Weird Dream

Max was tucked into bed, all nice and snug, when he heard the clacking. At first, it barely phased him, but then a tapping sound joined it and the combination of both soon became too loud to ignore. Much to his chagrin, he got up and looked around.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. No, wait, his door was open. Wait, was it... nope, definitely open. God, it was too dark, he needed some light. He flicked the light switch on.

The bulb fizzled out within seconds. Great.

Now where was his phone?

His hands felt around under his pillow until he touched its familiar glass screen and pulled it out. Hardly any battery was left, but it would have to do. He turned the flashlight on.

Just in time to see something scamper off from his doorway. Now he shook a little. He could still hear the tapping to his right, but his hands refused to move from the door, afraid of what might jump out if he looked away.

But he had to know. What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Let's hope it hasn't moved to humans yet.

1, 2, 3, he whipped around to see...

...

...his sister's cheerleader outfit???

He rubbed his eyes.

He rubbed his eyes again.

Nope, it was still right there, tapping on his window as if wanting to be let in. Which was weird, considering that nobody was wearing it.

Clacking to his left. He spun back around to spot something once again retreating into the darkness of the hallway. And this time, he swore he saw... heels???

He... he was being hunted by sentient clothing. Right. This was one hell of a dream.

At least, he hoped it was. He didn't want to consider that maybe he had teased his sister a little too much recently and she had cast some sort of black magic to shut him up for good.

Speaking of shutting up, the cheer outfit had stopped its tapping. Keeping the phone angled at the door, he turned to the right to notice it having folded itself and... was it trying to slip in?

No time to wonder as his phone jingled its no-battery sound, and with it, his funeral song.

Okay, okay, okay.

This was a dream. Meaning that he just had to wake up. He pinched himself.

...

...

...

Clacking again. He dropped back onto his pillow. He got here by sleeping. Maybe he could go back by sleeping.

He closed his eyes and ignored the sounds. Ignored the clacking getting louder. Ignored it sounding more and more like heels on carpet.

Then a glove went down his throat and he thrashed about, letting out muffled screams and clawing at the fabric clogging up his airway. The window burst open and the cheerleader outfit charged through, letting in the moonlight that it had been covering up. It barely lit the room, but now he could see his attacker and what it had pulled out of him.

...an egg timer?

With nary a second to process it, he was thrown out of bed. He tried to crawl away but the clothes were on him in seconds, tearing his pyjamas apart with frightening ferocity. Not even his underwear was spared from the carnage, and soon he was left with only his dignity.

And they came for that too. His first attacker, illuminated as a short prom dress, pounced on him and, though he fought back, it easily wrangled itself onto him. What he had thought were shoulder straps clasped around his upper arms. The rest of the dress tightened on his waist, leaving him no room to turn and see the ankle-strap heels making their way towards him. Since he failed to see them right behind him, he fumbled backwards and tripped over, allowing them to jump onto his feet. Once he felt them there, he tried twisting his feet in all sorts of angles to fend them off but it was no use as they secured themselves on without a problem and dove back onto the floor upright, yanking him with them.

The gloves were the last to be worn and they faced no resistance whatsoever. Not that Max could provide any, since he was still bound by the dress. It only loosened up once the gloves were on, leaving him free to be embarrassed by his new outfit.

Not for long though, as the heels led him towards his bedside drawers where the gloves turned the egg timer on for 1 hour and let it sit. They were using him as a damn puppet! Like he was their doll or something! He fought back even harder now, but only succeeded in swaying his hips while they catwalked him downstairs.

With each step, he could see better, but he could also hear a crack or a pop. His head, being the only thing that he could move himself, looked downwards to witness his waist shrinking and shrinking, stopping after 4 steps. He had hoped he imagined it but that thought was quickly dashed when he saw his fat moving. It travelled in bulges, some going upwards, some going downwards, like he had parasites crawling underneath his skin.

Somehow, parasites would have been better than what was really happening. Because the fat going upwards converged on his chest, giving him two bountiful breasts.

Just to rub salt into the wound, the dress stopped on the stairs, hopped on the spot to let him see his new bouncing cleavage, and then carried on downwards with a gloved hand on his hip.

Max had been thrown into shock at this point. He swore he could feel the fat heading downwards into his butt and thighs, yet it barely felt real.

As if to baffle him further, he walked into what should have been his living room, but its contents had been entirely replaced with a camera, some lights and a white wall. The dress moved him to a vanity mirror at the side of the room, where it sat him down and picked up a hair brush.

He looked confused as the gloves brushed his short hair again and again. He wasn't sure what they were doing until his ginger locks began falling past his ears. Then onto his shoulders. Then past those too.

That should have been the end, but then the gloves moved onto curlers, tying every strand of hair before letting them fall freely. It repeated this again and again until Max finally had all-natural ginger curls most girls would envy. Plus a green flower decoration for extra feminine charm.

This should have been impossible. Curlers don't work this fast or this well, and brushes certainly don't lengthen one's hair. Actually, wasn't it much brighter now? He recalled his hair being a more muted colour, but now it shone with a vibrant orange.

His confusion, having reached its peak, quickly turned to horror once he saw the gloves move towards pens of eyeliner. No way, no makeup for him. He was already unrecognisable.

He swished his head this way and that, forcing one glove to hold it still while the other came closer with a pen. Not giving up, he blinked repeatedly to fend off his right hand. It was going to have to stab his eye out before it could doodle on him.

Which it almost did, though it poked him with a gloved finger rather than stabbing him. His eye watered a little, which apparently wasn't a problem for the eyeliner that was drawn on to highlight his lashes. Same for the other one, which he gave up on since he didn't want that one poked as well. Additionally, mascara and red eyeshadow was added for further allure.

It had to be magic. It had to be. He could feel everything and, with the last brush of eyeshadow, his eye had spontaneously recovered from being so red, as if nothing ever poked it. The gloves brushed his cheeks with some powder, which covered every freckle he ever had. To top it all off, his face had definitely rounded out while he wasn't looking. Contouring wasn't his forte, but he was sure nobody could ever be this good to make him look so...

So girly.

While he was admiring his new looks, the gloves had pulled earrings from... somewhere and stabbed them right into his ears. Though no blood spilled out, the pain was immense. He recovered just in time to see his arms thinner and hairless now. Same with his legs. When did that happen?

Now for the coup de grâce: strawberry lipstick. He knew he was already too far gone, but looking at the tube being slowly rolled out, he shoved his lips inside his mouth anyway. His last act of defiance.

Only to be thwarted by a slap to the face. It took him completely by surprise and his gaping mouth was taken advantage of by his left hand, which grabbed his lips and forced them to pucker. His right hand painted it red over and over, lathering on every layer just to spite him further.

And that was it. A face full of makeup, boobs bursting out of a short dress that accentuated his curves, and a matching purse slung on his shoulders.

Wait, a purse? When did that get there?

His eyebrows arched while his eyes missed the gloves grabbing a necklace. They only locked onto it just in time to see both hands clasp the jewellery around his neck. It felt oddly tight.

Then the gloves went limp, and it took him a second to realise that he had autonomy again. With all his might, he tugged at his dress, but not a single inch could be removed. Even the purse stayed supernaturally glued to him. He was stuck like this, his now-unfamiliar body held tightly in a short green off-the-shoulder prom dress.

He looked at the woman in the mirror with awe.

"I look... kinda cute."

Then the necklace tightened, and his lips went numb.

"I look sooooo cute! <3"

He had NOT meant to say that. His red lips stretched into a cheeky grin.

"Alright, I'm ready for prom!"

That's when his eyes widened; the makeup was sentient too! Working alongside the necklace, they took full control over his voice, forcing it into a high pitch and cutesy tone. His eyes battered their eyelashes before blowing a kiss to his reflection and strutting to the camera, where his hands fiddled with the settings to make it automatically take photos every 10 seconds.

Then he readjusted his dress, walked in front of the camera and struck a pose.

SNAP!

He silently came to the realisation that he was in the midst of a photoshoot; silently, because no matter what, he couldn't stop his lips from smiling or puckering. Like he was deliberately making the sexiest poses possible.

SNAP!

It was taking great pains to be sexy too. As mentioned earlier, he wasn't wearing underwear, so while his junk was still there, he would always make sure to hide it and even lovingly show off his new bubble butt to the camera in the process.

SNAP!

One photo even had him redoing his lipstick while looking at a compact mirror taken from his purse. He wasn't entirely sure whether he needed it, but the more pressing concern was that he also wasn't sure whether he minded it.

SNAP!

After what felt like forever, the dress strutted back towards the camera and turned it off. He was glad for this to be over (this whole thing was giving him very confusing feelings), but instead of ending, a familiar costume flew into the room: his sister's cheerleader outfit.

His lips sighed. "Alright, alright, guess it's your turn."

Oh no. Not this one too. He only watched his school's cheerleaders out of curiosity. Okay, yes, the other boys watched them out of lust, but that didn't mean he wanted to be one of them!

Despite his internal protests, his hair decoration, purse and earrings came off. The dress came off too, allowing him to see his new chest in all its glory. They were as perky as boobs could be, which only made him more weirded out that they were on him instead of an actual girl.

At least the uniform would hide these.

"Um, like, I need some actual underwear before I can put you on, you know. Can't show the boys everything, right?" his lips giggled.

Every time he thought it couldn't get weirder, it did. The cheerleader outfit sped out the room, and quickly returned with white trainers and long socks. And matching lace lingerie. Wait, was it gonna make him--

"Oh yes, this is sooo my style!" his lips grinned before taking his heels off, grabbing the socks (no, these were stockings!) and pulling them on. He was putting on lingerie. Garter belts, stockings, the whole shebang. No girl would ever put this on for cheerleading.

Yet he could only look with shock as the gloves clipped on a push-up bra and yanked on the garter belt. Before it could clip that up too, it made a mock shock face with his right glove coming up to his wide mouth.

"O. M. G. I'm such a ditz. I forgot my panties."

It did everything with such frightening precision, there was no way it forgot anything. It just wanted to drag out pulling a thong on. He could tell by how slowly it was pulled up his legs, fabric rubbing up against fabric. When it finally reached his crotch, the gloves made sure to adjust it properly, fitting it snug between his butt cheeks. Even his limp dick was tucked in.

"Wanna see a magic trick?" he heard his voice say.

What did it mean by that?

"Now you see it..."

His gloved hand was raised high.

"...now you don't!"

WHAM! He whacked himself in the crotch. If the ear piercings hurt, then a dick punch was like... well, being punched in the dick.

Except he couldn't really say that any more.

"Alllllll gone!"

His hand stretched his thong out to show his dick, or rather the lack thereof. Instead, a now very aroused vagina sat there, as if there was never anything else. Max had no words for this, because she wasn't actually sure what she could say. Or if she was allowed to say them.

"Mmm, just how we've always wanted it. Randy's gonna love it, don't you think?"

She gulped. Randy was the star quarterback at his school. Once or twice, she had thought about how many cheerleaders he had taken to bed and whether they enjoyed it. Did that mean she was going to find out? And why did a small part of her not mind finding out?

"But first, gotta finish the look. Can't have these gloves on me while I'm out, they just don't work with my uniform."

This was her chance. No more of this nonsense, it was too confusing for her. The moment both gloves had slipped off, she regained control over her arms and immediately went for the necklace, trying to tear it off.

"Get. Off. Me," she said, barely noticing how she was still high-pitched without being influenced.

The most she succeeded at was choking herself, so she switched course to wiping the lipstick off. Somehow, despite just being redone, that didn't work either, and the gloves had enough time to wrap itself around her arms. She fought and fought and fought, but the gloves had already demonstrated their superior strength on her beforehand. Now that all the fat from her arms had moved to her tits, she stood no chance against them and was soon regloved, her posture changing to straighten up and push her chest out.

Her face contorted to that of genuine rage.

"Okay then. If you can't behave," her mouth spat, barely hiding the venom on her tongue. Her mouth whistled, and the door once again flung open to let something in. This time, some scrunchies.

She thought they would go on her hair, but instead both climbed onto her arms and the gloves removed themselves again.

But there wasn't any resistance this time. She couldn't move a muscle, because her scrunchies promptly moved down to her wrists and locked them at her hips. Still writhing, she sashayed over to the vanity and slammed her left hand down flat on the desk. Before she could try to ball it up, the left glove held it down while the right pulled out sparkly red nail polish.

Although she was struggling on the inside with every ounce of strength she could muster, she was happily humming on the outside, with every brush of paint earning an eye twitch (the only sign of her inner turmoil).

She stopped struggling when she saw her dainty left hand flex itself without her consent or any gloves, and resigned herself to her crimson fate. No point in fighting now, she was locked in place and her right hand would soon join it.

As soon as both hands had been painted, her body turned to face the cheerleader outfit with glee. First, the tank top came on, hiding the necklace but barely managing to contain her gigantic boobs. She wasn't entirely sure how this was supposed to be a tank top in the first place, until the skirt was pulled up and rested above her waist. This was a fairly long skirt, but with how high it was, it just about reached mid-thigh.

Meaning that it flashed her underwear constantly while she skipped back to the camera.

Not that her face cared, because it was electric with joy at her uniform. Her mouth couldn't stop gushing about how cute it looked on her as her hands pulled the trainers on and changed the camera to video mode.

Before she pressed record, she split her hair in two for the scrunchies, now unnecessarily on her wrists, to wriggle themselves onto, providing her with two lovely pigtails. Also, pom-poms, somehow. At this point, she didn't even question how they got there.

"Hi girls, I've heard you've been needing a fresh face! Well, this is my audition tape! I hope you enjoy!"

Thus began her exhausting dance, where she recited last year's entire cheer routine by heart, words included. She vaguely recognised that it was last year's routine because she had been at the game where the cheer squad had performed it. She also remembered how far back she had to sit, but this outfit seemed to want her to be much closer to the action this year round by making sure she got every skirt swish and hip thrust down to the T. Even if that meant having a few panty shots as well.

Although, again, she was starting to not mind that too.

When she had finally finished, she was sweating from head to toe, but her video had been completed, and whatever was controlling her body was very happy while playing it back. Her painted nails switched the camera off and clicked its SD card out. Max was a little unsure as to what the outfit planned to do with it.

She did not expect to pull out a phone from her bra. Especially one almost identical to the dead one upstairs, except in a much pinker case and with way more battery. Her lock screen was also similar, but the photo of her in the boys' school uniform with a thumbs up and a cocky grin had been replaced with a photo of her in the girls' school uniform with a V sign and puckered lips. Makeup, too.

She gulped. The more natural makeup looked really good on her. Was that what she was going to wear from now on? If so, would anyone else think she looked good? Would Randy?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the PING from her new phone, signifying that the SD card had been mounted successfully. Her fingers opened her email, where she typed out an email to someone she sorta remembered being the cheerleader squad's captain. When her fingers attached the video from the SD card, the realisation hit her too late as they had already pressed the send button before she could stop them.

She thought the outfit had been messing with her when it said that she was recording her audition tape. She gulped again. Did that mean she would be recruited? She placed a little hope in the chance that they would reject her and she wouldn't have to sift through her muddled emotions, but even she knew how small that chance was. She saw the video too; she got every movement to its minute detail and did it all seemingly effortlessly. It would be dumb not to get her to join.

As she processed her new life, her body moved into a pose and her fingers took a selfie, the sound snapping her out of her thoughts. The pose she was doing now was a repeat of the pose from her lock screen, but that one had been more on the cute side. With her current heavy makeup and tight cheerleader uniform, she looked more sexy than cute. And her face knew it, because it scrunched itself into more alluring faces for the rest of the selfies.

Obviously, she tried to resist. Obviously, she couldn't.

When the clothes were satisfied and stopped, Max breathed an internal sigh of relief. She had been thrown about both physically and mentally, but no more outfits were left now. Hopefully, no more were left. She was only a schoolgirl, so wearing any adult outfits wouldn't be the best look for her.