In the heart of New York City, a yellow cab pulled up to the curb, and Emma stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk. She smoothed down her conservative purple dress, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as she looked up at the sign of the restaurant. With a deep breath, she walked towards the entrance, the sounds of the city fading into the background as she focused on the evening ahead.
As she entered the restaurant, Emma was greeted by the warm glow of soft lighting and the tantalizing aroma of food. She scanned the room, her eyes searching for her blind date. She had heard him described by her coworker, but had never seen him before herself, so she had to rely on the agreed-upon signal. He was going to be wearing a red tie.
The hostess approached her.
“Hi! How many tonight?” the young woman asked.
“I’m here to meet a blind date, his name is Mark and he is supposed to be wearing a red tie?” Emma asked, hoping that he hadn’t arrived yet. It would give her a chance to settle in and get more comfortable before the date got started for real.
“He hasn’t arrived yet, and it looks like he put in special instructions on his reservation! Right this way!” the bubbly hostess offered as she grabbed two menus and led Emma into the restaurant.
Emma was a bit taken aback by the ‘special instructions.’ What could that mean? Did he have a ‘move’ that he pulls on all of his dates? Her co-worker wouldn’t have set her up with a player, would she have? Granted Emma didn’t know her all that well, so maybe she did.
As they walked, Emma tried her best to shake her uneasy feeling as they arrived at the table: a small two-top in the corner, set back a bit from the rest of the restaurant by the geometry of the space.
Emma sat down at the table, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of her date. Moments later, she spotted him entering the restaurant. He was tall and well-dressed, with a confident stride that caught the attention of everyone around him. Even though he was still across the restaurant and he hadn't seen her, Emma felt a shiver run through her. It was an odd feeling, halfway between sexual pleasure and intense intimidation.
This was Mark, her date for the evening. The hostess, the same one that greeted Emma, talked to him for a moment, before turning and pointing to the table and Emma.
Emma nearly panicked as Mark turned to look at her with a smile. He thanked the hostess and started to make his way over to his date. Emma was so nervous that she barely noticed the hostess watching him walk away with hungry eyes. In fact, almost every woman’s eyes followed him, but oddly enough, none of the men seemed to care at all that their dates and wives were looking.
"Hi, you must be Emma," Mark said, as he stopped at the table. He offered her a polite smile as he held his hand out. His voice nearly froze Emma in place. It had a quality to it similar to when she first saw him. It elicited a sexual arousal and a deep sense of awe. The second he spoke, the eyes of every woman in the building looked away, back to their business.
"Um, yes, nice to meet you," Emma stammered a reply, standing to take his hand. She tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as they both took their seat.
“So you requested this table?” Emma asked.
“I like it, it’s… quiet, out of the way,” Mark responded, looking around the restaurant, seemingly surveying the other diners.
She found herself hanging on his every word, eager to learn more about the man sitting across from her, even if he didn’t seem very interested in her.
“So you know Jenny from my office? How do you know her?” Despite her efforts to make conversation, Emma couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Mark seemed distracted.
A man approached the table, presumably the waiter. Mark lifted his hand toward him without even looking. The waiter stopped, frozen in place for a moment before he shook his head as if to clear it before walking off. But it wasn’t like he was dismissed, but rather like he forgot what he was doing. Emma shivered at odd interaction before looking at Mark, a confused expression on her face.
“Are we not going to…” she started, her next word was going to be ‘order,’ but her voice was stolen. She tried to speak but nothing came out. Emma looked up to Mark in a panic but nearly froze when she saw him. He was sitting back in his chair, his fingers intertwined on his lap and one leg crossed over the other, as calm as can be.
“Sorry I took your voice,” he said. “But I just don’t care what you have to say. I like the color of your dress, I think I’ll keep it when I change you.”
Emma looked around in a panic, her eyes showing her fear. She looked to the others in the restaurant, hoping they would see and help her.
“They won’t help you, they won’t bother us at all anymore,” Mark explained casually. “They don’t even know we’re here. I bet you’re wondering what’s going on. Well, I‘m a powerful warlock, and I, well, I’m better than you, than all of you.” He looked around the restaurant as he spoke. “You lowly humans are nothing to my kind. Just play things for us to use as we see fit. And you are mine now. But I don’t care for your… meatsuit. I have a better purpose for you. You might like it, but you probably won’t. But then again, I don’t really care.”
Emma was freaking out, what the hell was he talking about? This was like a scene out of a movie, where the demon-possessed child holds the family captive. She tried to stand and make a run for it, but something was keeping her in her chair. It could have been whatever magic Mark had command of, or simply the abject terror she was experiencing.
“But enough of that, let’s get to why you’re here,” Mark said, his cold, calm demeanor unbreaking. “I am particularly fond of turning women into clothing, and my wardrobe is missing something. You see, I didn’t come here today with no underwear on because I planned on having sex…” His voice trailed off.
Emma wrinkled her eyebrow, confused at what was happening. This man wasn’t wearing any underwear? What did that mean? What the hell was he going to do with her? She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Mark looked over at her with a smirk, raised his hand up next to his head and snapped his fingers.
Immediately, Emma’s vision started to blur, and a strong sense of vertigo overtook her. The entire world started to spin, and it became hard to focus her vision on anything. She felt her body somehow falling in on itself, like she was curling up into a fetal position, though she had no control over her body.
Emma felt like she was falling, though she knew she was still sitting on her chair. Before long, she was looking up at the table, losing sight of Mark completely. Her body became thin as the purple color of her dress started to spread across her skin. The world felt almost like a dream, she was fully aware, but there was a sort of veil between her and the world around her.
She tried to call out to the other diners and the restaurant staff, but she found that she had no voice. From her fleeting glimpses, no one seemed to be paying attention to her. After what felt like an eternity, but was really only five seconds, the world stopped spinning and Emma’s vision cleared. From her perspective, it appeared as if her head was laying on the chair. The table blocked her vision of Mark, the tablecloth not even giving her a view of his legs.
Emma was in pure panic mode by now, her mind and eyes desperately searching for answers or for help. As she assessed her situation, she realized that she could no longer move. Her body was completely out of her control and nothing responded.
Then she felt her body lifting up into the air. She panicked again and looked around, watching as the now-giant chair fell away beneath her. As Emma neared the top of the table, she stared at it, fear gripping her as she anticipated Mark coming back into view. When she saw him again, he was smirking. He had his hand held out with his palm to the sky and his fingers in various stages of outstretched, like he was a king of old willing a kneeling knight to stand. When she rose to about head-level, Mark rotated his hand so the palm was facing Emma, and she stopped rising, but instead floated still in the air.
“Do you know what I ‘ve done to you?” Mark asked in a calm voice. “I know you can’t respond, but I still like asking.”
Emma looked down at herself, but all she could see was purple, the same purple tone of her dress. She didn’t look like herself, but it was impossible to get a good look. She felt so thin and wispy, like she was made of some kind of sheet.
“Allow me to enlighten you,” Mark said and closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them again after a moment and Emma’s vision went black. When she was able to see again, she was looking out of his eyes. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but then she saw the object floating above her chair. It was a pair of men’s boxer briefs… in a purple the exact shade as her dress.
She screamed in her head, freaking out over learning that she had been turned into a pair of men’s underwear. How is this even possible! What is this man and why would he do this to her? Before she could think more on these questions, her vision dizzyingly turned back to normal and she was once again looking across at Mark.
“Now let’s get you to your new home…” Mark said and pulled his hand back toward himself.
Emma screamed to herself as she flew across the table straight toward him. As she was about to hit his chest, she swooped down toward his chair. Instead of landing on his lap, however, she seemed to phase right through his pants, her cloth body opening up as it did. When her movement stopped, she was trapped in darkness.
She was immediately aware of a sense of… fullness, like something was inside her body and was pressing outward. It didn’t take long for her to feel a few distinct shapes. Boxer briefs are notably tight, so she cupped Mark both front and back. She could feel the shape of his flaccid cock and balls as if she was both cupping them with both hands and pressing her face into them at the same time. It was the same in the back with his ass. Emma’s body was stretched so tightly that every single scrap of her body was pressed up against him in some way.
Mark shifted in his chair, his weight pressing down on Emma, making her feel… well feel like she had the weight of a full-grown person on top of her. She slowly became aware of the smell and taste as well. The musty, sweaty musk of most of a day’s worth of activity. She could have retched if she still had a mouth or stomach. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Emma’s sense of taste was still intact as well, so beyond smelling his cock and balls, she could taste them.
Time passed slowly for her. Without the ability to tell time, Emma felt like she was wrapped around his midsection for an eternity. Though finally he stood, the sudden movement startled her. It would have made her almost jump out of her skin if she still had skin. Mark started walking, subjecting Emma to a whole new hell. As he stepped, Mark’s thighs rubbed up against her, causing an uncomfortable friction. Not to mention his cock and balls shifted back and forth, held tight by Emma’s tight fabric body. This had the effect of rubbing even more sweat into her.
Finally the motion stopped, and Emma heard a zipping sound, a sliver of light peeking through to her. It was followed quickly by a hand, which pushed its way roughly through a hole that Emma didn’t know existed in the front of her new form. Mark’s hand fished around, eventually taking a hold of his cock and pulling it through the hole.
It all happened so fast that Emma could barely process it. And once she did, she had no idea what was happening. Why the hell did he just pull… himself out of his pants? She tried to get a look through his open fly, where she could see white tile on the wall. Was she in the bathroom? Her question was answered as she could feel liquid start to rush through his cock. It was like holding a hose with the water running.
Again, Emma nearly wretched. Being so close to him while he was actively urinating was disgusting beyond anything she could have imagined. This went on for some time, Emma trying to avert her gaze as if to pretend it wasn’t happening. Soon enough she was able to heave a sigh of relief as he shook the drops from himself and stuffed his cock back into his pants. It was then that she realized that witnessing him peeing wasn’t the worst thing, the worst part was tasting the little bit of urine that was left on his cock.
As Mark zipped himself up and started walking back out to his table, Emma was left dealing with the same horrible sensations of walking, but now with the added smell and taste of his urine. She sobbed to herself, still not understanding how this could happen, and how it happened to her. All she wanted was to go on a date with a coworker’s friend, and now she was stuck wrapped around this man’s waist.
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