The world felt especially small in Texas. After being transferred from Florida, alot of the exciting glamor gave way to a very different side of the Navy. The only way to really breathe, was to phase down and find your peace in the few moments you had. Being able to turn a simple room into near infinite jungle gave you a sense of freedom. After some of the close calls in Florida, it was a better, safer use of your phase abilities. The temptation was of course still there. The option wasn't off limits by any means, but you had to remain accountable and getting swept up and trapped during an all hands is a good way to be unaccounted for. You're usual move was to go to the communal laundry after final muster and just enjoy the droning of the machines from some hidden corner. Occasionally someone would come in to load or unload a machine and you'd watch from where you happened to be until it felt like it was time for bed.
So there you were, sitting atop a vacant dryer. The entire room droning peacefully. You hear the door squeal in the distance, and at first all you can make out is the Navy yellow PT shirt. The distance was closed quickly as the titaness made a few simple strides forward. You freeze when she comes upon your perch, to load her laundry no doubt. You weren't exactly hidden, it would hardly take a keen eye to pick your shape out from atop the scratched enamel you were basking on. You fortunately were in the shadow of her breasts and seemed to be out of view. That didn't necessarily matter, because until she left, you had nowhere to run. She began absent mindedly digging through her laundry bag, setting balled up socks blindly on the machine. You seize the opportunity and tuck yourself into the folds of a wadded up pair of pt socks. The socks had seen some miles. They were still damp with pungent sweat, but the fabric hard started to harden making it difficult to conceal yourself. You feel the reverberating sensation as the machine roars to life. You take another deep breathe, almost overwhelmed, only to have your breath taken away as she began to sweep her delicates back into her laundry bag. You flail your arms and legs and scramble over dirty laundry only to find yourself trapped in the woven laundry bag. Gravity disappears as she tosses the bag over her shoulder and walks back to her room. Corridor lights Illuminate the bag every few strides, giving flashes of socks and underwear, some regulation and some personal. The bag is dropped onto the floor of the barracks room and some of the contents spill from the mouth of the bag. You have to decide if you stay in the bag with her next load of laundry, or try and discreetly make your way out of her room without her or her roommates noticing.
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