Work isn't quite the same

Sandra had noticed that the highways weren't very busy. She wondered how many people were scared into staying at home, or how many were trapped in their homes with their misbehaving wardrobes. She'd texted Jack an apology, but she hadn't gotten a response. When she got downtown, he could see just how widespread the crisis was. More than once she'd seen a naked person running down the street, often pursued by ghostly clothing filled out as if an invisible person wearing them.

There were uniforms and business suits walking on their own, seemingly engaging each other in conversation and going about their business as if their human occupants were still wearing them. She thought about turning her car around, heading back home and making sure Jack was okay, but the moment she began to act on this impulse, her stockings, heels, and blouse sleeves all worked against her. The **** was gentle enough that Sandra decided not to fight the otherwise inert clothing; she saw plenty of examples outside her car of what might happen if she tried to act against them with impunity.

When she arrived at the parking garage, she expected her clothing to act up on its own, but it didn't. She wondered if it was waiting for something. Knowing what happened when she tried to change the course of her vehicle, she simply headed toward the elevators. As she passed through the parking garage, she could hear the sounds of a couple moaning — clearly a man and a woman. The sounds indicated anything but distress, and though Sandra couldn't see where exactly they were coming from, she felt the heat of herself blushing, knowing exactly what kind of activity she was listening to.

She stepped out of the elevator like she was on autopilot. She almost wanted to speak aloud to the clothing, to ask them what exactly they had in store for her. She wanted to ask why she was being allowed to walk on her own when it seemed like so many other people were being tormented, played with, or held prisoner. For now, she let all this go — waiting to see what the office had in store.

She pressed the button for the ninth floor, but the car stopped on the fifth, and the doors opened.

Sandra gasped. A young woman stood quivering in front of her, dressed in nothing but black ankle boots, thigh-high stockings and a pair of nude panties. Her arms were held over her head, and Sandra understood why when she looked at her wrists, bound up by the straps of the matching bra she had most likely been wearing. A navy skirt suit stood next to her, and Sandra stepped back, practically bumping into the wall of the elevator car as the pair stepped on with her.

The girl clearly saw Sandra, but didn't say a word. When her gaze met Sandra's own, she diverted her eyes to the floor again, giving her a guilty look and shuddering a little through gritted teeth. Sandra looked down at her nude panties, making out a wet spot in the front as she noticed the lingerie seeming to undulate and move on its own. She only noticed this after the young woman's legs were still, after she'd stepped onto the elevator car.

It seemed so strange not to say anything, but what could she say? The young woman clearly didn't want to start up any conversations. She didn't cry for help, or warn Sandra about anything. It was as if she was simply accepting what was happening, and the look she gave Sandra seemed to be one of tacit embarrassment — maybe because she didn't mind what was happening to her. Not wanting to stare at the poor girl too much, Sandra kept her eye on the skirt suit, powerful and intimidating in its own right. On any other day, seeing an outfit of empty clothing standing on its own might have seemed like a funnier sight to her, but knowing what was happening made her more nervous about being in its presence than anything. She wondered if her own clothes might somehow get an idea from the example of the skirt suit, stripping off of her and holding her hostage by her underwear.

When the elevator arrived on the ninth floor, Sandra was surprised when the skirt suit and the young woman got off first. Sandra had a mind to stay on the elevator and ride it back down, but she felt herself gently nudged forward by her clothing and got the message. The skirt suit, in fact, seemed to be waiting for her. It marched itself up to the glass doors of her company's space, holding one of its sleeves behind the young woman, who it guided forward. Sandra reached for her purse, which popped open on its own. Before Sandra could grab her ID, it slid out of her wallet and hovered next to the door. When the door beeped, the skirt suit's unoccupied sleeve lifted to the handle, seemingly pulling it open with an invisible hand. When she stood in shock, realizing the clothing weren't the only things coming to life, Sandra was nudged forward again by her outfit.

There was no one in the halls at the moment, but as soon as she entered the corridor, she knew that everything happening outside was happening in here as well. There were moans of pleasure, whimpers, and mumbled pleas behind each of the closed doors as she headed into the office. She realized now that the skirt suit intended to follow her along with the young woman it was holding hostage.

When she arrived at her office, her door opened on its own. She stepped inside, and as she walked around her desk, the young woman in the skirt suit followed in behind her. Her office chair pulled itself out from under her desk, and Sandra's outfit quickly **** her to sit before she could make the decision on her own. She looked up at the young woman to see if she had any sense of what was being planned here, but the young woman was simply biting her lip, looking at the floor. Sandra couldn't help but notice that her panties were still playing against her, clearly arousing her if the visible moisture on the fabric was any indication.

"Do you — I mean, should I —" Sandra finally tried to speak to the young woman, not knowing what else to do, but she was interrupted when her phone lifted off the receiver on its own, hovering next to her.

"Sandra! So glad you could make it in today...I wasn't sure you'd come! So many haven't this morning," a cheerful voice said. It was Patricia, an assistant director that Sandra had been friends with for years.

"Patricia! Thank goodness it's you. I have a young woman in here, and she —"

"Ooh, right on schedule!" Patricia said, a hint of mischief in her voice. "I trust your things have been relatively nice to you? Mine have been absolutely wonderful to me..." As Patricia said it, Sandra gasped a little, feeling her own panties slide against her.

"Patricia, what's happening?" Sandra asked.

"From what I see? Everyone's getting exactly what they deserve," Patricia purred. "Mmm — please, just a second..." She said, clearly to someone or something else. "Sandra, darling…you remember Will, our yummy new intern?" Patricia asked.

"Well, yes?" Sandra answered, unsure where this was going. She looked back up at the young woman, closing her eyes and wiggling her hips a little against the **** of her living underwear. The way she was biting her lips, it almost seemed welcome.

"Our new partners have arranged a gift for you…the other half of which you've already found." Sandra looked, wide-eyed, back up at the young woman.

"This girl from the 5th floor?!" Sandra exclaimed. The young woman finally opened her eyes and looked at Sandra, obviously hearing the comment.

"Well, the girl is theirs — all of us are, really — but your gift is a little bit of a demonstration about what's possible with a little…willing cooperation," Patricia's voice almost seemed assertive now. Ambitious in some way. "Will should be there in just a moment," Patricia said. "Once the show is over, meet me in the conference room! We have so much more to go over." Before Sandra could answer, her hovering phone hung itself up.

Just then, a young man strode up to her office door — a little awkwardly. He was fully dressed in a white button down, charcoal dress slacks and a matching jacket. As was the usual for Will, his top shirt button was undone at the collar, and he wore no tie.

"Will!" Sandra said.

"Sandra, hi, it's —" he looked over at the young woman, his eyes clearly fixated on her exposed, perky breasts. "This...wasn't my idea," he pleaded, resting his eyes from the half nude young woman and looking to Sandra again. While he and Sandra exchanged glances, the young woman sized Will up, clearly pleased with what she saw, though she tried to hold her outward excitement to a Mona Lisa minimum when he glanced back at her face.

"I think...we know that, Will," Sandra said cautiously as the two young twentysomethings finally met each other's eyes. "I think at this point we realize we don't have a choice and the matter..." She continued. And maybe they didn't, but the more the young office workers looked at each other, the less upset they seemed with that lack of choice.

Sandra had to admit it — if only to herself — that she was curious about what was coming next.