“But it’s not enough to change bodies. It’s not even enough to change minds,” Damien explained. The powerpoint slide changed. “You have to change the culture. You need to make these girls say ‘Yes, I have bigger boobs, and yes, my sex drive is making me tingle, but how can I make myself more fuckable on a regular basis?’”
“Our answer is called Pink!, and it’s going to make us all very, very wealthy.”
The infomercial started at exactly 10 p.m., when it became legal to broadcast.
“Hi, my name is Chrissie Chambers,” the girl chirped. She wore a pink tanktop with “PINK!” written on it in a darker shade of pink. She had wideset blue eyes in a just slightly horsey face, a girl-next-door look flavored with dumb. Her boobs were very well displayed.
“Like so many of you, I wasn’t made with the biggest set. In fact, I was a surfboard until Boob Flu came around and curved me up.” A picture flashed up with a flat, frowning Chrissie, poorly lit. “And now that I am, the big boopers are just so sensitive all the time!”
She held up a tub of equally-pink plastic. The words “PINK! COOLING CREAM” scrolled underneath. A telephone number popped up, unobtrusively. “That’s why I’ve turned to new Pink! Cooling Cream!” she pronounced both exclamation points. “It’s made from ingredients from the space age! It keeps your endowments soothed and comfortable, all day long!”
A college-age girl stumbled on-screen. She looked right off the street, in jeans and an older button-down shirt with pockets over each tit. The buttons were straining.
“This is.. what’s your name, honey?” Chrissie asked.
“Uh, Jean? Is this where the screentest is?” Jean asked. She had black hair that curled around her shoulders. Her lips twisted as she stared at the camera.
“Jean, do your new boobs get uncomfortably warm?” Chrissie asked.
“Uhh… yes? I guess. Are we.. are we practicing?”
Chrissie pranced over. She wasn’t wearing a bra. “Jean, I want you to massage in some of the new! Pink! Cooling Cream! And tell me if it doesn’t make you feel that much better!”
Jean took the tub, doubtfully, and unscrewed the top. The inside was nearly translucent, like petroleum jelly. “It.. it smells like..” she mumbled.
“It smells great!” Chrissie told the camera. “Go ahead, honey. We’ll do it together.”
“How, uh, much do I use?”
“Lots. Lots and lots.”
Chrissie scooped up a dollop and winked at the camera. She carefully lifted her tanktop up, and reached underneath with the healthy helping of cream. Jean followed suit, managing to get her hand underneath a beaten-down bra and her own shirt.
Chrissie’s eyes closed as she massaged the boob cream in. She smiled, blissed.
“Uh,” Jean said, tentatively rubbing the cream in. “Oh. Oh. Huh. Geez.” She started to rub harder, then harder. She put a second hand underneath, covered in cream, to help out. They rubbed the undersides of her tits. Her cheeks flooded red.
“Oh fuck, this.. this feels really fucking good,” Jean said. The co-ed opened her eyes with difficulty. “This feels fucking great.” Her eyes were half-hooded.
“Yeah,” Chrissie sighed. “It sure fucking does.”
Mrs. Brisk’s Bookshop wasn’t doing well, and was mostly kept afloat by sudoku. Also, it was one of the few places in town that sold calendars, and the town happened to love its calendars. Mrs. Brisk talked vaguely about embracing ebooks, but nothing was likely to happen.
Candice was not enjoying three-for-two day on every paperback in stock. Half of the clientele was rejuvenated middle-aged ladies, enjoying a new sexual vitality with re-built jugs. The other half was awkward teenagers she knew from school. Several of whom had joined their nascent anime-and-politics omnibus club.
“You don’t need to read my nametag, Bobby. You know my name. It’s Candice. CANDICE,” she told the latest customer.
The nametag stuck out on the end of her shirt, which itself was pulled sharply over the rounded curves of her chest. Slim girls really only had two options. The first was to wear clothes that fit and accept the staring and the attention and the.. secret little tingles. The second was to ball up in a wad of jackets, like Rebecca. And usually Candice, too.
But it was so damn hot out today, unseasonably warm. She had been looking forward to escaping into sweaters and thick parkas, but it was balmy.
So she had thrown on a shiny white tanktop, and, on top of that, a bright pink tank from deep in the drawer, a layered look that was bouncy and fun. Plus she could give her kittens some time to breathe.
They were getting that. And buckets of boy attention. One boy, Mark, went through the line three times. She patiently explained that he was forfeiting a third book, and he patiently went back to the end of the queue.
It should’ve been insulting. Instead she felt… kind of intrigued. Sitting on her chair, she was like a goddess to the boys, an idol they worshipped with their eyes.
Candice was starting to give a little thought to a bathroom run.
The magazine rack stared back at her from her stand. It was a sea of flesh. No one was quite sure how to deal with the bigger boobs angle, just yet. Mostly the magazine covers had the usual celebrities cradling their assets. No one was buying. What was the point when there was a girl at home, or on the corner, with a perfectly acceptable rack?
Candice let her eyes wander, which is why she saw Jacob Nelson simply walk through the door with a cheap novel under his arm.
“Hey!” she yelled, after him. “Jacob! I saw that!”
He walked out into the little concourse of their sad town mall. It was a busy place, air-conditioned and cool.
“Jacob!” Candice burst through the door, in pursuit. A group of boys watched her from the rear, just as admiring.
She got about ten steps before stopping cold. First, because now the entire store was open for theft. Second, because the very first bounce nearly caused her to bounce out of her shirt.
She proceeded more cautiously. At least Jacob wasn’t hard to follow. He was a black blob in a sea of sweating white people.
Fashions were changing, quickly. There weren’t many girls left where there was nothing up top to take a look at. Everyone’s bout with titty flu had completely destroyed the t-shirt industry, and tube tops were struggling to find better versions of elastic. The lingerie industry was holding emergency meetings to meet demand.
“Jacob!” she called, but it was absolutely no use. She couldn’t run anywhere. She had these big, sensitive monsters pinning her down. It was easy to get boys to run towards her. The other way around was more difficult.
Candice growled, and stamped her foot. She had never been particularly athletic, but this was just ridiculous.
She had just turned, dispirited, when a cloud of perfume hit her in the face.
Candice staggered, surprised. A bouquet of rose hips, ambergris, and herbal undertones found their way up her nose, and she breathed in deeply. But there was an overwhelming note in the spray, and it was… sweet. Like getting spritzed with lollipops.
There was a kiosk in the middle of the mall, and another classmate was hitting everyone with samples. Amber, one of the more blonde students. She wore a Hooters-style tanktop that read “SMARTIE”. It was pink with pinker lettering.
“What the HELL, Amber?” she sputtered.
But she was still in that cloud. And, Candice had to admit, it was pretty easy to get used to. It was like chewing bubblegum. She took another breath.
“Isn’t it yummy?” Amber gushed. Bigger boobs had come naturally to her. “It’s like, fantastic, right? Sorry to get you right in the face! It’s just that’s what I’m supposed to do!”
“That’s… that’s alright,” Candice assured her. She was still chewing on it. The bottle in Amber’s hand was translucent pink. The bottle came in a pink box. Pink box, that was funny.
She had a sudden idea.
“How much?”
The boys watched each other. If anyone had suggested “free books” they might’ve all gone for it. But no one was going to be first. Plus, the older ladies in the store were still vaguely mom-like behind the new boobs.
Candice sauntered into the store, carrying a bag. Her new scent preceded her. It was candy and flowers, a silly, summery, FEMININE scent. It smelled like girls.
The boys stiffened.
Candice wasn’t discouraging it. That was sort of the plan, erections. She got a new confidence from her first brush with perfume, tossing her hips from side to side, letting a slow and sly smile grace the nervous boys in line. She took her seat on the stool and made sure to let the next boy at the register get a pleasant look at her cleavage.
“Hey,” she asked him, “could you go and get Jacob for me? He shoplifted. He’s a shoplifter. Just.. bring him back here.”
She repeated the process each time a teenage boy approached. And it was easy. There was something about sitting in a haze of sugar that made her just… relax and use her tits to their best advantage.
There wasn’t even any thinking involved. Not even a little bit of thinking.
It didn’t take very long at all for Jacob to come back to the store, escorted by two of the larger nerds. He shuffled up to the counter and handed her the book. “Here.”
Candice looked at it. It was a romance novel, of all things.
“Why that one?” she demanded.
Jacob looked at her steadily. He was the first boy in awhile to meet her eyes. Her boobs suddenly missed the attention.
“I thought we’d get a chance to talk alone,” he told her.
Candice didn’t know what to say.
She had been told what to do in this situation. Stiffly decline. Ignore him. Yell at him for stealing. Boys were a stumbling block on the road to college, and she had been forced to watch 16 and Pregnant as well as Teen Moms.
But… her body wasn’t cooperating. It was warm and getting warmer, and her boobs were suddenly itchy and hot, and her body was tingling with each passing second. Jacob casually looked at her boobs, and she shuddered.
And the perfume was making it so hard to think…
“Oh,” she managed, and squeezed her thighs together.
“It’s not really a first date. It’s barely even a date,” Erin said, defensively. “We’ve been friends for, what, like a year. We share similar interests in movies. That’s about it. That’s entirely it.”
“Oh, c’monnnnnn,” her dormmate, Melissa, said, kicking heeled feet against the side of the bed. “You’re being common. At least borrow one of my skirts. Show a little effort. He’s paying, right?”
“We haven’t discussed it. But I’m bringing cash,” Erin said. And she had seen her roommate’s skirts. Either it was pleated and flippy or it was wrapped around hips so tightly she squeaked when she walked.
Erin glanced down at her outfit. It was cute. Sure it was. It wasn’t like she was wearing jeans, at least. Okay, the shirt was a button-down with nearly every button up, and her skirt was dark grey and ended below the knees.
“Oh my god, you’re wearing a CARDIGAN,” Melissa screeched, appalled. She was still dressed in that cheap nylon PINK! tanktop that made her look like she sold beer for a living. “A cardigan! On a date!”
“IT is NOT a DATE,” Erin repeated.
Melissa reached into her bag, pulled out something just as pink as her outfits. She wore pastels almost entirely, these days. The boys on the dorm floor weren’t shy about staring at her ass. She practically encouraged it. “Here. This. It’s the least you can do. The least.”
It was lipstick. Bright pink lipstick. She waved it under Erin’s nose.
The “go fuck yourself,” on Erin’s lips died. It smelled… well, it smelled good. And her outfit WAS a little drab. “Fine,” she snapped, and applied a thin coat to her lips. She pursed them in the mirror. It DID look good. It set off her eyes nicely, made the blue even bluer. And it tasted like… like the lip gloss she wore at 13, when she went to her very first dance. Very pink.
Melissa giggled.
The night went very well.
Erin didn’t do a whole lot of talking. That wasn’t really usual, but she felt unusually spacey, unusually distracted. Her brain bathed in a barely perceptible haze of strawberry-pink. And whenever she felt like saying something, it just felt better to lightly graze her lips with her tongue, and get another dose of yummy yummy pink.
She excused herself several times during dinner to re-apply. Thicker and thicker. Her date, Aaron, didn’t seem to mind. He kept leaning more and more forward in his chair.
Somehow, during dinner, her blouse kept getting unbuttoned. Until she was four buttons down, and pulling hard on it in the bathroom to make her kittens pop out of their bra. On impulse, she rubbed a little lipstick on them, too. It made them nice and shiny and pink.
Later, at the movie, Erin stared at subtitles and wondered why anyone had figured it was worthwhile to translate what boring-looking people in suits said to each other. She didn’t even bother trying to read them.
She leaned into Aaron, and felt him stiffen as the strawberry-pink scent washed over him.
Moments later they were kissing, passionately, pawing at each other in the back of the half-empty arthouse. Each kiss left Aaron more inflamed, surrounded them both in a protective layer of scent, a candy-musk of pink. She dimly remembered just leaving her cardigan at the restaurant.
Eventually they separated. Erin pulled her lipstick out and reapplied one more time. Then she leaned over Aaron to pull his cock out of his pants, and rubbed pink pretty lips together in anticipation.
Lindsey got home first, which was unusual. Actually, she made a point of arriving back at the condo just slightly after her husband, and leaving for work just a little before. Not to make a point, or anything, just to… maybe make a bit of a point. A subtle reminder that she made most of the money, that they were on her health care plan, that she had received two promotions in just three years.
Not that she would ever mention that to him or anything.
They lived in a display of nice wood floors and correctly chosen leather furniture in darker browns. All the lamps matched. The air didn’t smell like anything.
Lindsey put her bag down. It was heavy, and there were smaller bags inside of it. She wrinkled her nose.
She had gotten.. spritzed or something… in the mall. Some kind of weird perfume, an unwelcome burst of scent that had nonetheless caught her attention.
That had been at noon. She hadn’t gotten back to work. She had wandered around the mall, pursued by that cotton candy scent, putting dings in her credit card. It was still only 4. If she referenced her blackberry Lindsey knew there would be a dozen increasingly frantic e-mails piled up.
She ignored them and wandered, aimlessly, into the bathroom.
The brunette pursed her lips like a myspace girl and examined herself in the mirror. She had considered herself lucky to grow up into such a reasonably professional looking girl. High, daunting cheekbones. A pert nose. Sensible brown hair that she kept at a uniform shoulder length. So many of her friends had sprouted ridiculous baby-birthing hips, or a dumb-looking heart-shaped face, or, worst of all, unprofessional titties.
Lindsey unbuttoned her blouse and let the girls out from the cage. Boob Flu had given her an automatic cleavage, but she wasn’t some cow like Amanda at the reception desk, who basically had a shelf underneath her chin. Lindsey had a credible, reasonable duo of creamy-colored boobs.
Her hands wandered over the tops of her nipples. She was running hot today, true. She must be fertile or something. Lindsey tracked her hormonal progress daily.
The teasing got more intense. Her nipples weren’t very corporate. They were cherry-red even with a bra, and glowed even during important meetings. Usually it was easy enough to ignore them, but with that pink glow still in her head…
“Take a shower,” Lindsey told herself. That was a good way to stop urges.
She paused at the naked reflection in the mirror. It was trim, with a slender stomach and abdomen that said “I work out but for exactly a half-hour.” A pretty attractive figure, she had to admit, curvy without overdoing it.
Although… it was getting a little hairy. Her thatch was a bit unruly. She teased at some of the dark brown curls hiding her slit, and rubbed gently at the pink underneath.
Hadn’t she bought something for that?
She had. From those Pink! people. A hair removal. It came in a very thin and long cylinder. Lindsey turned the shower up to hot and gently lathered up a pink foam in her hands.
It also smelled like candy. And the shower made it worse, a bath of pink scent that was.. intoxicating. She scrubbed the foam into her pussy hair, at first slowly, then, giggling, until she had a light pink V between her legs.
It worked magic. Two minutes of the most surprising and delicious tingles, and then a touch of water sluiced all the hair away.
She was totally bald down there.
Lindsey stared at it, then giggled again. Bald! She had never let it all go. But it was kind of corporate, wasn’t it? Sleek and smooth, just like her. Tomorrow she would walk into the office with a surprise between her legs, rubbing one against the other, super aware of her own bright pink pussy beneath a few layers of cotton.
And why stop there? Actually, that was written on the bottle: “why stop there.” Lindsey energetically rubbed the pink foam over her underarms , legs, whatever. The bottle did say “permanent” but that was a feature, as far as she could tell.
She stepped out of the shower hairless from the neck down. The towel was rough and cottony and felt like an assault on her sensitive skin. She loved it.
Lindsey dipped eagerly into her bag, finding objects she had never known she had purchased. Especially that bright pink lipstick.
That wasn’t very corporate. Not at all. That was blowjob fuel, pink lipstick like that. She wore that in, everyone on the floor would know that she was available for blowjobs, first come and first served. She traced it over her lips, surprised at how large and puffy they looked in the pink.
“Hello, Mr. Reagan,” she told the mirror. “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t handle the Henderson account because I appear to be a girl. What with my boobies and all. Maybe you should have a guy handle something like this? Would you like a blowjob?”
She kept giggling. This was so much fun!
At some point Lindsey had apparently lit bright pink candles. When had that happened? They filled the air with that cloying pink candy, that brain-numbing, giggle-inducing scent that was stripping her corporate self to the hot needy girl underneath. Lindsey walked out of the bathroom into the haze, putting on mascara without a mirror. When she was done her eyes were bright and wide, innocent and surprised.
It was nearly 5:15. Joe would be home soon.
Oh goodness, Joe. How BORED must he be getting? Every day he came home, he made dinner, and his grey-suited wife walked in still checking e-mails.
Lindsey nearly ran into the kitchen. She tossed on his apron. It was the only thing she had on.
Making dinner was a lot more fun then the brunette had expected. But that was only natural, Lindsey was realizing. Doing dumb business stuff wasn’t something her body wanted to do. It was artificial, a cultural thingie that the world had pushed ladies into. Making her want to be a man instead of being under a man. Making dinner, maybe some light housework, that was what her body was prepared for, which was why her pussy was sending needy signals and brimming with a moist heat that her fingers absently stroked.
She got to the carrots and started to giggle. Of course this was right. She was wasting her time trying to make old scowling men happy. She should be satisfying her man. Her Joe.
Pink! had something for this too, she recalled. A cooking powder of some sort. It was pretty vague about what it did, something about fun and sex, but she dumped three teaspoons in anyway. It didn’t taste like anything, but whatever.
Once everything was bubbling in the oven Lindsey realized that she probably should put some clothes on.
But WHAT clothes? Everything she owned was so depressingly drab, made to hide and conceal and make her look taller then she was. Lindsey dipped deep into the closet, into that section of stuff from business school she had worn out, before she had ensnared Joe. She DID have some club clothes, and if they barely fit over her enhanced chest, all the better.
Yes! She still had her bright blue dress, the one she had code-named The Invitation. It shimmered in spandex, it had a halter top that she had to ease her bright red titties into, it didn’t stop the air currents from making their way to tease her slit.
Lindsey admired her reflection, after slipping into tall heels. She was in college again, a bright and eager sorority girl who wasn’t totally averse to a bit of anal, just to see what it was like, what all the fuss was for. She hadn’t let Joe into her ass for years, and that was a shame.
And she had given up all that promise, all that fun and drinking and sex, for the life of a grey corporate drone in sensible Ann Taylor flats. She could’ve had HUNDREDS of more orgasms. She could’ve been fucking Joe as soon as he got home, meeting him with a Manhattan and bending over.
That shit had to go.
There was one more item in the bag. It was pills, mystery pills. The bottle didn’t say what they did, just made vague promises about being ‘more fun’ and ‘sexy.’ Well, fine by Lindsey. She downed three without hesitation.
Joe got home at 5:50. It was late for him, but his vodka martini was still nice and cold. Lindsey had left it in the refrigerator to be sure.
The strutting, cooing girl at the door didn’t look a lot like his wife, but something about the scent of sex and candy in the air took his hesitation away. He sipped vodka and sat down while Lindsey, smiling, tidied up, making sure to give him good views of a nicely shaved pussy and pendulous titties.
“You feeling okay, Linds?” he finally ventured.
“Good. I quit my job,” she told him.
“You… you what?”
“Yeah. But that’s not important,” she said. “We have a very important decision to make.”
She kneeled in front of him, and looked earnestly into his eyes. “Joe, tell me honestly. Do you want to fuck me now or do you want to wait until after dinner?”
Her blackberry beeped to itself from deep inside the garbage bin.
The boys shuffled in the rain. They wore their dad’s suits and ties that had been tied off of youtube videos. The bravest one rang the doorbell at the sorority.
A blonde with a sharp nose opened the door. She was halfway through a cupcake. A pink cloud steamed out the door behind her.
“Hi guys,” she purred. “Can I help you with something?”
“We’re… uh… pledges,” the lead stammered. The others nodded. “We’re supposed to get as many phone numbers as we can. Um. Written on us. Oh, the phone numbers have to be from girls.”
“Really,” the blonde said. She polished off the rest of the cupcake, and took her time licking her fingers. Other girls were gathering behind her. There were a lot of bare legs. There was a lot of tits on display.
“I think maybe you guys should come in,” she said, and there was an answering salvo of titters behind her.
The guys walked through the door. It was shut and locked behind them.
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