Curse of the Were-Bimbo

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.”