Mane: For Men

TransCo-branded shampoo turns Riley into a beastly male gnoll. Whoops. Explicit.

Riley had run out of shampoo. This wouldn't normally be a problem, but she didn't have enough time before work to go to the supermarket for her usual shampoo. The gas station on the corner only had travel-size bottles of Mane: For Men.

But even shampoo marketed to insecure teenage boys was better than nothing. Riley closed the bathroom door and kicked off her shoes. She tugged her shirt off over her head and shook out her black curls, then bent over and pushed off her pajama pants. She took a glance at the mirror; no surprises there. Fair skin, average figure, and unremarkably cute.

Riley stepped into the shower stall and swung the door shut. At first, she just let the hot water spray over her scalp. Then she rolled her head, soaking her curls and combing her fingers through them until they fell flat against her cheeks. Once she'd thoroughly rinsed, she reached for the bottle and popped the top.

The shampoo's scent ('Gnollspike', which she'd chosen over the alternative, 'Bristleboar') wasn't as bad as she'd feared. The sweet smell of soap was warmed by spices, but it wasn't overpowered and musky. ...At least, not too musky. If she rinsed it out well enough, she would be fine.

She squeezed a splurt onto her hand and slapped it onto her forehead. She spread it back along her hair, then with both hands, she scrubbed the shampoo into her scalp, working it down through her tangled curls.

The shampoo tingled into her hair follicles, like the pleasant burn of popping a cinnamon hard candy into her mouth. If she let it linger, it started to hurt, but feeling it wash across her scalp was invigorating. She leaned into the spray and closed her eyes. The water rolled down her face and hair, carrying the suds down her body. She flicked her wet hair back and squeezed another squort of shampoo into her hands. She wanted to feel that tingle again.

Belong to the Sea

While on vacation, a chemical spill kicks off a college student's transformation into a squishy sea monster. Explicit.

Leah's day at the beach had been cut short by a chemical spill, and then everything else went wrong too. She was diving as far out as she could go, so when the hazmat guys started calling everyone in, she didn't hear. By the time she saw something was up, she'd spent an extra fifteen minutes more in the water. Waiting at the back of the line for the quarantine tent, every itch was acid and every turn of her stomach was flesh-eating bacteria. And then, once she'd been checked over and put through the decontamination shower, she learned they had run out of spare clothes.

To make things worse, she was dry. The salt, plus standing in the sun, plus the chemical rinse, left her skin in desperate need of moisture. She was taking a bath as soon as she got back to her hotel room.

Leah left the tent with nothing but a towel wrapped around her waist. As soon as she stepped out, she was assaulted by a broad smile, a yellow-and-orange baseball cap, and a yellow piece of paper thrust into her free hand.

"We at TransCo hope your experience today has been a pleasant one," the young man in the cap said. "We'd love it if you took the time to fill out that survey."

Leah swallowed to wet her throat. "Do you have any water?"

The young man grimaced. "Ooh, no, sorry. But I do have some pens with our logo," he said.

"I'm good," Leah said. She started along the boardwalk back to the hotel. That chemical shower must have done a number on her skin. She was so dry she could feel her skin brushing against itself, like little tectonic plates. She fought the urge to scratch at the itch on her back. Untended, the prickling spread over her shoulders and sides.

Going Nuts

A girl working at a TransCo gas station starts craving nuts, then turns into an eager squirrel girl. Mature.

Julie worked at the last gas station this side of the Nevada border. Three hours' drive west to the next pump. Nothing quite like the ‘No Services For 200 Miles’ sign to remind her she was in the literal middle of nowhere. The desert sun glared in through the windows in its daily battle against the rattling AC unit on the roof.

At nineteen, she was insanely ready to get out of town. But if she wanted to move out, she needed money, which meant she needed to work, which meant stuffing the TransCo ballcap on top of her messy hair, pulling on the flannel shirt that protected her from the air vent right behind the cash register, and going to work at the least interesting gas station in the state. It was enough to drive a girl...

Nuts.

Striped Success

A TransCo subsidiary motel chain turns a young woman into a confident business-skunk. Explicit. A young woman staying at a hotel before a business conference turns into a confident, professional skunk-girl. Explicit.

It was the end of her New York-to-Chicago car drive. Tori just wanted to fall asleep, but every hotel near the conference center was booked up tight, and the closest hotel she'd been able to find on short notice was the one-star Come On Inn. Carrying her suit for the conference tomorrow and her backpack, she stepped into her room. It smelled like cigarette smoke. They didn't have any non-smoking; she'd asked.

'Welcome to the Come On Inn, a TransCo subsidiary!' a typo-laden note on the bedside stand began. Tori sat on the edge of the bed and read the note between groggy blinks. It offered her to 'Please make use of the complementary hair freshener.' She looked back at the stand, where a small, blank, white box sat. She popped it open, tore open the plastic wrap, and pulled out the cone-shaped air freshener.

It gave off a pleasantly clean scent, cool and almost floral. It was refreshing after the dry, tarry smell of cigarette smoke. She set the freshener down by the floor AC unit and turned the fan up to high. The fresh smell rolled through the air, starting to permeate the room. While the room freshened itself up, she grabbed the bag with her toothpaste and toothbrush from her pack.

Tori watched herself in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth. She looked worn down and strung out from the car ride. Her face was bleary, eyes baggy, brown hair mussed from being pushed up against the headrest for hours on end. In her casual clothes, she looked even more young and scrawny than usual. And here she was, only a junior associate, about to represent her whole company tomorrow.

Something about her face didn't seem entirely right. Tori squinted into the mirror and pressed a finger to her nose. The skin on the tip was darkened and purple. The whole thing seemed oddly swollen, the tip broader and more bulbous. She sniffed, but didn't smell anything out of place. She tapped on the tip of her nose, then squeezed both fingers around it, trying to see if it was tender, but no. She tried rubbing at the bottom, but the color didn't come off. She twisted her mouth to one side, then the other. It looked kind of like a little snout.