Just My Type (and Size)

When Kari stumbles into one of Alice’s magical traps, and is transformed into panties.

Kari had always known Alice was clever, but this… this was something else.

One moment, Kari had been snooping—playfully, of course—through Alice’s dresser while she was out. Just a little mischief. Just a curious peek into her girlfriend’s collection of lacy secrets.

Then next? Her fingers had brushed something she shouldn't have.

There was a hum. A pulse. A shimmer in the air like silk catching moonlight.

And then the world twisted.

Her legs buckled—not from pain, but from sudden softness. Her skin felt cool, smooth, wrong and right all at once. Her voice caught in her throat, then vanished completely as her mouth melted into threads. Arms collapsed inward, torso curling, folding, flattening...

She was shrinking. Reshaping.

Fabric replaced flesh.

Color bloomed over her like paint in water—rich, regal purple trimmed with lace. Her limbs vanished entirely, replaced by smooth curves and soft elastic. She was being remade—delicate, intimate, form-fitting.

By the time her mind could catch up, she wasn’t standing at all. She was lying in a drawer.

Flat. Folded. Breathless.

Surrounded by dozens of other panties.

A perfect pair of purple satin and lace panties.

And worst—best?—of all: she matched.

The drawer slid closed, sealing her in with a whisper of wood against wood.

And Kari knew—Alice had set this trap for her.

Light.

The drawer opened again, and in its glow stood Alice—smirking. Her eyes scanned the rows of fabric like she hadn’t known exactly what she was reaching for. Her fingers brushed over a few folded pairs with casual affection before finally pausing over one.

Kari.

Alice plucked her up gently, holding her aloft between two fingers, inspecting the satin sheen in the light.

“There you are,” she whispered.

Kari would’ve flushed if she could. Her fabric felt warm already. Seen. Wanted.

Alice didn’t delay. She stepped over to the bed, undressed with her usual grace—skin revealed inch by inch—and then sat down with a quiet hum. She slid one foot in, then the other, and pulled Kari up her legs.

The sensation was overwhelming.

Smooth skin gliding through her form, every inch of Alice’s thighs brushing and filling her. Heat poured into her fibers, hips settling into her, shaping her into place. Her waistband hugged just above those perfect curves, and she could feel Alice adjusting her with the same casual intimacy someone might give to any old pair of underwear.

But Kari wasn’t old.

And she wasn’t just underwear.

She was hers.

Then came the leggings—stretchy, snug, sealing her in even tighter—and a dress over that. The world darkened, muffled by layers of cloth. But the warmth didn’t fade. It intensified.

Kari was worn.

And Alice was just getting started.

The morning passed in movement.

Alice’s steps were confident, each one a firm press of Kari against her skin. She moved from room to room with the kind of grace that made even casual motions feel like performance. Kari felt every motion—the bend to grab her purse, the stretch to reach for her keys, the brief twist as she locked the door behind her.

They went for a short drive—each bump in the road making Kari jostle gently, snug and held.

At work, Alice was poised and professional.

Kari couldn’t see, but she could feel. The slight clench of nerves as Alice prepared for a meeting. The shifting of her thighs as she stood to give a presentation. The applause afterward—and the quiet murmur from Alice herself:

“Lucky pair today.”

Lunch came with a soft rumble from above—Alice’s stomach. Kari only caught it because she was so close. It made her feel oddly proud, like she was somehow part of Alice’s rhythm now.

A short walk to a nearby café followed. Kari was there for every step, folded close, surrounded by Alice’s scent and body heat. As Alice sat and crossed her legs beneath the table, Kari was pressed between warm skin and firm thigh. When she shifted again, the motion ground her gently between Alice’s soft curves.

Then—a bathroom break.

The lights returned suddenly. Cool air touched her again as Alice hiked up her dress and tugged down her leggings. For a brief moment, Kari saw the world—only for it to be swallowed again as Alice pulled her back up after finishing, giving a small tug to readjust.

And just like that… darkness again.

But Kari didn’t mind.

Not at all.

The afternoon drifted onward in quiet satisfaction. Alice shifted in her seat occasionally, rolled her hips slightly, tugged gently at her waistband when no one was looking. And Kari felt every subtle change, every flex of motion, every beat of heat pressed into her.

Evening finally came. The car ride home was soft and quiet—Alice humming to herself, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally resting on her stomach. Kari was still pressed close, still soaked in her warmth, but something felt different now. Softer. Slower.

They arrived.

Shoes off. Door shut. Keys dropped into the bowl by the door.

Then—her room.

Alice stretched as she stepped inside, arms high over her head, body arching slowly, deliberately. Kari felt her shift and roll beneath the movement, the slight clench of muscle and the release that followed.

A soft sigh escaped Alice’s lips as she reached for her drawer. Out came a pair of cozy shorts and a loose shirt—her favorite relaxing outfit.

One by one, she peeled off the layers.

Leggings down. Dress slipped overhead. Each motion exposed Kari to the air again, the cooler temperature brushing her fabric with gentle contrast.

Still worn. Still wrapped around Alice’s hips.

Alice looked down at herself with a slow, mischievous smile.

Then—her hand.

She settled onto the bed, leaned back, and let her palm rest against her waistband. Fingers traced slow, thoughtful circles through the soft fabric of her shorts. She pressed in, just enough for Kari to feel it. Not demanding—knowing.

“Mmm… what a day…” she whispered.

The hand moved lower, pushing Kari into her with an easy, practiced rhythm. The heat returned quickly—rising in waves as Alice shifted her weight, rolling her hips into the pressure, sighing quietly to herself.

“You’ve gotten so dirty down there…”

Her voice dripped with affection, like she was praising her. Kari burned from within, fabric aching with sensation. The teasing was deliberate. Lingering.

And then came the words.

“I wish my girlfriend was here,” Alice said softly. “She could help with this… or watch. Maybe even beg to take your place.”

Her fingers slid downward, deeper now, pushing Kari into her with a final, slow press. A breath caught in Alice’s throat.

And then—

A tremble.

A soft jerk of her hips.

A quiet, deeply satisfied moan.

Warmth flooded through Kari. Heat. Dampness. The weight of climax settling gently against her fibers as Alice stilled, hand resting lightly on her stomach.

“You did so well…”

There was no rush after that. Alice stood slowly, stretching again, before curling her fingers under the waistband.

The shorts dropped first.

Then, Kari.

She was peeled down, her world shifting with the slow drag of skin against fabric. Her form slackened, losing shape, left limp in Alice’s hand—worn, used, and claimed.

Alice held her up for a moment, dangling Kari between two fingers like a prize. Kari couldn’t see herself, but she imagined what she must look like—twisted satin, slightly wrinkled from being worn all day, her lace trim clinging with the last traces of Alice’s heat.

“So used,” Alice whispered, her voice low and satisfied. “And still so cute.”

Kari wanted to melt again.

She didn’t get folded or set aside. Alice didn’t even grab a laundry basket. Instead, she walked—barefoot, calm, still only wearing her loose shirt—with Kari swinging lazily in hand.

They reached the laundry room. Kari recognized it by scent alone: fabric softener, warm cotton, the humid breath of a dryer still cooling down.

The hamper sat waiting.

Without ceremony, Alice dropped her in.

Kari tumbled down into a nest of other worn clothes—a tangle of tank tops, sleep shirts, a worn bra, some socks still curled into themselves. It was soft, warm, and slightly damp in places.

She settled into the pile with a slow exhale she couldn’t physically make.

Alice gave the top of the clothes a gentle pat, her palm flattening Kari slightly beneath the other laundry.

“Sleep tight,” she murmured.

“I’ll think about bringing you back in the morning…”

The lid shut.

And the darkness took over again.

Kari lay still.

Her shape didn’t shift. Her form didn’t move. But inside—deep in whatever part of her mind still was Kari—there was a flood of warmth.

It wasn’t just the heat from Alice’s body that lingered on her threads. It was the weight of her touch. Her voice. Her choice.

Kari hadn’t just been worn today. She had been claimed. Tucked close. Used.

And she’d loved every second.

She’d been walked in, sat on, pressed into, rubbed against, and praised. She’d been pulled down and pulled back up, adjusted casually, teased lovingly. She’d felt every subtle move of Alice’s hips, every smile that only she could sense.

And now?

She was part of the mess Alice made in her life. Tangled in it. Kept in it. Loved in it.

Even surrounded by cotton and sweat and the dull hum of an idle house, Kari felt more hers than ever before.

Maybe Alice would change her back tomorrow.

Maybe.

But if not?

Well.

Kari was just her type.

And her size.