They’re going to strip you.

The clothes didn’t bother answering your question. Rather, some of the gloves simply start stripping you.

"No--wait! Hey, what are you doing!?!"

The clothes don’t reply. You’re not sure whether they’re able to communicate, or just refuse to. Confused, you do not know whether to comply with the enchantments, or to struggle.

A pair of red leather gloves begins pulling at your shirt. At first you try to hold the shirt down, but before long the tee seems to inflate, almost as if it’s helping the gloves on its own. In response, you grab at a red leather glove, which releases your shirt, dodges you, and grabs your hand instead. You feel your palm gripped by soft but strong leather fingers, and now your shirt comes off even faster.

It’s almost as if you’re not in the frame of mind to struggle. The forces stripping you are remarkably gentle, and even though there’s fear coursing through you as you wonder where all this is leading, it doesn't seem like struggling is going to help the situation.

You watch in awe as your shirt hovers away, filled out like a windsock and looking like it walked itself right out the door. Your eyes are pulled down at the feel and sound of a zipper, and you watch as a pair of black satin opera gloves point at your jeans, apparently willing them to unbutton, unzip, and yank themselves off of your body.

You try to reach down and grab the retreating denim, but the red leather gloves stop you again, grabbing both your wrists and pulling your arms up over your head. Your jeans fly over your ankles and slide off your feet, and you watch as they hover across from you and fill out.

The jeans start wiggling their baggy seat at you. A pair of black gloves claps in rhythm as you watch, confused. You’d try to get up, but you’re in no position to; your arms are being held over your head by sexy but uncharacteristically strong red leather gloves operating through some magical **** you’ve released. As your pants eerily dance in front of you, you notice the fabric puffing beyond the usual baggy shape, almost as if they were filling with air.

A pair of white isotoners float over to the dancing jeans, wiggling with the shape of your mother’s fingers. You swallow hard as one of the white pointer fingers wags at the jeans, apparently disapproving of their behavior. Now your jeans are stretched to capacity, filled out with cartoonish cylindrical legs before something about them abruptly changes. The moment the white isotoners snap, the legs of the jeans seem to taper and slightly shrink as the hips and butt expand even further.

Now you’re looking at an almost amazonian shape in your own jeans--a curvy female form inside of what were plain, straight-cut jeans a moment before.

“Wh-what did you...how did you do that?”

Your words get the gloves’ attention, and suddenly the soft white isotoners are hovering near your waist. They snap their fingers again, and your underwear begin inflating, exposing you as the waistband opens like a hoop. The red leather gloves gripped your wrists and pulled you into the air as the last article of clothing is removed from your body, exposing your penis.

"Why did--why’d you guys take my clothes off?"

You didn’t expect an answer, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. Now your over-inflated briefs started dancing around your curvy, transformed jeans, and the white isotoners started toward your **** cock.

Bizarre as everything was already, you did not think it could get any worse.

Or better…