Part II

a short story by Dan Standing

As the taste of super sweet sugar melted across my tongue I could not tear my eyes away from my brilliant-colored crotch. The tangle of cotton candy nestled between my thighs was so thick I couldn’t see my pussy through it. It looked exactly like the stuff Katya was lying amongst in her music video, kicking her legs back and forth in the air.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck,” I muttered, grabbing a handful of the pink and pulling. It tore away easily and painlessly, but moments after I could feel the tingle and see the space I’d cleared filling in once more. Within a minute there was no trace of the damage I’d done.

And now my hand was covered in sticky sugar.

“Shit, I have to find that woman,” I muttered, snapping my underwear’s elastic back and wiping my palm on a tissue. I grabbed my slacks and pulled them up, but as the waistband neared the lower parts of my genitals the material went tight. I pulled harder, but only heard the sound of stressed stitches. Letting go I stared down, dumbfounded, for a minute.

tiny hot pants, little up top

“Oh…no no no…” I muttered as more lyrics of the song came to me. The sexy Eastern European singer had pranced around most of the music video in booty shorts and bikinis. Could the curse force me to wear…

I pushed myself up out of the chair, and my ridiculous ice-cold boulders – feeling more and more taught with every passing moment – bounced around on my ribs, rubbing against each other. Despite my fear and anger something about this motion still got me horny. I could hear a little fizzle as some of the cotton candy closest to my slit came into contact with my moisture and dissolved.

Fully upright I tried again to pull my pants up past my pussy, and again I found no success. I was actually a little exhausted from straining my arms. I could not leave this office in panties only, I had to – scissors! I quickly grabbed the shears off my desk and began snipping into the fabric just below the pockets. It only took a few cuts around each leg before both sets of extraneous fabric tubes had fallen and pooled around my ankles on the floor.

As the blades dropped from my hand and rattled on the desk it felt like I had come out of a daze. My pants! These weren’t from the discount rack! I could not believe I had just done that, but…I pulled again.

The waistband of my new shorts pulled up over my ass and around my hips, settling into the proper place. It was hard to see around my melons, but this atrocity to my working attire was barely any better than leaving my office with just panties. My cuts were ragged, fraying strings hung from the edges, and the bottom curve where my butt-met-thigh was just poking into view.

I grabbed my blouse and starting buttoning. Fortunately, for whatever reason, I had no problem getting the entire shirt on. The expanse of my pulled-taught bosom meant my stomach and naval were exposed, so maybe that was enough. My chilly nipples seemed a little longer, and were quite visible as they propped up the material.

My little mirror was of no use for checking how I looked as a complete package, but I already knew the answer; I was a trashy mess. I had to get this undone.

Grabbing my purse I carefully unlocked the door and looked up and down the hall.


As quickly as I could I began making my way towards the elevators. Thanks to the layout of the office it wouldn’t be impossible to get out without being seen. But I knew it would be unlikely. Now, as I was trying to be quite, I could hear the squeak and crinkle of the cotton candy crushing and strecting between my moving thighs.

What weighed more on my mind were the signals being sent to my further-moistening muff. If the sensation of skin rubbing on skin (i.e my enormous cleavage) wasn’t enough, my blouse pulling across my nipples was making sure I was getting quite damp down below. I could feel more and more cotton candy dissolving in my juices, and then growing back, forming what I knew was a sticky pink stain drying along my thighs. I was just thankful I wasn’t producing enough to drip past the scant cloth hanging around my legs.

I was only a few more steps from the elevators when I heard them ding. As they opened I could hear the local radio station playing – we’d long ago switched out the generic jazz for something everyone preferred. Through the widening crack of the double doors I recognized the terrible necktie of one of our vice-presidents. Thinking fast I remembered that we had Men’s and Women’s restrooms that flanked the lobby for waiting guests. I dove to the left without taking time to look at which door I was headed towards.

Men’s Room. Damn. My breasts wobbled and bumped as my heels clacked on the tile across from the urinals. Most of us used the rear restrooms, so no one was here now, but plenty of people stopped to use these on the way back to their desks after eating lunch out. I still needed to hide.

I closed each stall door as I passed them, then went into the last. I locked the door, slipped off my heels, and perched onto the toilet seat. I was uncomfortable, certain that my panties and creaking pink fuzz were visible through my shortened pants legs thanks to how I was curled up. My arms pressed tightly against my tits as I tried to keep balanced.

Just then I heard the door open. I had guessed right, patting myself on the back for hiding in the stall. I heard him walk over to the urinals and unzip. He was whistling something. It seemed to have a beat to it, so I assumed it was some pop song he’d heard in the elevator. He was butchering it and I couldn’t make out what it was.

The VP must have just come from some sort of drinking contest, because he had to be pissing gallons. My legs and arms, eblows and knees, bunched up as they were over the throne, were starting to ache. I tried to shift my weight to relieve some of the soreness. My breasts felt like they’d swelled even bigger, with a cold constant pressure now pushing hard against the underside of my nipples. They looked longer, and were pressing against the blouse without any bend whatsoever. As I shifted I tugged on my blouse, which pulled down on a nip. As it did so I was rewarded with a strange pshhhhhh sound.

I threw my head back, nearly coming on the spot. I could feel the fizzle of more cotton candy as my pussy practically gushed juices. Something had sprayed out of my tit like-

Like whipped cream.

I quickly pressed a hand under the curve of my breast and felt a semi-thick substance slowly sliding down my skin. I couldn’t see it, but I was certain it was the same whipped cream that Katya sprayed from a special bra in the music video’s conclusion.

But this had come from a part of me!

“Is someone there?”

Only now did I realize that the VP could have heard the sound of cold thick cream escaping from my boob. The sound of peeing had stopped, and I could hear shoes approaching the stalls. The quiet, slow sound of someone taking one finger and gently pushing open one of the plastic green doors was like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. Finding nothing behind door number one the man moved to the next stall. Soon he’d eliminated half of the possibilities.

As he approached the third stall I heard the restroom door open.

“Sir, are you in here? The call with Tokyo is about to start.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll be…I’m coming.”

The VP gave up his search, washed his hands, and left with whomever my savior was. I held my breath and counted to twenty. I knew what this call was. I didn’t have to be on it, but most of the Sales people would be. I had some time to escape.

Putting my heels back on as each foot stepped off the toilet seat I stretched out my aching muscles and joints. I yanked open the stall door, pulling off my blouse as I approached the mirror. I just stared.

Both nipples were about two inches long, ending in slightly pointed tips. They and their respective areola were a stark white. I was beyond disbelief now, and each hand slowly rose and pushed a hard, long teat.

“Oh…” I moaned – as quietly as I could – as whipped cream blasted out of me and covered the mirror. My knees had gone weak, and my hands instinctively gripped the sink counter. The feeling of the cold dessert flowing out of me, expanding as it left the pressurization of my body and burst forth into the air, was beyond erotic. If I had held my nipples any longer I was certain I would have came. And hard. I could feel a bit of sugary pink, dissolved in my very flowing flower’s juices, dripping down my right thigh.

Now I knew why my chest was so cold.

I didn’t bother trying to clean the mirror or sink from the dripping whipped sweetness. Instead I wiped off my breasts, cleaned the pink stain visible past the cut of my shorts, and tried to dry the wet blotch in my blouse from the first release. When I was certain I could reduce the wet spot no more I slung my arms into the sleeves, ready to button up and head out.

But I couldn’t get the blouse on. The same strange resistance I had felt with my pants kept me from getting the sleeves over my shoulders. I didn’t have to think long to realize the problem, as the secret had already been given away; I could no longer wear anything up top more conservative than what Katya had on in her video. That part of the curse, for whatever reason, had finally caught up to me.

Not having any scissors, and refusing to leave the restroom completely topless, I made a small tear in the middle of the buttons with my teeth. After getting through the hem it was easy to rip off the lower half of the fabric, and the abbreviated blouse slipped back over my shoulders without any issue. My tear had not been even, and whether or not I buttoned what few holes were left, or tied the ends together, the underboob of my left breast remained visible. And of course my nipples were constantly threatening to rip through the abused fabric.

I had passed slutty long ago. Far from the chic candy styles of Ms. Petri’s outfits, I was dressed up as cheap street whore – if I was being described nicely. Somewhere there was clothing that I could wear with this curse and look good – really good given the size of my frozen watermelons. But what was reflected in the cream-covered silver glass was not a look I approved of.

But I had no choice.

Cracking the door and peering down the hall it looked like I was in the clear. I strutted as quickly as I could to the elevators, tits bouncing in the useless torn top. I repeatedly hit the call button, glancing around nervously. I hoped that, if no one saw me from the front, the blue hair and ridiculous figure in this outfit would just confuse anyone who spotted me.

Finally the elevator arrived with a ding and I practically fell in, flattening my back against one wall to hide – although I was sure my nipples and the ends of my breasts still stuck out into the open doorway. I pounded the 1 button with my fist until the doors began to close, cued by another bell chime.

As the radio station came back on from a commercial break I let out a sigh. I was almost out of this. Just had to make it to my car, drive to the karaoke place, and see if anyone knew who this woman was.

Before I could relax too much I felt a stirring in my loins. Beneath my mangled pants, my panties, and the pink sugar, I could feel my labia and clit start to vibrate. It was a slow, pleasant, pulse. I was about to mutter, “What now?!” when I heard it.

CaliGurl had just started on the radio. As the song picked up it felt as if the world’s most form-fitting vibrator was pressed hard against my pussy. Every dripping fold and sensitive bump was pulsing with the beat. The sensation quickly spread across my body, like an army of ants bent on pleasuring every inch of my form. When it reached my nipples my knees failed. collapsing to the ground I instinctively grasped at my crotch and one tit, hoping to bat the feelings away, and as my hand took the stiff nipple I remembered too late what would happen.

Whipped cream exploded out of my shirt, spraying me and the doors. As the elevator began slowing I screamed out from the most body-rocking orgasm I’d ever had. I’d had no control over it.

Nor would I be able to resist the next one that I could already feel forming in the pit of my belly. It all felt so good. I couldn’t resist pushing ahead to the pending climax, one hand trying to grab both nipples while the other dug through the cotton candy. I could tell I’d squirted with the first orgasm, my ass sitting in a sticky pool of pink. Whipped cream was covering every wall, and I contemplated trying to stretch my taught tit back so I could suck on a blanched teat.

Thrashing about on the elevator floor, as the song pushed me further and further into a loop of orgasms I wasn’t sure I could – or wanted to – escape, I barely heard the ding as the elevator came to a stop.

to be concluded…