You're displayed in the main gym with other victims

I put my hands up, motioning my surrender to the floating racket. It backs away, but continues following behind me. The door of the locker room opened all by itself as I hovered through, still ridden by the shiny red leggings and their gorgeous matching sports bra.

In the main gym, the first thing I did was try to assess who and what was still present. The flock of panties bounced out the locker room door around the same time as me, darting in all directions around the gym.

A few remaining people reacted. There was the clerk, backed against the wall, clad in a bra. She was watching her own polo shirt operate the cash register with invisible limbs as a patron's gym clothes produced a wallet. Was there...a transaction happening? I snickered at the thought of it. Our clothes have willed themselves to life to participate in...COMMERCIAL TRANSACTIONS!

I see a couple others in the gym. Three males, one to each corner, each dealing with their own entourage of ladies' gymwear and street clothes. One woman spinning on a not-so-stationery bike, now that it had taken to the air, rolling laps as she pedaled madly. Her worried face told me that she wasn't exactly in control of her limbs--whatever had taken my shoes for a walk earlier was clearly responsible for her unearthly spinning pace.

The ghostly register transaction now became clear. Muscle shirts rose off of racks, and packs of gym socks tore open. T-shirts danced off of display shelves, and it appeared that some poor sap had his card charged for--pretty much every scrap of clothing available for sale. A couple dozen t-shirts, a-shirts and hundreds of gleaming white socks joined the party now, and I wondered just how specific that witch was in her vengeance.

Clearly I was only a slight, if endearing annoyance to her. My reality was broken from witnessing this scene--but at least I wasn't broke.

"Wh--where are..." One of the guys in the corner was staring at the outfit at the counter. "I mean...are you gonna DO something about this?" The guy shouted to the clerk.

The clerk, though--was staring at me.

"Ahh--holy shit, they're making him...hover." I was rotated upright as the outfit floated off of me. The clerk was dressed in a black strapless bra, just watching. She averts her eyes when they meet mine, and she blushes a bit.

Now the red leggings offer up their butt, bending over in front of me in mid-air. With the outfit a couple meters away and gravity on lunch break, I was keenly aware of my own nudity--especially now with a literally captive audience.

Between embarrassment and powerlessness, there's not much I can do but hang in mid-air. I attempt to cover up, but my arms are held away from my body every time I try to bring them close--as if they're being repelled by something.

I smile and shrug at the girl. I've never felt stupider after I do it. When she shrugs back, trying to a smile, I feel a little vindicated...

But here come the leggings. Or--here comes me, really. I sail toward them, out of my own control. They wave their booty, bouncing as my body is slammed against the tight ass, upright-dick first.

The befuddled clerk puts a hand to her mouth as she watches my naked body, thrown against the shiny red outfit like a rag doll. The leggings are locked in place, and it's me that's riding the plump ass up and down. I can't control where I'm going, of course--but how this magic just *handles* things?

It's terrifying. It's liberating. It's...I mean, I pretty much have a permaboner. Like I said, reality is broken. The curvy witch set up some crazy shit here, but I'm convinced that going with the flow is all she wants from me. I'm going to make it.

The clerk with the strapless bra and the nice tits? She's going to make it. She's practically licking her lips watching me--and every other person still here, really--getting toyed with.

"Are you just gonna fuckin' stand there and gawk, dummy?" The guy in the nearest corner shouts to the clerk again. He's...maybe not gonna make it. He's got nothing but white briefs on--his clothes having presently left the building.

With his wallet and car keys. Yeah.

He's charging around the treadmills now--made bolder by his property walking off all on its own. I'm snickering, 12 feet up, magically riding against curvy girl's outfit--watching this doofus.

He was flanked by a team of four outfits before, and he seemed too terrified to approach them. Now, though--maybe after seeing my interactions with them--he decided to try and his way through.

It probably would have worked if the dude's clothes hadn't just bought out the gym's clothing shelves--but now there weren't four outfits flanking him. Now there was a couple defensive-lines worth of male and female torsos filling newly-recruited shirts.

It started as a pile-on. Then a cloud. The fabric could billow, duck, flap, propel, inflate and grab just when it needed to, and before long he was tiring himself trying to fight them. He'd punched his way right into the clutches of a pair of socks, who were happy to tighten around his wrists while inflating their feet to capacity. Now his blows were effective as an inflatable hammer, and more than that--he looked so silly.

He was literally trying to be violent with the enchantments now, and he was powerless. I hear laughter from behind the counter and I look down to see the clerk, laughing openly at the angry guy's predicament. By now his clothes have gotten to his car, and he can't so much as approach the door.

The outfit and I descend, but I can't stop my body riding against it. I grab the shoulder straps for stability that I know I don't really need, and when I'm just above the clerk's eye-level, she giggles at me. She shrugs at me when she notices me looking.

"Kind of a weird way to meet," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Um...well, it--it could be worse," She says, slowly regaining her speech. "You could have stage fright," she laughs.

I chuckle too, looking down at my cock. 'Not-having-stage-fright' is a reasonable compliment to seeing a stranger's junk, I guess.

Her brows knit, and she looks around at the gym again. The angry dude is yelling something muffled through cotton knit, but I think we're consciously ignoring him now, because we look at each other before deciding not to respond.

"Am I dreaming?" She asks. She must think she is, because she is like one-hundred-percent laser-eye on my dick right now. And to be honest, we both are. I'm looking down at me too--levitating, hard, bouncing against a shiny spandex butt.

"No way," I say. " This is happening. The woman who did all this--you didn't see her leave? Like...not more than 15 minutes ago?"