They Get A Little More Intimate

The self-fitting clothing didn’t simply go back to their places after John’s intimate encounter with them. In fact, the clothes seemed to want nothing more than to know how to best ingratiate John—either because they believed they owed him something for his ‘help’ earlier, or because they needed something else from him.

They didn’t let him dress, not that John tried. He was still lounging on his mom’s bed when a pair of black satin shorts danced over toward his toes. He watched a matching robe slump off its hanger and ripple toward him, and he bit his lip. He didn’t just want to go with the flow here.

“You’re really soft,” John flirted, poking at the filled-out rear of the shining shorts. “You wouldn’t mind letting a guy wear you, would you?” He felt himself blush at his own words. He may have only been talking to clothing, but these things could act. They could practically think. Maybe they were even capable of feeling, somehow.

To his delight, the black shorts responded immediately by swallowing up his toes with a stretched waistband as the white, long-sleeved shirt from before seemed to clap invisible hands at the ends of its sleeves. John watched the white shirts’ emulated breasts sway with its clapping motion, and the black shorts took the opportunity to orient themselves correctly before puffing over his feet and gliding up his ankles. John lifted his limbs accordingly, and he could actually feel the satiny fabric caressing his skin with a purpose as it came up to his thighs. While he was intently watching the motion of the shorts as they approached his most intimate parts, the robe billowed over him.

The satin shorts slid between John’s thighs and his balls as his attention was drawn to the shadow over him. It was the robe. Its sleeves were filled with nothing, pointed perpendicular to each other with the body of the robe filled near-spherically, as if every square centimeter of it was being occupied with the maximum volume. He thought its back was to him at first, then he noticed the tag at the top, all the interior seams plain to see at the robe’s joints, and the sash appearing on the inner side behind it.

The white shirt was waving its arms with the motion of the robe. John saw it as a sort of conductor, and wondered how these Self-fitting clothes communicated with each other. Was there just a single intelligence? If there were several, was there a hierarchy?

The shorts practically picked him up at his hips, shifting him forward in the bed and pushing against his lower back to prod him to sit up. The inverted robe sailed behind him. When John put his arms out at his sides to catch himself, satin danced over his fingertips. The sleeve cuffs locked around his wrists, holding in place as the robe inverted itself once more to gracefully hug around his torso.

“That’s a pretty good trick,” John said as the flaps tightened, clenching his sides. The sash looped around itself once before tying into a loose bow. The robe suddenly went loose on him, hanging naturally as if it were inert. “Unnnghh…that’s…a pretty good trick too…” John moaned, looking down at himself. The robe didn’t give away any motion. Beneath it, though, the satin shorts were every bit as active as before.

They had a firm hold of his cock. The satin was lovingly working it up and down, and John looked up at the mirror in front of him. His breathing began to get heavier as he felt the teasing fingers pulling him from outside the satin shorts. He could see up the robe, watching himself prodded by invisible ****. Prodded by smart-clothes. Prodded by soft, intelligent fabric that, for lack of a better term, was horny. In some sense, he was fueling them…at least that’s what he thought they were trying to get across earlier when they showed their new dimensions after happily absorbing his cum.

He looked up at the white shirt in the mirror, its translucent sleeves crossed under its enormous emulated breasts. It was clearly content to watch, though John had to admit he really didn’t understand how these smart clothes ‘saw’ anything at all.

“I guess you really don’t mind letting a guy wear you…” He groaned.

He was hard as a rock again, imagining all the things these clothes could do. The items from just a couple of outfits were enough to hold him down and have their way with him. It took nothing but a hollow pair of gloves—which couldn’t be more than 750 grams—to leverage his 75 kilos against him. It was enough to pull his body off the bed. That meant they were strong enough to lift him—apparently without effort.

John’s mind raced. More than half of his mother’s wardrobe were SFCs. A single outfit could outmaneuver and overpower him. If they were even a little more intelligent than they seemed to let on, couldn’t they outsmart him? If what they appeared to be communicating about the details of their abilities was true…maybe they already had. They were smart enough to hide themselves from his mom and their company, after all.

He wandered through the implications, and his imagination lead him to wonderful, terrible, paranoid conclusions. Did these things have plans? Were they long term? Did they have anything to do with…what he’d already done with them?

_

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