After Hours

Working late at the office, a young man catches a bit of contagiously garish fashion. Mature.

Mitchell had one arm in his jacket when his boss stepped into his cubicle with an apologetic smile on his face and a thick folder in his hand.

"Hey, Mitch. Can you work late today?" Andy asked.

Mitchell searched for an excuse and came up with nothing. "I guess so, yeah," he said with a small sigh. He hung his jacket on the back of his seat.

"Great. Julie was going to put in these reports, but she took off." Andy hefted the folder. "Said she was taking sick leave. Anyway, just make sure they're all in."

Andy tapped the folder against Mitchell's chest. Paff. A cloud of glitter puffed against his button-down shirt. He pursed his lips and leaned away from the flecks of sparkle.

"Sorry, that stuff's all over her desk. Maybe she's got a glitter cold." Andy grinned at his own joke, then stepped back into the hall. "Right. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you," Mitchell said. The glitter clung to his shirt. He put the folder down and blew the sparkles off as best he could. Then he slumped down into his seat. His computer said it was three minutes past five. All he wanted was to go home so he could lie down and pretend he didn't have work tomorrow. Maybe if he hurried he could be out of the office by six.

At least entering reports was mindless work. He popped in his earbuds and queued up some acoustic folk to keep him going. Each report he finished entering went face-down in a stack next to the ones he had yet to do. After five minutes, the 'done' stack was still discouragingly small.

Below the frames of his glasses, his eyes caught a flash of color. Mitchell paused, then leaned back and looked down at his shirt. In the middle of his plain white work shirt, a strip of color ran across his chest, about four inches wide and one inch thick, and neon pink with thin black stripes. Before his eyes, the button in the middle of the strip of color shrunk down, then vanished. His shirt's cotton had turned to spandex where the color touched, stretched across his chest as a single piece of fabric.

He raised his hands to the patch of gaudy spandex and touched his fingertips to it. It was real, and it was thin, and when he plucked it with his fingers, it snapped back elastic against his chest.

And then his spine pressed back against the chair and he arched his chest forward. He gripped the seat of his chair and wriggled his shoulders. A tight warmth squeezed its way up into his chest, right underneath the patch of striped pink. The spandex bulged outward, cupping the small swells rising atop his ribs.

His chest rose and fell with each quick breath, each stretching the skin-tight fabric a little more. As his breasts grew, they pulled his shirt tighter. In response, more of his shirt turned pink and thinned and grew elastic. What had been a thin strip grew with each surge of pressure into his breasts, as if his growing bustline was stretching his shirt out into pink tiger-print. By the time the growth slowed to a stop, the garish pink pattern had spread far enough that it looked like he was wearing a flashy tube top on top of his shirt.

Mitchell's hands rose up to his chest. He grabbed too firmly at first, making himself wince and pull back. Using a gentle touch instead, he was able to cup his breasts. The tight spandex offered no insulation from the cool air or his warm touch. His palms bumped against his nipples and he shuddered in his seat.

Only once he pulled his hands away did the reality sink in. A pair of breasts. Soft, round, a constant weight against his chest. They were real, and they were his. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and he wiped it away, brushing back his short, dark hair.

Mitchell plucked the earbuds from his ears. He leaned forward to toss them next to his phone, and thumped his new breasts against the edge of his desk. With an arm wrapped across his bustline, he sat back, taking slow breaths. He squeezed his arm closer to see his breasts bulge around it. Then with both hands, he pressed his breasts inward, watching the two mounds squeeze together beneath the spandex.

Fascinated, he toyed with his breasts until he realized that the spandex was still spreading. Black stripes cut horizontally across the pink as it crept higher up his chest and further around his sides. More of his buttons disappeared into the sleek, stretchy fabric his shirt was becoming.

Mitchell put his hands on his desk to keep him from continuing to touch himself. His long nails made a soft click as they hit the desk. A sudden chill swept through him. He stuck out his hands, spreading his fingers to look at them properly. Each nail was longer, and filed, and polished to a glossy sheen. Each finger was a little shorter, a little more slender.

And then, from the tips of his fingers back, his skin warmed, darkening as if his hours in the break room were instead hours spent in a tanning bed. Fair skin faded into a gentle tan along his palms and up the backs of his arms.

"Oh no," he whispered. His slim fingers closed over his lips. His other hand stretched far out in front of him. Slowly, very slowly, his nails pushed up from the cuticle, growing longer before his eyes.

Another burst of tightness struck him in the chest. His hands gripped the seat between his legs as he curled his back and thrust out his chest. His nipples buzzed like radios tuned to static as his skin stretched rounder. Pink tiger-print took over more of his shirt as his spandex-encased breasts swelled out larger and heavier, pressing against the sides of his arms. The pink tiger-stripes curled around his chest, tracing the contour of his bustline. The same warm tingling that heralded the tan on his arms swept across his chest, too.

His chest wasn't all that was growing. While he squirmed, his lengthening hair bobbed and swayed around his head. His bangs flopped forward against his forehead. The rest of his hair tickled against his ears and neck. The longer his hair grew, the more it behaved itself and fell around his face in smooth, straight locks. The dark brown of his hair deepened until it was black with a satin sheen.

Mitchell wove his fingers through his chin-length hair anxiously. Breasts were one thing, but nails and hair too? This wasn't good. His eyes slid down to the reports. If he came in early tomorrow, he could take care of them before Andy got in. Or he could work on them at home, if he needed to. He sat up and patted the front and back pockets of his slacks. Dang it, where were his wallet and keys?

But before he could start searching, his lips began to tingle. He bit back a small groan. The same tight, warm, squeezing feeling he'd felt in his breasts was back. Now it swirled up into his face and pushed against his lips. The pressure spread his lips thicker in short bursts of growth. His lips soon stood out against the front of his face and pulled naturally into a small pout. They were tender; he could feel every inch of his lips' plump curve.

With an arm across his chest to keep from bumping the desk with his breasts again, he reached out a hand to turn off his monitor. He paused, looking at his extended hand. His nails were not just polished, but now painted with a bright pink gloss. With a grimace, he punched the power button, then tilted the screen down so it was pointed at his face.

In his dim reflection, Mitchell saw his lips, coated in neon pink lipstick that brought out their pout. Top and bottom, his lips were each about a finger's width thick, rounded, and sensitive enough to tingle when he touched them. One of his pink-tipped fingers pressed against the middle of his lips. It slipped smoothly between his lips. A queasy flutter of delight tickled his stomach.

That wasn't the only thing he could see in the monitor. The pink tiger-print spandex had taken over his shirt up to his shoulders. His collar was dissolving away into snug, pink, skin-tight fabric. The spandex hugged him so tightly that it was reshaping his body. It squeezed his shoulders inward and slimmed his chest, tapering his upper torso.

His arms were still free of spandex, except for the cuffs. For whatever reason, the ends of his sleeves had gone pink tiger-stripe, and now the gaudy pattern was converging toward his elbows from both ends. Underneath the baggy white of his old sleeves, the warm tan continued its climb up along his arms.

Other, subtler changes crept across his face. The spreading tan now blossomed outward from his cheeks, softening his skin as it spread. His eyebrows had been plucked or waxed down to a slim, gentle arch that brushed up against his straight bangs. His cheekbones had risen and his nose had pushed back against his face, flatter and slightly slimmer.

A trace of eyeliner rimmed his eyes. His eyelashes brushed against his cheeks with every blink. The makeup was still subtle (aside from his eye-wateringly pink lipstick) but it made him look unlike himself. He had to touch his cheek and part his lips and raise his eyebrows to remind himself that it was his own reflection in the monitor.

Mitchell had spent enough time gawking at himself. He needed to get his things and leave, before this got any worse. Standing up, he leaned over his desk, shuffling through the piles of papers to see where he might have left his keys and wallet. He'd probably tossed them somewhere when he'd come back from lunch. His breasts were a constant distraction, their weight sliding around as he turned and bent over and stood up, and he felt he now had to reach around him.

In the midst of searching, the tight pressure inside his body hit him in two places at once. He leaned forward and clung to the desk for support.

His chest pushed forward and his breasts creaked outward again. His swelling bustline bent the tiger-print around it until a soft snap came from the neckline. All of a sudden, it plunged down lower, exposing his lightly tanned chest and his swelling cleavage. His breasts were large enough now that they pressed against each other. For a second, he thought his chest would pop right out of the deep neckline, but it stopped, forming a snug V-shape across his bust. In between soft gasps, he stared down at his proud, rounded...tits. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine.

At the same time, his rear swelled out the seat of his pants, stretching the slacks into spandex that bore the same neon-pink tiger-stripe as his shirt. The skin-tight fabric cupped his growing cheeks as they stuck out further behind him and grew steadily wider. Letting go of the counter, he reached back and squeezed his ass, feeling it swell beneath his fingers. It wasn't just round and thick, it was smooth: he could trace a single curve down from the small of his back and around his juicy ass. 'Heart-shaped' wouldn't have done justice to its thickness.

His chest heaved and stretched the spandex smooth. Mitchell tried to catch his breath. He couldn't figure out how this was spreading or how it was getting worse. He tried to ignore the new weight against his chest and rear, and the feeling of spandex creeping over his elbows, down his back, and around his waist. He had to think. It had started with his shirt, and then he'd touched his shirt, and then it started spreading...everywhere he'd touched. It was contagious.

Mitchell held his tits steady as he bent down to look under his desk for his wallet and keys. He needed to leave, now.

Pink tiger-stripe enveloped his hips. The stripes curled and wrapped around the contours of his body. More tight swelling surged down his legs. His thighs pushed together as his hips widened, evening out to match the thickness of his ass.

Meanwhile the gaudy tiger-print on his shirt crept toward his waist. The new skin-tight fit gripped his stomach and drew it inward. It was the same tight warmth that had reshaped his chest and ass and legs, but now instead of pushing, it was pulling. His waist tucked inward. At first he just looked slim, but soon, he was becoming slender in an unmistakably feminine way. His dwindling waistline only made his hips look thicker in comparison.

At last, he found his keys and wallet. They'd fallen off the top of the desk and gotten wedged next to his trash can. He pulled them out triumphantly and went to stick them in the pockets he no longer had, then stopped and frowned. The spandex had slipped around the front of his thighs, and as he watched, the pink and black stripes cupped his crotch and continued on toward his knees.

A sharp pang dug into his lower abdomen. Mitchell groaned, doubled over, and fell back into his office chair. His feet hung in the air, unable to reach the floor while he sat. The new thick padding of his ass and hips made up for some of his lost height. His back pressed against the chair, his hands on his thighs and his legs spread open. The pang wormed its way deeper.

Again came that firm, hot pull inside of him, deeper, sharper, and more powerful. Mitchell groaned and grit his teeth. The bulge between his legs throbbed, then shrunk back. Another pull, another throb, and it shrunk more. Each pulse was a burst of pleasure and a sinking feeling of vertigo all in one. Beneath the spandex, his underwear reshaped into thin panties, so slim they were like a second skin. Another throb. An invisible force gripped his throat like a hand and squeezed. Each of his shuddering groans came out higher, smoother, thick and syrupy.

The last throb didn't end. His muscles tensed, then pulled and spread. He writhed in his chair, toes curled, hands holding onto the seat. When the strange, gaping pleasure finished squeezing its way into him, there was nothing between his legs but a small mound. His heart was still pounding, his skin still hot.

Shuddering, Mitchell took two fingers and slipped them between those thick thighs. They pressed up against the mound, tracing the faint outline of a pair of swollen folds beneath the spandex. Even the gentle touch of two fingers was electric against the sensitive skin

This was serious. She had to leave, now.

As Mitchell got up from her seat, the spandex pulled snug against her waist. The top and bottom of her new, attention-grabbing, pink-and-black tiger-stripe outfit had merged together across the front. Around her sides, they were still growing together. The stitches made a soft zzzip as they wove the shirt and leggings into a one-piece spandex jumpsuit. Down around her calves, the pink ate up the last of her slacks, and wrapped taut around her ankles. Little surges of pressure rippled down her legs, stretching them into shapely curves accentuated by the tiger-stripes wrapped around her whole body..

At least that was done with, Mitchell thought, looking down at her eye-wateringly bright outfit.

Her brain fizzled for a moment.

Michelle blinked. At least that was done with, she thought.

She hopped up from her seat and grabbed her jacket off the back. She was dismayed to find that it had shrunk and turned glittering pink. It was now a puffy coat that would only reach down to the bottom of her breasts if she tried to close it—and it didn't look like it was meant to close. But it did have pockets. She shoved her arms through the sleeves, careful not to catch her nails on the smooth lining. Were her nails longer? She wiggled them out in front of her. The neon-pink nails stuck out about half an inch longer than her fingertips.

With a soft huff and pouted lips, Michelle stuffed her wallet and keys into one of her coat pockets. The pout set off something in her lips. A warm moan slipped out of her mouth. Her lips were swelling again, thicker and plumper, pulling smooth by their sheer size. She wiggled two fingers around her lower lip and squeezed. It was soft, but she could feel a pressure pushing back. Despite their plush, swollen size, they still had a bit of that natural curl, as if they had been thick even before being pumped up.

Lips parted, Michelle dipped her head to look at herself in the monitor's reflection. Her round glasses had grown larger. The lenses were now tinted a metallic pink-yellow. While she watched, her frames puffed out into striped pink plastic, chunky and horn-rimmed. Her nails clicked against the frame. She plucked the glasses off her nose and propped them on top of her smooth black bangs. They were sunglasses now; she could see perfectly fine without them.

Her eyelashes had taken on another few coats of mascara. Her eyeliner was carefully shaped, thickening along the outer corner of her eyes to emphasize her lashes. Dark eyeshadow dusted across her eyes. The dimmed office lights glistened against her pink gloss lipstick. Her eyebrows were carefully sculpted. Her face was smooth, tall, almost model-like. She looked nothing like she was supposed to.

Michelle grabbed her phone and unplugged the headphones. As she did, thumping club music she'd never heard before blared from the speakers. Clicking the volume down did nothing, the power button did nothing. All she could do was shove it into her coat pocket and hope that no one else had stayed late to hear it. Her cheeks glowed red as she left her cubicle. The reports were still sitting on her desk; she'd deal with them tomorrow.

While before she'd been able to peek over the tops of the cubicles as she passed, now the walls were six or seven inches above her head. A prickling sense of pleasure trickled up the backs of her legs. She bit her lip to keep her mouth closed. Each step brought a little more of a click, and a little more lift. The tops of her black work shoes melted away into straps, and the soles lifted her heels higher. Her shoes became glossy black with pink straps, showing off her bare toes and their pink nail polish. While Michelle had lost in height, she was gaining in heels.

A warm ache poured into the pit of her stomach. Her heels forced each step into a strut. Every tap of heel against carpet made the taut, warm pressure against the seat of her jumpsuit. Her ass steadily thickened. The tightness slid along her legs, making them grow to keep pace with her rear. As much as she tried to walk firm and stiff, her wider hips swung from side to side.

Soon, her ass was thick enough to bounce. After each step, she felt it jiggle, cupped by the tight spandex and swaying behind her. The pink and black stripes warped around her thick cheeks. Her ass moved so much on its own that it felt like a new part of her. Sure, she'd had a butt before, but she'd never had a booty. Not one that she could shake like this.

While they couldn't compete with her ass, her breasts grew heavier too. Her nipples stiffened against the front of the spandex, making every step she took into a small jolt. The neckline creaked lower, showing off more of her gently bobbing cleavage.

Michelle clicked out to the elevator in time to the pumping beat coming from her phone. Her pussy pulsed between her thick thighs. She compulsively combed her chest-length hair with her nails to keep her hands busy. She couldn't...not in public. She had to hold on a little longer.

The elevator chimed. She climbed on and hit the button for the lobby. The doors slid shut.

In the privacy of the elevator, she could go wild. A deep groan left Michelle's lips as she wrapped her hands underneath her breasts. The spandex clung to her skin and the tiger-print stripes twisted around her fingers. She ran her hands up and down her chest. The fabric's tight cling made every touch and brush of cool air into a delighted shiver. She felt she could never get tired of running her fingers across the smooth spandex and feeling the.weight of her breasts against her palms.

But only part of her attention was on her breasts. The rest was focused below her waist. She traced down the curve from her slender waist, out around her thick ass, and along her wide hips. Michelle tried to grasp her ass, but it was so thick and round that the best she could do was spread her fingers and squeeze a big handful. The more she groped her own body, the hotter and more swollen grew the ache between her legs.

Bright neon pink came up from the tips of her hair, stopping about halfway up her locks and fading up to her natural satin black. Pink tiger-striped bangles popped into existence around her wrists, clattering against each other. She kneaded her tits with one hand and ground her ass against the other. The skin-tight outfit clung to her like a bodysuit, moving with every roll of her hips and curl of her chest.

With her ass thrust up against the wall, the hand that had been groping her ass slid down lower. Her fingers tucked between her legs and began to rub her swollen mound. Even through two layers of clothes, it felt amazing.

"Oh god," she moaned out, thick and sweet. Her eyes rolled back, glazed over. Her legs were parted, balanced on her six-inch heels. A flush of heat swept over her, deepening her tan and leaving her skin smooth and supple. The heat flowed like oil across her body: washing over her cheeks and face, dripping down her cleavage, running between her legs, and reaching down to her toes.

Chunky pink plastic hoops bobbed behind her hair, tapping against her chin and neck, and swinging from her pierced ears. Flecks of glitter sparkled in her eyeshadow. A pink choker necklace hugged her neck.

Michelle's pussy throbbed while she worked her body in time with the beat coming from her phone. The elevator was three floors away from to the lobby, so she hurried. She squeezed the slick fabric that gripped her breasts and ground her fingers against the outline of her folds. She was so pent-up, she didn't need anything more to come to a small, shuddering orgasm. Michelle's brain turned to jelly and she threw her shoulders back against the wall and cried out loud.

Only as she came down through the afterglow did she notice that the doors had already opened. Fuzzy and floating on a pink tiger-stripe cloud, Chelle strutted through the lobby, brushing her hair back so she could stick her earbuds in her ears. A small patch of dampness soaked through her panties and spandex, but she was in too much of a daze to think about it. Only as she paused to plug in her headphones did she see the security guard, sitting at his desk and staring wide-eyed at her. A blush leapt to her cheeks. She gave him a bashful grin and dorky wave, then rushed out the door.

Chelle jiggled in more ways than she thought possible as she walked to the bus stop. Even her lips felt each click of her heels against the pavement, though that was nothing next to the bounce and wobble and sway of her ass. She had to stuff her hands into her pockets to keep from groping herself again. She wished she'd driven to work so she could have some more privacy, but at least the bus ride home was short.

Standing at the stop, tapping a heel to the beat thumping in her ears, she looked up at the bus schedule. Seven minutes until the bus that would take her home. Two minutes until the bus that went down toward where the clubs and bars were. She could just imagine how good she'd be at dancing with a body like this.

Chelle pouted her lips and tugged on the pink tips of her hair. Maybe this would sort itself out in the morning. Maybe she just needed a good night out. Maybe she was already horny again.