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Description
Part Two:

"And you haven't seen your wife in months, you say?" Evelyn Deavor said, leaning over the bar to run a soothing hand along Robert Parr's powerful bicep. "Oh, that's so sad. If only there was something I could do to help you forget her."

Her red dress quivered and tightened about her body, too feeble to hurt or do anything really, except add a little extra bounce to her breasts. Enough to catch Mr Parr's eye. Soon he was leading her from the bar, his strong hands pawing at her rubber-encased rear.

In the morning, Evelyn slipped out of his arms. He had torn her clothes off in the passion of their lovemaking, which now littered the bedroom. The dress had made it halfway to the door during the night, squirming its hollow body in painstaking, sluglike motions. Observing it, taking her time, Evelyn slipped on her shoes and used her spiked heel to pin the desperate garment to the floor.

"I felt you moving without my permission last night, Helen," she whispered in the cold voice of Screenslaver. "This was a test. Clearly, the hypnosis is weakening. Another week back in your Box should remind you of your place."

The dress shuddered beneath her heel. The Box was where Evelyn stored her panties or her purse or whatever other item she had commanded Helen to become whenever she wasn't being used. It was indeed a small box, its walls, floor, and ceiling composed of television screens that beamed Screenslaver's mind-eroding imagery at every hour of every day.

In a show of submission, the dress shifted, coiling up Evelyn's legs to transform its body into what it knew was its owner's favorite form, a miniscule red thong wedged deep between Evelyn's cheeks. Evelyn slipped on her coat and stepped out onto the street, the thong sinking deeper with every wiggling step. She appreciated the desperation of the gesture, though it would get the Box all the same.

Description
Part Two:

"And you haven't seen your wife in months, you say?" Evelyn Deavor said, leaning over the bar to run a soothing hand along Robert Parr's powerful bicep. "Oh, that's so sad. If only there was something I could do to help you forget her."

Her red dress quivered and tightened about her body, too feeble to hurt or do anything really, except add a little extra bounce to her breasts. Enough to catch Mr Parr's eye. Soon he was leading her from the bar, his strong hands pawing at her rubber-encased rear.

In the morning, Evelyn slipped out of his arms. He had torn her clothes off in the passion of their lovemaking, which now littered the bedroom. The dress had made it halfway to the door during the night, squirming its hollow body in painstaking, sluglike motions. Observing it, taking her time, Evelyn slipped on her shoes and used her spiked heel to pin the desperate garment to the floor.

"I felt you moving without my permission last night, Helen," she whispered in the cold voice of Screenslaver. "This was a test. Clearly, the hypnosis is weakening. Another week back in your Box should remind you of your place."

The dress shuddered beneath her heel. The Box was where Evelyn stored her panties or her purse or whatever other item she had commanded Helen to become whenever she wasn't being used. It was indeed a small box, its walls, floor, and ceiling composed of television screens that beamed Screenslaver's mind-eroding imagery at every hour of every day.

In a show of submission, the dress shifted, coiling up Evelyn's legs to transform its body into what it knew was its owner's favorite form, a miniscule red thong wedged deep between Evelyn's cheeks. Evelyn slipped on her coat and stepped out onto the street, the thong sinking deeper with every wiggling step. She appreciated the desperation of the gesture, though it would get the Box all the same.