Household Magic

The drive over felt different. It was the mana—the map of a whole new sense coming through for the first time. The house was something of a cocoon, imbued with magic and full of—familiar energy, for lack of a better term. Outside was much different.

She assumed that it was the magic in the house that made the signals so strong, because once she was outside it, the tendrils of the manastream moved like whispers. There were subtle dips and intensities as she drove out of her neighborhood, and a collection of strange, unrecognizable waves on the highway and through the commercial strips.

Parking clear on the other side of the complex seemed like a good idea. There were plenty of cars in the lot on that side, thanks to an open grocery store. The small shops in between and the second-hand store on the other end were closed and empty, just as she hoped. All she had to do was walk around, get in, and hope there weren't any new cameras.

When she reached the back door at the opposite end of the complex a few minutes later, she beamed. Getting inside was going to be as easy as Erin thought. The door and the lock hadn't changed since she worked there. She placed her hands against the door, imagining a mirror in front of her.

When the other Erin was clear in her mind, with the copy's hands pressed against her own—she closed her eyes and imagined switching places.

It was darker when she found herself staring in at the door at a checklist that read:

DID YOU BAR THE FRONT DOOR?

DID YOU CASH OUT THE DRAWER?

DID YOU SHUT OFF THE LIGHTS?

She tried hard not to focus on her physical body outside when she laughed. Hearing herself do it aloud and from behind a door certainly didn't help. She remembered that sign.

For a second she was caught up in how smoothly the senses from her ethereal body were coming through—sight and sound from an imaginary point in space. Hours ago, she could barely get herself to “see” with it. Yesterday, she didn't know any of this was even possible. What kind of things was she going to be doing a year from now?

One step at a time. Giving into thoughts like that could lead to a complex.

The ethereal fingers came easy to her when she focused again, and she watched the latch spin, pulling the bolt back into it. The lock at the doorknob was next, and it almost happened by habit. Her ethereal body knew the motion as well as she did when she was a part-timer there. The knob turned with the help of invisible fingers, and outside, Erin felt pressure against her hands.

She stepped aside, letting the door swing out just enough to let her in. She passed through her own remote awareness, feeling the familiar tingling sensation as she passed through the space it occupied. Once she was inside, the door softly shut and locked again. When the bolt was in place, Erin returned to her body completely.

She felt the sea of mingling mana from the time she was aware of copy inside the door—but now it was strong and shining. It was everywhere.

Yow—I gotta back that down.

It was actually too much. She couldn't simply spread herself out like she did at home—she had to find a way to focus. Like closing her eyes or holding her nose, she constrained herself in her body. The stream wasn't as easy to ignore as it was a few hours before, so if she wanted to keep it managed, she had another skill to master.

She didn't know where to start. Mens? Womens? Mana. She was tracing mana. If she wanted to ease into this experiment, there was a very logical way of doing it. The more outside the clothing...the less intimate the energy...the more intense the mana. Which seemed funny, because how did mana work?

Can't be dead skin cells, right? It works on clean clothes.

When she laughed, it occurred to her that—well intentioned or not—she was breaking the law. She hurriedly searched the ceiling, walls, and corners for cameras. Nothing. The place hadn't changed.

Lucky. She was so carried away by the feeling as the entered that she forgot to make sure she was in the clear. She wandered toward the jackets, starting to second guess her shady trip and her ability to handle the things she'd learned.

Then she saw the jacket.

It was hanging on the wall—a dark brown leather jacket, worn just enough to find a happy new owner. If it fit, could she leave cash on the counter and call it even?

Damn it, stick to the plan!

She approached the jacket, hanging by itself on a gridwall hook. Standing an arm's length away, she let herself flow with the manastream again, trying to focus only on the jacket. She could feel it in front of her—tingling warmth and delicate motion.

The stream revealed the memories in the fabric, the echoes of its previous owner. It was a different sensation altogether, one that made her happy she didn't experiment with any other clothing than her own at home. There was something strangely intimate about it.

It's a...body?

Not her shape though. Not her ethereal self, projected into the jacket. Was she...communicating with something? The leather rocked a bit on its hanger before beginning to swell. It filled from the shoulders down, the arms rounding out the jacket's chest.

She'd seen plenty of clothes filling themselves and walking around today—both as a result of ambient magic and her own will—but this was new. All she did is explore the stream around the jacket—she hadn't meant to occupy it.

Then again, she wasn't occupying it. Her remote sense was there—still in the jacket, still exploring it—but she didn't recognize the shape filling it. Maybe there was more to this. She went deeper, separating the jacket from the unseen form.

The form. The mana in the jacket built the form; the form belonged to someone. She didn't exactly will the jacket to swell to shape, so was it still under her control?

The arms of the jacket lifted into the air and waved, just like she expected them to. She was still there—still in the jacket, but she wasn't moving it with an ethereal body. And now it hit.

I am moving it with an ethereal body—it's just not my body.

It made her blush. If the form in the jacket wasn't hers, but she could control it—what did that mean? The jacket slumped off of its hanger and hovered in front of her. Only one way to find out.

She reached out to the shoulder, resting her hand on it for a second. No feedback effect. No body, no feeling. She gave it a gentle squeeze to reconfirm. Nothing. Time for the next test. She ran her fingers up the shoulder, over the collar, inching closer and closer to the threshold until—

Soft, sweet skin and feathery hair, dancing against her fingertips.

It startled her so much that she had to draw back her hand. She stood staring at the ghostly jacket.

Maybe I shouldn't be doing this. Is there someone on the other side of what I'm doing? Maybe I'm scaring the shit out of them.

She considered the shoulder squeeze. If there was someone actually being affected by what she was doing—they'd react, right? They'd send some...scared impulse, or something. The jacket would receive it and Erin would see—or at least feel—a reaction on this side.

Maybe she was worrying too much. She had no idea how to even perceive this “ghost copy” of herself until she started reading that book, so it was safe to assume that unless the last owner of this jacket was dabbling in magic, neither would she.

Either way, she couldn't be sure from here. Maybe before she tried any other physical exploration, she could search the stream again, focusing herself deeper.

She let her hand down to her side and concentrated on the form again, separating it from the jacket as she had before. She explored she shape, the proportions. The form was close to her size, but the shoulders were a bit tighter—the breasts slightly heavier. The stomach beneath it was just slightly curved, soft and smooth, tapering slightly before curving out to full hips and a round butt.

Beyond the hem of the jacket now, Erin was still able to determine every slope and dip of the form filling it. Smooth thighs, gentle knees, rounded calves running to skinny ankles and small, delicate feet.

Wow. So the other direction?

The silence in the store swallowed her up inside the sensations of the foreign form. She could sense more now—full lips on a cute round face, framed by tumbling brown hair.

A full picture. It was incredible. She could see the woman now, detailed like familiar memory except for one part—her eyes. Erin kept trying to pass around them—to catch a glimpse with her mind—but she kept turning up nothing but fine black lashes and cheekbones. Closed eyes.

Why?

Eyes. She wanted to see the eyes. Closed or not, this was an ethereal form. There had to be another way to see them—to discover more of the form she was exploring. She was only probing the mana and not manifesting herself, so maybe if she stepped it up...

It was worth a shot. She began manifesting her ethereal copy with the one already in the jacket. Something familiar almost immediately. It was similar to the tingling feeling she felt when her physical body passed through her magic copy, but not quite the same. For one, the sweet tickling static was enhanced by an exotic sensuality she hadn't felt before. Which made sense, of course.

Her explorations with her own copy were—interesting, but now there was another charge in the reaction. Mana alchemy. Deeper. Dive deeper.

She felt the body now, all the nuances she explored moments ago from the outside. The jacket was gone. The store was gone. Erin's concentration was vested in the stream now—swallowed by it. And when the fingertips and toes of this other body came into her attention...

Ohhhhhh shit! Oh, shit, shit shit shit shit. Where am I? I went tooooo—shitshitshitshitshit. Where did I go?

Powder blue walls? And this light fixture—she'd never seen it before. And the bed below her, and the—

Oh hell, it's her.

There was she was—sleeping in the bed. Erin kept her cool, trying to focus on where she was a few seconds ago. The store. Right in front of the jacket. If she could just get some feedback from there—some sign that she was still...

Her toes wiggled, and she caught a glimpse of sight from her physical body back in the store. No worries. She was still there, but she followed the mana in the coat all the way back to—it's source. But now what?

Eyes, right? I was trying to see her eyes, and when I crawled into her copy—I came here.

Erin's ethereal focus approached the sleeping woman. She could feel the energy coming off her, mana being spun in wide, slow waves. What would happen if she kept going? She already knew she could make it so her ethereal presence could affect the physical world around her—but what if she allowed it to pass right into the flesh-and-blood woman before her?

Would she see what she was dreaming? Would she be inside her mind?

I'm out of my league. I need to study what I'm doing here before I start messing with other people.

She examined the room again. She could do plenty of things here without scrambling the poor girl's brain. A pair of socks on the floor? She wouldn't notice if they wandered into the hamper by themselves.

As Erin crawled into them, they filled to their owner's shape and stood on the floor, lifting up on their toes when she commanded it. They took a short hop forward and jumped in the hamper, joining nearly a week's worth of worn clothes.

She was surrounded. Strong. Too strong. Too sweet and sticky and--

These panties. She touched herself in these panties.

She knew she should stop, but she didn't want to. She was occupied with the frequencies emanating from fresh memories, still radiating off much of the clothing in the hamper. She's an attention-seeker. She's got a busy social life. There's a dark-haired guy—a coworker?—that makes her wet every time she thinks about him.

No more. No more. Find more out about this and come back to it.

Erin drew her focus back to the entire room again, and she took a last look at the sleeping woman. She'd probably hang out here longer if she understood more about what was happening, or even if the woman was awake. As it stood, though—Erin felt like an invader.

She stood in front of the jacket, plain as day. There was no more split focus; she was back in the store. She still felt her stream running with that of the jacket, though—animating it using the form of the former owner. She waved it away, and it drifted back up to the rack, yawning its shoulders around the hanger once more. Once it was settled, Erin pulled the mana back into her.

As soon as the jacket deflated, Erin felt something—a connection with the part of the stream she'd been exploring. It felt like a path, a tunnel through reality to the room she just found herself in.

Later. Come back to it later. It'll still be there when you know more.

She looked over at the front door, taking in the empty asphalt field and the light of the late autumn afternoon dimming by the second. She was off to one side of the store. Someone would have to cup their hands to the glass and look carefully if they wanted to see her.

Time for one more. Maybe something...masculine. Now that she knew a little more about how do read what she was dealing with, maybe she could look for something more particular. Not in how the clothes looked, of course, but in how the energy felt.

She wandered over to a rack of jeans, starting at the smaller waists and working her way up. Somewhere around 34, she let her fingertips run close to the material, allowing her senses to drift just outside them.

She messed with one of Ryan's friends a bit, but only because he happened to be there. She followed some random woman's mana back to her house, but only because she was curious about what she could do. Maybe, with enough concentration, she could find the optimal test subject.

Each item had its own kind of magnetism, attractive or repellant. Her fingers danced past denim waists until she passed over something that all but grabbed at her fingertips.

Whoa.

It put butterflies in her stomach. Much different from the energies she'd played with at home, and far stronger than the ethereal pull she felt with the woman's jacket. After the initial jolt, she eased herself into the form, feeling a powerful, novel sensation of masculinity--she imagined. As she filled the jeans, the waist popped out of its clips, and the jeans' cuffs landed on the ground. They stepped away from the rack, facing her.

They were loosely filled with a form she couldn't quite get a picture of, but instead of reaching out to make physical contact, she followed the energy just as she followed the stream in the jacket. Dropping herself deeper and deeper into the sensation, she felt her focus drift out of the empty store again.

The voice of an announcer was the first sensation. It was followed by a dim, glowing room filled with cheap furniture and—him.

He was reclined on the couch in front of the television, watching football. There was an open beer on the coffee table—a few more empties next to the sink in the kitchenette. She let her focus drift toward him, in front of him, so she could study his face.

He's cute...and he's buzzed.

The empties were evidence of that, but she could also feel it in him. Just like when she found her way into the room of the sleeping woman, she picked up on details simply as a result of being on a particular wavelength in the stream.

So now what?

She didn't feel right messing with the sleeping woman, but this half-drunk bachelor...

Something subtle...just to test out what I can do. Just to—explore.

Her focus shifted back to the empties. He was engaged in the game on the TV, his eyes glassed over by no less than three bottles of lager. She wanted to start small...something to test out her distant ethereal self. She wasn't sure it would be as easy as the other occasions until--

His eyes shot toward he kitchenette when he heard the glass clink, but after staring at the motionless empties on the counter for a second, he made a sound combining confusion and indifference and turned his focus back to the TV.

As soon as Erin realized that her physical proximity had no bearing on the strength of her ethereal self, she felt the excitement flowing through her. This was going to be fun. There was no way for her to be caught. This guy was alone, and her as yet formless ethereal copy pervaded his apartment. As far as she knew, there weren't any physical limitations as to what she could do.

Oh, this is baaaad. I shouldn't really be thinking these things, should I?

Butterflies again, echoing through ethereal static and all the way back her physical self at the store. Impulsive, playful giddiness. Any idea of “shouldn't” was fading fast. The energy felt too good to resist. The only question in her mind now was how she'd build to the main event.

Time to step it up. Something more than a sound. Something he couldn't ignore.

When he heard the hiss of rushing water in the sink, he sat up completely this time. The sleepy ambivalence in his face was replaced by lucidity. He was paying attention now.

“Hello?” It was instinctual. He didn't expect anyone to respond, but that didn't stop him from talking to the thin air. The water on the sink was running full blast. “How in the fuck--”

He got off the couch, standing and staring for a second before building the nerve to walk over to it. Standing over the sink, he slowly reached the knobs, spinning them to the closed position again. His eyes were locked on the last drops falling from the faucet.

“Bizarre,” he muttered, shaking his head and walking back to the couch. When he sat down, his attention was divided. He looked back at his kitchenette more than once. The last time her did, Erin took the opportunity to pull the plug on the power strip for his whole entertainment center.

He pulled his feet up onto the couch, staring at the blank screen with the eyes like an owl. The situation was fucked. What the hell was going on in this apartment?

Fear. That's fear. Wow.

His nerves were lit up. She could feel them. Still—she only wanted fear as a primer—a call to attention. If she wanted to shape that fear into something else, she'd have to switch gears. As Erin focused on manifesting a solid ethereal form to mimic her body, the guy pointed his remote at the TV, punching buttons wildly. Eventually he realized the futility when he didn't see any indicator lights anywhere on the entertainment center. The dim table lamp was still on—so if it wasn't the circuit breaker...

“I want you.”

Light as air, silky as crème liqueur. The voice came from the darkness. Right next to him. All around him. He froze his body, shifting his eyes as his mind searched for some way to explain the last two minutes. Erin could sense the conflict in him—trying to reconcile his fear with Erin's ethereal whisper. A manifested voice? She was getting good at this stuff.

But how do I dial down the fear and turn up the curiosity?

His feet were still pulled up to the couch cushions, his legs open, the space between them readily accessible. Erin let part of her ethereal self fade into the outfit he was wearing. At first, she was cautious enough to leave the fabric limp, but the sensations of being in his clothes—surrounding his body...

He gasped, looking down at his waist. Subtle as the motion was, he felt the denim around his hips shifting, bending along ripples over his upper thighs like swells moving through seawater. He had no explanation for it, and in his current state of mind, he could only watch while he tripped over half-formulated thoughts. Was he dreaming? Imagining things? Hallucinating?

She hadn't meant to shift around on him, but at least his reaction wasn't hysteria. He could only manage a double take at his midsection, and by then, Erin's will was settled into his clothes. She stopped herself from any further physical interference. He couldn't possibly stare at his jeans all night; so she waited for him to make the next move.

After a deep breath, he dropped his feet back onto the floor. Muttering something about needing to get laid, he got up to investigate his silent entertainment center. When he saw the unplugged end of the power strip laying on the ground behind it, he scratched his head. Hitting the switch was one thing, but how the hell could it have come unplugged? First the sink, now this.

“Alright, I give. Someone wanna pop out and point at the hidden camera?”

He knew he was talking to himself, but it was all he could think to do. He had absolutely no explanation. He could only shrug as he plugged it back in. When he tuned back in to the football game, Erin figured she could step it up again. His recovery was quick—probably as a result of the partially-drained six-pack. It was time to get a little more direct.

Splitting her focus as well as she could, she drifted to his bedroom to explore her options while maintaining her charge in his clothes. Banking on the reaction she wanted, Erin formed an ethereal finger and and flicked a switch just inside the bedroom door.

Light spilled at the end of the apartment's short hallway, and to Erin's delight, his reaction was far more assertive. In his clothes, she could feel him jump off the couch and tense his muscles.

Ah-ha. Not fear this time. That's determination. Come on, cutie. Come and see.

His pace was quick. He turned the corner in the hall as if he expected to catch someone in his bedroom, but he found no one there—nothing out of place.

“What the fuck?” He stormed into the room, looking around the other side of the bed before dropping down to his hands and knees and checking under it. With her target out of fear mode and into a more frustrated intensity, Erin decided to push harder.

With invisible fingers, she reached out and slammed the door.

Still on his knees, his head popped up over the bed to confirm the impossible sound he just heard. His eyes locked on the knob as he watched the lock spin itself a quarter turn. Erin had made her decision. There was no turning back now.

“Wh-what the fuck is going here?” Like a mouse. Whisper soft. The fear was returning, more palpable than before. She finally realized that it was unavoidable—at least to begin with. Making him amenable to her presence here meant forcing him to deal with it. She'd try to balance that with as gentle a touch as possible.

“I want to feel you,” came her ethereal voice again, surrounding him. His head darted around, searching the room. Was he hearing things?

“Who are you?” He had the distinct feeling of being watched now. With the door slamming and locking itself and the voice seeming to come from the entire room, he was ready to accept he wasn't alone. He was on his feet again, looking toward the door.

“Relax,” Erin's ghostly voice hung, drawing out the word. “I'm going to touch you.” She focused on his sandy brown hair, running ethereal fingertips through his locks. After an initial shudder, he let it happen. He recognized the ghostly form as a hand, and the fingers were soft and warm.

“I—am I dreaming? I passed out watching football or something. Right?” He swore he heard a laugh after he asked the question, but it wasn't clear. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore. He felt a pop at his midsection. As the fingers continued through his hair, he looked down at his now-unfastened jeans to see his zipper gliding itself down the track. “This—this is...”

He let out a sigh as a soft grip squeezed him through his designer briefs. He kept his hands away, watching in awe as the soft microfiber contracted around him. The feeling on Erin's end was impossible to define—wrapped around every inch of him in the shape of the fabric, controlling every thread like an extension of her body.

Package huggers...and not plain old whitey tighties. Someone's a show off.

She gripped him between the layers of the fabric, gently pulling him up and down as the bulge inside reacted. His lip was trembling, trying to formulate any kind of intelligible syllable. The elastic band around his waist stretched out in front of him, pulling him away from the bed. Before he could react, he felt his whole body propelled forward, his shirt and jeans apparently pulling against him.

“I—I don't...” He felt his sock lift from under him, his pant leg following through with the motion. He stepped forward without tensing a muscle. His clothes moved him forward. There was a warmth all around him—especially anywhere his clothing made contact with his body. He looked down at his unzipped jeans at his half-hardened cock as his other foot moved, pulling him another step away from the bed. The cycle continued, and he could only watch in awe as his lower half—limbs pulled, pushed, and pointed by unseen forces—walked him toward the door, getting more steady with each step as he let the motion happen. “I, uh—I thought ghosts were supposed to feel cold.”

Erin laughed silently, which came across to her target like a gentle snugly hug from his outfit.

“Not a ghost,” Erin's voice echoed. “Human like you—but with different talents. Curious?”

He couldn't imagine what the disembodied voice meant. Talents like what? Even if there were an invisible woman in the room with him, that couldn't account for what was happening. Every square inch of his clothes felt alive—directed by something. By now Erin had him standing in front of his bedroom door. He was too stunned to fight the motion—or curious and willing to let it happen. Maybe both.

“If you're human, where are—” Fear spiked again when he realized he had a more important question to ask. “You're not gonna hurt me, right?” Erin used another ethereal hand to open his bedroom door, and his clothes pushed his forward again, step-by-step. When he reached the threshold, his body stopped. The clothes loosened up on him, and he instinctively tensed up to keep himself standing.

“Does this hurt?” Just as Erin's ethereal voice came to him, he felt the fine fabric of his briefs contract again, gently gripping him. They pulled on him with a slow and careful rhythm, followed by what felt like fingers tracing down the underside of his shaft and toward his balls. He shuddered pleasure.

“Uh-uh...” He managed, his eyes narrowing with the heightened sensation.

“Then it's a good bet I'm not going to hurt you.” The fondling continued as Erin gave him one more ticket out—but it was just a formality...something to keep her conscience under control. She already knew what he'd do. “But if you want to know more, you have to take the next step. Step back into your room, and you're mine for the next hour—at least. Step out to the hall, and I leave you alone forever.”

Butterflies in his stomach. Part of him still expecting to wake up on the couch. It probably wasn't fair that he was still being stroked and prodded, but it didn't make any difference. Why say no to this?

He started to take a step back into his room on his own. The moment his toes were inches away from the rest of his body, though, his clothes took over again, doing the rest for him. Erin was anxious. Giddy. He was all hers, and she even had his permission.

Now she could really experiment.

–

Susan was still napping on the couch in the silver dress when delicate black stockings crept down the stairs, seated inside glossy black heels. More components followed, and before long, all the pieces of a kinky french maid's outfit hovered over her sleeping body.

The hem of the silvery dress worked its way up her thighs, moving slowly as she stirred. She let out a snicker and reached down to the dress' hem just before her eyes fluttered.

“What's—?” She blinked her eyes again, staring at a black satin dress with white lace trim. She kept pulling down against the silvery hem of her dress, still playing its way over her hips. She realized there had to be more than a few costumes in the bins that came home with her. Standing before her was another Halloween cliché. “The sexy maid outfit too? Really?”

Silly as she tried to make it sound, though—she couldn't help but think about Andy's reaction if he came home and found her inside that outfit. Maybe she'd try it sometime...but not today. She sat up, struggling in vain against the silvery dress still pulling itself up. The shoulder straps started to shift, lifting and pulling on her as if the dress was trying to escape.

“Hey, okay. I'll take off the dress--just get me a robe or something.” One of the disembodied white satin gloves wagged a finger at her as she let go of the hem of the dress. The silvery fabric fluttered over her body once again, pulling itself up as she lifted her arms in cooperation. “You're right,” Susan laughed at the chiding empty glove. “I should probably get dressed properly. So jeans and a t-shirt then, if you don't m—”

Just as the dress swept over her eyes, she was halted by the feeling of satin running over her fingertips, down her hands and encasing her wrists. When the silvery fabric was free of her, she saw the maid outfit's pristine gloves on her hands.

“No—not right now. You've had enough playtime for today.”

The hovering white cap floated in front of Susan above the short satin dress. It appeared to move under the power of an invisible head, now shaking a clear “no”. The gloves on Susan's hands kept her arms raised in the air. The damp metallic panties slid themselves down over her mound, dropping lifeless to the carpet after clearing her hips. A black sheer pair poked out from beneath the maid's dress, dropping to knee-height and holding their waistband open in front of Susan.

“Listen, I'd love to, but we've got plenty of time for this. Right now I'd just like to—” With her protest, the panties flew aside, and the filled-out stockings jumped out of their heels, placing themselves right in front of Susan's feet. When their toe seams tickled against the tips of her toes, she instinctively flared them, lifting her toes while keeping her feet planted.

It was exactly what the stockings wanted. The moment Susan reacted, the seams pushed themselves into her, turning their ends inside out as they swallowed up her toes in tight nylon. “No, seriously! Not right now!” The nylon pushed up over the balls of her feet. One of the stockings had enough grip to lift one of her feet clear into the air. The gloves holding her hands in place compensated for any balance she lost from the move, and the stocking easily rolled itself up over her ankle, keeping her leg aloft as it finished turning itself inside out.

Or—rightside in? It looked that way. The seam for the elastic-bound lace tops was nowhere to be seen. They came prepared.

“Sneaky little...” She bore down on her mostly-free foot, putting all her weight against it. The other stocking couldn't work its way up. “You've got to stop now. I was extremely fair today. We can play tomorrow. Maybe even later. Just let m—!”

Her gloves stopped balancing her for just long enough to make her compensate with a hop on her other foot. That sealed the deal, of course. The gloves held her steady as her stocking leg planted, allowing the other to be pulled off the ground. As the stocking reversed itself up her leg, the nylon extended her foot, and the sheer panties slipped over her toes.

Her foot was placed back on the ground, and the other lifted to let the panties slide over them. Now she was physically resigned to wearing the costume. Her limbs were effectively under the outfit's control. The sheer panties climbed her thighs and settled themselves in place over her hips, burying the sheer material between her rounded cheeks. Intending to make a frustrated huff, she instead let out a sound that betrayed grudging arousal. The feather-light material didn't hesitate to trace itself over her clit.

“Ooooh—that's not fair,” Susan muttered as a sheer black demi-bra floated out of the dress. The closure in the back popped open, and the bra spun around, its shoulder straps extending toward Susan. The white satin gloves easily threaded through the straps, through no help of Susan, of course. She watched the bra settle on her, slightly perking her tits with a hug of soft translucent fabric. “You're still going to quit this and put me in some normal clothes if Andy's on the way home...right?”

No nodding or shaking came from the floating cap or the dress hovering below it. On the floor, the glossy heels spun around, and Susan's possessed stockings gracefully picked up her feet and placed them inside, one after the other. Like before, staying balanced in the heels took no effort on Susan's part. With the exception of some wiggling and swinging elbows, her hips, torso and limbs weren't under her control.

The maid uniform unzipped in the back, turning itself around and floating down so that Susan could step into the skirt. The three-inch heels carefully guided her step, supported by the rest of her living lingerie. When the satin gloves passed through the short, lace-trimmed sleeves, the outfit zipped again. Now all that remained was the cap, still facing her just above eye level. Instead of following the other articles and placing itself atop her head, it turned and hovered out of the room instead. She watched the cap fly over the banister and head upstairs.

“What now?” Susan asked. With perfect timing, her heels clicked across the floor, the maid outfit pulling her along smoothly. She wasn't sure what to expect upstairs...maybe Andy was coming home, and the magic was going to honor the deal Susan made with it a few hours ago. Maybe she'd find another orgy of clothing waiting for her...

What the hell was she thinking reading that last spell, anyway? This situation was already out of control. Susan made out with what had to be thousands of dollars worth of clothes, courtesy of a few highly mischievous home-brewed spells. And then act itself...it was wonderful—ecstatic, even—but in hindsight, it probably just counted as more encouragement.

The worst part? The energies directing the house already had a powerful naughty streak well before she uttered something like “unleash all the power to me”.

But that wasn't exactly what she said.

As the puppeteering maid's outfit turned the corner to the master bedroom, she sighed. The cap seemed to be waiting there for her, hovering all by itself. There wasn't a sign of any other magically imbued forms ready to pounce her. When the heels placed her squarely in front of a full-length mirror, she couldn't help but admire herself in her slutty new costume.

“I gotta admit, it's rather flattering—though a bit over the top.” In the mirror, she watched as the maid's cap hovered just over her head, dramatically descending as if she were being coronated.

As soon as the cap was in place, though, she was no longer focused on her mirrored form. Now she was looking at the mirror itself. Spotty. Desperately in need of a cleaning.

“Zat will zhust not do!” She exclaimed. Just as she did, a lost look flooded her face. Did she just...say that? It sounded like—“Ooh!”

Her concentration was broken by sheer fabric tracing back and forth across her clit, freezing her mid-thought and forcing her to re-prioritize. Her outfit walked her over to the dresser, and the white satin glove on her left hand traced a pointed finger over the surface before turning it over so Susan could see it. She scowled disapprovingly before shaking the thought away.

“Wait—what the hell's going on here? Is this part of one of my fantasies? I'm talking and thinking like a...” She stuttered over the words. “A Fr—a French—” No use. Her gloves clapped themselves together, and she turned to the mirror again. “A sexy soubrette...for Monsuier André.” When the words came out of her, she brought the satin gloves up to her mouth. That was NOT what she was going to say.

After allowing her some physical lenience to react to her situation, the gloves moved under their own power again, dropping daintily to her sides as her outfit strutted her body back to the stairs. She stood there in silence for a second, wondering what she was going to do next. What could she do? This outfit wasn't just leading her body—it was apparently frying her brain!

The outfit stepped forward, and Susan took a deep breath as she marched down the stairs. She couldn't think clearly—couldn't get her head to stop racing. Andy—or worse, the kids—could be home anytime, and the forces toying with her gave no sign of relenting from their current game. Her legs moved daintily down the stairs without any direction, and her concerns about having someone walk in any second were peppered with the urge to...clean?

She took graceful steps through the den, around the corner and into the kitchen. All of the major house chores had been doing themselves for a couple days now, but Susan had a feeling that in her current predicament that wasn't...go-ing...to...

She found herself looking at the light fixture hanging above the kitchen table. Behind her, the bi-fold door to the cleaning closet accordioned open, and a feather duster hovered out, presenting itself to Susan.

Cognitive dissonance. Part of her knew the glove was going to reach out and grab the duster whether she wanted to or not; but another part wanted—NEEDED—to pluck the instrument from the air and get to work.

The latter sentiment is what caused her to act instead of waiting for the gloves to do so. They clearly still had control, but this time it was her preemptive movement that spurred them to action. But that wasn't all; her choice to push them into it felt good. Endorphin good.

Was she being rewarded for co-op-er-a...

Feather duster in hand, her arm fluttered up to the fixture and swept it in fast short strokes. Meticulous strokes. The more attention she paid to the task, the better it felt.

Her focus was such that she didn't even notice Andy's car pulling into the driveway. Fleeting thoughts on anything but dusting took away from the wonderful feeling growing inside her. When the fixture was cleaned, the tops of the cupboards were next.

Her shoes clicked across the floor, heading to the far side of the cupboards. She looked at her target with determination, and now it didn't even occur to her that there was a difference between extending her arm and her white satin glove handling the task itself. She was barely able to reach the feathers over the top edge, but that wasn't going to stop her. She rose up to her tiptoes almost effortlessly, no longer taking the outfit's work into effect. She nearly stood on the points of the shoes, stepping gracefully on the tips as she walked along the counter, dusting the cupboards.

It wasn't until she heard the front door open that she came to her senses and realized exactly what was happening.

“Hon? I'm back!”

Andrew was home. No time to change, no chance to explain, no—way...to...finish her task and properly greet the master of the house!

No! What the hell was she thinki--

“Whoa...honey?”

She looked over her shoulder, giving him a sly smile as she finished dusting the group of cupboards. She was still on her toes in an almost impossible stance when she spun round to face him, waving the feather duster.

“Ello, monsieur André. Zhould you like a drink zis afternoon?” Oh, god—that's not what she had in mind, but...

“Uh...” Andy blushed like a boy in grade school, but his recovery was quick. “Why, yes. I think I would.” A smile curled across Andy's face. Susan's in that hot, attention-getting outfit a couple of days ago, the sex they had afterward, and now—a maid's outfit. And not just that, either; she was really taking the role to the next step.

“Zen allow me to bring it out. Now take your zhoes off, sit in your chaise préféré, and get comfortable.” The smile on Susan's face didn't at all betray the thought beneath it. At first, she was wondering whether she was even trying to explain, but after seeing Andy's reaction to the words that came out, she wondered if it mattered. But where'd the vocabulary come from? She didn't know to...speak...Fr—

As soon as Andy turned back to the living room, a bottle of red wine came off the floor rack nearby. Panic resurfaced in Susan when things started happening by themselves again, but what could she do? The bottle hovered steadily and set itself on the counter, and a drawer slid open, spitting out a bottle opener that landed perfectly in her waiting satin glove. A cupboard opened, and a wine glass hovered down and set itself next to the bottle.

Her possessed gloves made short work of opening the bottle, pouring the wine, and replacing the cork. When she carried the glass out to Andy, he was reclined, shoes off, feet up on the ottoman. He took in another eyeful as she approached. Sheer black stockings, that short dress trimmed in white, her gloves, her maid's cap—the confidence about the whole situation...

“You're absolutely amazing. You know that?” Andy was beaming at her. Susan's only reply came in narrowed eyes, a seductive smile, and an exaggerated lean forward to present the glass. He unabashedly looked straight down the front of the dress. “I totally don't want to kill the mood here, but—we're gonna be alone for a while, right?”

“Relax, mon cheri. Our evening is taken care of.” More words that weren't hers. Ryan had mentioned going out for the night, but she had no idea when Erin would be home. And more French came out! 'Mon cheri'? Fine, everyone knew that. But the other words before, she hadn't—hadn't...

“Well, then--” Andy took a sip of wine. “I trust that you can place your other duties on hold and attend to something else...?”

He bought every action, every word. But why wouldn't he? Susan couldn't even manage an explanation. Every time she tried, more playful responses. Nothing out of place. And now, one of her legs pulled itself up and landed on the other side of the ottoman. She gently straddled his lower legs, noticing that most of her weight was still supported by the outfit. Andy took another sip of wine, never taking his eyes off her as her white satin gloves reached down to unbutton his jeans.

It was going to be a wonderful night.

–

Erin was recovering from an ethereal orgasm, formless, but still in the room with her stunned and spent target. Their release was like a power surge, exposing Erin to another level of presence through her ethereal copy.

She could almost felt like she could be in the room with him completely, leaving the empty store in the strip mall behind. Like a door in a space of abstract consciousness, leading all her attention to her virtual presence.

But she didn't. It wasn't something she needed to mess with yet. For all she knew, she might drop all awareness of her real body completely, knocking it unconscious, or worse. She could do more reading on charge, flux, and how they relate to the body. There was so much to that book; there had to be something in there about what she was experiencing.

He had been silent for a few minutes apart from the deep panting breaths, finally slowing. She watched from every angle as he searched the room for anything—something shuffling through the sheets, moving on its own, the whisper of a voice. He sat up.

“I couldn't have imagined that.” Was he talking to her, or was he still convincing himself she was there at all? “Tell me I couldn't have.” Erin thought about her response, but there was something in the stream distracting her. Gravitational. Pulling at her mind. “Come on. Do something. Say something to me.” The source of the pull was him. It went beyond fear, awe, and lust. He couldn't possibly realize it, but it was his own mana was seeking Erin's out. Probing for her.

Other than from the context of his apartment, she didn't know anything about this guy—this target she chose from nothing but his energy in the stream—but she knew she didn't want to leave this situation as as a magically imbued one night stand. There was more here than just a playful exploration.

“You didn't imagine anything,” her voice pulsed. “I'm still here.” And the energy shifted immediately. Relief. Serenity. He dropped back into his bed and smiled.

“If you're human, how the hell did you—how did we just...” He trailed off as an ethereal hand brushed his hair away from his face. He closed his eyes and focused on the soft fingers through his hair.

“Can't explain it now—but I'll be back. I promise.” More of her ethereal body took form just above him, and she leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. “Trust me?” He let out an affirmative sound, but when the fingers disappeared, his eyes popped open again.

“Wait. Before you go—tell me your name?”

“Erin,” she said, using a bit of her trailing energy to search for mail, a bill, anything with his name on it. With her field of vision unrestricted by physical things like light and lenses, it didn't take long. The last of her energy disappeared from the apartment as she ethereally spoke one more time. “I'll see you very soon, Bradley.”

Joy. Belonging. Familiarity. She was filled with nothing but sheer energy as she returned to her body completely, finding herself seated on the floor, cross-legged, holding the jeans in her hands. She didn't remember doing it, but she must've gotten tired of standing.

The lights in the parking lot and the dim, glowing exit signs were her only company. She stood up slowly, but she quickly realized her balance and body awareness were fine. Apparently spending more than a few minutes with her focus on her ethereal copy had no effect on her physical coordination, which was a relief.

It was time to get home. She checked the tag on the jeans, seeing a hand-written “$12” on the red tag stapled to the waist. She headed back to the jacket she experimented with earlier, hanging on the wall. This time, it took absolutely no effort to extend an ethereal hand out to it. Its hanger came off the wall, and the jacket floated down into her flesh and blood fingers. She walked toward the desk at the rear, finding the tag on the jacket that read “$15”. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small wad of bills, dropping a ten and twenty on the desk and pulling a black plastic bag out from behind it. She shoved the two items into the bag and headed into the back room.

Her invisible fingers unlocked and opened the door, and she walked outside. As she headed around the back of the strip mall, she couldn't believe how easy it was to split her focus ethereally so that she could relock the door behind her.

A day. How did she learn so much about all of this in one day?

As she drove home, she kept Brad's address in her head so that she could find out how to see him the usual way. He wasn't far—some neighboring suburb that Erin was familiar with, but she certainly didn't know every street. The tunnel through the stream was an abstraction; it had no bearing in physical space. The residual energy in his clothing simply let her drift to him, wherever he was.

But that moment, just after she came? There were possibilities there. The surge stirred the thought, and her extrasensory knowledge of the stream pointed to it in such a way that she had a guess. If it was right, she might be able to transport herself—physical body and all—right through the tunnel in the stream. With a complete copy of the book, it would only be a matter of time before she knew for sure.

She pulled in behind Andy's vehicle a few minutes later, noticing the glow of the flickering television through the living room curtains. With a quick glance through ethereal sight, she saw both her parents snuggling on the couch, asleep in pajamas while some cinematic schlock played on an unwatched screen.

Aww...

She dropped her extension, got out of the car and headed up the sidewalk. Then something clicked. Was the mana exceptionally powerful behind the front door, or had she just gotten used to being in lower-energy surroundings? After the night she had, she might simply be more attuned to everything around her.

Susan stirred when she heard the door open; Andy didn't move. She looked over the back of the couch to see Erin smiling and waving at her.

“Hey,” Susan whispered. “Out with friends?” Erin just nodded, thinking it better than coming up with some other lie. The book, the manastream, the store she broke into? No way. Low key was easier. “In for the night already?” Erin nodded as she kicked off her shoes.

“How was your day?” Erin asked.

“Other than the errands I went on earlier, you're looking at it.” As for the troupe of stolen clothes that followed her home and cranked her up to 10? That was her own weight to bear. It was bad enough that Erin found about about the magic swirling through the house; she certainly didn't need to know the intimate lengths it went to with her own mother. “You hungry or anything?”

“Nah,” Erin snickered, “but if I want anything, all I gotta do is ask the kitchen, right?” Susan gritted her teeth, pointing down at the still-sleeping Andy. Erin waved her off, mouthing a barely-concerned apology. “Kinda whopped. Probably just heading to bed. Gotta head out early tomorrow.”

“Night,” Susan said.

“Night, ma,” Erin waved, heading up the stairs on soft footfalls.

Once she was in her room, she pulled Brad's jeans out of the black plastic bag, feeling his mana flowing through her. More recognizable. Stronger. She knew the signal. The empty gloves on her desk filled to shape and grabbed the rest of the notebook pages from a desk drawer, handing them to her.

“Wow, nice!” Erin took the papers. “Thanks!” One glove held its hand out, and Erin gave it a firm shake. “Yes, I promised. You're coming with me tomorrow.” After the handshake, the leather gloves clasped together in triumph. “But right now—wanna help me with something?”

They were only too happy to, and it didn't even take any verbal commands to get Erin's intentions across. The gloves were already at her clothes, gently pulling the components of her outfit off as she headed to her bed.

She pulled the blankets back with an ethereal hand and climbed in, stark naked and holding Brad's jeans against her body as she drifted into the stream again.

“Hope you're still awake, Bradley,” Erin muttered to herself. “But even if you aren't...you probably won't mind if I stop in.”