The Bureau

A fox goes to the Bureau of Orthomorphic Management for a routine appointment and runs afoul of red tape. Mature.

Robin found the yellow envelope waiting in his mailbox on Thursday. It announced, in thick letters, that it was his final notice from the Bureau of Orthomorphic Management, and that he needed to renew his license by Friday or it would be revoked. As well as the final notice, it was also the first notice, and the only notice, that Robin had gotten.

The thought of letting his license lapse as some sort of protest came to mind, but then Robin remembered what a nightmare his friend Nick had gone through when he'd gotten his license revoked. He didn't even get his old name back; he'd had to take a crummy public-access name like Reginald.

So shortly after noon and still a little sleepy, Robin tugged the garage door open, threaded himself between his apartment-mates' cars, and climbed into his own. It wasn't a long drive, but he didn't want to leave his license's fate to the whims of the local bus route.

---

The building of the Bureau of Orthomorphic Management looked like a brick of tofu. It did have windows and doors, which aren't features of tofu, but even the un-tofu parts of the Bureau building were infused with that bland simplicity. Robin imagined vandalizing its facade with spraycans of sauce and spices.

There was a short concrete walkway that led to the front door, guarded by railings made lumpy by so many re-applied coats of black paint. Beside the double doors were two plastic signs mounted to the wall. The first said, 'Bureau of Orthomorphic Management, Regional Office'. Below, next to a small intercom, was the second sign. A drawing showed a stick-figure with large tusks hunched over, trying to fit through a door too short for them. 'Persons needing assistance please press button,' it said.

Robin pulled the door open and stepped inside. The top of the doorframe cleared his ears with two feet to spare. Foxes like him weren't the tallest species, but you'd have to be a giraffe to have trouble with the front door.

Past the front doors, Robin came to the lobby. The lobby was meant to have a directory. But at some point, someone had thought to pin up a sign directing visitors to their department. Then everyone else had realized what a good idea that was, and by now, the lobby had grown into a jungle of signage. Sheets of printer paper with arrows were taped to the walls and pinned to bulletin boards and stapled on top of each other, all begging the reader to follow their directions.

If you were coming to see the Exercise and Fitness Approval Board, that was on the other end of the building. Nonstandard Locomotion Permits could be found on the sixth floor, stairwell access only. The Body Planner's Office announced that it was "on the Mezzanine", which Robin thought was likely a made-up word to trick young interns.


Hooked

A fox girl and her friends succumb one by one to addictive, transformative, brain-draining cigarettes. Explicit.
1 Hazel, Monday morning

Hazel hadn't seen Jordan all day. At this point, she was convinced that Jordan was home sick and hadn't texted her about it. Hazel knew the rabbit girl would be more pissed about missing track practice than missing class.

Her two other friends were already sitting at their table in the cafeteria, so Hazel headed their way. Her fluffy fox tail flicked behind her, weaving through the tight gaps between people's chairs. Between her short, crisp red hair and sharp green eyes, she had the look of someone who could be confident one day, once she got over her own teenage awkwardness. Right now, she was more lanky than anything.

Hazel slid into a seat at the table. Zoey and Evie barely noticed her sitting down.

Zoey was the biggest of their bunch, thanks to her panther genetics. She had dangerous scowls down to a science, and she was on her last strike for violating the dress code. The grinning feline skull on her tank top peeked above the table.

Evie, the doe, had her hoof-tipped fingers wrapped around her fork, halfway through jabbing it into her salad. Her glasses made her wide-eyed stare look even wider. Her flannel shirt had been scuffed in spots, a veteran of one of her many hiking trips, and her hair was pulled back in her usual short ponytail.

Zoey and Evie both were staring in the same direction. Hazel glanced between the two of them, waited a few seconds, then broke the silence by saying, "What's up?"

"Jordan," Evie said.

Hazel followed Evie's gaze, but she didn't see Jordan. All she saw was the school's varsity quarterback and some sexed-up bunny sitting on his lap. "I don't get it," Hazel said.

Zoey reached across the table, wrapped one arm around Hazel's shoulder so they were looking from the same angle, and pointed at the bunny girl. "That's Jordan," she said.

Hazel's eyes widened. That couldn't be Jordan.


Matat Spa

A couple visits a spa staffed by faceless latex attendants, and slowly lose themselves to the hypnotic smoke.. Explicit.

The highway weaved along the coastline, between the warm beaches on one side and the orange cliffs on the other. Riley sat behind the wheel of her rental car with the window rolled down and her arm hanging out to feel the breeze. The wind whipped at the side of her short mane. Riley had the imposing posture, sharp smile, and sinewy frame that came with being a hyena. She watched the road from behind her mirrored sunglasses as she followed it north.

Julie sat in the passenger seat. While the lioness didn't look as tough as Riley did, their tussles in bed had proved that they were evenly matched. Julie's copper hair was brushed back behind her ears, though the wind blew around the inside of the car so much that she had to occasionally re-tuck it. A pair of gold studs sat in her left ear, nearly hidden against her tawny fur.

As they came around another ridge, Julie's ears flicked up and she leaned forward to point. "There it is," she said.

Nestled between two orange hills was a building shaped like a white cylinder, three stories high, and shaded from the road by lines of narrow cypress trees. It was smooth and nearly featureless, and if it hadn't been for the spacious parking lot and well-kept driveway, it might have seemed like a water tower.

Riley pulled off the highway and followed the driveway up into the empty parking lot. She plucked the sunglasses off her face, then asked Julie, "Is this place open? It looks deserted."


Lost Tales of the Planet Rushes: The Mind-Melting Parasitic Dildo-Snakes of Planet Xenobia, Part Two

Evie, host to a dildo-snake parasite, infects her fellow bounty hunter. Explicit

A story in the Trials in Tainted Space universe. Continued from Part One.

5 - An Old Friend

The purple foliage parted and out stepped Mina, in a silver spacesuit that hugged her lean muscle and a round helmet just like Evie's. She looked worried—at least, until she saw Evie. Then Mina's wide-eyed look fell away, replaced with a tight frown.

Evie was stretched out on the ground. Her legs were pressed together to hide the hole in her suit, and with her arms crossed over her chest, she blocked her bigger bust from view. She flashed a sheepish smile up at Mina.

Mina said, "I've been calling you on the radio for an hour. I thought you were in trouble."

Evie shrugged apologetically. "Oh yeah, I kinda lost it."

Mina's eyes narrowed. She took a step closer. "Are you okay? You sound...squeaky."

"Oh, yeah, that," Evie said, trying to buy some time to think. "I found this really weird, like, flower? It was all purple and blue and when I tried to smell it, it went poof and hit me in the face with a whole bunch of pollen stuff. And then I got dizzy and came here to sit down."

A moment of tense silence hung in the air, before Mina sighed and shook her head. "Great. Stupefying flowers. If you wore a helmet, maybe you wouldn't sound like a ditz right now." She pulled her radio off her belt and clicked the call button. A soft bwip came from the roots of the fern-tree where Evie had gotten to know her snakey friend. She gave Evie an 'are you kidding me' glare, then climbed into the brush to grab it.


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.


Professional

An office employee catches the bimboification bug, turning him into an ideal secretary for his boss. Explicit.

With a pile of forms in hand to take back to Legal, Tristan stepped into the hall and nearly bumped right into a woman tearing down toward the elevators as fast as her towering high heels could carry her. He staggered back against the wall as she gasped out "Sorry!" over her shoulder.

Tristan stared after her as she clicked down the hall. Her garishly bright purple leopard-print dress barely restrained her overtly sexual figure. Tristan didn't want to be rude, but at the very least, that outfit was unbelievably unprofessional. What did she think she was doing, coming into an office building looking like that?

He shook his head and followed the hall down to the elevators. By the time he reached them, the woman was gone and the elevator was ticking down toward the lower floors. He leaned in close and hit the up button.

Tristan watched his own reflection in the mirrored elevator doors. He had a short-trimmed head of dark hair, a boyish look, and a polite, almost apologetic smile. He sagged underneath the weight of the stack of papers as he shifted them from one arm to another. He worked in Legal, but he wasn't a lawyer, not even a paralegal. Just a clerk, which meant he took care of all the menial tasks that the people with law degrees were too busy to do.

The elevator doors rolled open and Tristan stepped inside, hitting the button for the nineteenth floor. As the doors slid shut, he wiggled his fingers and brushed them together. The woman in the ridiculous outfit had grazed them as she ran by. Sliding the forms over to his other arm, he was able to let go of the stack and hold his hand up in front of him.

Somehow, two of his nails—pointer and middle finger—had grown. A pair of smooth, white slivers stuck out beyond his fingertips, shaped and rounded as if they'd been manicured. Had he somehow...forgotten to cut two of his fingernails? He would have noticed at some point, surely.