Mike gasped as he found the source of the snapping twig on the walkway behind him. Apparently, they were joined by a municipal patrolman — or, patrol woman, judging by the shape of the uniform. The only problem was that there was no woman to be seen inside.
"You've got to be kidding," Mike muttered to himself. "I told you this was a bad idea, dude!" Having lack the curiosity of Steve, Mike was full up with excitement for one day. Suddenly all of his questions about the empty outfits condensed to one thought: is it possible to outrun empty clothes? "Let me know how you make out!" Mike shouted as he bolted in the other direction, attempting to dodge the uniform by running through the thicket, straight up the hill.
As it turned out, the clothes weren't the thing he needed to outrun. A telescopic baton and a Taser unseated themselves from the uniforms belt and darted over him in an arc, settling in front of him so that he could see the gleam of the baton in the light. He let out a little shudder and tried to juke the things, and the baton gave him just enough of a tap on the head to make him smart enough to think twice about trying to get away.
"Oh fuck… Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." He put his hands up and stepped back from the two defense weapons wielding themselves in the air. He lifted his hands well up over his head as he turned back toward the uniform, standing in a squared position with its long sleeves crossed under its bulging chest. "I'm sorry!" He pleaded. "It was Steve's idea — and, and I even said we should leave them — I mean the capris, or whatever… alone!" Mike heard a button pop on the belt, and watched as a silvery pair of handcuffs pulled themselves from the oblong pouch.
"Hey, maybe you're worrying too much about this…" His friend said. "I mean, it's not like they're not digging the attention!" Mike turned back at Steve, dumbfounded at his casual reaction to all of this playing out. Mike blinked a few times. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The Capri pants were happily grinding themselves against Steve's midsection, and he was chuckling as he returned the favor — gently pushing against them with his hips as if the pair were caught in a club dance to silent music.
"Are you fucking kidding? Do you see this… authority figure threatening me?" Mike squeaked, his voice cracking in disbelief. Apparently Steve was loving every second of this, casually ogling the well-filled patrol uniform as he pulled the shapely hips of the capris against his own.
"Well, lucky you, dude!" Steve laughed. "The way these things are acting, are you sure that's a threat?" Steve looked the uniform up and down. "I mean, we can trade if you want." Mike shook his head at Steve's shit-eating grin.
"Jesus, Steve! Are you only thinking with your dick at this point?" Mike waved his hands, still up in the air from his surrender to the uniform. "I mean, these things don't even have…parts…for your dick to go in!" Steve just shrugged. He obviously wasn't going to be of any help to Mike. Mike turned back to the uniform once more. "I'm – sorry about my friend. It's just…" Just then, Mike felt the tug at his waist.
"Whoa, no way…" He heard Steve say behind him. "You can do that?" The leather strap on Mike's belt pulled itself out of the buckle and the metal latch pulled away from it. With the belt unclasped, the ends divided themselves, and Mike's pants popped open. "Shit, dude, are they undressing you too?" Before Mike could answer, his T-shirt whipped off of him in a frenzy – easily sailing off his torso and over his arms with his hands still held in the air in surrender.
"Uh—uh-huh..." Mike responded, looking down at his suddenly active underwear. He felt a hand grab his ass as his boxer briefs began shifting on him. His pants were already down past his knees, and now he watched his shoelaces following suit. He looked up at the uniform, which seemed to be holding the baton at the end of one of its sleeves, pointing it at him like a wand.
"Oh, wow…" Steve said, voluntarily lifting his arms as his shirt began to sail off of him. "Wherever this is going, please please don't let me wake up."
"S-Steve… you just went to Starbucks with me, dude. We've been wandering around the city for like an hour. You — you're not sleeping!" Mike gasped as he felt his underwear grab his crotch. He cradled his hands around his package, praying the living boxer-briefs were going to be gentle with him. When he felt pressure around his thighs and ass, he had a slight sense of vertigo. After a second, he realized that he was being pulled up just enough to allow his shoes and socks to escape. "This can't really be happening…"
"You said it yourself, man – it absolutely is," Steve responded. "I don't know how they're treating you, but I don't really see a reason to try and – whoa!" Mike was placed on the ground again, and he turned back to see Steve lifted right to the air and over one of the handrails of the gazebo. Steve's own underwear were dangling him ankle-deep in the water, skimming him along as his outfit assembled itself next to the capris. "H-hey, th-that's pretty cold." Mike watched in terror now as his friend was pulled out to the middle of the stream. "Pretty cold! Like, maybe not hypothermia cold, but…"
Just then, Steve's underwear tumbled his body forward and released him — dumping him right into the slow-flowing stream. Mike stared at Steve's hovering underwear, flying back into the gazebo and settling in his friend's now filled-out jeans. He watched as the two outfits continued dancing together, just as his perverted friend had started when he was flirting with the empty capris.
"Good thing I can swim!" Steve shouted as he began swimming back towards the shore. Mike looked back at the uniform, which was now two paces closer to him.
"Please don't…" Mike asked the empty uniform. "He probably deserved that, but —" the uniform's empty sleeve pointed to Mike's raised hand, and in a flash the silver handcuffs clamped around them. "Oh...that's probably not a good sign." Another button on the patrol uniform's belt popped open, and Mike watched as two black latex gloves puffed out of another pouch like hand-shaped balloons. Instead of settling at the end of the sleeves like he expected, the gloves darted toward him. He tried to lower his arms in defense, but found himself unable to pull against the handcuffs. Despite being connected to nothing but his wrists, he couldn't budge them.
He prepared for the worst, squinting as he expected a slap, a punch, or God knows what.
That's when he started giggling. The latex fingers had gone straight to his armpits.
"Fuck, anything but that!"
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