The transition happened on a rainy Thursday afternoon. Ash was heading out for a weekend tour with her band, and her younger sister, Maria, had stopped by to "borrow some clothes."
Maria was the opposite of Ash: a preppy, high-achieving business major with a cruel streak that she hid behind a perfect, lip-glossed smile. When she saw the lavender panties sitting on the bed—the one pair Ash wasn't packing—she arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow.
"Since when do you wear lace, Ash? This looks like something a girl with actual taste would buy."
Ash smirked, picking up her phone. "That’s because it’s not just a pair of panties, Maria. That’s Lace. You remember Michael Lacey? The guy from that party?"
Maria’s eyes went wide, then narrowed with a wicked glint. "No way. The missing music student? You actually did it? You kept him?"
"He’s legally mine now," Ash said, tapping the TFRM app. "He wanted to stay awake, too. He’s a 'Lucky Pair.' Tell you what—I’m going to be in a cramped van for three days and I don’t want him getting ruined. You want to borrow him for a week? He’s great for exams. Just keep him clean."
The Handover
Lace felt the world tilt as Ash handed him over. He went from Ash’s calloused, familiar hands to Maria’s long, manicured fingers. Maria’s touch was cold.
"Michael Lacey," Maria purred, holding him up to the light so she could see the music-note branding. "I remember you. You were so quiet in high school. Always hiding behind that guitar. Who knew you had such a... versatile future?"
Lace pulsed a rapid, frantic rhythm.
"Oh, shut up," Maria laughed, opening the TFRM app on her own phone as Ash shared the 'Guest User' permissions. "Ash, you set his communication to 'Binary Pulse' only? That’s genius. I don't want to hear him whine."
[NOTIFICATION: Guest User 'Maria' Granted Temporary Custody - 7 Days]
[COMMUNICATION LOCK: Yes/No Pulses Only]
"Have fun, Lace," Ash called out, swinging her bass case over her shoulder. "Try not to let her work you too hard!"
The Week of Hell
The moment the door clicked shut, Maria’s smile turned into a predatory grin. She didn't put him in a drawer. She took him into her room and pinned him to a corkboard with a couple of thumbsticks—carefully, avoiding his "skin," but leaving him hanging there like a specimen.
"So, Michael," Maria said, sitting at her vanity and applying a face mask. "Are you enjoying being the family heirloom? Pulse once for Yes, twice for No."
Lace pulsed twice. Hard.
"Liar," she teased. "I can feel your fibers vibrating. You love the attention. You always were a little submissive. Is it true Ash makes you catch everything? Pulse once for Yes."
Lace hesitated. He pulsed once.
Maria cackled. "Disgusting. Well, don't worry. I’m much more demanding than my sister. I have three club meetings, a gala, and a gym session today. You’re going to be very, very busy."
She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, standing in her expensive, designer silk underwear. She looked at the lavender panties on the corkboard with disdain.
"You’re a bit cheap-looking for my usual style, but Ash says you’re lucky. Let's see if you can help me get that internship at the law firm."
The Gym Session
Maria was a fitness fanatic. Unlike Ash’s "concert sweat," which felt like a shared victory, Maria’s gym session was a clinical endurance test.
Lace was pinned under tight, non-breathable spandex leggings. For two hours, Maria pushed herself on the StairMaster. Lace was drenched. He felt the salt stinging his fibers, the heat rising until he felt like he was being boiled in a lavender-scented pot.
"Still awake in there, Mike?" Maria whispered, checking her reflection in the gym mirror as she wiped sweat from her forehead. "Feeling lucky? One for Yes."
Lace pulsed twice. He was exhausted, his mind reeling from the physical strain of being a high-performance garment.
"Poor baby," Maria mocked, taking a deep, deliberate seat on a weight bench, crushing him against the cold metal. "Maybe if you’re a good little pair of panties, I’ll wash you tonight. If not... maybe I’ll just leave you in the gym bag until Monday."
Lace’s pulse was a weak, fluttering once. He was begging.
"That's what I thought," Maria smirked. "You're not a man anymore, Michael. You're a moisture-wicking accessory. And honestly? You're doing a much better job at this than you ever did at music."
By the third day, the "Michael" in his head was fading. He found himself waiting for the pulses. He found himself hoping for her to ask if he was comfortable, just so he could pulse "No" and have her laugh at him. The taunting was the only thing keeping him tethered to the idea of being human. Without it, he was just fabric.
