They’re going to finish the outfit they started.

A strange feeling comes over your legs, starting at your ankles and going right into your hips--surging into you. You get the sensation that you’re being directed, and when you look down, you can actually see your limbs being controlled wherever the leggings and panties cover you. You could definitely still feel your legs and your now-throbbing penis encased by the panties and leggings, but when you tried to kick or struggle against the clothes, you couldn't move your lower body at all!

Your lower body was completely still, save for your feet, which you could still wiggle around. You craned your head to see the vanity mirror, and among sets of your mother’s living clothing, you could see yourself in the leggings. As humiliating as this act of **** cross-dressing was, you couldn’t deny the growing lump behind the spandex leggings and microfiber panties. Your penis apparently didn’t care how weird all of this was. The friendly latex gloves still massaging your chest and shoulders, the panties squeezing your ass and teasing your male parts...your whole body wanted more.

But before you're too caught up in your own pleasure, a pair of latex gloves beckons to the closet, and out floats yet another living article: one of your mother's sweaters. It looked rather tight, as you would soon find out. The latex gloves let go of your arms, but before you even have a chance to resist, the black sweater has already **** itself over your head. In the short amount of time that you’re blinded, the sweater’s already slid over you, hugging your arms, chest, and upper body in its knit.

The gloves have no reason to restrain you now; you try to move your arms, but you can't. Just like the leggings, the black sweater snuggled against your skin, taking control of your upper body. Now your head, feet, and hands are the only parts of your body left unrestrained...but not for long. Some tan nylon ankle-high socks fly out of nowhere, inserting themselves onto your previously uncontrolled feet. A pair of rubber gloves floats back to you, flaring their wrists and swallowing up your hands before you can react to the odd sight.

The only thing you could do at this point was look at your own body, totally taken over by your mother's clothing. You were under the control of the enchanted fibers wrapped around you. Even the flimsy nylon socks had your feet totally restrained...

And there was your hard, begging cock--the sign that your body had already surrendered--its shape absolutely clear behind stretch leggings.

Now the clothes attempt another method of making you read the spell.