Witch's Roulette (Chapters 1-2)

Chapter One

In which our hero and heroine go to a party...

    "Wait?!" I said. "You're serious? I can go?"

"Yeah, honey. This time you can go finally."

"I thought it would get you kicked out if you snuck anyone into one of the meetings."

"Just this one night. Our annual, pre-Halloween ritual cleansing. It's not one of the secret ones, so on just that night, we're allowed to bring a date along."

"That's awesome."

"Well," Carla said with one of those smirks that either meant I'd hate what she said next or I'd be absolutely thrilled. No middle ground. And it usually meant that it would put me at the mercy of one of her spells... again. 

So, chances were I'd be absolutely thrilled. 

"There's a catch," she said. 

"I figured. What is it?"

"There's a specific dress code for the event, and each of the girls must use the same transformation spell on the guests they invite."

I sat down on the chair opposite her and rested my hands on her kitchen table. "Consider me intrigued."

"Pantyhose," she said. "Specifically black tights. It's a matching outfit affair, so to speak, and we all have the same dress style, boots, everything. The only thing we're not allowed to buy is the tights. That is reserved for our date. It's one of the key parts of the ritual."

"I'm in," I said without a second thought.

"You're in? You're sure?"

"Hell, yeah, I'm in. Don't you remember how much fun I had as your swimsuit in Cancun and your pantyhose at your job while I was on a week of vacation? How could I even think of saying no to an opportunity like this?"

Damn, she was gorgeous. I knew I was dating way, way, way out of my league. Even in just a pair of faded yoga pants and a baggy My Chemical Romance T-shirt, there was no hiding how ill-matched we were. Jet black hair that had just enough body and wave to avoid being called straight -- but only just. At five-seven, she was the ideal height for me. I was only five-ten, but that gave us three inches for us to see eye-to-eye when she wore heels. Her curves, while not those of a pin-up girl from the Golden Age of bombshells, were beautiful regardless. Smallish breasts, a gentle curve to her waist, more athletic than hourglass, and nice, thick hips and thighs that some guys would have called chubby, but not me. And that ass, also nice and thick and pretty much perfect. As far as I was concerned, she was the most amazing, mesmerizing woman I had ever seen, much less actually fortunate to date.

"I guess it's fitting that it'll be close to our six-month anniversary too," she said. "That way, it'll be kind of like a present no other woman could give you."

"Every day with you is a present like that, Carla."

"Hush you," she said. "Or do you think that kind of talk will get you anywhere?"

"One can only hope," I said. "Though I imagine it probably did mean a lot more before you started hearing it every day from me."

She grinned and reached for my hand across the table. 

"So, if we're good with all that," she said, "why don't plan on meeting me here at the apartment on Friday at five o'clock for the spell, and then you can enjoy your wait with the rest of my outfit while I shower and make myself al clean and fresh before your night on my legs?"

"Sounds like the best anniversary gift ever, I'd say."

"Good."

So, on Friday, I actually arrived about thirty minutes early. I'd been looking forward to being worn by her again all week and I just couldn't help myself. She opened the door for me and stepped out of her work heels -- chunky gray-black heels barely two inches tall -- then got on her tiptoes and kissed me.

"Well, honey, you must really be ready. Either that or there was no traffic at all."

I laughed. "I know it's weird, but I really, really love it."

"Love being worn or love me?"

"If I say both, can I get another kiss?"

She kissed me anyway. "I'll take that answer and raise you one transformation spell."

No sooner than her lips left mine, I fell gently to the floor, tangled in a pile of my slacks, dress shirt, socks, and tie. 

"I can barely find you in that mess of clothes," she said. 

I couldn't answer in my new form, at least not until she wore me and our physical connection restored communication via the telepathy that remained between a victim and the one who cast the spell. Not only that, the stronger the power of the spellcaster, the more likely he or she would be able to recognize the glow of an inanimate object with a soul as opposed to a mere soulless thing that had never been a living person even if he or she wasn't the original spellcaster.

I felt her remove all the male clothing from around me, and then she pulled me up from the floor and held me in front of her. 

"Beautiful," she said, "so shiny. And I bet you'll look even more beautiful on me." 

Since she was touching me, I used my mind to say, "I can't wait for you to put me on."

She smiled and carried me to her bedroom. Then she left for a few seconds and returned with my clothes and shoes wadded together in her arms. She dropped those into a corner of her closet and then returned to me. She sat on the bed beside me and ran her nails carefully along my flimsy, easily ripped, nylon form. She knew how much I loved it when she teased me when I was merely powerless and at her mercy. When I was a pair of lace panties, she had stretched me almost to ripping, then warned me that if I actually tore, then the spell wouldn't be reversible. She laughed as she said it, so I figured she must have joking to frighten me and heighten the experience. 

“So delicate, so easily damaged. I'd hate to get a run in you because then I couldn't wear you tonight and I'd have to go find someone else to turn into my tights for the ritual. And poor little, ripped you would have to stay here and wait for me to come back so I could throw you away. After all, what self-respecting woman wants a pair of tights with a run? Certainly not me.”

She stopped touching me, and I tried to gather my wits after all the excitement at being handled as if I had never been anything but her pantyhose, never been her boyfriend. She knew exactly how to play me to make the experience really turn me on. I almost regretted that I would be unable to cum as long as I was transformed into nylon. But I could guarantee that after all the toying and abuse I'd face during the night, I wouldn't be able to keep myself from losing control the second I became human again. 

“So you better be a very good and very strong pair of tights. Because we've got a busy night ahead of us.”

Then she disappeared into her bathroom for god knows how long. From my position at the foot of her bed, I had no view of either the clock in the hallway or the digital one beside her bed. Nor did I have a voice to ask her smart speaker. 

So I waited. It was all a helpless pair of pantyhose could do. I would be used soon enough. I would be both filled and fulfilled when she pulled my stretchy body onto her legs and over her beautiful hips and ass. I would be pushed almost to my limits as my new skin was pulled so that even my fibers felt the painful hint of separation at certain parts of me. But it would all be worth it just to be hers, to be owned by her, to be used by her, to be utterly meaningless and insignificant, my only purpose to encase her legs and show them off without getting torn. 

And even that was an act of devotion I had no control over. Nothing I could do would help me serve her better. Nothing I could do would help me make her any more beautiful than any other shiny pair of hose she might choose to wear. I gave her nothing except my helplessness and my love of her body, but not even that was something I do actively demonstrate. As much as I loved to be hers during the transformations, I couldn't show her any of that love, no more than her oldest, most stretched-out pair of cheap hose that she reserved for wearing just for warmth under her jeans on a cold day. They weren't even seen. They simply didn't matter outside of their purpose. 

And neither did I. 

It made me feel as if I were in the most amazing headspace I'd ever entered. 

The shower eventually turned off, but she didn't return from the bathroom for several minutes, so I guessed she must have simply wrapped her amazing body in a towel to do menial things like brush her teeth or work on her eyebrows or maybe tweeze the random stray hairs she always worried about but I never managed to see. 

When she did return to the room, she totally ignored me and went to her closet. She opened it and removed a breathtaking black dress that looked as though it would hug her figure like a second skin, and she took it off the hanger and lay it on the bed next to me. Then she ignored both items—as that was all I was to her—just an item she owned, and went to her dresser. 

She had lain the dress over me, which cut off my view. Apparently, my ability to see in my nylon form was somewhere in the gusset portion of my body, and that would mean very little visual information for me during the night unless she removed her dress. 

Then I was left again, and I heard her soft footfalls on the carpet as she walked away, back to the bathroom I assumed. 

Her phone rang, though, and she thudded back past me to wherever she had left it. 

“Hey, Beatrice. Yeah, just getting ready. I know. I can't wait. It's going to be amazing. Sure, he's here already. Sorry. He can't talk right now. He's already lying on the bed perfectly useless until I put him on.”

Then she was quiet for about a minute. 

“Oh, Violet. Really? I can't believe she agreed to let you do that. What did you have to promise her? Maybe I can borrow her some time and give her a chance to feel what it's like to ride my big ol' ass and hips instead of your petite hourglass. No, don't you even. We both know I'm a little chunky and you like a supermodel if they only made them under five-two.”

Another silence went by. 

“Well, of course we would silly. If you let me borrow her, of course it's only fair that I give you him for a bit. Granted, he might fit a bit loose, but you could probably fix that with another spell.”

What?! Was she really willing to trade me with one of her sisters in the coven? Did they actually swap their transformed lovers with each other? And why did the thought of that, of having my own feelings, my own fears ignored while they passed me back and forth like—well, just any old pair of tights—thrill me with the hope that she might actually do just that?

It was something I had experienced before. She had described it as finding the right familiar. Apparently, that's what I was to her, both lover and familiar. The right familiar would be drawn to the energy of the spellcaster and would have some kind of spiritual predisposition to being his partner's subject. It was as if we had been destined to meet, she had told me, because after we got to know each other a few weeks, she constantly wanted to use her spells on me and I just as constantly wanted to be used as the target for those spells. I had a natural inclination to be owned, to be used as if I didn't have a will of my own, she had said. Each type of witch would draw the kind of familiar he or she needed to best grow in his or her abilities. Apparently, I was the kind of person who reacted to her energy in such a way that I couldn't help but love to be whatever item she wanted or needed me to be. I couldn't help but yearn to be a willing victim to her teasing and power and even the emotional terror she put me through to make me feel good and truly owned. After all, she said often enough, who cares about the feelings or a pair of panties or a bathing suit or even a nice dress? If she got tired of a dress she could easily take it to a thrift shop without a second thought. If a pair of panties no longer fit correctly or a swimsuit went out of fashion, there was nothing to stop her from merely tossing it in the trash to be taken to the landfill. 

And she knew that it was exactly that kind of merciless threat that made me relish belonging to her, body and soul, either as a human lover or a transformed whatever the hell she wanted me to be.

I realized I had gotten so lost in my thoughts and fantasies that I had completely lost my ability to hear. It happened sometimes during the transformations. The more I went without human attention—even if I was being worn and ignored in all other ways—the more my mind almost forgot I was another sentient being keeping her company. I often drifted into a sort of forgetfulness and let my thoughts drift along to reinforce my new role and my enjoyment of it. It made me wonder what might happen if she actually put me away in her lingerie drawer for weeks and weeks as she had threatened on several occasions. Would I even care after a while? Would I remember that I was waiting for her to need me, to use me, to fill me up again? Or would I find I was just as content to be her property in the darkness of her dresser as much as when I was being worn?

Maybe one day I would find out. 

When I forced myself to listen again, I heard her saying something about the ritual and how excited both she and Beatrice were about it, and how she for one couldn't wait for me to see the surprise that she couldn't reveal until the end of the night.

Then she hung up and I noticed the bed bounce ever so slightly where she had tossed her mobile onto it near me.

Then she was gone again for what felt like another eternity. 

When she returned this time, she lifted the dress of me and I saw that she had fixed her hair in a long ponytail, but a fancy one, not like the quick one she used if she was going to exercise or something. Not only that, she had applied her makeup and she stared at me with her freshly beautiful and flawless face. 

Without a word, she shimmied into the dress without allowing it to disturb either her face or hair. Then she went back to the bathroom, leaving me alone again, to go check that nothing had been knocked out of place or smudged, I guess. Finally, she returned to me and this time she finally lifted me from the foot of the bed. 

My nylon body tingled at her touch. It was almost time. I was seconds away from being used, being worn, and having my one point of existence fulfilled. On the bed I was nothing, but on her legs I was beautiful. Hugging her thighs and her hips, I found my reason for existing. Stretching over her thick ass, I was bursting with all the happy little thoughts of being hers. It was as if since my body couldn't orgasm, my mind could, but not with sex, instead with purpose, with the simple joy of being the very thing I was. 

It was one of those things that no matter how I tried to explain it to her after our fun, I just couldn't. It was as though my human mind wasn't properly created to contain the idea of it. It was as if words were worthless to make it make sense. It was simply something that a living object could experience. And even then it was too much for thought. It was pure and utter... the words were failing again. 

I couldn't wait to feel it again. Maybe then I could find a way to express it in a way that satisfied this woman I loved and served and belonged to. 

Before I was prepared she took one of my legs and bunched me into a sort of open ball before pushing her toes inside me. My brain and my body exploded with practically indescribable sensations as he filled my airy emptiness with her toes, then feet, then ankles, then calves, and thighs, then finally pulled me into place over her hips and crotch. I needed a minute to get my bearings again, just like the previous time she had transformed me into her pantyhose, as the very concept of being filled up from the inside wasn't something the normal, rational human mind was capable of grasping. 

<Whoa...> I thought.

"Like that, huh?" Carla asked with a chuckle. 

<Forgot how weird and amazing that was.>

She didn't respond. Of course, she usually didn't speak to me in order to make my experience more authentic. Regular women didn't normally talk to their intimates, so why should Carla treat me any differently? Mainly the mind speak was that as a safeguard to protect us both. She could recognize me out of a pile of other hose by the slighted touch. As long as we maintained contact with each other, I could let her know that I was okay or, if something was happening, let her know I needed her attention. 

Of course, stuck as a pair of pantyhose, there was literally nothing I could do to influence her response to my getting her attention. I was still completely at her mercy, but at least she would know. 

I waited, admiring her figure that I loved so much, though now obviously from the unique experience of coating it like a second skin instead of merely touching it at a single point with a finger or hand or gazing at it lustfully. Those were limited admirations, limited interactions. What I encountered from my new perspective was something on a different level, something more akin to living as a part of her. My entire body was molded to the shape of her feet, legs, hips, thighs, ass, and pelvis. I was what I was because she was inside me. Without her, I was empty and meaningless. With her filling me up, I was what I could be, what I should be, what I needed to be.

I was her shape. I was her scent. I was one with whatever she felt physically. If she sweated, I was her sweat. If she was horny, I was her excitement. If she was freshly showered, I was as much her body wash as her skin was. Her scent defined my state of being as much as her shape. 

Everything I was came from what she put into me, what she gave to me. 

I had almost forgotten how much I could lose myself in becoming so much of her. My own identity as her boyfriend was temporarily fading while I slipped comfortably into something owned, something without its own identity independent of hers.

While I was lost in my lostness of thought, she had gotten dressed, and I found my body encased in her black curvy dress just as I encased her legs. When she stepped into her boots, I felt the familiar pinch of leather squeezing me tightly as she zipped them closed. I smelled the familiar scent the leather had absorbed with each wearing, a scent it shared with me and let seep into my new skin to make that trait a part of me too.

"You okay there, sweetie?" she asked. "You haven't said a single thought to me in about ten minutes."

<Just enjoying you.> I said. <Getting used to this again.>

"I'm happy for you. I expect you to have to good time tonight with all the other plus ones who will be -- well, not in your shoes -- but in the shoes of all my sisters in the coven. Totally in the same situation as you though. It won't just be you tonight, baby. You'll have lots of company, not that you'll be able to speak to them or interact with them of course. Each of you will be in your own little prison of nylon for the evening."

<Sounds amazing. I love your legs.>

"Thank you," she said, then added, "Well, you sound a little distracted, so I'll just shut up now and leave you to it."

The drive to the hotel where they were hosting their party/ritual gave me the time I needed to adjust to my new body or at least to integrate my rational mind with the feeling, instinctual "mind" that matched my new nylon form. The coolness of the air conditioning felt amazing, and I relished each tiny chill bump that rose on Carla's skin. I knew I couldn't move, but it didn't stop me from trying to caress each bit of goose flesh anyway. 

My vision was limited to the space between the almost knee-length skirt of her dress and the top of her boots, which almost reached her knees. That gave me about two inches of sight of the outside world, I figured, and even with my ability to see from all around me, it severely limited my ability to understand the world into which Carla was taking me. Sure, I could see down the inside of the skirt to the ground just fine, but inside the boots, there was only darkness, and anywhere the dress encased me was the same. 

We stopped and suddenly we were on the move again, only this time I felt the pressure of each step all over my body. Her feet ground me into the instep and toes of her boots. Her thighs and calves jostled slightly with the impact of walking, sending what to her must have felt like tiny vibrations to her -- if she could even acknowledge them at all -- but felt to me as if I were being shaken and beaten at once. Of course, I loved it. 

"Are you ready, sweetie?" she asked. "As part of the ritual, I'm not allowed to talk with you until it's over and we're on the way home again."

<Oh. You didn't mention that.>

"Didn't I? I still have time to take you off and leave you in the car if you want me to."

<No. Of course not. I want this.>

"Of course you do, you silly little sweetheart."

<I love you.>

But she was already not talking. Any response would have to wait.

Chapter Two

In which our hero becomes
the prize in a dangerous gamble...

    I watched as my world changed from the parking deck to the sidewalk and finally to the lobby of the hotel, thankful that the impact of her steps had lessened because of the cushioned carpet. The hotel smelled of something floral mixed with something antiseptic, like a cleaner that wouldn't have bothered a human nose at all, but with me already powerless to defend myself from taking on the scent as I was walked through it and was forced not only to smell it but to taste it in every exposed fiber of my new body, I found it almost overpowering. I almost wised Carla would start to sweat so I could replace the clean odor with something that most closely bound me to her. 

She followed the signs to whatever ballroom she and her coven were meeting in, and when she entered the door to that room, I felt something change in my connection to her. 

<Carla?>

No response, but I couldn't be sure if it was just her ignoring me or something else, something more ominous.

<Carla?>

Still nothing. All I could do was wait. 

She hugged several people, and I felt several other women's legs brush against me. I wondered if the people who had become those pantyhose were enjoying their time as much as I was. There were lots of greetings and such, but eventually, she sat down and my already limited field of vision became even smaller as I found myself in the dark beneath a table covered by a dark cloth. I could make up just barely the hint of other legs covered by other magical tights, but outside of my hearing and my ability to smell and taste, I was cut off from the activity going on in the meeting room.

"No doubt," said a voice I didn't recognize, one that came to me loud and tinny and crackled a little, as if through a hotel P.A. system. "You've already noticed the connection breaker spell when you entered the room. I'm sure that came as quite a surprise to your transformed guests. I do appreciate you not sharing that with them. The idea of being disconnected and the potential of what could happen in such a helpless state can often really affect our newly transformed items and that can sometimes cause a sort of psychic backlash that can affect the spellcaster wearing them." There was a din of murmuring throughout the room but no single conversation I could distinguish from any other. "So, this is not only to inject a little drama into the evening but also to protect you from any pain their worry might cause you."

There was a lot more murmuring and muddled noise because the speaker continued. 

"So, without any further delay, let's get started. As always, the dinner is divided into the regular and the vegan options. But, as we all should know by now, before you leave your table to eat, please remove your pantyhose and leave them in a pile beneath your table. Our wait staff will gather them shortly, and you will have the opportunity to get them back later after our ritual cleansing swim for you and a cleansing hang in the sage room for your familiars."

And with that, I felt Carla's hands pull up her dress and grab me by the waistband. 

<Carla?!>

She pulled me down her hips and thighs. 

<Are you sure you can find me? What if we get mixed up?>

Then I was past her lovely knees. 

<If you can't hear me, how will you know which pair is me?>

And then I was off her completely, and I joined other pairs of pantyhose on the floor. How many, I couldn't tell, but it was enough to prevent me from touching the carpet myself and enough to cover me so that what little sight I had was soon lost in a tangle of black nylon. 

Then there was the rustling of feet as Carla and her friends left us alone beneath the table. 

<Can anybody hear me?> I asked. I had never been able to communicate via mindspeak with other transformed people before, but I figured it was worth a try. 

Of course, as I figured there was no response. 

So, I mused, the point of the spell at the door was to sever our connection with our witch. The point of severing that connection was to keep us from communicating when we were reunited. But to what purpose?

I had no time to ponder it though because barely a minute had passed when the pile of pantyhose I was in the middle of was picked up and dumped in a basket. Then I and my new equally powerless fellow individuals were smushed farther into the basket as one pile then another and another was dumped on top of us. Eventually, my sensations were purely a sheer slipping of nylon against me and the scents of dozens of other witches' musks mingling with what I still had of Carla's scent. Then we were dumped into an even larger container and wheeled away to god knows where and left to sit for what could have been minutes or days or weeks or years for all my ability to understand the passage of time in my new world. 

By the time I stopped fretting about it, I had become one with all the other transformed hose, and we had been smushed and jostled together so much that we might as well have been the property of a single owner who was a sort of amalgamation of all our owners. 

There was nothing of Carla to distinguish me as belonging to her. 

The transformation from human individual to mere property was complete, at least in the sense that I no longer had an owner of distinction. I was merely one of any number of identical black sheer pantyhose that could have been owned by anyone at all, not necessarily anyone special. 

Any sense of "me" that I might have had when belonging to Carla was gone. 

We waited in one huge pile for the longest time, it felt, before we were wheeled to another room. This room had a sweet, earthy aroma that instantly took over my nylon fibers and claimed me. If I had been a generic person scent before, I had suddenly become a generic herbal smell instead. 

Sage, I assumed. 

From what I remembered while talking about the herb with Carla, sage was used to dispel negative energies and open up a home to positive energy. What they planned for it to do with a pile of living pantyhose, I hadn't a single clue. 

The weight pressing down on me grew lighter, and eventually, I felt my body lifted out of the pile along with the others. I found my body in the hands of a young blonde girl I'd never seen before. She shook me out and carried me to a line of twine and hung me over it. 

"I don't know why they bothering doing this," she said, but not to me. She was speaking to another blonde behind her who was also hanging pantyhose over a thin rope. "They're ultimately just going to wash them and dump them in a pile again. I mean, what's the fucking point?"

"Don't complain. You're getting paid, right?"

"Well, sure, but it's weird."

"It's sage. It's about healing energy or something. Who cares if it's weird? As it means I don't have to clean bathrooms tonight."

"I guess that's true."

The girls chattered for a long time but eventually left all us transformed pantyhose hanging alone. There had to be at least a hundred of us from what I could see, and I couldn't see the entirety of the room. since I was crammed in a row between other hose. 

By the time the girls returned, there was no line between me and the sage. I was the sage. The sage was me. I was pantyhose, but I was also sage. 

They took us down from the twine and dumped us into a cart again, then they wheeled us to a washing room and grabbed us in bundles of matching black nylon, and shoved us into one of three industrial washers. After that, we sloshed around and around, growing soaked and soaped and rinsed and sloshed around again. When the wash cycle was done, the sage scent was gone, and I felt as though I didn't belong to anyone anymore. I had no shape, no scent, no taste. I was nothing. There was nothing of any trace to mark me as Carla's, or hell, anyone's, property. 

But I didn't have time to ponder my new fresh, generic, clean state of existence because we were taken out of the washers and loaded into garment bags by the dozen or so and tossed into the dryer to complete the journey from specific hosiery to generic. 

When the dryer finished, out we came and we were dumped unceremoniously from the garment bags into another cart. At that point, we were wheeled back into the main room which we had entered on our owner's legs and been peeled off under the table and left anonymously in a pile. 

I had only a brief window of sight and I couldn't find Carla, but I did see her sisters wearing towels and having wet hair as if they'd been swimming or had taken a shower. Then even that sliver of vision was gone as I was dropped into a huge pile of hosiery on one of the tables and covered with more of my own transformed brothers and sisters. 

And there we waited again until sometime later, the hotel's P.A. system crackled to life. 

"Ladies," the voice from before said. "It's time for the last phase of the ritual. It's time to test the bond between you and your familiars. Are you chosen to be together from among all those who live? Is your bond a true one? Are you genuinely fated or have you only assumed it?"

<Carla?!>

<Carla?!>

<Carla?!>

<Carla?!>

<Carla?!>

I was shouting as long as my mind would allow. But I had no idea if Carla could hear me. Hell, if anyone could hear me.

"You have been cleansed of spiritual impurities by the waters this evening. And your familiars too have been cleansed by the sage and the water. All traces of artificial ties have been removed. Only the true ties of your spirit to the spirit in the transformed article remain. But is it true enough to lead you to each other again?"

She stopped for a moment, and it sounded like a whisper was being spoken near the microphone. Then her voice returned. 

"Or, will you -- like so many of us before we found our destined familiar -- return home with the wrong hosiery? Will your former familiar even be available next year for you to try again at this ritual? Or will he or she or they simply become lost among the pantyhose one of your sisters had taken home mistakenly?"

There was another long pause. 

"As you know, if you choose correctly, when you leave this room, your connection will be restored, and you will be able to communicate with your familiar again. But if you choose incorrectly, any such ability to connect will remain broken, and for all intents and purposes, you will simply be taken home another pair of hose. It won't matter who it used to be because it will be as silent as if you had bought it off the rack at Macy's. But as long as you don't get it mixed up with your others, you can always bring it back and try against next year."

There was a loud round of excitement and applause. 

"May the goddess grant you the bond you desire."

Then the woman said something in a language I couldn't understand, and all hell broke loose. Hands rummaged through the pile of tights, groping and grabbing and pulling and stretching. I was picked up, put back down, sniffed, and examined for any tell-tale marks that might have been left on my tag if Carla had been so inclined to cheat. 

I was studied by what felt like dozens of the sisters only to be returned to the table and mixed in the pile again. Throughout it all, I never once saw Carla. Had she already chosen some other pair, leaving me to become part of some other owner's wardrobe, some owner who couldn't tell me apart from her other hose? I had no way of knowing.

In the end, I was grabbed and found myself back under the table in the dark while some woman was putting me on and pulling me up over her thighs and hips, and waist.

I immediately recognized that the shape wasn't Carla. This one was thinner, still attractive, still curvy, but not the dreamlike shape that belonged to my Carla. Nor did this woman stuff me into knee-high leather boots. Instead, she wore taller boots, thigh-high, and her dress descended over the top of the boots, cutting off even the slight sliver of vision I had possessed while on Carla's legs. Her legs smelled of salt water. 

"Victoria?" she asked. 

<No! I'm not fucking Victoria, you stupid bitch!> I thought at her, but she didn't respond. 

"Shit? Are you not Victoria? I just fucking knew you were here. Shit. Shit. Shit. That means either someone else got her or she's one of the last few pairs on the table, but it's too late for me to change my choice."

I felt the woman shudder and cry, and I shook as she did. 

"I hope you're happy, Vic," she said between tears. 

Then the woman pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. All I could see was the carpet beneath the hem of her dress. She hugged several of her sisters goodbye and soon she walked the two of us out of the meeting room. 

As we headed toward the exit, I heard Carla's voice, but the woman who now wore me continued to walk away from it, not toward it. 

"I was so sure we would be together," she was saying. 

<Carla?! I'm right here, Carla!>

But it was no good. She just couldn't hear me. Our connection was lost until next year might renew it. And that was only if I managed to return next year with my new owner. There were just too many things that could happen between now and then. Most likely, I would simply become part of her underwear drawer, mixed among her other pantyhose and treated merely as such. Or, she could be one of the women who was really hell on her tights, and I could end up with runs and get thrown away and end up in a landfill never to see Carla again. Or she could move to another state and join a new coven and find some new familiar to try the ritual with next year and just leave me stuck as her property. Hell, she could even be so hurt by her choice that she simply tossed me away when she got home to save herself from the memories of what she had lost.

<Carla! I'm over here.> I mindscreamed again. <I'm on this other woman's legs, and this bitch doesn't know that I belong to you.>

Still, my new owner kept walking away. 

<Carla, please hear me! Just hear me!! I don't even care if you change me back. Just know it's me and come take me back from this stupid bitch so we can be together. I'll be your pantyhose for the rest of my life if I had to, but I want to be with you. I need to be with you. I belong to you.>

I waited, hoping against hope that somehow she might hear me, might recognize me even on this other woman's legs. 

But nothing happened. 

My new owner reached the door and when the glass double doors opened, the cool air tingled and made her skin break out in gooseflesh. 

"I don't know who you are," she said, "but I sure hope you know what you cost me. Victoria wasn't just my familiar. She was my best friend. And now she's lost, probably stuck as a terrified pair of pantyhose for the rest of her fucking life, thanks to you."

A few minutes later, we were in her car, some small sedan that complained with a lot of whining when she pressed the gas too fast and too far. 

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