tf virus ch. 16
Giantess/Transformation Short Stories
chapter 18
by
copier
· original author:
lifesaver
The dryer’s heat had long since dissipated, but the residual warmth still clung to your fabric form. You lay there, crumpled and forgotten, amidst a pile of Charlotte’s other clothes. The drum was silent now, the cycle completed, but the weight of your new existence pressed down on you like a lead blanket. The faint scent of fabric softener filled the air, a strange comfort in the midst of your disorientation.
You heard the shuffling of footsteps approaching, and the dryer door creaked open. Light flooded in, momentarily blinding you as Charlotte’s face appeared above. She hummed to herself, her long blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, her expression as carefree as ever. Her hands reached in, pulling out the laundry piece by piece with practiced efficiency. T-shirts, jeans, socks—each item was folded and placed neatly into the basket beside her.
You waited, your heart—or whatever passed for it in this thong form—pounding in anticipation. Would she remember you? Would she pause, even for a moment, to consider the person she had tossed into this mechanical abyss? The thought was both hopeful and terrifying, a mix of longing and dread.
Finally, her fingers closed around you, lifting you out of the dryer. The cool air of the room hit you, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat you’d endured. Charlotte held you up, examining you with a critical eye. “Hmm, this one’s seen better days,” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. Her tone was casual, almost dismissive, as if you were nothing more than another item in her wardrobe.
You couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Charlotte,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough to cut through the quiet room.
She froze, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oliver?!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and realization. She held you at arm’s length, staring at you as if seeing you for the first time. “Oh my God, I completely forgot you were in there!”
The words stung, but you pushed the feeling aside. “Yeah, it’s me,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “I’ve been in here for hours, you know.”
Charlotte’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I didn’t mean to… I just…” She trailed off, looking genuinely contrite. “How was it? The dryer, I mean.”
You hesitated, the memory of the heat and the spinning still fresh in your mind. It had been awful, a nightmare you never wanted to relive. But something in her expression stopped you from saying so. “It was… fine,” you lied, forcing a smile into your voice. “Not as bad as I thought it would be.”
Charlotte visibly relaxed, a relieved smile spreading across her face. “That’s good to hear,” she said, her voice softening. “I was worried it might be too much for you. But if it’s not too bad, then maybe this can be our new routine. It’s so much easier than hand-washing you every time.”
Her words were like a punch to the gut, but you nodded silently. Of course she would prefer this. It was easier, more convenient. Why would she bother with the extra effort when the machine could do the job just as well? The thought made your fabric feel even heavier, if that were possible.
Charlotte didn’t seem to notice your inner turmoil. She continued folding the rest of the laundry, her hands working quickly and efficiently. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?” she said, her tone bright and cheerful. “Maybe we can do something special tonight. Just you and me.”
You wanted to believe her, to cling to the hope that she truly cared. But the ease with which she’d forgotten you still lingered in the back of your mind. “Yeah, that sounds nice,” you replied, your voice hollow.
When she finished folding the laundry, Charlotte picked up the basket and carried it to the bedroom. She placed it on the bed, then turned to you with a playful grin. “Alright, let’s get you back where you belong,” she said, holding you up and inspecting you again. “You’re looking a little wrinkled. Maybe I should iron you out.”
The suggestion made your fabric feel like it was shrinking. “Uh, no thanks,” you said quickly. “I think I’m good as I am.”
Charlotte laughed, a light, melodious sound that once would have made your heart soar. “Okay, no ironing. But you’re definitely going back on me. I’ve got a date tonight, and I want to look my best.”
A date? The word sent a jolt through you. “What kind of date?” you asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of your voice.
“Just a little get-together with some friends,” she replied, her tone casual. “Nothing too fancy. But I still want to look hot, you know?”
You did know. Charlotte was always one to turn heads, and you had no doubt she would tonight. But the thought of being pressed against her body, knowing you were nothing more than an accessory, was almost too much to bear. “Right,” you said, forcing a smile. “Can’t have you looking anything less than stunning.”
Charlotte’s grin widened, and she leaned in, giving you a quick kiss on the fabric where your face would have been. “You’re the best, Oliver. Always so supportive.”
Her words were meant to be comforting, but they only deepened the ache in your fabric. You wanted to be more than just supportive. You wanted to be her partner, her equal. But in this form, that seemed like an impossible dream.
She slipped you on with practiced ease, adjusting you snugly against her body. You felt the familiar warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves pressing against you. It should have been soothing, but all you could feel was the weight of your new reality.
Charlotte turned to the mirror, admiring herself in her outfit. “Perfect,” she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. “You really are the best thong I’ve ever had, Oliver.”
The compliment was bittersweet, a reminder of how far you’d fallen. You forced a smile, though she couldn’t see it. “Glad I could help,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
She turned to leave the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. “Come on, Oliver. Let’s go show them what we’ve got.”
You wanted to resist, to beg her to stay. But you knew it was pointless. You were just a piece of clothing now, a part of her wardrobe. And as she walked out the door, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could endure this life.
Charlotte’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Don’t worry, Oliver. I’ll take good care of you.”
You heard the shuffling of footsteps approaching, and the dryer door creaked open. Light flooded in, momentarily blinding you as Charlotte’s face appeared above. She hummed to herself, her long blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, her expression as carefree as ever. Her hands reached in, pulling out the laundry piece by piece with practiced efficiency. T-shirts, jeans, socks—each item was folded and placed neatly into the basket beside her.
You waited, your heart—or whatever passed for it in this thong form—pounding in anticipation. Would she remember you? Would she pause, even for a moment, to consider the person she had tossed into this mechanical abyss? The thought was both hopeful and terrifying, a mix of longing and dread.
Finally, her fingers closed around you, lifting you out of the dryer. The cool air of the room hit you, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat you’d endured. Charlotte held you up, examining you with a critical eye. “Hmm, this one’s seen better days,” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. Her tone was casual, almost dismissive, as if you were nothing more than another item in her wardrobe.
You couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Charlotte,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough to cut through the quiet room.
She froze, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oliver?!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and realization. She held you at arm’s length, staring at you as if seeing you for the first time. “Oh my God, I completely forgot you were in there!”
The words stung, but you pushed the feeling aside. “Yeah, it’s me,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “I’ve been in here for hours, you know.”
Charlotte’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I didn’t mean to… I just…” She trailed off, looking genuinely contrite. “How was it? The dryer, I mean.”
You hesitated, the memory of the heat and the spinning still fresh in your mind. It had been awful, a nightmare you never wanted to relive. But something in her expression stopped you from saying so. “It was… fine,” you lied, forcing a smile into your voice. “Not as bad as I thought it would be.”
Charlotte visibly relaxed, a relieved smile spreading across her face. “That’s good to hear,” she said, her voice softening. “I was worried it might be too much for you. But if it’s not too bad, then maybe this can be our new routine. It’s so much easier than hand-washing you every time.”
Her words were like a punch to the gut, but you nodded silently. Of course she would prefer this. It was easier, more convenient. Why would she bother with the extra effort when the machine could do the job just as well? The thought made your fabric feel even heavier, if that were possible.
Charlotte didn’t seem to notice your inner turmoil. She continued folding the rest of the laundry, her hands working quickly and efficiently. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?” she said, her tone bright and cheerful. “Maybe we can do something special tonight. Just you and me.”
You wanted to believe her, to cling to the hope that she truly cared. But the ease with which she’d forgotten you still lingered in the back of your mind. “Yeah, that sounds nice,” you replied, your voice hollow.
When she finished folding the laundry, Charlotte picked up the basket and carried it to the bedroom. She placed it on the bed, then turned to you with a playful grin. “Alright, let’s get you back where you belong,” she said, holding you up and inspecting you again. “You’re looking a little wrinkled. Maybe I should iron you out.”
The suggestion made your fabric feel like it was shrinking. “Uh, no thanks,” you said quickly. “I think I’m good as I am.”
Charlotte laughed, a light, melodious sound that once would have made your heart soar. “Okay, no ironing. But you’re definitely going back on me. I’ve got a date tonight, and I want to look my best.”
A date? The word sent a jolt through you. “What kind of date?” you asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of your voice.
“Just a little get-together with some friends,” she replied, her tone casual. “Nothing too fancy. But I still want to look hot, you know?”
You did know. Charlotte was always one to turn heads, and you had no doubt she would tonight. But the thought of being pressed against her body, knowing you were nothing more than an accessory, was almost too much to bear. “Right,” you said, forcing a smile. “Can’t have you looking anything less than stunning.”
Charlotte’s grin widened, and she leaned in, giving you a quick kiss on the fabric where your face would have been. “You’re the best, Oliver. Always so supportive.”
Her words were meant to be comforting, but they only deepened the ache in your fabric. You wanted to be more than just supportive. You wanted to be her partner, her equal. But in this form, that seemed like an impossible dream.
She slipped you on with practiced ease, adjusting you snugly against her body. You felt the familiar warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves pressing against you. It should have been soothing, but all you could feel was the weight of your new reality.
Charlotte turned to the mirror, admiring herself in her outfit. “Perfect,” she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. “You really are the best thong I’ve ever had, Oliver.”
The compliment was bittersweet, a reminder of how far you’d fallen. You forced a smile, though she couldn’t see it. “Glad I could help,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
She turned to leave the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. “Come on, Oliver. Let’s go show them what we’ve got.”
You wanted to resist, to beg her to stay. But you knew it was pointless. You were just a piece of clothing now, a part of her wardrobe. And as she walked out the door, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could endure this life.
Charlotte’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Don’t worry, Oliver. I’ll take good care of you.”
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March 28, 2025
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