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Contagiously gaudy fashion takes over an office worker's clothes and body. Mature.

There was purple in the corner of his eye. Alex paused, fingers resting on top of his keyboard. The white noise of the office receded and all he could hear was his own breath. He pulled his glasses off and turned them over. On the right side, they were thin steel rims. On the left, they were plastic, purple, and speckled with black spots. In the middle, where they met, the bridge swelled from metal into plastic.

The yelp caught in his throat. He flung the glasses across his desk and glanced quickly around his cubicle. No one had seen him. With two tissues as a buffer, he picked up the glasses by the good side of the frame and tossed them in his trash can.

He told himself that it was just his glasses, that it hadn't had time to spread. His hands fumbled with the top button on his shirt. He just needed a little air, he told himself. His shirt only clung to his skin because he was sweating a bit. He unbuttoned another button and took in a deep breath. Calm down, you're just anxious.

Alex pushed himself back into his work, trying to put his glasses out of his mind. It was fine. They were the only clothes of his that had gotten infected. He reached beneath his shirt and rubbed along his shoulder and collarbone. Something hugged his chest, softer than the usual firm cotton of his shirts. He glanced down, and caught beneath the white an outline of something purple.

It wasn't just his glasses.

His chair shot back as he stood up. Arms folded over his chest and shoulders hunched, he left his cubicle and power-walked through the office, toward the hall.

Julie started to ask if he was okay as he blew by her at the front desk. "Alex, you--?"

"B-bathroom!" he blurted over his shoulder. He elbowed his way out the door and into the hall.

The bathroom door swung shut behind him and he spun the lock on the door shut. He edged out in front of the mirror and swiped a bit of brown hair away from his forehead. As he breathed in, his chest rose more than it should have. A tight, warm feeling spread across his front, making him bite his lip and arch his back. The buttons along his chest were snug. He could trace the purple fabric beneath his shirt: straps hooked over his shoulders, triangles across his chest.

Alex reached for the buttons, then hesitated. Did he want to see his breasts? He'd have to, if he wanted to get out of his clothes. He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. A sudden hot pang arced across his chest. He gasped and caught himself against the counter. With each beat of his heart, his chest stretched outward. His tender skin was taut against the fabric. Two mounds tented out his shirt, tighter and rounder and perkier by the minute. The fabric wrinkled and stretched around the buttons, giving him the first peek at his own cleavage.

"No, come on, not at work," Alex whined.

He tugged his shirt forward, trying to get enough slack to open the buttons. The pressure against his shirt only grew, squeezing out in all directions. His breasts were too big, too tender. He threw his hands down, gripped the counter, and closed his eyes. With one sharp breath, the buttons went snap-snap-snap down his front. His shirt hung open and his rack fell free.

Alex lifted his eyes. The purple leopard-print bikini top wrapped around his chest and stood out against his pasty skin. He stared into the mirror as he straightened his back, lifted his hands, and hefted his breasts. They were full and heavy, but the swimsuit top was tight enough to pull them snug and round. His nipples had popped up against the smooth fabric; his fingertips found them and pressed. A groan rolled from his throat and he started rubbing himself instinctively.

His soft breasts pressed out against his fingers. His skin was hot and his nipples ached. He jerked his hands away and breathed between his teeth. That taut feeling squeezed up inside of his chest again. The bikini top's shoulder straps pulled tight, the leopard spots stretched, and his breasts creaked forward: heavier, rounder, and firmer. If they were natural, they were remarkably perky; if they were fake, they were remarkably soft. He could only guess how much he'd grown—two, maybe three cup sizes?

Even with his fingers spread, his hands could, at most, cup maybe half of one breast. They weren't just boobs, they were big, prominent tits. They dragged his shoulders forward and shifted as he moved. His arms kept brushing up against their sides, and each time they did, he would flinch and have to stifle a groan.

Alex patted his pockets. His phone and keys were back on his desk. But he couldn't go back in the office with his tits out like this. His shirt refused to stretch back over his new rack, though, and as gaudy as his purple bikini top was, it was better than trying to go in nude. He bit down on his thumb nail as he tried to plot out the least embarrassing way to get in and out.

Why was his thumb nail so long?

He splayed his hands out in front of him. His nails glistened in the bright fluorescent light: painted purple, splotched with black, and coated in a heavy gloss. They had been about a half-inch when he first noticed them; now that he was looking, they were an inch long. The skin on his hands was remarkably smooth and his fingers themselves had turned slender. He couldn't keep himself from wiggling them to try to get a sense of their new, smaller size.

When he looked back up at his reflection, his lips stood out tinted and glossy, like he'd given them a quick coat of lip gloss. His nails had touched his lips—great, now they'd caught it too. He pursed his plumper lips as he fumbled with his shirt, trying to fashion some makeshift top to serve him until he got to the parking garage.

The tightening, purple band of his underwear crept up above the waistband of his pants. Instead of the thick elastic, a thin spandex band held it up over his hips. Smooth, stretchy fabric cupped his package and hugged his ass cheeks.

Alex looked down and spotted his changing underwear a few seconds too late. A churning sensation struck the pit of his stomach and he doubled over, clutching at his waist. Forces pulled and pushed at his insides, drawing his waist in as they forced his hips out. The hot, tightening feeling rushed between his legs. The feeling should have been an erection...but instead, he felt warm and puffy and damp. Bent over the counter, his back curled as his waist drew in. His thickening ass tried to shove his pants down, but the khaki clung to his broader hips.

Alex groped his swollen mound through his pants. He wanted to slip his hand down in there, but..no, that was the contagion talking. He frowned at his blushing reflection. He had no choice: he was going to have to go through the office to get his things. He pouted his pinkish lips in the mirror. They were thicker still, poking out from his face, with a gently rounded contour.

Alex gave up on tying off his shirt and left it dangling off his shoulders. He hiked up his khaki slacks. They slid up, then snapped back down like elastic. He held down his breasts and bent over. The purple leopard-print pattern trickled from his waist down his pant legs, turning them skin-tight. The waistband sunk lower and lower, until they were no longer pants, but stockings that came up to his upper thighs. From his feet to his knees they were office slacks, and from his knees to his thighs, gaudy spandex. They showed off what his underwear had become: a matching bikini bottom, hugging his hips.

The longer he waited, the more embarrassing this would get. With one deep breath, Alex summoned all his determination and unlocked the bathroom door.

He shoved the office door open and charged right into Julie as she was walking by. She bounced off of him, stumbled back and caught herself against her desk. Oh no. His clothes had touched hers.

"Sorry!" Alex said, his voice cracking. He reached out to help her up, but as his hand touched hers, her nails grew longer and pinker. He squeaked and pulled away. Already, pink leopard print was spreading its way along Julie's tightening blouse. "I'm so sorry, I'm—I'm heading home right now," he said, leaving Julie clutching her chest in a daze.

With each step, his hips swished. The sterile office lights danced off his stockings, highlighting his body's shapely, swelling curves. His cheeks were stark red as he rounded the corner into his cubicle. His phone and keys were right where he'd left them. Out of habit, he tried to stuff them into his pockets, but they glanced off his bare hips and clattered to the floor. His legs locked and he bent at the waist, ass stuck out, to pick them up.

His phone had already formed a purple, leopard-spotted case by the time he swiped it into his slender hands. His legs were wrapped up in stockings from his thighs down to his ankles, just above his plain brown work shoes. The straps of his bikini bottom inched higher around his broad, plush hips. The backside was covering less and less, not because the bikini was shrinking, but because his ass was still refining itself into a bubble butt. His swelling lips naturally curled into a pronounced pout, now a decidedly bright pink.

"Alex? What's all the commotion?" asked someone from behind him. He felt the eyes staring at his bikini-clad ass, and he knew the voice. Mark. His boss.

"I-I have to go home," he said, whipping up as fast as he could, one arm across his breasts to try to keep them under control. His voice was thick and breathy and feminine. "I'll be back as soon as I get this fixed—bye!" he said, slipping past Mark.

He'd meant to squeeze by, but hadn't accounted for his big, stupid breasts. They shoved up against Mark's chest as he scooted past. Alex whimpered in the back of his throat, and when he pulled back, his boss was looking down at a growing patch of silver leopard-print spandex on his chest. Alex took one look, and made a beeline for the door.

"Alex!" his boss shouted after him.

"Sorry!" he squeaked out, half-turning over his shoulder.

He passed by Julie again. She was leaning back against her desk, a panicked look in her eyes, squeezed into a pink leopard-print dress with a plunging neckline, and trying to rein in her thick explosion of once-tidy curly red hair. He could just make out the fuzzy pink leopard-spotted earrings bobbling beneath her curls.

"Sorry," he said again, then swished out the door, headed for the elevator.

He had just left his shirt hanging open, thinking it had already done its part, but now the fabric tightened around his arms, growing more elastic. He clacked his nail-clad finger against the down button, and then caught his reflection in the elevator doors. Not only were his lips a thick, lavender-pink, glossy pout, but the rest of his face had started to catch it, too. His eyes were rimmed with feathered eyeliner and dusted with dusky eye shadow, and each blink was a bat of his thick eyelashes.

He leaned closer to the mirrored doors. With his fingertips, he prodded his higher, tighter cheekbones and rubbed his soft, smooth jaw. It was like his face had been ground down, softened into a pleasant, feminine shape. Eye-catching, though; everything about him was designed to draw attention.

The elevator doors swung open and it was mercifully empty. He stepped inside and jabbed the button for P4 until the doors slid shut. The numbers started counting down the floors: sixteen, fifteen... He let out a deep sigh of relief and leaned back against the wall, scratching his scalp. He remembered his nails just a little too late—as he pulled his fingers away, his short hair already had spilled down past his cheeks. It wasn't only lengthening; it was thickening, gaining volume and puff. The color darkened from bland brown into a dark cocoa-black. His bangs swept back away from his forehead, and his hair fell to either side in large waves.

The only remainders of his shirt were his sleeves, now the same spandex as his stockings. They reached from his biceps down to his palms. The long, fingerless gloves had the same purple leopard-print pattern that had infected all the rest of his clothes.

"Oh, no," Alex groaned, batting back some stray strands of hair from the corners of his eyes. He had a tingling feeling across his skin, like lighting was about to strike. He gripped the bar behind him, starting to breathe heavily. His skin flushed hot. He fought to keep his legs apart, to keep from rubbing his thighs together. He was only getting hotter.

The elevator chimed: tenth floor. The doors swung open, and two men and a woman in business suits stared in at him.

Alex's plump lips hung open as he panted. "Oh—oh god!" he gasped, thrusting his chest forward, throwing his head back. Heat flashed across his skin. It tingled from his scalp down to his feet, and made his swollen mound ache. In the midst of his moaning, the doors slid shut again. His skin had been gently tanned, driving away his pale cubicle-farm complexion.

His hair fell onto his shoulders. His nipples stood stiff against the skintight top. His hands wouldn't let go of the bar. Another one was coming. He closed his eyes; he could almost see the bright sunlight seeping into his skin, deepening his tan. He couldn't hold back the deep, hungry groan that fell from his lips, but at least he was between floors. His thighs clenched, his legs quivered, and then he had a moment to collect himself again.

His hair hung down far enough to lie on top of his chest. His tips were dyed purple, which, after a few inches, faded into the satin black of his thick mane. The glow of the blush on his face softened his features even more, until he hardly looked like himself at all.

"Oh, oh..." Alex gasped. The elevator jostled stopped on the first floor. The heat was growing again, flooding across his body, building... He pursed his lips, trying to squeeze them closed. He breathed through his nose in quick, anxious breaths. Come on, don't open, please don't open, he thought. He couldn't hold back the heat. As his head rolled back, the doors slid apart. "Oh, yes, yes!" he cried out, tossing his thick hair. The front of his bikini bottom was damp with his juices. He opened his eyes to see the faces of fifteen, maybe twenty people looking on in shock. And then the doors slid closed.

Little shudders ran through his well-tanned body. He straightened his back and let go of the bar. This was getting bad. He was losing control of his urges. He rested his head against the wall, and then reached down to rub the front of his bikini bottom. He needed to get home and get something up inside him.

Alex forced himself to stop, but he was one horny thought away from touching himself again. He was trying his hardest to keep himself together, but it wasn't enough. He licked his lips, then curled them into an inviting O as a light blush played across his cheeks. What he could do with these lips...

The elevator doors finally swung open on P4. Alex scooped his phone and keys off the floor, then took a wobbling step out into the parking garage. He looked down at his feet. Purple plastic and leopard-print trim were taking over his plain shoes. As his heels climbed each new inch, he felt the way they were pushing his ass and legs up and out, putting them on display. He kept missing the center of the heels, twisting his foot to the left or right and having to clack back straight. At least he hadn't been wobbling through the office.

His silver sedan bleeped at him as he clicked the keys. He clattered over to it on heels that were five, now six inches, and growing platforms beneath the heels. He practically fell on top of the windshield, then squeaked the undersides of his breasts against the glass as he stood back up.

Sinking into the driver's seat was a relief, even if it felt small against his new hips and ass. He leaned forward as he pulled the door shut and the horn let out a blast that startled him. He jerked back, pulling his chest off the steering wheel.

Finally, he...

...had some private space...

Alex squirmed as his fingers slipped underneath his bikini. One hand slid under the top, rubbing away at a stiff nipple, while the other slipped between his thighs to stroke his pussy. He had to be extra-careful because of his long nails, but he couldn't wait until he was home. Everything around him faded into the background and all he was focusing on was the way his flesh squeezed under his fingers, whether that was his puffy mound or his firm breasts. Every inch of him was so soft and gropable.

His platform heels clopped against the floor mat as he squirmed. He was trying to pull back, but it was useless. His body was in control now, and all he could do was feel the heat on his cheeks as he built to his peak. For a few moments, an addictive, blissful thrill shot through him and that was all that mattered.

Heart hammering, head spinning, Alex slumped against the black-and-purple front seat of her convertible. Her chest heaved slowly as she looked around, curling her face into the best frown she could make as she looked at what had become of her car—now a sleek purple sports car.

She reached up underneath her mane of hair and tugged at the thick, mottled purple-and-black hoops hanging from her ears. Then, she surreptitiously pulled down the front of her bikini, far enough to see the silver rings that had pierced both nipples. She had the sudden urge to see if she could suck on her own nipples, but though her round, overstuffed lips were already parting, she forced herself to sit up straight.

"Stupid clothes," Alex huffed. She slipped on her tinted aviators and cranked the ignition. At least she had plenty of vacation days saved up. Her sick leave wasn't going to be enough to cover this.