TreatHunterz 3: Morning Shift (Oblivious TF)
#3 of TreatHunterz
A morose young woman opens up the bakery she works at. Contains: self-esteem issues, oblivious latex TF, and cake going directly to one's thighs in a much more literal fashion than usual.
I drive these brothers crazy, I do it on the daily, -Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps"
The young woman got out of her car and nearly stepped on a black cat.
It danced aside, and looked at her reproachfully.
"Sorry," she said, and stretched out a hand. It considered a moment, then deigned to let her stroke it. The kitty's fur felt oddly slick. Had it gotten in contact with a mud puddle?
And now whatever it was was on her hand. Perfect.
The cat sauntered off.
She looked around nervously. There had been reports of a prowler in the area, and while the shopping center wasn't exactly what you'd call a high-risk area - the biggest danger was probably to your waistline - it didn't pay to take risks.
Still, she paused a moment when she got in, to look at herself in the door. Short, flat chest, pale skin, practical short, ruler-straight hair, done in a practical bob. And she was skinny. Not even supermodel skinny. She had basically given up on enhancing what little beauty she had, and was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Maybe she'd find someone who liked short pimpled girls with dishwater-dull hair and no more figure than a pine board.
She slammed and locked the front door with a sudden vehemence.
Most people who came in probably thought she was a boy. Or a lesbian lumberjack.
No. No point getting upset.
She took a moment to look at the schmear on her hand. It looked thicker than oil, but still shiny. It didn't smell like oil either. On a sudden impulse, she stuck her hand in her mouth and sucked it clean.
Strangely, it tasted like chocolate.
Wait, why had she done that? Why did she eat some weird black crap that could be laced with arsenic for all she knew? Should she call 911?
She stood on the knife's edge, and something nudged her over to the side of "ignore it".
If course, it's not like poison control could've stopped what happened next anyway.
She shrugged. The black gunk didn't seem to be bothering the cat.
The store-branded apron, when she got behind the counter and put it on, hung to her knees. At least she didn't have to stand on a box to see over the register.
She coughed. Then coughed again, more vehemently. White, shiny gunk flowed out of her mouth, and began running down her body, coating her skin in blankness, like a new canvas.
She perked up a little as she began to squeak. Of course, she didn't have the type of squeak she'd actually like; there wasn't enough meat on her thighs.
Her shoes were kicked into the corner, and she relished the feel of the cold tile floor on her bare, slick, shiny feet. She wasn't supposed to, strictly speaking, but she liked to think of herself as a #firstWorldAnarchist.
It looked like the afternoon shift had forgotten to take out the trash. With a frown, she wrapped her hands around the rim and pulled. No, not strong enough.
Her arms thickened slightly.
She tried again. It shifted a little.
Her arms suddenly gained a few inches and lots of muscle, its definition smoothed out by the white curves.
Her new biceps bulged as she easily heaved the garbage bin out the back door, emptying it into the dumpster, returning it to its place in the rear of the kitchen. And then she locked the door, despite the fact that she was pretty sure she could take on any marauders.
Her shirt had gotten so tight all of a sudden. She took it off, shortly followed by her bra, exposing her naked breasts to the cold, stale air. She didn't feel it, but the customers might. And they'd be hidden behind the apron anyway.
Speaking of which.
A delicate claw turned on the thermostat, just before she pulled the garment over her head. And it caught on her pointy ears. Again.
Her mouth suddenly gaped in the blank expanse that was her face, gaping in a a yawn that exposed her sharpened teeth to the empty store.
Her breasts continued to grow, somehow seeming to strain against the pocket they were contained in. She scratched at her chest with her free hand as she bought the computer out of sleep mode. As she did so, her paws pricked holes in the surface, which the pressure promptly widened into gaps, offering tantalizing glimpses of the chocolate-brown flesh within.
The cash drawer, as usual, was too small for even her dexterous paws. She gave a low, feline rumble in irritation.
As she checked the float, she shifted her feet slightly, as her growing right hindpaw forced her away from the counter. It was shortly followed by her left foot reshaping, and then her increasingly powerful calves and thighs, growing thick and shapely. She barely even flinched as her head hit the light shade, or as her pants split right along the seams.
Her shoulders broadened, to match her new arms and legs. She didn't even notice as she shut the cash drawer with a solid click. This was followed by another click, as she flicked on the main lights, but left the back room, the bakery proper, dark.
It wasn't her job to bake. That was the next girl, who always came in a few minutes late. She always stayed a few minutes late, to make up for it, but it rankled that she wasn't there on time the first place.
She could, however put on the coffee. That wasn't beyond her meagre skills. Heck, she could probably bake herself, if the owner had trusted the other girl to work the cash register.
Speaking of which, how'd she look?
There was a mirror on the wall. Her hair was covered under the white - no, wait, there it was, growing like the nozzle on a can of whipped cream, or someone squeezing icing out of a bag. It tumbled in tangled locks - dreadlocks, really - around her face framing her blank - her feline muzzle, and slitted eyes. She practiced a toothsome smile, stuck out her tongue at herself - candy-red at the tip, fading to a delicious-looking brown - then an innocent, girlish simper. The latter made her break out in laughter; the best she could do wasn't even close to innocent. Exactly the opposite.
A swipe at some itches, and her shoulders and upper arms became dappled with spots where her mahogany flesh could be seen, hinting at the muscles underneath. Much like chocolate flakes, or sprinkles.
Her watch was finally snapped when she flexed her wrist the wrong way, so she decided to flip the sign on the door to OPEN. She could at explain that only the coffee was up, which would make sense, since they weren't officially open. That made sense, right?
And if they weren't happy with that, she could offer them a treat of her own.
Her tail twitched in anticipation.
She scratched at her thigh, and her second skin parted, revealing brown flesh underneath. Unlike her chest or shoulders, it didn't tease from the shadows, or sit quietly. This was flesh that fought to escape its blanched bonds, that invited viewers to touch, and perchance to be touched in return.
She wanted to flaunt it. It was good to share.
She took a deep breath, her tail perking up. Smelt nice too. Like chocolate and frosting and cherries.
Speaking of which.
She thrust out her chest, and her nipples strained against the latex covering her. She bit her lip at the stimulation, and pushed again. Was it giving? One more try, and her cherry-red nipples were exposed to the air. Good.
Oh, right.
Three quick swipes down below, and all of her "exhaust ports" were free. Of course, she couldn't exactly display them at work, so where was that apron?
The garment, after a struggle to get it on, barely covered her straining breasts. In fact, if she moved too quickly, someone could get a peek at a nipple. But never both. Just one. Some of the customers might enjoy the peek at her Black Forest lusciousness.
Down below, it did nothing at all to hide her tail, her rear. She would be exposed every time she bent over, giving the folks a little show with their snacks. Even standing normally, it barely covered her slit, and her bulge was visible if she turned to the side.
All in all, she towered over most people, male or female, though she herself wasn't quite either. Her second skin all-over slick white, barring her shoulders, chest, and inside thighs, where skin that was like chocolate in more than just color displayed, teased, tantalized. Her hair half-hid her slitted, hazel eyes, drawing any potential viewers in...
Well, once they got past the minor detail that she was a big, half-naked, latex cat.
The cat stretched, luxuriating in her sheer femininity, strength, desirability, just the her-ness of herself.
"I don't know about you, Miss Kitty," she quoted to the mirror, "but I feel so much yummier."
More heat rose in her cheeks. I get off at noon, she imagined herself saying. And again, later, depending on whether you want to eat first.
The cat's idle daydreams were interrupted by the sound of the bell on the door jingling.
The customer entered the store and stopped dead at the sight of her.
Her whiskers twitched as she plastered a smile across her muzzle, in the fashion of retail employees everywhere.
"Morning!" she said brightly. "Welcome to Cat's Treats. How may I help you?"
TreatHunterz 3: Morning Shift 2014 Eulalie "Nequ" Quentin Creative Commons By-SA-NC
#pleaseMaamMayIHaveSomeMore
I kinda wonder what would've happened if our girl's favourite treat was Cheese Danish, instead.
It's it weird that I did #pre-vis on a story? If I hadn't spent some time working out our nameless protagonist's final look (more on that later), I would've been banging my head trying to make this work with my original idea, which was to make her primarily brown, not white. And I couldn't come up with any brown-based designs that didn't look silly. And not sexy-silly, just silly.
I am fully aware that bakeries (and retail) don't work this way. But this ain't a story about bakery realism.
Previously in Oblivious TFs: Soapy Eyes.