing rooms. Travis felt motion at his waist, and when he looked down at his jeans, he saw the slack end of his belt unthread itself at the front. It clicked open and loosened, quickly slithering out of the remaining beltloops and coiling in front of him as if it were alive.

Despite his confusion and fear, he made a futile grab at the leather strap. It easily dodged and slipped behind him, flailing wildly before tensing with a slap against Travis' butt.

He muffled an unintelligible "HEY!" through his gag as the enchanted couture following him now passed around him, leading the way. One of the charcoal thigh high socks leapt off the ground, opened the door handle with well-aimed curling toes, and let the rest of the enchanted items into the changing room. The ghostly clothes were followed by a **** Travis, whose own outfit didn't even bother with a mock-walk this time. He simply glided into the changing stall as easily as a dandelion seed on the wind. Once everything was inside, the thigh-high socks danced in, letting the door close.

“Hmmm, let’s have a bit of fun before you get changed, Travis…” The thigh high socks stepped up to him, nuzzling his legs like a cat and playing footsie with the cuffs of his jeans. Gulping behind his gag, Travis looked down at the hollow socks, filled with deliciously shapely legs. They seemed content to play at first, but the moment Travis reached out a hand toward the opening of one of the shapely fabric tubes, The socks sailed upward and wrapped around his wrists--now looking more like translucent cotton boa constrictors than legs.

The socks **** his arms up, and now his feet left the ground with clearance. He gasped and looked down at the changing room, around at all the voluptuous clothes--apparently having fun, given their soft, barely-audible giggling--and finally, at his sneakers…

...which were currently untying all by themselves.

Travis shouted through the gag, but it only seemed to make the clothes more excited. With the way he was gagged and restricted, he started to accept that his attempts at resistance only encouraged this--these--things.

He tried to back up. He chained together enough memory to get him to the store: he made a list of things he needed for his uniform, he walked a few blocks, he went in the store, and suddenly…

“Oh, relax. Slow that poor mind of yours down, you cowardly little boy. You already know you’re not dreaming.” He couldn’t tell if it was one voice or several. Was it coming from the thigh-high socks now? The bra?

His shoes slipped themselves off, landing gracefully on the floor and rocking on their soles. Their tongues and sides dilated, opening up both shoes as Travis’ socks seemed to inflate themselves right on his feet.

If you can read my damned thoughts--what are you doing to my stuff?!

He watched as the loosened, hovering socks floated effortlessly off his feet and slipped into the shoes.

“What am I doing? Not a thing but playing, baby. My attitude is simply infectious--a catching behavior, that’s all. Your guys see me partying--so they wanna join the fun.”

No! Stop!

He tried to kick his feet but the legs of his jeans froze up, preventing any and all movement.

“If you’d receive all this more affably,” a voice said as the busty red bra hovered right before his eyes, “you’d understand all the wonderful things we want to show you.”

Now the tongues and sides released, pulling the empty socks snugly into Travis’ sneakers as the laces performed what he found to be an almost hypnotic dance--sailing through the air, looping and whirling like pilots leaving contrails. As he watched the magic, he lost his fight-or-flight train for just long enough to imagine what else was possible…

Nnnnnnnnno, no! Stop it!

More potent giggling now--enough to make Travis wonder why someone else--ANYONE else--couldn’t be nearby wondering what was so funny. What he didn’t know was that the **** playing with him was surveying the store, knowing when it needed to be quieter and when it could be more forceful.

It knew, for instance, the perfect moment to make a tube of lipstick hop up out of its display and hover down the corridor toward the fitting rooms.

“Now come on, Travis. You even liked it up there for a second, didn’t you?” This time, the bra punctuated the dreamy, audible words by smothering their inflated cups against Travis’ face and jiggling them. “And I’ve got another surprise for you, cutie...in a lovely matching shade.” The lipstick hovered into the stall through a narrow gap directly above him. It come to rest in front of him, uncapping itself. Travis’ eyes went wild, wondering what came next.

He watched the lipstick take aim, but not at him. Instead, it seemed to paint a pair of lips onto nothing at all. When he looked at the whole scene, it occurred to Travis that the lips were paired anatomically relative to the breasts--full, luscious and red.

His cock jumped. He couldn’t help it. The jockey shorts had already been playing around, pumping him to an obvious response, but now his body took it further. Even if his mind still couldn’t deal, the mass of nerves toward the other end of his spine was doing splendidly.

“Mmm...I’m going to let you go, Travis. I’ve decided that’s best.”

What?

The word came scrambled through a fabric gag, and clear through his thoughts. The moment he stopped his futile, inertialess kicking, his belt snaked in front of him, aiming its tapered end at Travis’ jeans.

Now you’re gonna let me go?

He waited for the voice, for his belt slip back into place--for any answer. The control briefs took themselves out of his mouth, glazed with spit and unwadding themselves. With two (well, 1.5) gestures of good faith in place, Travis decided not to cry out for help--just yet. He watched as the glossy, full-coverage panties swelled with bodacious curves, turning themselves around and presenting their ass.

“I liked your tongue on me, Travis,” a voice teased. “I don’t think I’ve had enough yet.”

He inched his head back, silently resistant.

“Kiss us, Travis,” The lips said. “Give us some sugar, and I’ll let you go.”

He reluctantly leaned forward, right into the ass of the shapewear. He breathed in the scent of the newly unwrapped spandex as the ass plumped against his face, swelling the tightly knit stretch-fabric.

"Lick, Travis..." The honey-coated voice of the shapewear said. Travis complied cautiously, feeling contours of resistance behind the timpani-tight stretch fabric. He wet his tongue as well as he could and slathered it against a diamond-shaped gusset, trailing it in and out and wetting the fabric. “Yyyyeah…” The shapewear suddenly backed up, sending the hovering Travis to the back wall.

The control briefs were riding against him now, and he furiously tried to provide whatever this **** felt was so appealing...but only for the sake of escape. It was humiliating--in a way--even if no one was watching.

When they pulled away again, Travis’ body returned to the center of the room. Now the red bra snuggled into his side with the equally red lips hovering inches above and before the gently-sloping curves of the straps.

“You’re going to let me go,” Travis said. It was flat, neither command nor question. He was only trying to repeat what the voice said.

“You don’t want to go, darling.” The soft cups rolled against his chest, squaring against him and pressing their breasts into his body. The ghostly lips were close enough that he could see every slope and texture, including the translucent fringes where some strange nymphet’s wax-coated lips ended.

“But if I kiss you, you’re going to let me.” A single beat. “Let me GO, I mean.” There was no room for haziness here. He had to mean it. “You’re going to let me go.”

Travis… The lips formed his name perfectly. He didn’t need to hear it. When they moved in, he tensed for a moment, wonderi-

They’re soft--and...moist? Oh, god...how is that--

--that--

--ohhhhhh…