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.

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

Two bounty hunters land on an exotic alien planet in search of strange fauna, but run afoul of bimboifying mist and overly-phallic parasites. Explicit.

A story in the Trials in Tainted Space universe. Continues in Part Two.

1 - Welcome to Xenobia

"Five minutes till we hit the atmosphere," squawked the radio on Evie's hip. "Buckle up. This one's thick, over."

The fox-morph's hands were full with the speckle-backed Algonian screechworm. The three-foot-long mass of slime, tentacles and biting wasn't happy about being captured, and it was less happy about getting shoved into a cryotank. Grabbing its tentacles like a bouquet, she slammed it into the tank, then before it could thrash its way out, slammed the lid on top.

Evie took a deep breath as frost crackled across the walls of the tank. The screechworm stiffened mid-writhe and fell silent. She tossed the tank into the storage bay with the rest of their haul: three uncharted worlds' worth of undiscovered species. Even splattered with screechworm slime and panting from exertion, Evie couldn't wait for uncharted world number four. Nothing in the galaxy could beat the thrill of the hunt.

Her gloves peeled off with a rubbery snap. Evie hauled herself up the ladder from the small cargo bay into the ship's tight corridor. One hand on the red bar above her head, she squeezed down to the crew quarters and cranked the door open. Ducking under the threshold, she lifted her radio in front of her mouth. "Roger that, buckling up now."

The blonde vixen tossed the radio onto her bunk. She tugged off her soaked vest and pants and tossed them into the autoclave. Nude, Evie stepped into the shower stall, dialed up Deep Scrub on the knobs, then closed her eyes and held her breath.

The Mirror

A woman's bathroom mirror alters her reflection and slowly transforms her. Explicit.

The mirror in Jessica's bathroom wasn't broken, not physically. It was just showing the wrong things.

Day 1

She was in the middle of combing her hair when it first happened. She looked at her reflection and saw she was wearing lipstick. Not just any shade, but a vibrant blue. It didn't match with her casual college student clothes or with her short black hair or her basic, simple makeup. A wrinkle creased her brow as she pouted her lips and curled them upward so she could see them directly. They were normal. Unpainted. But in the mirror, they were electric blue.

Jessica stepped out of her bathroom to grab her phone from the bed. Flicking its camera on to use as a mirror, it showed her face, with an eye-catchingly bright shade of blue lipstick. She curled her lips up again to check. They were blue in reality, too.

Her phone came with her back into the bathroom. Next to her moisturizer on the counter was a small tube of blue lipstick, as if it had always been there. She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She gasped quietly. Her fingers rose to her blue lips as she stared at her reflection's eyes. Thick black eyeliner rimmed each eye, and a heavy coat of blue eyeshadow dusted the tops of her eyelids. It was smoky and striking and colorful, and not at all what she'd looked like a few moments ago.

Print Error

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.

BXBI

Chris's girlfriend tries out that temporary bimbo transformation drug he's been excited about. Explicit.

Chris's girlfriend had found out about his fetish. He felt terrible. But what made him feel worse was that Tess wanted to try it out.

Now objectively, this was a great thing. After hours of watching girls high out of their minds and swollen up on B or bim-bips or BXBI, Chris was finally going to see it in real life.

But just listening to Tess talk about how they would approach tonight responsibly sent all sorts of guilty knots through his stomach. Tess was slim, with a strong air that made her seem to take up more space than she really did. She wouldn't be out of place in one of those videos he watched. The girls usually started out safely cute, even a little tomboyish, like her. If you were making a video, you wanted to show off the change, you know? Same reason why they weren't usually blonde already like she was, with her short head of hay-blonde hair.

Maybe the problem was that he loved her. He'd tried explaining that he didn't need this sort of thing from her, that she was already enough to make him happy. She hadn't believed him. At least, she hadn't believed that he wouldn't enjoy this.

"So I looked up BXBI to see the dosage," she continued.

Chris grasped the inside of his pockets and looked out the window of their apartment. Just hearing Tess say the name of the drug upset him. It was something he heard in porn, not from her.

"What I got is way more than enough. If it works out for us, we've got a whole month of fun," she said. She shook the bottle of BXBI pills and stifled what sounded like a giggle.