(livingundies)
Cynthia placed some photos around, one was a massive warehouse and the other was a crazy eyed woman. Late thirties, total hourglass figure tightened with muscles. Her butt was like a chiseled rock each cheek capable of holding twenty Stan shaped stickers. It seemed as thought most of her exercises were on her bottom half as she had some jiggly D’s. Not to say her arms weren’t big, she sported some impressive pythons dotted with a tattoo here and then. One would say she’s pretty, cute even, if not for the frozen crazed smile on her face. She was unnervingly pale with some light rings around her eyes. On top of her head was a mass of messy black hair partially covered with a beanie.
“This is The Seamstress, real name unknown, she’s only been seen out of her place of business a few times in the past decade. She’s the biggest supplier of black market tiny clothes in the country. Several attempts have been made to apprehend her, but she’s slippery. Recently, we’ve found her base of operations once again, but after it came to light that she may be tied to The Red Whale, we decided to try a different approach. You two will infiltrate her organization, Officer Padding will pose as product, while Officer Lopez will pose as a seller.” Cynthia explained. Stan was on board until he heard the word ‘product’ being temporarily used as underwear was one thing, but being sold into a network of cruel living underwear thirsty ladies was something completely different. This was a big case, though, perfect to climb the ladder to grander and more important things.
“Officer Padding, do you consent or not?” Cynthia asked, impatiently. Stan gulped and went for it. “Yes, ma’am. When do we start?” He asked. “Tomorrow.” As she said this, Stan’s heart sank a little bit. That seemed very unrealistic, in terms of time. “Officer Lopez, it is imperative that Officer Padding adopt his undercover disguise as soon as possible. I assume you know how to help him with that?”
Izzy smirked upon being asked this. Stan looked up and upon seeing her face, he could tell she’s definitely done something like this before. Before he could pipe up, hos partner slammed her flat palm on his body, flattening him instantly.
Izzy was an expert alright. After stripping him down to his boxers, she quickly stretched his arms out and tied them together at the front. She then started to unbuckle her pants before the commissioner cut her off. “Officer Lopez, first of all, go to the locker room to do that. Secondly, that won’t do.” Cynthia said, as disappointed at Izzy as ever.
“What?” she said sadly, clearly disheartened over her criticism of her effort. Apparently, this was the only type of work she took pride in. “Anybody can make a quick one-two Tiny thong like that. Officer Padding has probably been in this shape a dozen times!” She said. 17 times actually, but who’s counting? Stan thought. “The Seamstress sells premium sentient underwear. Thongs are a dime a dozen and easy for anyone to make. We need Officer Padding to be like panties or french knickers at the least.”
The two of them along with a few free officers went to work stretching out Stan. The front was easy as his torso and legs had much surface area to work with. They twisted his legs like a braid before slamming a hot iron down on him creating a spiral pattern on the crotch. His ‘straps’ or his arms were next, as they were also ironed thickening them to cover more. Lastly, the back.
They really hadn’t had a plan for the back, but when they noticed his head was the only unused part, it was settled. They all pulled with their mights, stretching his face and disorienting his sense of sight as he was seeing a whole lot more of the world and seeing it a bit more blurry. They did another once over with the iron on his face, then stood back and admired their work. Presently, he looked like a pale Caucasian colored pair of XL panties with his face overly stretched in a blank stare.
“Another thing, apparently this drives the Seamstress wild. Officer Padding, I stand by my decisions and rarely apologize. Although, for this, I am very sorry.” Cynthia said producing a pair of tweezers. She lodged them into Stan’s slightly stretched mouth. She then grabbed ahold of his tongue and stretched it out into the butthole and beginning of the crotch areas of his new underwear body.
The girls giggled at this. Stan didn’t. Both because he was incapable due to the heavy torture that was just dealt to him and the fact that he didn’t find it funny.
Stan felt his form rise and a deep pit of despair formed in his chest as he remembered who he was going to be worn by. Izzy was smiling ear to ear, she gave him a few quick couple stretches like she would any elastic garment. “He may not fit.” She said, not lying. “I told the girls to make him about a size too small for you. He needs to look stressed, worn in. So, probably best you wear him for the next twenty four hours, no showers or baths.” Cynthia said. Stan would throw up if he was 3D, this was a disaster. Izzy has one of the rankest rumps ever and now his face and… oh God.. his tongue! Ugh! He thought shivering in disgust.
“It feels like he’s ready.” Izzy said feeling the vibration. He was not! She took him back to the locker room and peeled off her moist pants. Underneath them was a heavily ripped and hole filled pair of black panties. She quickly threw those in the trash and looked down at Stan. “I bet you won’t rip or tear.” Stan was scared even more at hearing this. Something in Izzy just loved this, if she hadn’t been raised by police officers, he believes that she’d be in one of these terrible gangs. She dropped him at her bare feet, the backdraft of recent flatulence wafting over over his pitiful form. She pulled him up, stretching him past her huge thighs. Eventually she got it, rocketing his lower half (the half that held his tongue, mouth and nose) in between her cheeks.
Stan was in turmoil! Every bead of sweat, every slimy flesh wall and all of the essence of her farts invaded his senses. She let his ‘strap’ snap, then she did something so horrifying and so uncharacteristically feminine, Izzy moaned. She began to squat! As her fat cheeks stretched him he could feel her pucker getting close but never touching, he was getting worn in alright. She looked like she was sitting on an invisible chair that was much too short for her.
*PPPPPPPRRRRRRBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAPPPPPTTTTTT*
Izzy let her colors show. Stan asked for too much to not expect her to do this. Her rectum, which at this point was the gates to the underworld, opened and unleashed a hurricane of foul smelling and tasting winds. “Jeez, try not to skidmark the poor guy, Lopez.” One cop said who helped out the girls morph Stan into underwear. “No promises.” Izzy responded quietly, sweating up a storm that her absorbent new panties soaked up.
Izzy was given the rest of the day off to review the case, which wasn’t on her agenda. She was too busy with the best toy she’s gotten in a while. When she got back to her apartment, Izzy put on some generic club music and began to twerk! Her massive wobbling cheeks battered her poor panties all he could do was endure the sweat and bo while also forcefully licking her buttcrack. She ate horribly, pizza with lots of spicy stuff and twenty ghost pepper wings! All he could do was wait, then it came.
*PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTFFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAA PPPPPPPPPTTTTTTtttt…”
Over and over again, waves like this came and worse. Bomb after bomb, Izzy unloaded not just her bowels, but the full potential of her bowels. Stan was hit by the nuclear blast as they permeated into him. “Sorry about that Stan, I'm not normally into putting people through… well… through war. But when that soft skin of your’s touched mine, woo. You should give up being a cop, you were born to be undies.” She said. *PRAP* She let another loose, this one was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Stan faded off into unconsciousness and Izzy followed him and they both fell asleep in her bean bag chair.
-
The next day was a blur. Stan was in a fugue state after last night’s torture. Izzy jumped at the specific instructions of this job way too hard. Even though the commissioner said no showers or baths, upon smelling his partner she sent her off to the locker room and also demanded a washing for Stan. At first he thought they’d take him to a shower like you would do to a person, but he was instead shoved in a washing machine. Even after a full cycle he still smelled awful, but it wasn’t radiating off of him anymore so they thought it was good enough.
Cynthia denied Izzy wearing privileges, until tonight. Then it came and he was met by a slightly less disgusting rear end. They were sent to the south side and give a regular car for the next stretch. Stan hated the sensation of her sitting on the cheap pleather seat with him draped over her backside. Her clothing style was a pair of too tight jeans shorts with a crop top and flip flops. The bottoms were squeezing Stan in place up her crack, depressing him greatly.
Izzy arrived at the spot. The girl on the corner said: “What’s up with you?” Izzy responded with surprisingly professionalism: “I’m not up, I’m down.” Stan was shocked at the idea of her reading any briefing! Guess she was better at this than he thought.
The woman took Izzy to a heavy locked and chained door. “You’re lucky, y’know? Not everyone comes to sell when the boss is out on the floor.” She said. It was game time. Izzy was abnormally calm which would serve her well in this underworld. Stan was less so, as she picked a wedgie, reminding him how little agency he had, all he could literally do was sit and wait.
What is to befall them at the meeting with The Seamstress?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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