A business catgirl turns into an embarrassingly anime catgirl. In the middle of the office, no less! Explicit.
Tara’s big presentation for the board of directors had gone well, until her hair turned candy-apple red.
For instance, she’d gotten to the conference room with half an hour to spare, so that her laptop would be hooked up and ready to go. She’d even had enough time to duck into the bathroom for a couple minutes, to make sure that both her chin-length black hair and the feline ears poking out of it were brushed and tidy. And once she got started, she didn’t even have to check her notes. She was only a few slides away from the end when things went wrong.
One of the board members raised their hand and leaned forward. They didn’t even look up from the phone in their hand. Tara couldn’t remember their name but was immediately sure they had always been on the board and she shouldn’t question whether they had. Unable to guess whether she ought to call them sir or ma’am, she had to settle for asking, “Yes?”
They kept their eyes on their phone. “Question. Have you considered kawaii?”
Tara breathed in sharply and a small chill ran down her spine, all the way to the tip of her black tail. One of the board member’s jackal-ears twitched, as if they’d heard her gasp. Did they know? She’d worked hard to keep her whole thing a secret. Her laser pointer rolled anxiously between her sweating fingers. “I’m...not familiar, so no.”
“Really? I thought you’d be familiar with, y’know, nyan.” They curled their hand in a paw-like gesture.
As if a gust of wind struck her in the face her hair blew back from her face, then swung back down again, its color warmed to a bright, glossy red. With a flick of her ears and a swish of her tail, both of them had turned pastel pink.
For a moment she stood still, with the hair on the back of her neck prickling and her heart beating faster and faster. She didn’t know what to do or say. Everyone was staring at her, except for the one board member who had asked the question—they had settled back into their chair, once again occupied with their phone.
She gulped and then said, “S-sorry, Tara has to excuse herself.”
Dropping the laser pointer and abruptly turning toward the door, she strode out of the conference room and toward the bathroom as fast as she could while still looking ‘professional’ With her hands bunched into fists, her growing nails were already digging into her palms.
Tara bolted the door shut behind her, to make sure no one would come barging in. Cursing quietly, she turned her hands over to examine her curled, glossy red nails. She checked her tail too, running her fingers through the striped pink fur.
Already? She shook her head as she walked over to the mirror. Her hair was so impeccably smooth and bright it looked like she was wearing a wig. “Okay, calm down,” she told her reflection. “Think quarterly returns. Drafting emails. Spreadsheets.”
Her eyes slid shut as she slowly crammed her thoughts down into an office-shaped mold. She imagined the least exciting things she could: the satisfying seriousness of Manila folders and the faint electric smell of fresh photocopies. Then something bright and rainbow-colored plowed through her thoughts. blasting bubblegum pop at maximum volume. Her eyes shot open wide as they burst with shades of bright blue, sparkling and glimmering and catching the light in impossible ways. There was more with each blink. More cat’s-eye eyeliner, more gleam and shimmer, more plush lashes—just more.
“Uwaah!” she squeaked, then winced and muffled her mouth with her hand. “No no no, come on, not at work.” She turned the faucet on and began splashing her face with water.
Not only did that not stop the saccharine makeup advancing across her eyelids and cheeks, but without thinking about it she’d switched from washing with water to licking the backs of her hands and scrubbing her face with them.
Though she cleaned herself up with a towel she ran under the faucet, she had no choice but to give up on getting rid of the makeup. Giving the anime-eyed catgirl in the mirror a weary look, she told herself, “Come nyaan, Tara can hold it together.”
A sudden pang of need struck between her thighs. She twisted her heels, pressed her knees together, and bent forward over the sink. Her teeth clenched, her lips spread into a grimace, and her eyes tipped back into her head. Her first instinct was to shove a hand down between her legs; her second, to pin that hand against the counter and start grinding herself against it. Her mouth tumbled open, showing off the sharp tips of her canines and fogging up the mirror with her heavy breaths. “Nyaaa, Tara wants to fuuuck,” she mewled in desperation.
Her hips bumped mechanically against the counter while her tail swung up behind her and lashed back and forth through the air. Her shoes slipped against the tile floor. She huffed and squeaked and made generally adorable sounds of overwhelming pleasure. Trying to rein in her more colorful side now was like trying to hold back an overeager dog without a leash.
Ew, doggies! She wrinkled her nose, then let out an involuntary snicker. Well, unless they wanted to play with her. Dog girls were really good at licking...
Tara shook her head and tried very hard not to think about jackal girls pinning her down and sliding down between her legs. That backfired, and for a good thirty seconds or so of grinding all she could think about was arching her back, holding onto someone’s head, scratching mindlessly behind their ears to get them to keep going...
Her body mimicked her fantasy—she was still bent over the counter, but with her shoulders pushed back and her chest thrust forward. She groaned as her suit jacket and button-down blouse strained against her body for just a moment. Then with a fwoomph so hard it nearly bowled her over into the sink, her chest surged straight through her clothes. Both blouse and jacket popped like a balloon, there one minute and simply gone the next, with only a low-slung tank top stretched around her heavy-yet-weightless breasts. Across the front was printed ‘ネコ’ in bubbly-shaped characters.
If that wasn’t enough, a red collar was now strapped snugly around Tara’s neck, sporting a big brass bell that jingled with every movement she made. (Jingle jingle.) She pouted and poked at the bell. (Jingle jingle.) “Aah—Tara’s not a kitty-cat!” she whined. Stuffing her fingers underneath the strap, she began fighting to pull the collar free. (Jingle jingle jingle jingle jingle.)
She found the clasp and was just about to pry it open when her hands inflated into paws. In less than a second, they flumphed out to twice their normal size at least, covered in white fur ‘gloves’, with big pink pads on her fingertips and claws painted in red nail polish. The sudden expansion trapped the hand she’d slipped under the collar, leaving her struggling and gasping until she finally wriggled it free one digit at a time.
The whole while, the bell’s endless tinkling wore its shape into the fabric of her mind. She didn’t even notice it; it had become background noise to her. Even her voice matched the sound of the bell: sweet and high-pitched and tinkling.
In the excitement over her collar Tara had stopped rubbing herself. Now all that pent-up need came back even stronger than before. It was all she could do to shove one of her paws down under her skirt, yank her underwear to one side, and squeeze her aching mound open with her paw pads. She squealed and doubled over, sprawled out on top of the counter, tail lifted high in the air, knees bent, heels slipping out of her shoes.
Although her paw pads were thick and clumsy, it didn’t take much to reduce her to a humping, theatrically-moaning mess. Her attempts to remind herself that she was at work right now fell on deaf catgirl ears. Her collar was jingling and she was so pent up and— and—
What hit her wasn’t an orgasm, though it sure felt like one. A wave of striped pink fur shot up along her legs, reaching all the way up to her hips. Her shoes split apart, unable to contain her fluffy white paws. Her leggings split open at the toes, unable to contend with her claws, but that was no problem. A second later, the sheer leggings had softened into a pair of toeless white thigh-high socks, the fabric just thin enough to let the suggestion of her stripes show through. Her pencil skirt fluttered open, folded itself into pleats, and shrunk shorter and shorter until there were several inches of exposed fur between it and the tops of her socks.
Cheek pressed against the counter and eyelids fluttering, Tara shoved her hips against her paw and yowled. “Nyooo fair! T-Tara-chan’s got...ah! Im-por-tent business stuff. She can’t—mnh!”
As though someone had yanked a drawstring connected to her lips, they suddenly squeezed together and puffed up into a round pout, big enough to poke out from the front of her face and pull her cheeks taut. Her free paw was laying on the counter only inches away; she couldn’t help taking a finger and prodding at her glossy red lips. It was like squeezing an inner tube or one of those kitschy blow-up armchairs. It wasn’t long before that finger had slipped between her lips to give her something to suck on.
Everything went just a little blurry, as if she was looking through a camera lens smeared with Vaseline. Or, more accurately, as if her pupils had turned pink and heart-shaped. She was too preoccupied with all the humping and rubbing and sucking going on to really notice, though. Nyaah, she was so close...
A loud knock on the bathroom door dragged her back to reality. She shot up straight, ears perked up on top of her head, and her tail bushed up from surprise—though she couldn’t pry her hand away from her crotch, no matter how hard she tried.
A voice called through the door, “Miss Kastner, are you all right?” It sounded like the receptionist for the executive floor—at least it wasn’t someone on the board.
“Tabbi Katt is so horny, nyaaan!” she squealed. It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but it had sprung to her lips as soon as she had pulled her finger free. Her cheeks flushed red and she whined, “Nyo, Tabbi isn’t Tabbi’s name, it’s Tara!”
From outside, there was a shuffling and several soft thunks as the deadbolt rocked back and forth in its slot. “Hold on, I’ll be back with the key,” the woman on the other side said.
Tabbi didn’t have the mental capacity for making excuses right now. Her cheeks were burning, her legs were slowly melting, and she felt so desperately horny that the best she could do was pad over on her tiptoes to the door, slump back against it, and slide down until she was sitting on the floor, legs splayed open to one side while her tail whapped excitedly against the floor.
If she could just get herself to orgasm she could...uhh...cum? By the time she reached the end of her own thought, she’d totally forgotten where she was going with it. She didn’t worry too much about it, because a few seconds later, she sunk back against the door, shuddering as she soaked her fingers in her own juices.
Adrift in an afterglow as warm and pink and soft as her fur, she was barely aware that she was sitting, let alone sitting on the bathroom floor in her office building. Everything was just really cute and nice and good.
Tabbi lifted her paw from underneath her skirt, staring at the dampness clinging to her white fur. She lapped her fingers clean without a second thought. But that left her thighs and her pussy itself still slick from her orgasm. So, after she’d had a little giggle about ‘kitty’ and ‘pussy’ being the same thing, she bent down far further than she was normally able to, and thoroughly cleaned her fur with her tongue.
Feeling clean and satisfied, she stretched out her arms and legs and let out a big yawn. One of her ears perked up, and she tipped her head back to stare up at the deadbolt wiggling, turning, and then flipping back over to the unlocked position. The door opened, and without her backrest she spilled out onto the carpeted office floor.
Staring down at her was the receptionist, as well as several members of the board who had felt concerned about how abruptly she’d left the meeting.
Tabbi might have apologized, or excused herself and hurried out of the office, or simply ascended to a higher realm of being out of embarrassment, but her brain had been dunked in rainbow pastel paint and her ears were filled with the jingling of her super- cute collar and from head to toe all she could feel was the blissful pink afterglow.
“Hiii! I’m Tabbi-Chan, the bestest most kawaii kitty-slut ever, nyan!” she cooed, and did the paw-gesture for good measure, in case anyone didn’t get it. Her tail swished eagerly as she looked between all the shocked faces, staring down at her like they couldn’t believe an anime catgirl was real. “So like, is Tabbi gonna fuck all of you at once or do you wanna take turns or what, nyan?”