The hose aren't much for negotiation

Without any sign of a response, the hose begin walking you in the opposite direction of your campus.

"Wait, wait wait —" you say, "where are you taking me? Now that I'm off the bus, we're going to be late to class as it is." You feel the hose puff up under your jeans again, and you gasp as you're slowly lifted off the ground. You look down in awe, your sneakers no longer touching concrete. Under your pants, the hose are puffed to capacity like a silken bubble, flying you down the sidewalk in what's thankfully a low-traffic industrial area. You quickly look around to see if anybody is there to notice you sailing through the air. "on, I thought you were going to be good! Can you at least —" you shudder as you feel invisible fingertips tickling your sack through your briefs. Your dick responds, and when it does, your body sales into the air little bit higher, and a little bit faster down the sidewalk.

You want to plead louder with the hose at this point, but the fear that it will earn you unwanted attention keeps you quiet and vigilantly looking around to see if there any witnesses seeing this bizarre phenomenon. You absolutely don't want to admit it, but there's something exciting and positively naughty about being played with in daylight and and in open public by an enchanted garment completely hidden beneath your jeans.

You look down your hyperinflated hips, running your hands over your unnaturally curvy jeans. Maybe not completely hidden, you think. As you sail down the industrial block, your body automatically balanced by the hose gripping you from waist-to-toe, you realize you're approaching a busier intersection. Just before you work up the courage to try threatening or reasoning with the pantyhose, you feel yourself bob toward the ground. Your first touchdown is so light that you bounce into the air again, reminding you once more of an astronaut taking steps on the lunar surface. When you hit the sidewalk again, you settle this time, finding yourself at the corner of the busy intersection.

You look up and down this main avenue, seeing a woman giving you a confused look as she is about to get into her car. She seems to give you an up and down look, shakes something off, and continues on her way.

"Please, don't let anyone catch you flying me around…" You say. "We're going to attract enough attention with you puffing up down there." You press against either side of your exaggerated hips with the palms of your hands, but the powerful nylon beneath your jeans doesn't allow them to give way at all. You feel a squeeze around the shaft of your cock, and you moan a little. Suddenly, the traffic on the busy road slows to a stop. As the traffic signal changes, the crosswalk sign illuminates, and you begin crossing the road in long, graceful strides.

The strides aren't your own. The hose have your legs completely under their control, and you can feel yourself blushing as you realize your slinky stride and unnaturally curvy shape are being displayed in front of a line of drivers. You don't want to draw more attention by looking over at them, but the sway of your hips and the nature of your gait tells you that at least a couple people have to be noticing. If you were being honest with yourself, you wonder if flying would be better. It would certainly gain you more attention, but you're certain that people would focus more on you disobeying gravity then on your bouncy ass and thick thighs.

After you cross the street, the hose keep walking at the same pace, and you have no clue where you're going.

"Are you just taking me for a walk?" You ask. The pantyhose keep on making you walk, and you pull out your phone — maybe to grab a rideshare or something. It's a hell of a lot more expensive than bus, but you still might be able to get to class on time. That is, if the hose cooperate up with you long enough for you to meet that rideshare at a particular spot. "Come on, I barely know this part of town!" You complain louder, looking down your waistline. You look around again self-consciously to see if anyone has been watching you plead with your lower half.

In front of you is a stripmall, and when you get to the end of this block the intersection comes to a T. When your pants don't make you hang a left or right, you have some idea of what's about to happen. You look from store to store in the stripmall, wondering where these pantyhose could be heading. When the light changes, you cross the street involuntarily, looking now at three possibilities. There's a shoe store, a secondhand/vintage store, and a plus-size boutique. As you saunter through the parking lot, you look down at your midsection one more time before the pantyhose can pull you into one of the stores.

"I never would've left the house with you if I knew you were going to get me in so much trouble," you say. You feel your briefs stroke your cock again, and you moan quietly as the pantyhose walk you right up to the door of the secondhand store. You keep your hands down to your sides, refusing to cooperate with whatever they have planned – but like the pull chain on the bus, the door somehow pulls open on its own. It's completely clear to you now that aside from being animated, these pantyhose have a particular degree of control on the area around them — not just the space inside where they're playing with your cock and groping your ass.

"Hi there," a woman at the checkout counter says to you. You look up at her nervously, seeing that she absolutely notices the disconnect between your skinny upper body and your shapely lower half. It certainly doesn't help that she's a pretty brunette, a little on the pudgy side, but with nice curves and a pleasant face. She's probably older than you, but certainly not more than thirty.

"Uh, hi," you respond. Despite her obvious visual survey, she politely smiles as the pantyhose walk you over to the carts. You know what they want you to do, and instead of letting the clerk possibly watch a cart begin rolling on its own, you comply. As you grab onto the handle, the pantyhose step you back, pulling the cart out of the stack.

"I'm sorry – would you mind leaving your backpack at the counter? It's kind of a policy." As soon as she makes the request, you feel your backpack straps lift up. You panic, slipping one arm out quickly and grabbing the nearly hovering backpack with the other hand.

"Y-yeah! No problem!" You smile nervously, feeling the thing lift up in your grip. It begins tugging horizontally, and the woman looks slightly confused until the pantyhose finally walk you away from the cart and toward the countertop. "Here you go," you say, letting go of the bag only when it reaches the surface. From there, the pantyhose you to walk back toward the cart. You grab it, and they begin to walk you straight back into the store.

"Thanks! Let me know if you need help with anything!" The woman says. You glance back over your shoulder to see her smiling, slightly bemused.

"Thanks, will do." You say. As soon as you're certain you're out of her ear shot, you try talking to the pantyhose again through gritted teeth. "What are we doing here?" You grumble. "Even if this stuff is cheap, I don't have money to spend right now…" Your pants stop in front of a rack of jeans. Not men's jeans, of course — but women's jeans. You feel a squeeze around your balls, and your briefs go back to stroking you again. "No, no no…" You mutter, feeling fingertips tracing up and down your inner thighs and playing with your ass — all inside the empty space of the hyperinflated nylon.

As your cock begins swelling, you can feel the tip of it rub up against the inflated nylon crotch. Inside the hose, your briefs have been pulled down around your cock, and the waistband is pulling against your balls now. You close your eyes for a moment, going with the feeling, when suddenly you hear hangers shuffling on the rack. You open your eyes to see a few items lifting straight up out of the rack and dropping into your cart. They're all women's pants, starting at size 12 and going up. You put up a hand to try to block a couple of the items, but you feel your dick gripped by a ghostly hand, as one of the hangers holding the jeans slaps you gently on the wrist. You pull back your hand, gritting your teeth.

Now the cart rolls forward again-- this time without your help. Instead of walking you forward, you feel the same floaty feeling from before. As you begin to lift slightly off the ground again, you look at your feet. Suddenly,you feel a sensation on the pads of your feet. You hold back a giggle as the pantyhose begin to tickle you — and by now, the attention on your cock has been doubled. You're getting hard as a rock, and by now the tip of your dick is pressing against the inside of the nylon and the jeans. Despite their inflated state, you can see the rising bump where your arousal is becoming more clear.

You hover forward, your attention back on the rack again as pants of increasingly larger sizes hover into your cart one by one. This whole section seems to be casual pants — denim, corduroy, and khakis — and by the time you realize it, there have to be twenty or more pairs in your cart. You look back at the clerk, and thankfully she seems to be doing something else at the counter. Just before you turn back, you notice two more women — probably middle-age — entering the store. This was going to get worse before it got better.

"Seriously, even at five bucks a crack that's over hundred dollars…" You try to whisper to your midsection. You can't understand what the plan is here, and you really have no way of getting the enchanted pantyhose to communicate with you more clearly. You've noticed that they seemed to generate your arousal before using more magic, and you figure these things must be connected in some way.

Like the night I gave myself to the clothes, you think. You start hover forward, and before you hit the cart you grab onto it with both hands. You try to kick your legs a little inside the hovering, ballooned pantyhose – but only results in a dull tympanic sound, and the actual legs themselves don't move much at all. The cart turns a corner on its own, and now you realize you're headed for the dressing rooms. When you get there, you realize they're the type the clerk needs to open, but this doesn't stop the pantyhose. They give your ass a squeeze, and as soon as your cock reacts to the touch, one of the three doors pops open. The items in your cart lift up and align so all the hangers are together, and you see a sign that says 'six items max.', which the pantyhose are obviously ignoring. You float inside behind the hovering items, and instead of heading to a hook, they hover in space as if the hangers are poised on a rack you can't see.

The door quietly shuts behind you, and as insistent begins stroking your cock harder now, making you rise slightly higher into the air. It's now that you realize the dressing room door doesn't go all the way up. If someone were standing right outside, they'd probably be able to see your head bobbing behind the door. You bite your lip as the inflated pantyhose tickle against your feet, playing with your ass and stroking your cock even harder now.

"Oh, fuck…" You mutter, looking down to see your shoes pulled off, one-by-one. Your own jeans pop their button, and the tightened denim slowly slides down the inflated nylon pantyhose, revealing your steel hard dick behind a shiny gossamer layer. As the jeans slide their pant legs down over your ankles, you watch your sneakers come to life and walk right under the gap of the dressing room door. "Wait, no — ungggh..." Your protest is halted by the enchanted pantyhose. The back of the waistband pulls up, and despite the inflation, the fabric clefts between your ass cheeks, pulling your own underwear with them and giving you a wedgie.

On the ground, your removed jeans stir to life-- slightly inflating themselves and wiggling their pant legs in a sort of locomotion that drags them out of the dressing booth. Now that you shoes and pants are out of the picture, you convinced that the pantyhose are going to you to display yourself in some of their newly-picked fashion choices. You look at the hovering jeans and pants on hangers across from you, but before any of them seem to make their move, the waistband on your briefs takes to life again. It swallows up your cock, the very front of the waistband lifting high, and making the crotch strain against your inner thighs. You wince a little as your briefs bounce up and down, juggling your balls and your hardened dick inside them. Now you're getting a wedgie from two sides, your briefs in front, and the nylon pantyhose in the back.

You wonder why these things are torturing you like this, but your own arousal is probably telling you everything you need to know. Just like hovering down the industrial block, there's something exciting your carnal drive in the fact that you have no control over this situation. Your mom's magic pantyhose are taking you shopping, hiding their magic and the fact that they're playing with you so very thinly from the public around you. Apparently, your obscure deal with them had implications that you still couldn't begin to understand.

As your underwear strain harder in the front, you can hear stitches popping before finally giving way. At first, only the bands around the thighs break, easing the tension between where your inner thighs meet your torso, but allowing your ruined briefs to pull that much higher. You should've suspected it — the enchanted pantyhose were about to get rid of the only thing mediating their touch and grip against your most sensitive parts. As more stitches pop, the crotch finally gives way, and the band of your underwear is pulled high above your waist and over your T-shirt — finally unobstructed.

The waistband stretches out, and you instinctively raise your arms to allow it off of you. Instead of escaping the booth like your pants and shoes, the waistband hangs itself on one of the dressing booth hooks, almost as if the hose are taunting you with the tattered remnants of your own underwear.

Now free of your jeans and your underwear, the hose lose their inflated shape suddenly-- suctioning to every square inch of your legs and crotch. Despite this, the tickling and the invisible fingertips continue to play with you. The only difference is that now you can feel the silky nylon fabric playing directly against your body.

As you begin to pant, totally oblivious as to what's happening outside of the booth, that's when the hovering pants across from you begin to stir.