The new associate

By Tym Greene 
2 parts
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• Latest update: 8 August. Next update: 22 August. (Submissions welcome.)

• Latest from BRK: “The Arsenal of Secrets”, Parts 1‑10.

Part 1

Zhu squeezed into the elevator, feeling the buttons on his shirt strain. “Come on, beastie, keep it together,” he mumbled under his breath. The gazelle pressed between his shoulder and the wall glanced up, smiling nervously.

“Um, hi,” Zhu said. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but…” he wiggled a bit, as though the cramped quarters needed further illustration.

“Oh, that’s ok—this is my floor,” the gazelle said quickly as the doors slid open. His slender form darted past the small crowd of people waiting for the elevator, crumpled files clutched awkwardly in front of him.

Zhu smiled ruefully; it wasn’t the first time he’d had that effect. Stop thinking about it, he mentally commanded, feeling sweat start to dampen his already taut dress shirt. He glanced at the people standing before him, waiting to get on, “Sorry, folks, not much room.” Since none of them seemed willing to shoehorn themselves into the elevator with him, he jabbed a button and the doors slid closed.

The rest of the ride to the top floor was uneventful, giving the great blue beast a chance to catch his breath and calm himself down. Already his clothes were noticeably snug—at least he hadn’t popped any buttons yet. Closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see his form arrayed in the polished elevator doors, he focused on his breaths. His thick fingers pressed against the front of his slacks, shunting his dick to one side where its bulge might be less noticeable.

The elevator dinged and his eyes opened. He stepped through the doors as carefully as he could, and up to the reception desk. The empty reception desk. He looked around, but the firm’s little lobby was deserted. Moments later, a door to one side slammed open, and a figure—gasping and panting—ran from the stairwell beyond to the desk, sliding into the chair behind it.

Zhu smiled benevolently at the gazelle, whose face betrayed a mix of embarrassment, exertion, and arousal. “Like to get in a little exercise before work, eh?” From his height, he could see the pulsing bulge sneaking down the hoofer’s left leg, far longer and thicker than it ought to have been. The gazelle’s shirt also seemed strained, sweat-dampened fabric pulled taut over thick pecs that hand’t been nearly so noticeable on the elevator ride up.

“Um, yes,” came the chagrinned reply. “You…must be Mr. Zhu. You are a bit early, but Mr. Patrick said to -unf-send you in as soon as…” the receptionist’s voice trailed off as his hands, resting in his lap, began to explore his expanded lap.

“Shall I go in?” Zhu asked, smiling indulgently.

“Y-yes. Go -oh-straight in. All…all the way to the back.”

Leaving the gazelle to enjoy his changing body—and trying not to think too much about the cause of that growth, lest he start changing too—Zhu pushed through the double doors set into the wall behind the reception desk.

Thankfully, they were broad and tall enough to admit his bulk. The doors were an intricate interlace of frosted glass and trapezoidal bars of white-painted wood. Like a blend of De Stijl, Le Corbusier, and early Frank Lloyd Wright with the sort of retro-futurism he remembered from watching The Jetsons when he was younger. He smiled, fingers caressing the cool smooth paint: this style, this sensibility, this was one of the reasons he’d been so eager to work for this firm. Terrence Patrick Architects fit his taste, as well as his interest in more flexible construction for clients with more…flexible anatomy.

Then he realized that the normal buzz of draftsmen and engineers at work had faded to an uncertain, expectant silence. Zhu looked up to find everyone staring at him. You’d think that you’d get used to that sort of reaction when your body pretty much filled a doorframe, but he still got an exhibitionistic thrill from the attention.

His nipples were straining at the material of his shirt—not poplin, but white spandex that his tailor had sworn would hold up to much more strain. That old goat had promised the same performance from the elastic gussets he’d added to Zhu’s suit, dyed charcoal grey to match.

Given the normal size of his tailor’s balls and the fact that his pants could still hold them in, he probably knew what he was talking about. Still, Zhu’s body was starting to swell—and not just with muscle. Already his arms were beginning to lift up under the pressure of blooming pit hair. Not yet, he ordered himself, desperate to get through the day with suit and dignity intact.

Ignoring the onlookers as best he could, he nonchalantly walked down the aisle between drafting tables and high-end computers to the back wall with it’s bank of partitioned offices, gold glinting where the occupants’ names had been painted. Directly ahead, he could see the door proclaiming “Terrence Patrick, Sr. Principal.”

He strode up to the door, the broad shadow his shoulders cast obscuring the gilt sans serif lettering. A gentle knock on the glass prompted a gruff voice to rumble, “Enter.” Inside the office, he found three men hunched over a desktop hologram of a floor plan rendered into three dimensions. Closest to him were the rumps and backs of a camel and a rather scrawny moose. On the other side of the desk, glancing up to look at Zhu, was a barrel-chested bear.

He smiled at the beast, holding up a broad paw, fore-finger extended. “Well, boys,” he said to the other two, his voice rolling out in a warm baritone rumble that could have made Zhu pop his buttons then and there, “I like the way this is going. Zef, make sure you check those stress points, and have your boys widen the main entryway—we want it to be dramatic as well as practical.” The camel nodded, jotting some notes down on his sketch pad. “And now, speaking of dramatic, I want you to meet the new associate I’ve hired.”

The bear switched off the projection and stepped out from behind his desk, revealing the physique of an off-season powerlifter. He shook Zhu’s hand, the warmth of the dinner-plate-sized paw making his pucker twitch and swell, ever so slightly. “This is Zhu,” the bear said, releasing his grip and gesturing first at the moose and then the camel. “This is Jacques McGraw, one of our senior designers, and Zephyr Cluny, an associate like you.”

Both men shook his hand and said hello. The moose looked a bit uncomfortable, his clothes already a bit more tight on his lean form, but Zephyr was just smiling openly, revealing broad flat teeth.

“So, you are Zhu? I’ve seen your work—trés novateur—but I never suspected that the boss had gotten you to join us.” Zhu smiled back, feeling his suit’s elastic starting to strain. Even as he spoke, the camel’s lip had begun to swell, his jaw thickening. The other men didn’t seem to notice.

Terrence spoke up, his voice having become even deeper in the last few moments. “We are still getting your office ready—upgraded wall screens, fresh paint…reinforced floors.” He laughed goodnaturedly at that, even as the floor creaked a bit under his own burgeoning weight. “So I hope you don’t mind sharing with Zef for a little bit.”

The camel glanced up at the sound of his name: he’d been absently rubbing a hand up and down his chest, the other tucked behind his body, forearm angled down below his belt-line. “Hm? Oh, yes. That way I can—” he coughed, and his voice dropped a register as his Adam’s apple grew to the size of a baseball in his now-bulging neck. “That way I can show you the ropes.”

With an accompanying grunt from the big blue beast, the first button popped off his shirt, leaving a dent in his new boss’s office wall. None of the men paid attention to the damage however, because the button had loosed as spill of glossy indigo chest hair. Jacques especially stared at it, his nostrils flaring, as though he were trying to keep himself from burying his snout in it. The creaking of fast-growing antlers filled the silence.

Terrence Patrick now loomed behind the moose, looking more like a primitive cave bear than an avuncular brown bear. Drool dripped across the front of his torn shirt, matting down fur and highlighting the cleavage between his thick pecs. “Now, Zef, show our new employee where your office is,” he growled through fangs that hadn’t been visible when Zhu had entered the office. “Jacques, stay here, little moose. I—” and here he licked his lips as the senior designer moaned, nipples like Double Stuf Oreos behind translucent white fabric. “I need to…speak with you.”

“Yessir, boss!” the moose moaned, falling to his knees before the bear, pants bursting open in the process and revealing a shiny brown pucker pushing out from beneath the swelling globes of his buttocks. Zhu felt his body hair thickening at the sight, wiry blue strands slipping through the weave of his suit. He felt damp; Zephyr’s shirt was soaked through, plastering down his short tan fur and showing off the spreading stain of dark brown chest hair.

Hesitantly, he followed the other associate, watching as the ropey tail swelled to almost the thickness of the camel’s thigh. Once again, the main room went silent as the door opened and the staff stared at the two men revealed. Behind Zhu, the door softly closed, muting the feral grunts and moans of passion already coming from the principal and his senior designer. Another button gave under the strain of holding back Zhu’s growth, and shot straight into the camel’s back.

The associate’s thick hide and by now thicker muscle were impervious, but his shirt was not so lucky. As Zephyr bent over to pass Mr. Patrick’s instructions to one of the junior architects on his team, his shoulders bulged and his shirt split, starting at the hole Zhu’s button had made. The thin cotton couldn’t withstand that kind of stress and exploded into a gentle shower of pale lavender shreds, all over the architect’s desk.

He didn’t seem to notice—just snorting through his swelling nostrils to blow a scrap off of the diagram he was discussing. Zhu, however, did notice. As he stared, the camel’s broad traps swelled like a kite filling with gale-force winds, threatening to overwhelm his neck and shoulders. Black pinstripes strained to hold in his bulging butt even as the fabric’s thin white lines—which looked painted-on by this point—showcased every curve beside and beneath that fat shaggy tail. It was all Zhu could do to keep from burying his face in the pucker he could discern lurking in the shadows.

Several more buttons rocketed forward, bouncing off the camel’s taut pants, which were momentarily able to withstand the onslaught. Zhu groaned in relief as the spandex shirt sprang open, revealing a damp tangle of sweaty chest fur, out of which his pecs rose like ancient burial mounds. Freed of constraints, his nipples once more began to grow, swelling in moments from the relatively-modest size of demitasses to as big as hub caps. As they pushed forward inch by inch, the beast felt two quick snaps: his fancy shoes finally giving up the ghost, flattened into scraps of leather under pressure from his feet, soon grown past their size 20 norm. If he held still, he could feel the silken rustle as hair grew out on their tops.

Finally done with the instructions, the camel turned back around. Zhu noticed the slack square jaw (with its plump black rubber inner-tube of a lip) and misty unfocused eyes. He also noticed the gaping nostrils and short quick rise and fall of Zephyr’s impressive chest. His own chest was starting to drip onto the short-pile industrial carpet, and his pits felt like he had two sopping wet sponges growing out of them, bulging into the fabric of his shirt sleeves and pouring their sweat down his sides.

The camel had been hypnotized by the scent, acting solely by habit and the force of the bear’s instructions, and was now staring at him. Several of the other employees seemed similarly-entranced, while others had started panting, obviously masturbating beneath their drafting tables.

Tempted as he was to stay and take advantage of the situation, Zhu was still enough in-control of his faculties to focus, bare sweaty chest or no. “So, Zephyr, you were going to show me your—our—office.”

The camel nodded and led him along the wall of doors. They passed one—with its glass taped off and buckets of paint stacked beside—that would surely become Zhu’s. The very next door showed “Zephyr Cluny, Associate” in the same rectilinear gold letters. Zhu followed him inside and closed the door behind them as gently as he could, not wanting to shatter the glass or splinter the doorframe. Looking up, he saw a room that was all burgundies and golds, evoking an orientalist’s vision of an exotic harem, while still holding true to the firm’s more minimalist style.

Zephyr was standing in the middle of the spacious office, panting, his pecs and arms swollen with muscle, his nipples actually starting to drip. Dark brown chest hair had spread to cover most of his front, growing longer, curling into loose damp ringlets. “Nice office you’ve got here. I’ll enjoy sharing it,” he said. There was no response.

He stepped closer, placing a meaty hand on the other man’s shoulder, looking down at him. He hadn’t even noticed having grown, his head now barely a foot from the room’s high ceiling. He didn’t seem to have noticed anything. “Hey, Zeffy, snap out of it.”

Zephyr leaned forward, his long snout disappearing into the dense cloud of chest hair between Zhu’s mighty pecs. Feeling the hot breath wooshing through that hair only made him sweat more, his sleeves and slacks saturated, clinging to the pit hair fluffing out beneath. He couldn’t resist stroking a hand down the shaggy brown head and neck, overwhelmed with protective paternal feelings. Letting out a long sigh, the beast started to relax. His shirt didn’t remain on for much longer, shrugged off shoulders that were close to splitting the seams.

Movement caught his eye as his nipples pushed forward, areolas swelling to manhole-cover size and thickness below the tips, which had already doubled in length. The camel started to squrim, and slowly his head emerged, drenched in sweat, from the blue beast’s manly cleavage. Zhu’s dick had been growing too, up and out from under his waistband, the underside pressed against Zephyr’s chest, dripping onto the dark soft hair, pushing him bodily away. Zhu reached up and ran a damp paw over the camel’s nipples. “Zeffy, wake up.”

“Five more minutes, daddy,” came the half-conscious reply. Zephyr shifted, allowing Zhu’s cock to spring to one side, flipping an arc of precum across the room. The camel’s body fell back against Zhu’s chest, sending up a spray of sweat droplets, each one glistening for an instant before raining down.

Zhu moaned, pleasure overwhelming him as the camel’s bulk was almost lost to view. A single step forward was all it took for the fabric of his pants to succumb to the pressure of his glutes and thighs. They split at the weakest: the seam that ran down between his buttocks. Zhu gasped as cold air hit his now-exposed pucker, which was already growing out behind him, as though jealous of his nipples’ head start. The thick cylinder of muscular flesh pushed his rump wider, making the bones of his hips grind and pop as they spread out to accommodate his shifting anatomy.

He called me daddy, the great beast thought, caressing the bulging muscles of the camel’s shoulders. He stepped back and looked down at the flared nostrils and hooded eyes. Tenderly, he ran a hand under the now perfectly square jawline. Perhaps it was the relative difference in their sizes, he thought as his body swelled a few more inches. But he was here to work, to design buildings that adapted to the occupants, so people like him could feel at ease in their businesses, their homes. He snapped his fingers next to the camel’s head. “Wake up, Zeffy-boy,” he said, louder before and with a voice that sounded like it belonged to a mountain troll.

Zephyr blinked, slowly coming out of his musk-induced haze. “D-dad?” he muttered, then cleared his throat, as though to cover up what he’d said. “Sorry, Zhu, must have nodded off th- Holy shit!” What happened to you, to me? Oh, wow…”

Zhu reached out a hand to calm his new co-worker, but at his touch the camel slumped a bit, cock throbbing enough to tear through his pants, one stitch at a time. “I…sometimes have this effect on people,” Zhu said softly, fingers dragging through the too-dense-to-be-normal camel fur. “It’s a good look for you, you know.”

Zephyr licked his lower lip, the pale grey skin taut and swollen and obviously more sensitive—just perfect for kissing, Zhu thought. “So…is this permanent?”

“No. Well, not always. It varies.” Zhu blushed a bit. “Maybe one of these days I’ll do a proper study, get a few…dozen…volunteers and test things out.” He stopped, flustered, feeling his body pulsing hotly at the mere thought of such an experiment.

“Damnit, Zhu, I…I kinda like this.” He ran a thick-fingered hand through the soft mat of hair that covered his by-now very defined abs. “Mmm, yeah,” he moaned, then stopped abruptly, looking up at the other man. “Shit, how tall are you now?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, scratching the back of his head. “Sometimes I lose track of that kind of thing.”

“Well, these ceilings are ten feet, I think, so you must be…” he looked Zhu up and down. “Just over nine feet tall, maybe nine-foot-three. That would make me,” and here the camel stepped forward, pressing his face to t he beast’s blue chest once more, “maybe seven feet tall,” the muffled voice finished.

Zhu groaned at t hat, his body swelling visibly as his nipples lengthened enough to drape over the camel’s shoulders. Zephyr leaned his head against one, reaching up to squeeze the other one with a meaty arm. “I’ve never seen someone so…big.”

“I’ve been bigger,” Zhu admitted, his voice a low rumble as he picked up the smaller man, both hands easily gripping his relatively narrow waist. He held Zephyr up at his eye level, blue eyes gazing into brown ones, still a bit hazed with the sweat-induced arousal. The camel’s fuzz-covered nostrils flared, hot breath wafting over the taut skin of Zhu’s inflated lower lip. He leaned closer, watching Zephyr’s face for any indication of disgust or doubt.

Darting his long neck forward like a striking snake, Zephyr pressed his mouth to Zhu’s. Still getting used to his changed—and changing—body, his aim was a bit off, his lips and tongue slopping against Zhu’s tusks. Still holding the camel, Zhu felt his body inflating with arousal, his head now grazing the office’s ten-foot-tall ceiling. His knees started to bend as he continued to grow; soon it was too much. He sat down hard, no longer able to stand up in the small space, his head making a dent in the plaster of the wall behind him. And still his new co-worker was kissing him. Zhu felt the slick heat of the camel’s own dick pressing up between their pecs, tunneling through the dense tangle of blue and brown hair. His own shaft rose up, brushing along the underside of Zephyr’s thigh. It came to rest under the heavy balls, teased by the swishing of the camel’s tail.

Panting, sweating, gasping, they eventually broke the kiss. Zephyr slumped down, resting his long head against the warm solid pillow of the beast’s left pec. He fingered the pink skin of Zhu’s thigh-sized nipple, dreamily watching the veins pulse in time with the heartbeat that fed and grew the massive blue body. “I’ve never…done that before,” he whispered with an odd softness in his voice.

Zhu chuckled like a slow jackhammer. “Done what? Grow out of your clothes? Gotten naked with a co-worker? Kissed a guy?”

“Well, actually,” he blushed, digging his face into Zhu’s chest, “all of it. I’m…glad we’re sharing an office. I’m glad the boss hired you—” He was cut off by a bestial roar that shook the building.

“That sounded like our boss…well, a little. I guess Terrence is done having his little ‘meeting’ with that moose fellah.” As if in answer, the cervine bellowed too, throaty airy grunts rattling the glass in the office’s door. “Or maybe the moose is finished with him.”

Both men laughed heartily at that thought; Zhu’s voice seeming to drop an octave with each chuckle. Then the camel looked back up at him, his original train of thought resumed. “So this, all of this—” he gestured with an arm that would make any bodybuilder envious, “is real? I mean, it feels real, but like an awesome dream…” his voice faded away as his dick rose up into view once more.

Zhu dropped an arm around his smaller colleague’s shoulders, pulling him partly into the dense wet tangle of silky armpit hair. “Oh, it’s real. Some would say i’m cursed to have this effect on myself and others. I call it a blessing. And don’t worry, most people go back to normal—more or less—after a while.” He paused, letting the camel soak in the meaning behind his words. “Now, you said you’ve never done anything with another guy?”

Zephyr was silent for a few long minutes, awkwardly braiding strands of Zhu’s blue pit hair. “Not really,” he mumbled. “Work always came first. It was never big deal for me.” He tied a loose not at the end of the braid and began plaiting another tuft, his arms dripping with the sweet-smelling musk. “But now I want to try it. Try any of it.”

Without waiting any further, Zhu leaned forward, lifting the en-buffened camel up like a toy, and placing him on the drafting table that dominated the office.

“Wait, what are you….Oh!” Zephyr’s initial protests of surprise were swiftly overwhelmed by the feeling of the beast’s tongue slobbering at his balls and hole. “Oh, god…that feels amazing. Is—is it always this good, or -nngh-is that just part of your curse?”

Unwilling to stop rimming his co-worker, Zhu merely grunted and shoved his tongue deeper. His thick lips wrapped around the plump dark pucker—now inflated like an inner-tube—and his tusks pressed into the sensitive flesh. Sweat trickled past his snout and cheeks as dense fur and plumping muscles heated the room and the two rapidly-growing men.

I’m safe here, Zhu thought, realizing that he had found a kindred spirit (if not several, to judge from the sounds of beastly rutting coming from beyond the thin office door). It was easy—like releasing a stretched rubber band—for him to release the mental hold he kept on his body.

He grew.

Zhu’s dick rocketed forward first, followed shortly afterwards by his nipples, which took on almost-phallic proportions and sensitivity. The Drafting table didn’t stand a chance under the triple onslaught. With an explosion of splintered wood that bounced off their taut skin, harmless as raindrops, the expensive technical furniture was demolished, and the camel rested on three pulsing pink columns of beastflesh.

Still bent over, rimming the camel who was by now only half his size, Zhu felt his own pucker—which had once again started pushing out—press against the wall behind him. His pecs began inflating, swelling between the swelling planks of the floor and the beast’s rib cage, lifting him higher.

Coming up for air a few minutes later, he noticed how small the room had become around him. His shoulders, still hunched over the camel now one-third as big as he was, almost brushed against the ceiling. The pads of his feet—each at least four feet wide—and the truck tire-sized donut of his pucker were pushing flat against the wall, and it was anyone’s guess whether it would withstand their pressure long enough to overcome the friction of his knees against the industrial carpeting. He shifted forward until his cock and nipples were brushing, a full yard in front of him, against the opposite wall. His backside grew to accommodate the extra space.

“Nngh, Zeffy, your office is too small,” he chuckled through his traffic cone-sized tusks as he glanced around the room. He felt a tug on his armpit and looked down, the muscles of his neck jockeying for position. He watched as Zephyr leaned back, standing atop Zhu’s pulsing shaft, a rope of braided blue armpit hair clutched in both hands. Then the camel leapt, his relatively-light weight just enough to pull pleasurably on Zhu’s pit hair, and swung like Indiana Jones under the tree trunk pylon of the beast’s arm, out of view.

There was a shredding of carpet as the camel landed, his feet digging into the floor. “Hey, little guy,” Zhu boomed as softly as he could, “what are you—oh!” The thick-fingered hand gripped his pucker’s edge, pulling it away from the wall, bending it like a gigantic flexi-straw. He could hear loud wet slurping as he felt the other architect’s drooping lips exploring his hole. He could also feel an odd warmth and motion rubbing along the underside of his five-foot-long pucker. The mystery was soon solved when the camel pulled back, replacing lips and tongue with a shaft that was nearly half as big as Zhu’s own. It had to have been more than a foot across, and was long and flexible enough to slide easily within his distended asshole. Ramming home, Zephyr let out a feral “HAWWWNK” that rivaled his boss’s bellow, and was underlined by Zhu’s rumbling growl, rolling like an earthquake.

Even with all of the teasing and tension and foreplay, both men were still growing. Zhu’s hips and rump bulged out, pinning the camel to the back wall, reducing his rutting to quick jerky pelvic thrusts. Ceiling tiles rained down as the beast’s back rippled and swelled. Even his jaw and eyebrows swelled, to better match the tusks and drooling black lip. Were it not for his immense size and the intelligence that burned ever-fiercer within his bright blue eyes, an onlooker might have said that the beast was devolving, becoming some sort of prehistoric monster.

Plaster crunched and picture frames shattered as the camel neared his climax, taking in more thick musky sweat than air with each breath, filtered through Zhu’s rippling savannah of ass fur. Zhu shifted, his palms now squelching on the saturated carpet. A quick look at the far wall revealed his nipples and dick, pouring forth streams of milk and precum, staining the paint and ruining a stack of rolled schematic printouts. He didn’t care.

Zephyr half-grunted, half-whimpered; a first-timer unable to last much longer. Zhu’s inevitable effect on his body didn’t seem to help matters either. Hunching back, Zhu applied more pressure on the squashed camel, who finally lost hold on his last shred of self-control. It felt like gallons of cum were flooding into Zhu from Zephyr’s augmented melon-sized balls, and the heat of it was enough to send him over the top too.

He howled his pleasure, eyes screwed shut, claws digging into the floor. It felt like the world was falling to pieces around him, and he loved it.

Finally coming down, he opened his eyes and was met with chaos. The far wall was mostly demolished—half from his cock’s surge in growth, half from the fire hose blast of cum—and he could see into the office that would have been his. Paint buckets floated amidst the rubble, and brushes dripped with a viscous white that was neither latex- nor oil-based. Behind him, the wall was similarly destroyed, freeing Zephyr to pick himself up out of the debris. He gave Zhu’s flank a pat and walked over unsteadily, his feet and cock dragging through cum several inches deep. “I think I’m going,” he said, still panting, “to like sharing an office with you.”

Zhu couldn’t help but agree.

The New Associate II: The Partying by Tym Greene Apr 2015

Part 2

“Are you sure about this?” Zhu asked his boss’s reflection. They stood in the bear’s office, before a wide full-length mirror that just managed to show both men in their current state of undress.

Terrence Patrick, principal of Terrence Patrick Architects, loomed behind the great blue beast, hulking arms crossed over his satiny green camisole. Zhu turned his gaze from the way the glossy fabric draped his employers sizable pecs and belly, focusing instead on the dainty confection of chocolate brown silk he held to his own chest.

“It’s tradition,” the bear rumbled, clearly not sympathetic to Zhu’s reticence. “Look, boy, I’ll tell you what my old boss told me when I was just a junior draftsman: in our job we are expected to be professional, in control.” Zhu’s body throbbed at that word. “But we all need time to unwind, too, otherwise you’d never need to leave your desk.” Terrence laughed at that, while the blue beast chuckled absently, contemplating just what the effect his “curse” would have on his coworkers with prolonged 24/7 exposure.

“And so,” his boss continued, “on certain special occasions we have a party. Your fist day here was about a week after our last one, but I’m surprised you hadn’t heard about this from one of your co-workers—Zephyr, maybe.”

Zhu thought about the now-burly camel—currently on vacation in the Bahamas—with whom he shared an office. Just the mental image of his ample rump and thick tail filling out a tiny speedo on some bone-white sandy beach threatened to overwhelm his always-tenuous self-discipline. “We…don’t talk much, sir.” He said, not-too-subtle meaning in the tone of his voice.

“True,” the bear mused, clearly recalling the occasional thump or grunt he must have heard through the thin office walls. “But the point remains: as one of our associates, it’s vital that you set a good example for the rest of the staff. In other words,” he growled, half-playful, “it’s in your job description.”

As much as he loved seeing his boss assert his dominance—his nipples had started to push out, just slightly, at the bear’s tone—Zhu knew that now wasn’t the time. “Yessir, boss,” he finally said, and struggled to put on the unfamiliar garments.

The touch of his boss’s heavy hands, helping to fasten the bra straps behind Zhu’s broad shoulders, did nothing to help his composure, nor did the cool fabric against his skin and fur calm his rising heat. “You’ve got bigger boobs than my sister,” Terrence commented once Zhu had finished donning the soft brown bra and panties. The bear was right: the way the bra cupped and lifted his generous pecs did indeed give him an impressive cleavage. As for the size of Ms. Patrick’s endowments, one look at his boss gave Zhu a pretty fair indication. His nipples swelled, putting further strain on the bra straps. The panties were starting to creak, fabric quickly put under stresses most women would never induce.

The bear handed him another pile of coffee-brown silk, which turned out to be a simple ankle-length dress with a halter top. A wide strip of blue satin—the same color as Zhu’s beard—fluttered to the ground. “That’s the sash,” his boss said as he slipped into his own dress, a daring number in green-on-green pinstripes with one shoulder strap and a slit skirt. On a woman it would have been intriguing; on the overweight, over-muscled, middle-aged bear it was entrancing. Zhu had to look away, and instead caught sight of himself in the mirror. With the sash tied, his whole body became part of the ensemble: his beard, the sash, even the hair atop his broad bare feet, the blue of his fur and the indigo of his eyes, all brought together by the warm complementing brown of his dress.

Struck by a whim, he spun in place, feeling the silk brush and flutter around his thighs, like a lover’s hesitant caress. A knock on the frosted glass of the office door broke through his arousal just in time to prevent him from ruining the dress.

“Mr. Patrick?”

“Yes, Mary?”

Terrence’s secretary, a slightly chubby zebra mare, stepped through the door. Instead of her usual conservative grey dress, she was wearing a flame-red zoot suit that gave her curves a masculine squareness. “He’s here, sir, as is pretty much everyone else.”

The bear glanced at a dainty emerald and gold watch he had just put on. “And it’s only five-till. I say we get things started. I’ll be out in a minute. Glad to see you in that suit again, by the way. It…suits you.” He chuckled as she smiled and closed the door. A moment later music started up, a light swing version of “I won’t dance.”

After making the final adjustments to their outfits, Terrence ushered Zhu out into the main office. Reminding Zhu of the scene in Fezziwig’s warehouse, all of the desks and drafting tables had been stacked at the edges of the large space. Several of his coworkers were milling around, chatting, perusing the food, and a few were even dancing. And—so far as he could tell—every single one of them was cross-dressed. Women in suits with padded shoulders, men in dresses with padded bras; many of his more-seasoned coworkers had pushed themselves to the far end of the opposite side of the gender spectrum. New hires, like Zhu himself, were scattered around the periphery, uncomfortably adjusting unfamiliar garments.

Terrence cleared his throat and everyone looked up. At a nod from the bear, Mary dialed down the music, leaving it as background to the boss’s speech.

Mr. Patrick addressed his staff, looking regal and graceful in his green gown, his bare shoulder thick with muscle, his hips swelling the dress and hinting at what lay beneath. Zhu found himself unable to focus on the bear’s words, his whole will straining to keep his body in check, to keep the delicate fabric around him intact.

A wave of applause flooded through Zhu’s fog of bodily arousal, and he glanced up in time to hear his boss say “…and in honor of today’s festivities, may I introduce my old boss, Aaron Jacobs.” Another round of applause welcomed a rhino to the cleared space before the crowd. A rhino swathed in a purple strapless ball gown that hugged his muscular curves as though tailor-made for him; it probably was.

The rhino ran a meaty hand over his grey beard, smiled warmly at his old protege—so successful in his own right—and said something Zhu did not hear. His whole being was focused on Aaron Jacob’s glorious form, and on reigning in his own body’s natural reaction to such a sitmulus.

There was another round of applause, and then the crowd of cross-dressed employees started to disperse. Someone turned the music back up and—as though echoing Zhu’s own sentiments—”The way you look tonight” began to play. He stood in his corner, staring at nothing, feeling his body pulse, testing the confines of the unfamiliar clothing.

“Zhu,” the bear’s voice rolled out over the resumed murmur of the party. He looked up, watching his boss gesturing at him. Obediently, the great blue beast shuffled his way back towards Terrence Patrick’s office. His feet were growing tight within the straps of the sparkly bronze-colored shoes he’d had to put on; his normal wingtips would have been a poor match for the rest of his outfit that evening. As he stepped through the office doorway, two snaps signaled the end of his footwear’s brief career.

The institutional carpet felt cool under his bare feet, the short dense pile whispering softly as his soles expanded.

“So,” rumbled the rhino in the amethyst dress, a blunt stogie glowing in the dimness, “this is the young pup you’ve told me so much about, Terry?”

The bear placed a great paw on Zhu’s back, right where the brown dress had been left open. The warmth and weight of the other man’s hand on the muscles of his fashionably-exposed back made Zhu’s toes curl. He moaned—a sound echoed by the straining of his seams—as his boss pushed him good-naturedly forward.

The rhino stuck out a hand.

Zhu stared at the wrinkled hide, the broad blunt nails and thick fingers. Watched the square ring on his index finger seem to squirm, as though the digit were trembling, expectant. Before the moment could draw on too long, Zhu gripped the proffered hand, feeling it grip his, hard, as a shudder seemed to run through the room (and indeed the rest of the floor occupied by Terrence Patrick Architects). Zhu gripped back with just as much force, making the rhino’s grey beard bristle as he grinned around his cigar. “A fine lad, I can see,” he grumbled, his eyes twinkling and his shoulders bulging as he massaged his hand.

The three men stood in silence for a moment, admiring one another. Outside “It had to be you” began playing.

“I’ve missed you, boss,” the bear admitted softly, as though finally saying something he’d thought about for a long time.

“All that time on my yacht has made it hard to stay in touch, true.” Aaron sat back against Terrence’s desk, his solid bulk making it creak. Taking a long draw from his cigar, he added: “I wanted to get out of your way. It’s your firm now, and you don’t need me cluttering up the office.”

From the tent in his boss’s green dress, Zhu could imagine just how much “cluttering” he’d have liked to have Aaron Jacobs do. As though struck by the same thought, the rhino leant back, sprawling sideways on the desktop like a piano bar chanteuse.

“Or perhaps,” he leered, as stitches began to fail along the top hem of his gown, “you’d like to keep me around as a paperweight?” His hips, swelling with muscle, tore through the material that a moment ago had looked painted on. A great swath of grey hide from hip to mid-thigh was now exposed. Aaron blew smoke rings at his former employee from swelling lips. His horns and jaw looked more pronounced now too, despite the beard that seemed even bushier.

Zhu turned—slowly, lest his nipples punch through his own dress—to see the bear’s reaction. Terrence had been standing with one paw on his ample belly, as though trying to keep himself contained, under control. At the sight of the older man so voluptuously draped across his desk, however, his claws dug right into the green material, tearing an open window across his belly and down past the opposite hip, exposing the twitching base of his cock. A cock that was swelling, lifting up the dress, further straining threads half-rent by claws. Even as Zhu watched, drooling, the bear grew taller—just as he had done on Zhu’s first day—looming over them by several feet. His chest began to swell, pecs pulled into the semblance of a bounteous cleavage even as his nipples lengthened and stretched his bra to Dagmar proportions…before the fabric failed and burst open, revealing powerful pecs and a barrel chest.

The bear turned and with feral growl and sweeping paws, pulled first Zhu and then Aaron to his breast. Both men were mashed face-first into a wrist-sized nipple. They started sucking, unable to resist, especially once they tasted Terrence’s richly sweet product. With fingers that could have palmed a man’s head, he daintily plucked the cigar from Aaron’s lips before the smell of singeing fur became too strong.

The three men stood, mindless, until the music outside stopped with a crash, as though someone had knocked over the player. Suddenly the sounds of panting, grunting, and bestial moans were revealed. With this new background, Terrence’s cock—already hard from the attentions of the other two men on his prodigious chest—now swelled even further. Thigh-thick, it pushed up between the beast and the rhino, dislodging them.

Aaron, flopped out on the floor atop the remnants of his dress, panted, thick bear milk dappling his beard and chest hair, his lip fleshy—as though made for sucking. “Fuck…me…” he managed to growl before rolling over onto his hands and knees, tail already pushed aside by the out-thrust hole, once wrinkled grey hide now plump, taut, and glistening with sweat.

“Think you can take me, boss?” Terrence rumbled as he lumbered forward, falling to all fours over the older man. A few quick jabs smeared the rhino’s hole with ropes of precum and then he plunged in to the hilt.

Zhu, still sprawled where the bear’s cock had shunted him, sat watching, feeling his body respond as though in a feedback loop: drawing energy from their changes even as it spurred them on.

His neck swelled with muscle, cushioning his squaring jaw and out-thrust chin even as he struggled to his feet. His own nipples now bobbed before him, easily a foot long, atop exercise-ball-sized pecs that thrummed with strength. A few steps forward squashed his balls back behind his meaty thighs, putting strain on his sac that did nothing to help quell his erection. A soft touch on the taut velvet that was his scrotum almost made Zhu look back, until he realized that it was his own pucker, pushed out and hanging low. Another step and it began to engorge further with blood, swelling and rising just like a cock. It waggled back and forth, dripping sweat as he approached the rutting bear, whose own hole was swollen and exposed.

He dove for it, pressing his blue inner-tube lip to the chocolate brown flesh, feeling the bear’s dense soft assfur tickle his beard and eyebrows. This attention only drove the hulking monster to further passions, plunging deep into the rhino with long thrusts, his massive jaw dropping down to clamp on Aaron’s thick neck. Zhu took the opportunity to rise to his full height—now almost as big as his boss—and thrust his own cock balls deep.

Terrence let out a bellow of pure lust, his hole pushing out around Zhu’s shaft, milking it to further growth. Thus strung together, the three men rutted for longer than any of them knew.

Aaron came first. With a moan that sounded more like a cow’s lowing, he unloaded across the floor, spraying the underside of his own beard with thick gobbets of cum. His spasming set off a chain reaction that had first Terrence (powerful jaws clamped around the rhino’s shoulder, sabre-teeth unable to pierce his iron-hard hide) and then Zhu himself climaxing. The whole building seemed to let out a collective groan of release.

The three men slumped in the puddle of rhino cum for long minutes, their bodies slowly receding to slightly more manageable sizes, until a knock on the office door stirred them.

“Yes?” Growled Terrence, lisping somewhat around his mouthful of predator’s teeth. The door opened to reveal the remains of a flame-red zoot suit, partially obscured by a glossy black zebra cock that hung—still dribbling—to mid-calf.

“We’re about to cut the cake, sir…what’s left of it.” The hugely-pectoraled zebra stud that had once been Terrence’s zaftig secretary seemed unfazed by her—his—changed form, nor the current state of his boss, fellow employee, and guest of honor. This acceptance seemed to be just a normal part of Zhu’s hypermasculinizing effect on the people around him.

“That’s fine…Mary.” the bear panted, his hole clamping around Zhu’s cock with renewed vigor. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

“Yessir,” the zebra said, his full lip twisting in a knowing grin. “Good thing we’re getting the carpets cleaned tomorrow…better make that the ceilings too,” he added to himself, glancing back out at the wreckage of the main room. The zebra left the three to their further devices, the door closing behind the exposed rump with its broad-swelled stripes and a hole that still dripped cum.

The cake could wait.

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