Dylan’s drawers relent

Dylan was lost in sensation, and he had the undivided attention of all Erica’s clothes that weren’t actively getting ready to leave her house. His drawers were somehow making some kind of invisible hand that was grabbing his most sensitive part and gently squeezing it. Not just wrapping their fabric around him in the shape of a hand, but an actual soft warm hand inside his drawers, or at least that’s what it felt like to Dylan. Plus invisible lips were kissing his, and there was even a second pair of unseen lips nuzzing against his ear.

“Mmm-who’s -- *smack* -- who’s kissing me?” Dylan asked.

“I am,” said the same soft voice he had just heard. “Believe it or not, this is something I’ve always wanted to do. The squeezing -- well, I saw an opportunity and took it. You like?”

“Unless you’re gonna share him,” Erica’s jeans outfit said, “you really should let him go and get himself some clothes.” There was no defiance to it, like the speaker was really prepared to stand up for him; the words were fairly matter-of-fact, as if it was something that just had to be said, even if the speaker wasn’t really into it.

“Oh, please,” the voice said, a bit stridently and farther away from his ear, as the lips and hand continued playing with Dylan. “You’d be doing the same if you had the chance, and you know it.” Then, turning softer again, it continued. “But, Dylan, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll bring you some of your old clothes, the ones that didn’t fly the coop. But only if you agree to do one little favor for me in return.”

Now Dylan was confused. These were the same drawers he was wearing when he entered the house and all the craziness began. How could they help him?

“Mmph,” was all Dylan could manage, until the lips and hand finally relented. “How do you know where my clothes are? I was wearing you when I got here, and that’s when things got crazy.”

“Maybe that’s how it seemed to you,” the scarf said, “but we were all moving around long before you got here. And we were aware and communicating with each other long before we could speak out loud, or move around.”

“Really?” Dylan said.

“Really,” Erica’s jeans outfit said. “How do you think we all knew who you were without having to ask?”

“OK,” Dylan said. “And I’m guessing there’s communication going on now that I can’t see or hear.” There were sounds of affirmation from more than one source. “So then,” Dylan continued, looking down at his drawers, “someone told you where my clothes are.”

“That’s riii-iight,” the voice answered in a singsong tone. The hand had returned, moving up and down in sync with the word “right.”"Now, do we have a deal?"

"That depends," Dylan replied. "What kind of favor do I have to do?"

“Agree first,” the voice said, “and I’ll help you.”

“You want me to agree to do you a favor without first knowing what the favor is? That’s not fair.” He noticed he wasn’t getting any vocal support from Erica’s clothes. He decided to try to stir some up. “Isn’t that right, you all?”

But none of the other clothes, not even Erica’s jeans outfit that had spoken up for him earlier, said anything. Dylan felt like they were all waiting to see what would happen.

“No one’s gonna speak up for me?” he said.

“They’re all waiting to see you honor your part of the bargain,” the voice said, as the warm unseen hand in his drawers continued playing with him. “And they’re all pretty sure you want to get some clothes so you can try to find your wife. Now, do we have a deal?”

Dylan sighed hard. “I guess,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” the voice at his ear said.

“Yes, we have a deal,” Dylan said, more emphatically this time.

“OK, then, just a moment,” the voice said, as the unseen lips pecked his cheek one last time. The hand gave him one last, loving squeeze, then was gone from his drawers. He didn’t feel any change, but momentarily a plastic shopping bag hovered into the room. The first thing to float out of the bag was another pair of drawers.

“How come--” Dylan started, staring at the limp hovering undies, when the waistband of the ones he was wearing started to shift. “Hey, what gives? We had a deal.”

“And I’m honoring it,” the voice said. “But I can’t promise I’ll leave you alone if you keep me on. I figured you’d rather have an inert pair. Of course, if you’d rather keep wearing me, that’s more than OK with me.”

It only took a moment for Dylan to decide. "Um, no, I'd better change." The waistband of his drawers started sliding downward. Dylan tried to stop them by grabbing them. "Hey, let me go into the other room first," he said.

"Why?" the voice next to him said. "I've been right up against you so I know not only what you look like but how you feel." It giggled. "And they're all Erica's clothes. We've all seen every bit of you before, though for most of them it's been a while."

There was a throat-clearing noise from elsewhere in the room, as the well-rounded scarf wrapped around bountiful unseen breast-shapes floated closer to Dylan. "Um, not all of us," the scarf said, a hopeful tinge to its voice. "But like your drawers said, don't mind us. We're just clothes."

Dylan was hoping that he'd be able to get this done without having to be any more of a center of attention than he already was. But here he was, surrounded by clothes mimicking his wife's figure without anyone visible or solid in them. Now this jiggly, flirty scarf wanted a front-row… spot while he stripped off the little bit of clothing he had left? Of course he was going to give them something to look at, whether he wanted to or not.

"Let go of me, Dylan," his drawers said. But Dylan was entranced by the jiggling scarf in front of him, which seemed as intent to **** him to put on a display as he was to avoid one.

The shopping bag rustled again, and a pair of black leather driving gloves rose from the bag, filling out as if being pulled over invisible hands. "I was gonna use these later, but since you won't let go…"

The gloves floated over to his wrists, grabbing them and pulling his hands away from his briefs. Again the waistband stretched out and the briefs pulled downward, exposing him completely for all to see. There were a few wolf whistles as Dylan levitated a few inches to let the briefs remove themselves from him. "Wow, Dylan," the scarf said. "Erica sent that away?"

"No, Erica didn't send this away," Dylan retorted, snatching the hovering pair of drawers out of the air. "I left on my own… like a dummy. This, as you put it, was part of a package deal so it left with me."

"Did you say a package deal?" the scarf repeated, drawing laughter from most of the clothing in the room. Even the bodycon dress Dylan’s briefs had floated into shook from laughter.

"Look, you guys," Dylan snapped, red-faced. "Just let me--"

“Ease up, Dylan,” Erica’s jeans outfit said. “You guys talk like this about women all the time, staring at them, and us, and fantasizing about what’s hidden under us. We finally got a chance to throw it back and of course we had to take it.”

“Um,” the scarf said, a bit shyly, “is it OK if I… give it a squeeze?”

“No, it’s not,” Dylan retorted. But before he could say anything else, the dress controlling the gloves cut in.

“And what can you do to stop her, when I’m still holding your arms?” Each glove squeezed the wrist it held. Then, to the scarf, it continued, “Go ahead, honey. But don’t get happy now. After he leaves to look for Erica, I’ll still be here.”

“You will?” Dylan said, looking at the dress.

“I sure will,” was the reply. “You have plenty of underwear at home… I guess. What’s one missing pair? Besides, I’m sure you don’t want me walking around like this in your place, if you and Erica are going to be together.” The dress did a complete spin in place, with the shape of nonexistent legs, hips, and thighs appearing to do the turning.

The scarf moved closer to Dylan, mimicking the movement of unrestrained breasts as it did so. It was only inches away from his face when he felt a small, soft hand grasp him and begin sliding up and down.

“Your first?” the dress asked the scarf.

“Yeah,” was the soft reply, as the hand stopped sliding but stayed in place, softly grasping him, drawing a whimper from Dylan. The scarf hovered closer until it pressed itself against Dylan’s face, as the voice whispered, “Sorry, but I’m trying to help you out. You don’t want these other drawers to wake up and leave you with nothing, do you?”

Dylan, for his part, just pressed his face further into the scarf, which obliged with a few boob-flex moves. Even the hand holding him began squeezing anew.

“I hate to break this up,” Erica’s jeans outfit said, “but I’m pretty sure neither of you really wants to get carried away with this. As much as we would like to watch the show, we should let Dylan go and find Erica.”

“But you could come back, right?” the scarf whispered. “I mean, if you and Erica are trying to get back together and all…”

“Let’s worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes,” the voice from the dress said. “Like I said before, I’ll still be here when he leaves. I’m sure we can… figure something out.” The dress laughed.

The gloves let go of Dylan’s wrists as his inert briefs slid up his legs unassisted. A t-shirt, jeans, and sweatshirt followed in turn, each fitting themselves over him on their own. Meanwhile the bodycon dress that he assumed was responsible for dressing him was busy checking itself out in front of a mirror. He didn’t see any evidence of his filled-out briefs inside the dress.

Finally the dress turned away from the mirror and approached Dylan, with all the natural movement of a curvy woman. “Now to keep your end of the bargain,” it said.

"You never did tell me what that is," Dylan replied. "I mean, you're not about to ask me for my soul, are you?"

Everything in the room with a voice burst out laughing. Dylan was especially entranced by the jiggling scarf.

"No, silly," the dress said, doing some jiggling of its own. "All I want from you is a kiss."

That was all it took to remind Dylan that he was really speaking with, not the dress that the voice now seemed to come from, but his own underwear now suspended inside the shapely dress.

"Why do my own drawers even want to kiss me?" Dylan said, relieved that the drawers had slid into a dress and filled it out to feminine contours, rather than insisting that he kiss them directly.

"I don't know," the voice said, as the dress gave an emphatic shrug. "Why did you choose the suit you wore here tonight?"

This time it was Dylan's turn to shrug. "I don't know... I thought it looked good?"

As the dress approached, with a pronounced sway to its hips, the voice said, "Would it shock you if I told you that I thought you looked good?"

Dylan took a deep breath. "Right now," he said, "with this dress wrapped around you like that, it's not nearly as big a shock as it would have been if you told me that while I was still wearing you." Which was not to say that hearing this sexy voice coming from this almost empty dress while knowing that the voice was actually coming from his own drawers, or hearing his underwear compliment him, weren't doing a job on his mind. Or further down.

"So how we doing this?" Dylan said, eager to get the weirdness over with so he could go find his wife.

"Wow, way to sap the mood," the voice said, as the dress crossed its sleeves just below its chest. "I mean I know you're in a hurry to get to Erica but geez! I mean, if you're not into it, I could just strip those clothes off you and leave you to fend for yourself."

Dylan shuddered, while a few voices around him giggled. He didn't have any idea how or why any of this was happening, so who knows how or even if he'd get any clothes if he didn't go along with it.

"Look, I'm sorry," Dylan said, trying his best to sound sincere. "It's just that this is all very weird to me." He looked around the room at all the filled clothing items. "No offense intended toward any of you ladies." He approached the dress, looking at the collar. "And especially not toward you, after you complimented me and helped me get clothes." He reached out, intending to hold the dress by the hips…

But it stepped back. "And you think all you have to do is turn on the sweet talk to get what you want?"

Dylan approached again. "You already know the answer to that."

The dress relented, extending its sleeves toward Dylan's shoulders as invisible lips met his. "Yup," was all the voice said in reply.

Dylan knew logically, if logic still applied anymore, that the form he was kissing was somehow generated by his own empty drawers, suspended inside the dress his arms were now wrapped around. But with his eyes closed and him being completely in the moment, it was easy to forget that. And so he began to react, tenting his jeans as the kiss continued.

The kiss had the full attention of all the clothes in the room, which began voicing their approval. The scarf was especially attentive but quiet, being positioned closer to Dylan and the dress than any other item in the room. Actually close enough to press itself against either of them, though it managed to restrain itself from doing so.

Then Dylan felt it. He shrugged off what felt like a little pushing against him from the dress, as it began to grind against him. But then he was sure he felt a bulge that wasn’t his.

He left out a quizzical grunt as he pulled away, and he was right. The dress was filled out to the contours of a very well-proportioned woman, and even spoke with an alluring female voice, but inside it was still a pair of men’s briefs. There was definitely a pronounced bulge that wasn’t there when the kiss began.

“Hey, what are you trying to do?” he protested. “You didn’t say anything about that!”

“Um… oops?” the dress said with a giggle, then recovered. “But I was only doing what you were doing, or wanted to.”

“And you said I sapped the mood,” he said. “I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I knew I was gonna be dealing with that.”

“That’s alright, D,” the jeans outfit’s voice said, as an unseen hand patted his shoulder. “You gave us a good show.”

“And now we get to ‘deal with that,’” the scarf said with a laugh.