Personal Wearer - Clothing TF

 

Kimiko stopped to catch her breath, dabbing lightly at her perspiration. Pausing, she adjusted each article of clothing she wore, giving each one its own moment of her total, undivided attention.

As a personal wearer, her reputation depended on being attentive to her clients and their needs. She’d amassed quite a collection of clientele - people willing to pay to be used for an hour or two each week. Each had their reasons for being there - for some, it was the physical intimacy, others were using her to work through issues they had in their human lives, while others merely found a sense of accomplishment in being used as objects that they lacked in their daily lives. A good half were there for fetish reasons. But whatever their individual motivations, they were less important to her than identifying and satisfying their needs.

She wiped her hand off on her black sport’s bra, knowing how much David loved soaking in her sweat. The garment shivered against her breasts. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, hearing an ecstatic squeak as she crushed the sneakers, Sophie, hard against the asphalt with her heels. Placing the water bottle to her lips, she tipped it back, pretending not to notice the orgasmic groan from the inert plastic as the bottle’s fluids spurted down her throat.

Lastly, for what must have been the sixth time that run, she tugged at the pantified young man wedged painfully between her ass cheeks, extracting the overeager, elasticated gentleman with a finger. This was why she preferred older clients. They had a respect for boundaries - her most important boundary being her asshole, which she was convinced the young man was desperate to go spelunking in.

She’d have a word with him after the session. If he couldn’t behave himself, he'd need to find another wearer.

A meek voice made her jump. “Um, Kimiko? Not to be a bother but I think I’m changing back.”

Kimiko looked down. Sure enough, her leggings were rippling and shifting in the way that indicated they were starting the transition back to humanity.

“Mike! I’m so sorry. I must not have set the machine for the full hour,” she exclaimed.

“It’s fine, it’s fine It’s just... that you told me to take my clothes off before you transformed me…”

Michael was agoraphobic, practically a shut-in after lockdown, and had been using outings as a garment as a low-stress way to venture back out into the real world. The last thing he -or her business- needed was him reverting in a public place, butt naked.

“There’s a transformation point over there! Just hold together, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” the leggings promised, straining to hold its form as she sprinted for the machine. To its credit, her satchel had noticed her panic and already opened wide, practically regurgitating her purse into her hand. “Thanks, Terry.”

Grabbing a loose handful of change, she quickly thumbed coins into the public transformation machine. The slow, clunky interface took an insufferably long time to work through, and her leggings were already turning an alarming shade of human when at last she confirmed her selection. The public transformation device hummed and whirred as it shifted the leggings back into nondescript legging form, and locked them in for another 3 hours.

“So sorry about that, Michael. I won’t charge you for this session.”

“It’s fine. It happens,” the leggings replied brightly. “Disaster averted, right?”

Kimiko huffed a sigh of relief. “Yep. Disaster averted.” With an appreciative pat to Terry, she flung him back over her shoulder and started the jog home.

In the coin reservoir in the belly of the transformation machine, three dollars looked at each other anxiously.

“She’s coming back for us, right?” asked one.