The spellbook--come to life!

The moment you slid a penknife into the top of the box and ripped it open, the contents of the box exploded from the top. You darted back, watching wadded craft paper fall back to the ground. When you looked back at the box, you saw it empty now--and only a second later--the book hovering above it.

It was the missing spellbook!

"Whoa," You said aloud, a little giddy after your week of anticipation. "I wonder where you've been?" You knew better than to try to dart for the book. Its magic had you manipulated from the get-go on your last encounter, and it probably wasn't going to be long before it happened again. You were in no rush.

"There were other things to do," Came a voice across from you. Not the book...

"Wh-what?" You asked, moving a little closer. "Was that..." As you reached out to the book, it jumped to your hand. Backing off on your end didn't much matter--the book shoved itself between your thumb and forefinger, opening to a spell.

"Read this," the voice commanded--feminine, but grave. Imperative. You smiled, sputtering a laugh.

"There's...no translation," you said. "And how is it you can talk?" The book shoved itself closer to your face now. When you tried to drop it, it held steady in mid-air, challenging you.

“Answers I will be more than happy to provide once you’ve done your part,” The book insisted. “Read.” You smirked a little, sounding out the syllables and stopping short.

“You’re not going to tell me what I’m reading, are you?” You ask, deciding to push the magical objects’ patience. It must have had a need for you...otherwise, why would it come back?

You heard clicking from the hall, and before anything even crossed the kitchen threshold, you knew what was coming. Both pairs of shoes from your experiences last week--the glossy black kitten-heeled shoes and the leathery red flats--sauntered into the room.

“And you’d like to play again, wouldn’t you?” The book asked. “You can smell those shoes already--can’t you?” Your dick pumped involuntarily as your mind spiraled down through sensory memory...along with all your attempts over the last week to convince those same shoes to walk on their own again.

Without the spellbook, you couldn’t do a thing...but now that it was back--it had you in its pocket already. You sighed.

“So I...we’ll play some more?” You asked, “like we did last time?”

“It’ll be even better,” The book said. “But not until you read.” It shoved itself in front of your eyes again, and this time you sounded out the whole phrase carefully--piece by piece. Once you were ready, you read the phrase aloud.

You spoke with purpose, assured by the book of the tradeoff you wanted…

The insanity from a week before had never left your head, and now you wanted--needed--to be back in that same position. Once you read the passage in the book, you looked back to the shoes, approaching you now.

And they weren’t alone; coming just behind them were a pair of black mesh stockings and a pair of nude pantyhose, silky red panties and blue panties in cotton, a black pencil skirt and one in brown leather, a pair of satin bras in black and cream, and two blouses--a red satin button-down, and a gray pullover. Essentially two whole outfits--marching in pieces. Obviously the book was interested in pushing harder this time.

“What’s with all of them?” You ask, holding your ground as your mother’s animated clothes surrounded you in the kitchen.

“You got along brilliantly with the shoes,” The book said. “Why not a whole outfit?”

You hesitated, your face twisting with **** as the outfits started assembling themselves before your eyes. Despite being filled with an invisible body, you knew where these clothes came from.

“I mean--the shoes were fine,” You stuttered, suddenly worried. Shoes and gloves were one thing. They were just objects, after all. But when the outfits assembled…

“Interesting that you believe you have a choice in the matter,” the book said. “I did my best to show you last time, darling--you are a puppet.”

Now you swallowed hard, looking around for an out…

Not that you believed you could escape. It was an instinct. A reaction.

“Yesssss, that’s just it, you see?” The book laughed. “A puppet to those animal impulses of yours--and to me, of course.”

The outfits both approached, and you didn’t try to make a move when they each wrapped an empty sleeve around your arms. They didn’t flatten so much as they constricted, maintaining some of their volume as they wrapped around your forearms like pythons. You stood there, looking from your new fabric bonds to the book.