Uniformed
Man to Uniform. Nathan causes a Motorcycle cop to crash into the bushes and tries to escape, but old Mrs Hunter has other plans for him...
Edited and corrected by Ben243.
Nathan wasn't paying any attention, when he crossed the road. He just stepped in between two trucks expecting to enter the empty street beyond. Only it wasn't empty! A cop on a motorcycle nearly ran him over.
The latter just barely managed to dodge him at the last possible second. Thanks to this sudden turn, he lost control, and crashed through the bushes of a nearby park. His bike slipped down a small muddy hill - it had just rained an hour earlier - and into a row of trash cans, filled with all the slimy, smelly, garbage collected up over the last week.
The young man was clearly at fault here, as he'd just been staring at his phone and paying no attention to his surroundings. Yet he could have done the right thing at least, apologized to the poor Law enforcer and helped him up. Maybe it would have mitigated the trouble he was in.
Instead he ran. Nathan, who was already known at the station for his mischievous behavior, wasn't taking any chances. He knew they were looking for an excuse to throw the book at him.
To his great dismay he'd been watched by the old Mrs Hunter, a dressmaker who had her own shop nearby, and of whom it was rumored to have been a witch. At least back at school when he was still a small and easy to impress, dumb child.
In these days he'd been horrified to even see her at the opposite side of the street. Now that he was a young adult, she was nothing more to him than an eccentric old hag with crazy white locks. So when she suddenly blocked his way, he had no scruples to push her aside.
Instead, she nimbly wriggled past his arm, grabbed him by the ear and dragged him back to the Police officer like a foolish school boy. The experience was especially painful and humiliating, as Mrs Hunter was considerably smaller than him. Still, for such an old lady she had quite the strength between her fingers. Although what else was to be expected from a skilled tailor?
Sergeant Calvin Hammond, a burly bald bear of a man, who'd found his uniform not only dirty, but also ripped, watched in astonishment as Mrs Hunter pulled the young troublemaker Nathan down the hill. Proceeding firmly and confidently without slipping.
Nathan complained about the treatment, but not only was the Motorcycle cop okay with it, after what had happened, he too was a little intimidated by Mrs Hunter. The rumors concerning her happened to have been around since he himself was a little boy - which had been a couple of decades ago.
She forced Nathan to apologize and offered Hammond to repair the uniform, while Nathan made up for his stupidity by washing the motorcycle in her backyard. The cop replied that would be futile, as he was supposed to join the National Police Parade that afternoon. Mrs Hunter was yet still confident, they would make it in time.
Sergeant Hammond took a good look at Nathan: His arms seemed too thin and weak for such a task, and he wasn't all to trustworthy either. But he somehow trusted Mrs Hunter, as she declared the boy would not just do a good job, the machine would even look brand new afterwards.
Nathan grumbled about the punishment. For a start he had to pull the machine out of the mud, and push it up the hill towards the backyard of Mrs Hunter's shop, all on his own. Followed by the friendly chatting couple.
He thought of himself as the real victim. It wasn't his fault, the cop hadn't paid attention to the road. This was bullshit! He wasn't their slave, dammit! He should just throw the heavy thing back in the mud and run. Yeah...
Instead he pressed on, unable to let go. Almost as if he was under some sort of spell. Whatever was influencing him could have at least given him a hand moving the heavy bike! He really struggled to get it back up to the street. And neither Sergeant Hammond nor the old witch helped him in the slightest. They even seemed to ignore him. Worse than that: They went ahead! Damn sure he wouldn't bail on them.
Mrs Hunter brought the good Sergeant up to her apartment, which was just above her shop. Once there, she ordered him to strip out of his uniform. When he asked why, she simply replied that she couldn't attend to it otherwise. Fair enough!
He slipped out of his boots and all the black leather, blissfully ignorant of the fact, he was being watched by an old lady that had her libido not completely wrapped up and buried. And then, he just stood there, bare naked and masculine.
She inspected him for a while, took in his musky scent, his hairy chest and his massive dick. He let it happen, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. 'Oh my!' she thought. What would she give to be young again! Well, that was unfortunately beyond even her powers.
She sent him to the bathroom for a relaxing bubble bath, suggesting to use the purple bottle - as it contained a solution that would take care of his scratches and bruises too. Sergeant Hammond did as he was told, without questioning it for even a second.
Nathan in the meantime had reached her backyard, fell on his knees and was completely out of breath. What was he doing here? He had to get away, run as fast as his legs were able to drag him. Only that he couldn't! Mrs Hunter had returned, a basket with cleaning equipment under her arm, that she threw to his feet. Nathan had enough! He began to shout at her, insulted her, called her names...
She let him talk, an amused smirk on her face, that suddenly turned into pure anger when he mentioned, that people like her should be burnt on a stake like back in the "good old days". With a snap of a finger, she silenced him and made him stand at attention like an obedient little toy soldier. Nathan had struck a nerve - big mistake!
She slowly approached him, like a predator its prey, and whispered, that she'd initially planned to let him go, after he'd washed the motorcycle. Now though... she didn't even bother to tell him, what evil punishment she had in mind.
Nathan was so terrified, he would have pissed himself if he'd been allowed to. She snapped again, forcing him back down to his knees, where the real nightmare began. Instead of using the equipment in the basket, he opened his mouth, stuck his tongue out as far as he could and began to lick the motorcycle clean like a cat its kitten.
The nauseating taste of earth, grass and oil immediately spread over his entire mouth - it was disgusting. Yet he couldn't stop himself, eagerly licked across the surface, in between nooks and crannies, inch by inch,
Occasionally chewing and swallowing bigger chunks of dirt, teeth rubbing like millstones over grains of sand and small pebbles. Everything hurt: His jaw, his tongue, his stomach. A flood of tears ran over his cheeks. When would it stop? His only hope was, that sooner or later the cop would come and free him.
He had no idea the witch had increased the local flow of time, in order for him to finish before Hammond had even filled up the bathtub. Who would soon be caught up in-between pink bubbles, in a deep trance of pure relaxation and regeneration.
After a while, Nathan began to ooze cleaning fluid from his aching nose like a soap dispenser, and rip off parts of his clothes, that he rubbed over the machine to make it really clean. After what felt like hours to him - but was not more than 5 minutes to the rest of the world - he had barely anything left on him.
Completely exhausted, he stepped inside Mrs Hunter's workshop and let himself fall on the only empty surface in the entire room: Her working bench. His belly had visibly grown, as it was filled to the brim with filth. He had barely any teeth left in his mouth, which was still bleeding horribly. Nathan was ready to end it here, ready to die. But Mrs Hunter had different plans for him.
She went over to him, held the top of his head in her left and his chin in her right hand. Was she about to break his neck? To show at least some mercy and stop his suffering? Far from it! What happened next was worse. Much worse!
With one swift pull, she lifted his whole head straight from the rest of his body. Nathan tried to scream, but without his lungs there was nothing more than the cracking sound of his slowly transforming skull.
His lower jaw detached from the rest and only hung on a strap that had once been his tongue. His hair fell off, while the rest of his skull inflated and hardened. Mrs Hunter sat him on a shelve, stuck the emblem of Hammond's unit on his forehead and left him to his further transformation. He watched in horror what happened to the rest of his body. All of which he could feel, as if he was still attached to it.
His skin turned black and shiny like leather. And that's exactly how it began to feel. All slick and hard and bare. His filled up belly and bowels collapsed, like everthing else. Making room for a new, inner emptiness. Not emotional, but quite physical. Nathan's body was completely hollowed out.
His toes seemed to melt together, like molten plastic, just to reassemble as the tips of some shiny new leather boots. With soles which grew like thick, resistant calluses. His former feet detached from the rest of his legs, so did his hands that turned into gloves.
The witch took all the pieces, cutting the material to size, rearranging and sewing them together in part with buttons, zippers and other parts from the old uniform. For poor young Nathan it felt like she'd torn through his flesh, he felt every stitch of her needle that penetrated the robust leather, and the cold metallic feeling of the reattached badge and name tag on his former breasts.
His head in the meantime had grown to the size of a helmet, taking on an overall white and blue color, with golden applications, and the form of polycarbonate plastic. His nose had flattened, closed and vanished completely, while his upper lip extended into a visor.
The opening of what used to be his mouth extended over his vanishing neck and hollowed out, upwards his palate, inside his skull. Gum, brain and bones got replaced by a soft inner shell and further straps. Nathan's head looked like a standard Police motorcycle helmet now, except for the eyes that would vanish last, so he wouldn't miss out on the rest of Mrs Hunter's punishment.
She finished sewing on the Police patches and stripes, attaching the rest of the insignias. Nathan's body looked like Sergeant Hammond's original uniform parts now. But the witch wasn't quite done yet! He still felt two familiar items and the thought of what she would do with them horrified him to the core: His scrotum and his dick!
And indeed, he could feel her wrinkly old hands enclosing his balls with a sadistically, painfully hard grip. Felt how she kneaded them, as if they were made out of clay. Slowly pressing her two fingers through them. The pain was so unbearable, he would have died on the spot if he still could.
Instead of squishing his testicles though, she produced two holes. Widened them, forming two connected rings. Suddenly a cold shower spread through his being, as they turned into a pair of brand new metal handcuffs, which she folded and carefully stowed in Sergeant Hammond's magazine pouch.
The Grand finale, as she put it, was Nathan's penis, that she rubbed til it was fully erected. Before shrinking it down to something black, he couldn't quite recognize, as his eye sight began to slowly deteriorate.
Whatever it was, it felt compact, boxy, hard - proper hard! Partly metallic, partly like hard plastic. And weird. The truth just dawned on him, when she began to load bullets into what used to be his urethra - piece by piece.
It was the weirdest and strangely most arousing thing Nathan could have imagined, until the moment she loaded the magazine into Sergeant Hammond's gun, which topped it. She placed it back into its holster and went over to gift Nathan one last smile, before his eyes closed and vanished too. What happened next Nathan could neither see nor hear. But he could still feel it!
Sergeant Hammond came back from his bath and dressed up again. Nathan felt him slip inside him, all warm and tight. First the trousers, the boots, the jacket and then the helmet, clamping Nathan's former jaw under his chin. He could taste the salty surface of his bald head. Feel how the law enforcer took full control over his body, dictated every move, filled him out.
Nathan felt him strap his harness around his belly and over his shoulder, tightening it firmly. Felt him stepping outside, into the cold. His weight as he sat back on his bike, the vibration of the motor, the unevenness of the street. He felt the cold wind against his leather skin. And somehow, the admiration of the audience during the parade. And he felt incredibly aroused by the whole experience. As he was worn. As he was presented with pride.
All he'd left was that feeling, to be Sergeant Hammond's uniform. In the evening he would hang in his locker. During the day, they were on duty. Sergeant Hammond would take his handcuffs out sometimes and close them around the wrists of some criminal. He then feared they would get lost, but Sergeant Hammond took good care of his equipment - as he did of him.
One time he had to use his gun! The resulting explosions on the tip of his former penis, and the reloading bullets sent a wave of pure ecstasy through Nathan's whole remaining being. He would have screamed in excitement, but couldn't even manage to shiver. Ever since, he longed for more.
It mattered not who Hammond shot at or if he killed somebody. As long as he gave him that orgasmic sensation. Unfortunately for him, Hammond was a good cop and rarely used his weapon at all. At least Nathan had something to look forward to!
The more Sergeant Hammond wore him down over the years, the more Nathan lost his memories. Until he was nothing more than a sentient uniform, who's greatest pleasure and privilege it was to be worn by its beloved owner.