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Curse of the Were-Bimbo
🕑 Added 2017-02-06 19:44:54 +0000 UTC A little collaboration between myself and the talented B-ridge, whose writtens works you can find here. If you like fruit expansion, bimbofication, or transformation stories, he's your guy! Credit for the character concepts and the following passage go to him. Enjoy!***
Just from the way she walked into my office, I could tell that this was a lady who was wound up tighter than a grandfather clock. Her work clothes were immaculate, her makeup spare and efficient, her dirty blonde hair perfectly coifed.
“Candace Whitman,” she said by way of introduction, eyeing me up and down. Her eyes lingered on the coffee stain on my desk, and her lips pressed tightly together. “We spoke earlier on the phone.”
Following her eyes, I quickly rubbed at the coffee stain with a finger, then extended my hand in greeting. “Tracy Paige.” I gave her my winning smile. “Paranormal Investigator.”
She didn't move to shake my hand. “Yes, I know,” she replied, then without another word sat down on the chair facing my desk.
Everything she said, every little movement she made, seemed calculated and deliberate. This was a woman who valued being in control of a situation.
Which was puzzling, because her story seemed to paint a different picture altogether.
It seems Ms. Whitman was recently given a big promotion at work. A real up-and-comer, she was. Whole career ahead of her. Sky's the limit.
But then, only a day after moving into her office, things started to get... weird.
“At first it was just visions, Ms. Paige,” she explained, her voice losing some of her matter-of-fact tone. “Strange images of...” Here she hesitated, took a deep breath. “Of myself. Committing... obscene acts.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”
She sighed. Gave a small shudder. “Sexual acts, Ms. Paige.” Her cheeks flushed. “At first they were small fleeting things. But day by day, the visions grew more frequent, more obscene.” She looked away. “More... alluring.”
After a while, she told me, the visions became full on fantasies that occupied her every waking thought, making it impossible for her to focus on anything else. Her work started to suffer, and staff began to notice her odd behaviour.
It all culminated on one fateful lunch break, when she was found in the women's washroom, panties around her ankle, pleasuring herself like her life depended on it. Needless to say, her firm wasn't pleased, and she was promptly let go.
Which brought her here, to my office.
“Well, that's some story,” I said after a while, doing my best to keep a sympathetic face. “But I'm not sure why exactly you came here.”
She seemed shocked at that. “Isn't it obvious? I want you to discover what's wrong with me.”
I cleared my throat. I was about to tell her that I dealt in the paranormal. What she needed was to see a good therapist. You know, someone who could get to the root of her overly-repressed libido. Either that or a solid night out. I knew a few therapists, and I knew plenty of fun spots for a solid night out, but that's where my usefulness ended.
But as I opened my mouth, a sliver of moonlight fell across the room from my window, and Candace Whitman gave a small moan.
“Um, are you okay, ma'am?”
“I'm... I'mmm...” Candace replied, her voice wavering. Small beads of sweat formed along her forehead, and she began to breathe heavily. “Nnn... I'm... uhnnn... something's... somthing's happening...”
I could only take an involuntary step back as her moaning increased and she rocked her hips against the chair. Okay, I thought to myself. This might be outside the paygrade of any therapist I know.
As she writhed and moaned, her clothing began to look odd on her body, as if it didn't quite fit properly. It suddenly looked so very tight against her body.
“Oooh,” she moaned, though it didn't seem to be entirely a moan of discomfort. Her voice sounded higher. “This... this isn't right. F-feels tingly... all over.”
My eyes widened at the spectacle in front of me, then suddenly narrowed. Her hips and breasts seemed many sizes too big for her straining wardrobe, a fact I'm sure I would have noticed when she walked in.
Candace rocked her hips and ran hands along her body, her eyes closed. “So... so hard to concentra... c-concen... ummm.... conce...” She frowned. “Ummmm, hard to think.” The moonlight glinted against her hair, which seemed to shine brightly, a far more platinum shade than the dirty blonde I had seen enter the room. “J-just wanna, like, touch.”
I ran to the window to shut the blinds, hoping that maybe the moonlight was the source of whatever was happening to her, and cutting it off would return things to normal. But as I did I heard a rip behind me.
Candace had risen to her unsteady feet and was kneading her breasts with one hand, rubbing herself between the thighs with her other.
Her now humongous breasts surged against the fabric of her shirt, causing her to lose all but a few valiant buttons. She moaned deeply and lustfully, then gave a little giggle.
“Ms. Whitman!” I cried out, hoping to snap her out of it. She turned towards me, but the look in her eyes was dreamy and distant. Gone was the professional woman who had told me her implausible story only minutes earlier.
What was once all business was now all pleasure.
“Mmm,” she cooed, her voice high and sensual. “Like, call me Candi!” She eyed me up and down for the second time of the night, but unlike the last time, it seemed she liked what she saw. “Mmmm, you look so, like, totally sexy, lady!” She licked her lips and took an unsteady step towards me.
“Ms. Whitman... er, Candi,” I said, taking a step backwards. “I think you should stay where you are.”
“Nooo,” she said, pouting. “I want to plaaay. I want you to touch me and lick and me rub me and-”
I shouted out a quick incantation, a low-power sleep spell a task mage had taught me a few months back as thanks for clearing his name, and Candi's voice trailed off. She blinked in quick succession, and then fell against my chair on her huge cushiony ass.
“So... like... sleepy...” she muttered. She leaned forward against my desk, her head resting against her own breasts like pillows, and in a matter of seconds I could hear her snoring.
For a few moments I just stared at her, then the torn bits of clothing on the floor. I'd seen a lot of strange shit in my time, but this was definitely a first.
“Okay, Candi,” I said aloud. “I'm on the case. Let's get to the bottom of what's happening to you.”
Comments
I believe that B-ridge, the creator of the character and story, is currently in talks with another artist about having it developed into a short comic!
Masao
There gonna be more to this?
