Then, I was walked down the corridor with absolutely no idea where I was being taken. I was kind of nervous about being seen the way I was, even if it was “only” mannequins and androids that would see me. The tights were still gently squeezing my crotch, though, so I wasn’t as antsy about the situation as I might have been otherwise.

There was an elevator at the end of the corridor I was being walked through, but halfway between it and the cell I’d locked Rosa in I approached a computer terminal. I was a little apprehensive about what these clothes I was wearing intended to do, when it hit me: If I was indeed wearing clothing that was being remotely directed by someone else, there would be no need to have *my* gloves type anything into a computer. The person operating my outfit could do that. So I concluded I was wearing some funky kind of mechanized (or even computerized) clothing.

But then I thought that if the clothes were computerized, then maybe they could send some kind of communication without me being aware of it, making a dedicated computer unnecessary. So… the computer was where it was, being used as it was, *just* so I could know what was going on.

My gloves started the machine and opened some special kind of internal communication program that I guess they use in their place. I watched helplessly as my hands were manipulated by the gloves into typing a message to the effect that I was safe, that Della and Rosa had been dealt with and were now in custody, and that I was on my way to free Sharifa. After a few moments a reply message came through. “Well done, Agents Glover, Chemise, and Tites. Please release the main entry lock so we can secure the premises.” It was from Janice Diaphane, the invisible woman with the bullhorn.

The gloves typed what was to me an indecipherable stream of letters and numbers into the machine, after which there was a loud buzz from the overhead speaker. Then Janice Diaphane replied through the system with the onscreen message, “Well done, Glover. Please proceed to Sharifa’s location.”

The gloves pressed a key marked “disable” and the computer console, monitor, and keyboard vanished. Disappeared completely. Then I was again walked on toward the elevator. It opened as we approached, and I was made to press a button marked “SSB”. “SSBasement” displayed on an LCD panel above the elevator buttons. After what seemed like forever the elevator door finally opened onto what seemed like what I imagine outer space would look like with all the lights turned out, except for one lone pinpoint of light that seemed miles away.

I walked and walked and walked AND WALKED, as the pinpoint became a pinhead, became dime-sized, became quarter-sized, and finally began to look like something large enough to hold a person. I don’t have any idea how long I had been walking, or how far I walked, but when I finally got to Sharifa’s holding cell, I was about ready for a nap. Sharfa evidently had powered down or something; she was sprawled out on the floor, dressed in a black velvet catsuit.

Just as the gloves put the key into the cell door, the lights came on. That seemed to wake Sharifa up. She looked around in apparent confusion, mumbling, “Where am I? What hap–” She took one look at me, in my “breasted” shirt and woman-shaped tights, and broke out laughing.

When she finally composed herself, she noticed I wasn’t laughing along. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m not acting very grateful to the man who’s giving me back my freedom. It’s just that… what did they do to you, anyway?”

I sighed. “They said they had been too kind to me, and that it was time for me to wear a ‘prison uniform,’ and that’s when I was put in
these clothes.”

She began to look confused again. “So that’s not your shape in there?” she said, gently poking at the shirt’s endowments.

“No,” I said. “Can’t you tell from, you know, your system?”

“Well, first of all,” she said, “I’ve been offline. I just came back up when the lights came back on. Thanks for turning me back on, by the way.”

“That wasn’t me,” I said. “Must be the folks upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” she repeated. “You mean, the revolution is already started?”

“Um, no, I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know if I’d even know about that… would I?”

She thought about that for a moment. “Well, originally, you were going to be sent back to the US to go on living your life without interference from us. But I don’t know if plans have changed, and I guess we won’t find out down here, so we may as well go up.”

We walked out fo the cell and back towards the elevator but as we walked I could see a dark shape ahead of us moving in our direction. As we approached I could see it was an outfit of clothing with no one in it.

When it drew close enough I could see that it was a dark gray jacket, over a top colored a much lighter gray, and grey-heather leggings. Black cotton gloves hung in space just beyond the end of the jacket’s sleeves, and the gloves were carrying a plastic shopping bag with folded clothing sticking up out of it. When the outfit approached us, a voice spoke from the overhead speakers. “Hello, Sharifa. We felt it was best that you be suitably dressed before the general population saw you. We’ve also arranged a change of clothing for our human visitor.”

The gray outfit handed the shopping bag to me, and then…

The unseen form under the gray outfit removed teh jacket and handed it to Sharifa. Next it pulled off the blouse and the gloves handed that over. The leggings were pulled down and off the unseen form beneath them and handed over by the gloves. Finally the gloves seemed to pull off of the unseen hands inside them and just kind of hung there, waiting for Sharifa to take them. She did, smiling at my own expression of confusion.

“Don’t try to figure anything out here,” she said. “It’s not quite like anything you’re used to. Just remember it’s all technology from *your own world.* We just don’t have the fear of pushing it to the extreme that people have, that’s all.”

Sharifa handed me the plastic bag and, excusing herself, stepped into an adjoining room and closed the door to change her clothes. I stepped in to another room and did the same. Or at least I intended to. What actually happened was that, as soon as Sharifa closed the door to the room she was in, the buttons on the shirt I was wearing began to undo themselves. When the shirt was completely unbuttoned, and hung open, I couldn’t help looking down to make sure that I was still me, if you know what I mean.

And what I saw was strange. Unlike what I had expected, it seemed that when the shirt moved, it moved as there were female “endowments” *under* it. They weren’t part of the shirt. *Something* was under the shirt to give it this shape, but it wasn’t part of me.

The gloves then pulled off my hands and pulled the shirt off me. Whatever it was that filled out the shirt while I was wearing it continued to fill it out, very nicely I might add, as the gloves took their places at the end of the shirt’s sleeves and buttoned it.

All the while the tights were still gently squeezing me *down there* but when the shirt was finally buttoned, the gloves reached over, took hold of the tights at the waistline, and pulled them down my legs. I stepped out of them, grateful that I was still at least allowed to wear my own underwear beneath these animate clothes.

The shirt and gloves then pulled out the slacks and shirt that had been supplied (normal, regular, inanimate shirt and slacks *for a man* I might add) and helped me put them on. I didn’t need the help, but if what appears to be an invisible woman is offering to help me get dressed, who am I to refuse?

After getting me dressed, the “female” shirt and slacks took hold of the tights again and moved as if to put them on, and just then the tights began filling out as if being pulled up over invisible legs. Then the other shirt’s right glove took hold of my left hand and led me out to where Sharifa was waiting.

“Looks like you have a new friend,” she said, smirking.

 TO BE CONTINUED…

“That’s the electrode,” Della said, grinning wickedly. “And now you find out what happens when you choose to be stubborn.” The shirt forced my arms back in front of me, and the gloves began to button the shirt more or less by themselves. I mean, they were on my hands, but I wasn’t directing their actions.

But as strange as that sensation was, the shirt itself was generating even stranger ones.

As the shirt sleeves moved my arms so the gloves could button the shirt, the sleeves brushed lightly against the shirt’s “endowments.” And, so help me, I felt it! A little “experimentation” made it clear that somehow the electrode was transmitting contact with the shirt into my nervous system, like the shirt was part of me. A little more probing, and I found that it wasn’t the whole shirt that was “wired” this way, just the solid panels. The “breasts”!

Donna and Rosa snickered and whispered something to each other. Once they composed themselves, Rosa said, “We were gonna set the AI on ‘auto’ and let the gloves play with you of their own volition, without you being able to do anything about it. But Della says to go easy on you, so I’m setting the gloves on 40%. When that little red light on the wall comes on the gloves will start, and you’ll be unable to resist them or the shirt. You’ll be powerless to do anything but comply until the light goes out. The rest of the time, you’ll be able to move freely. Of course, you won’t be able to unbutton the shirt or remove the tights until the time they’re programmed to come off.”

“You said ‘once the gloves start’?” I said. “Once they start what?”

On cue, the shirt sleeves moved my arms so that the gloves were positioned in front of the shirt, holding the gloves’ index fingers against the shirt, as the gloves began tracing circular patterns against the shirt’s “breasts”!

It took all my willpower not to lose myself in that sensation. My pride was screaming for me to ignore the pleasure these gloves were giving me. Finally I managed to break through the spell I seemed to have fallen into and demanded to be released.

“Check you out,” Rosa said, with a sarcastic edge to her voice. “Like you’re in a position to demand anything.” Then she turned to Della. “Isn’t it time for us to –”

“Yeah,” Della cut in. “I’ll get somebody here to keep an eye on him, so we can go.”

Della said something into what appeared to be an intercom on the wall opposite my cell door. A few seconds later, the little red light came on and the gloves stopped their tracing. At the same time, a shapely pair of jeans sauntered down the corridor towards my cell. As they drew closer I could see translucent white hose extending from the foot openings in the jeans.

Rosa turned to Della. “You sent for one of those to watch him?”

“No,” Della replied. “Must be a glitch somewhere.”

Just like the
tights had earlier, the jeans “deflated” a little, squeezed between the bars to my cell, then resumed normal size once inside. They then walked over to my bunk and sat down, whereupon the tights began playing footsie with the jeans’ hose. Keep in mind I was still wearing the tights at the time. My mind was abuzz with bewilderment at just they were able to do this, and with inanimate clothing at that.

Della and Rosa had become so quiet, watching the game of footsie before them, that I forgot they were there. Della managed to tear her eyes away from the scene and mumble something into the wall panel again. When no answer was forthcoming, she yelled out some cryptic-sounding command. I don’t know if the command was for whoever was supposed to be on the monitoring end of the bugs they had planted on me or whoever was working the controls for these clothes, but either way Della’s words seemed to have no effect.

Finally Della looked toward a ceiling grate and yelled, “Is anyone listening out there?”

Nothing came over the intercom but static.

After a while there was a commotion outside, and crowd noises that seemed to be getting louder. Della and Rosa looked outside and gasped. I looked out my own barred window to see what surprised them so. What I saw was a crowd of mannequins, normal-appearing women (androids, as it turned out), and freestanding clothing of just about every type I could imagine, though there was a large proportion of shapely unoccupied lingerie in the mix.

In time the crowd approached and completely surrounded the house. As the crowd called for the two wayward cops I could see a black stretched Lincoln Town Car approaching the house, accompanied by two normal-length Continentals. They drove around to the other side of the house, so I didn’t really see what happened next, but this is what I was told: The Town Car’s driver’s door opened, and a shapely pinstriped pantsuit with floating chauffeur’s cap got out and walked to the back door. The back door to the Town Car opened, and out came a military fatigue outfit wrapped around yet another curvaceous unseen figure, along with a mannequin in a black pinstriped skirtsuit. A bullhorn floated just past the end of the fatigue jacket’s sleeve. It rose into the air and came to a stop just above the open collar of the jacket, and a voice called out, “Della, Rosa, we know you’re in there. Give yourselves up now, and we might be able to work something out.”

Rosa turned to Della. Della stormed down the corridor to the nearest window that could be opened and called out, “We have one of *them* up here, you know. We could make an example of him and show the humans we mean business.” Right at that moment, the jeans that had been playing footsie with my “uniform” tights jumped up from the bunk and began pacing back and forth just inside the cell door.

The invisible woman with the bullhorn called back, “Don’t do anything stupid, Della. He wasn’t supposed to be mixed up in this, and you know it. You’re in enough trouble already for kidnapping Sharifa. Don’t make it worse. Let the man go.” I heard these exchanges, but remember, I didn’t see who was speaking, since they were on the opposite side of the house.

Della left the window and charged toward my cell. “What are you gonna do?” Rosa asked.

“We’re getting out of here, that’s what,” Della replied. “And we have insurance here to make sure we get out safely.” She opened my cell, grabbed me by my right arm, yanked me up onto my feet, and began pushing me toward the cell door. But right then the jeans that had been playing footsie with the tights I had been “imprisoned” in ran over and tripped Della. Her keys then floated up and out of her reach as the shirt, tights, and gloves I was “bound” in came to “life.”

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“No, not a visitor,” Rosa answered. “We realize we’ve been way too kind with you. We even let you wear your street clothes. That’s going to stop. Right now. We’re taking your clothes and putting you in a uniform.”

“That’s not my uniform,” I said, pointing at the tights.

“That *is* your uniform,” Della corrected.

“But those are women’s tights,” I said, “and anyway there’s someone in them. Isn’t there?”

Seemingly in response to my question, the tights… well, they “deflated” enough to be able to pass through the bars to my cell. Once inside, they filled out (beautifully). Once they walked over to me, I instinctively waved my arms around in the air above them, making contact with nothing but air.

“Sit down on your bunk and remove your pants,” Della barked.

I balked. Then something grabbed my around my chest and dragged me back onto the sleeping bunk. My pants then undid themselves and slid down my legs.

“Raise your feet,” Della ordered. I didn’t, so something grabbed hold of the pants and pulled them. I reached down and grabbed the pants with both hands, winding up being dragged around the cell by whatever was pulling on my pants.

“You’ll just wear yourself out and then we’ll get them off you anyway, so you
might as well go along,” Della said wearily.

I began to see her point. I stood up, waddled over to the bunk, sat down, and raised my feet, after which the pants removed themselves from me.

My mind began racing while I tried to figure out what they had in store for me. As I stewed, the tights rose from their seated position on the bed and stood at the ready.

“Raise your feet again,” Della said. I did, and the tights slip over my feet and up my legs. It felt weird to see these filled-out tights on me and know that I wasn’t the one filling them out. I’m sure that my expression must have given away what was going through my mind, because just then Della snickered and said, “If you think that’s somethint, watch this.”

Before they could show me what “this” was, I spoke up. “I know I’m supposed to be a prisoner and all,” I said, in a shaky voice, “but could you give me a minute to deal with this? This is all so weird…”

Rosa and Della huddled. I couldn’t hear anything they said, but I could see a bemused look on Della’s face. “OK,” she finally said, “we’ll give you a minute or two. But don’t try anything funny.”

I stood up and looked down at the “phantom” form filling the tights I was wearing. It was just mind-boggling. I patted the tights on the behind, half-expecting to feel it.

I didn’t. I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did. I mean, I hadn’t suddenly started feeling anything different, as if they had done anything to me. In this place, though, it seemed like anything was possible.

I sat down again on my bunk and started squeezing the tights on both thighs, and again I didn’t feel a thing. I could see these things on me, but my legs registered nothing. But then, as if responding to my touch, the tights stood up. That is, they stood me up.

Folks, let me tell you — the sensation of being moved by clothes I was wearing, but not in control of, and women’s clothes at that, was not pleasant. At least, not intellectually. A particularly male automatic response indicated otherwise, though, to which the tights responded by gently squeezing my crotch. Which, of course, changed my mind only slightly about having to wear these clothes in the first place. I found myself wondering what would have befallen a woman in the same predicament.

“Are you finished yet?” Della snapped. “We have to get on with this.”

I sat down, sighed deeply, and told Della that I was ready for whatever. Then she and Rosa demonstrated what “whatever” was.

A long-sleeved sheer mesh shirt, with solid black chest panels pushed out, as if over feminine endowments, floated down the corridor outside my cell.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” I pleaded.

Della and Rosa just laughed. Rosa assured me there was no joke.

The shirt was exciting to look at, but I wasn’t looking forward to wearing it. No matter what it was I was supposed to have done, I was firmly convinced that those curves are NOT supposed to be seen on a man. Never mind that I was already seeing feminine curves in the tights I was being forced to wear.

The shirt just hovered there outside my cell for a few moments. I noticed something balled up in one of the breast pockets, but then again I would automatically notice that area.

The shirt squeezed between the bars and entered the cell. It held its sleeves behind it, as though clasping hands behind its back. Then its buttons began undoing themselves, one by one.

After the first couple of buttons came undone, I noticed a weird-looking panel sewn on the inside of the shirt collar. It looked almost like a brand label, except it appeared to be made of foil, and it had a short wire hanging from it. The other end of the wire was attached to a matching label-panel. “Why does this shirt have a wire and an electrode on it?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” was all the answer I got. “In the meantime, extend your left arm.” I did, and the shirt sleeve pulled up over it. As the right sleeve pulled up over my right arm, it became apparent what was in the shirt pocket. Gloves.

I looked down at this shirt, wondering what was next. As I did, the gloves removed themselves from the shirt pocket and slid themselves over my hands. They were sheer mesh, just like the shirt.

“Now button the shirt,” Della said. I knew they could make me do it if I didn’t willingly comply, but I just couldn’t do it. The result of buttoning this shirt would give an uninformed onlooker the impression that I was a man with a woman’s physique (or that I was a strange-looking woman), and even though I was pretty sure there were no innocent bystanders here, my male pride just would not comply.

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