{"sf1_id":1099909,"sf2_id":"r17VkKPn","title":"LipThick 3: Lines (hypno bimbo transgender Chuck Palahniuk )","author":"Nequ","words":1808,"posted_at":"2016-11-26T23:58:25.000Z","tags":["Ass","Authority","Belly","Big Boobs","Big Tits","Bisexual","Boobs","Booty","Breast","Breasts","Butt","Corruption","Forcedshifting","Homosexual","Hoodie","Human-Only","Hypnosis","Lesbian","Mind Control","Omnisexual","Public","Seduction","Seductive","Series","Sexy","Shoes","Short","Shorts","Story Series","Teasing","Third Person","Tight Clothes","Tits","Transformation","Transgender","oblivious"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1099909-lipthick-3-lines-hypno-bimbo-transgender-chuck-palahniuk","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/r17VkKPn","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/04/3c/043cce14-2722-42e5-a9e0-43f014eb38a1","description":"Julian hates waiting in line. And he hates telemarketers. So, of course, someone put them together.","content":"**WARNING:** This story contains my poor attempts at imitating award-winning writer Chuck Palahniuk. He says he likes to see what his work inspires, so take a gander at this, Charlie.  \n  \n Oh, wait, you've probably seen Fight Club slashfic. nvm  \n  \n ----  \n ----  \n  \n_Ding._ Step forward.  \n  \n Everyone on the line shuffles ahead one place.  \n  \n Julian's earbuds are playing _All Things Considered_. His off-hand squeezes the packet of money in the pocket of his sweatshirt; seems it hasn't evaporated in the past thirty seconds.  \n  \n He yawns. He can still taste pastrami and Coke from lunch.   \n  \n His phone rings. _The animals, the animals, trapped, trapped, trapped when the cage is full-_  \n  \n He presses the button on his headphone cord, the button smudged with a faint grey rime of his sweat. \"Hello?\"  \n  \n \"Julian, how would you like to take advantage of a major life opportunity?\"  \n  \n Julian's eyes narrow. \"How did you get this number?\"  \n  \n \"That's not really important right now, is it, Julian?\"  \n  \n \"How do you know my name?\"  \n  \n \"Julian, how would you like to be a bimbo?\"  \n  \n Julian's mouth opens.  \n  \n_Ding._ Everyone shuffles forward.  \n  \n Julian's mouth closes. He smiles. His eyes crinkle. \"Okay. Okay, sure, you've got your shot. You got...until I reach the front of this line to convince me.\"  \n  \n He wore dirty grey tennis shoes when he came in, shoes that flatten themselves out as Julian steps forward. The molded sole becomes flat and white, the uppers a magenta color. Even the laces are pristine white.  \n  \n \"Making some sort of payment?\"  \n  \n Julian blinks. \"How...?\"  \n  \n \"Just a guess. It says here that you're self-employed. Payment's either at the bank or...some kind of government office?\"  \n  \n \"Oh, you're _good_. If you're so good at cold-reading, why don't you have your own psychic hotline?\"  \n  \n \"Owning your own business is a big hassle. Taxes, employees-\"  \n  \n Julian's gaze goes distant for a second. His brow furrows, his lips go thin. As much as they can, that is.  \n  \n \"-Self-promotion.\"  \n  \n The leather of Julian's wallet, the one with his business cards inside, feels smooth under his fingers. \"So, what, you want my credit card number?\"  \n  \n \"Just a few more minutes of your time, Julian. Now, let's imagine a scenario.\"  \n  \n_Ding._ Step forward.  \n  \n Julian's hair is short, dark, nondescript. Practical. On his temples, it gets thinner, like an invisible hair salon shaved it. On the top of his head it gets longer, weaving itself into a long braid, like that picture of Christy Mack he saw once.  \n  \n His jeans turn themselves up at the cuff, the stains fading, the holes mending, the color brightening. Then they turn themselves up again. And again, and again, exposing his legs, chased by his ankle socks. Knee socks. Thigh socks. Like when the elastic goes out of your gym socks and they keep collapsing, but in reverse.  \n  \n The socks give up the chase, leaving a few bare inches of thigh between their tops and the raggedy, thread-trailing edges of Julian's Daisy Dukes. There's even a glimpse of his underbooty. Such as it is.   \n  \n He scratches at the exposed skin with his free hand. It's cold, now. A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.  \n  \n \"Roleplaying? On the first date?\"  \n  \n \"Oddly enough, a first date is _exactly_ what this is about. Now, let's say you were some skank on the prowl. What sort of watering hole do you stake out?\"  \n  \n_Ding._  \n  \n Julian's face relaxes, the stress lines melting away, wiped out by some artist's brush. He forgot to shave this morning, and the stubble vanishes. He's a little softer now, and bites a lower corner of his plump, bare lips.  \n  \n \"I dunno...a club? No, wait, a bar.\"  \n  \n \"So you're sitting at the bar, nursing your-what are you drinking?\"  \n  \n_Ding._  \n  \n His craftsman's neck goes thinner, more delicate, and the change proceeds down his arms, as if he spent his life doing soft labour, not hard.  \n  \n \"Pink Raspberry Cosmo.\"  \n  \n \"Good. Now, as you sit there, drinking your drink, you feel some guy looking at you. Admittedly, there are a lot of guys looking at you, but this one feels special, somehow. You turn around on the barstool, lean against the bar, give him a good look at the goods.\"  \n  \n_Ding._  \n  \n The changes to his chest are more drastic, two massive handfuls suddenly tenting the fabric of his sweatshirt. Julian's nipples brush the cloth; she gasps, moans a little.  \n  \n \"Does he like what he sees?\"  \n  \n Julian nods. \"He does.\"  \n  \n \"He raises his glass, you smile, he comes over, and suddenly, you've got a date. Where are you eating? Upscale? Taco stand? Food truck? TGI Fridays?\"  \n  \n_Ding._  \n  \n Julian's sweatshirt shrinks, inchworming its way up his stomach, wrapping close around his arms. The paper packet in his pocket crinkles, and a zipper appears up the middle, drawing itself halfway down, freeing his tits from their close confinement.  \n  \n The faded maroon brightens to red. The red of a stop sign, of red lights, of sirens.  \n  \n His waist is thin, next to his massive bust, and it narrows further still, even as his stomach pushes out into a soft curve.  \n  \n \"Upscale. We take a cab, I wear a coat, I have my hair done up. On the way over, he puts his hand on my bare thigh. I put my hand on his, interlace our fingers.\"  \n  \n \"What happens when you arrive at the restaurant?\"  \n  \n_Ding._ Step forward.  \n  \n His rear thickens, gains lush handfuls of flesh. The change flows around his hips, ripples down his legs, filling out the socks and shorts, like pushing a bolgna sausage into a condom. He shifts in his sneakers as he steps forward.   \n  \n \"He takes my coat. Starts to, anyway. Then he stops and stares. I chose this outfit to be decent. Barely. But it's tight. _Very_ tight. People stare when I sit down. Men, women.\"  \n  \n \"Tell me about the women.\"  \n  \n_Ding._  \n  \n \"Some of them...I'm not sure if they're jealous or not. And if they are...do they want my man? Or do they want to be _me_?\"  \n  \n She bites her lip.  \n  \n \"Or both?\"  \n  \n \"Sounds pretty disruptive for an upscale joint.\"  \n  \n_Ding._ Step forward.  \n  \n Julian's fingers twitch on the phone, and his nail go from unpainted to baby blue. His lips are nude, he licks them, and they're the same color as his nails, same gloss, same glitter.  \n  \n \"Oh _yes_. The waiters want to throw us out. Well, me. But we take our time. He's not very good conversation.\" She licks her lips again. \"I hope he's better company.\"  \n  \n \"What happens after you get outside?\"  \n  \n_Ding._  \n  \n Julian breathes faster now. Shallower. His chest heaves. \"We...we can't keep our hands off each other.\"  \n  \n \"You could've had him at the bar. Why make him wait?\"  \n  \n_Ding._  \n  \n He blinks, and his eyelids follow his lips. They're coated in eyeshadow that's the same shade of blue. Another blink, and his lashes sweep out, thick and long, like someone had applied mascara.  \n  \n \"He'll..._appreciate_ me more if he has to work for me.\"  \n  \n_Ding!_  \n  \n Julian's hair goes from a darkish color that wasn't quite black, wasn't quite brown, to golden-brown, shot through with honey-colored streaks, tipped with that same shade of blue. He winds one slim finger into it as he steps forward.  \n  \n \"And then what happens?\"  \n  \n The tiny earbuds blossom, like mushrooms, curving over his head, growing larger, shinier, faceted. Like a jewel. He's drooling; he has to swallow before he can talk.   \n  \n \"We get into the cab. We're headed for his place, but we make eye contact, he reaches for his zipper, and-\"  \n  \n_Ding!_  \n  \n \"Ma'am?\"  \n  \n ----  \n  \n The dress code for the Department was very sensible. Sensible hair, sensible shoes, sensible clothes, they weren't even allowed to chew gum.  \n  \n Selene's mouth tasted like mint. Her small mutiny. As long as her boss wasn't around.  \n  \n The woman standing in front of her was anything but sensible. She dressed like she should be swinging around a stripper pole somewhere, but she'd need a reinforced pole and athletic ability that she, ah, clearly did not possess.  \n  \n If she _did_, somehow, it would probably be one heck of a show.  \n  \n \"Miss?\" Selene said, again. \"Can I help you?\"  \n  \n The ditz jumped, looked at the purse in her hand. With her other hand, she pulled her big, tacky headphones down, and they hung around her neck. Confused as a lost kitten. A kitten that could be a twerker in a Top 40 rap video.  \n  \n \"I...help?\"  \n  \n Selene did not roll her eyes. She did not purse her thin lips.   \n  \n At least, not externally.  \n  \n \"Ma'am,\" she said, in her most fake-patient voice, \"what do you want?\"  \n  \n The bimbo's face lit up, and the government employee had just enough time to think _why do people get these weird lipstick shades anyway?_ before the other woman hooked a finger in the collar of Selene's sensible shirt and pulled her into a kiss that sent lightning up and down her spine.  \n  \n Needless to say, she used tongue.  \n  \n When they broke, Selene just kind of stared for a moment. More of a gape, really. Her chest heaved up and down, up and down.  \n  \n \"Close your mouth, honey, you'll catch flies.\" The other woman thought for a moment. \"Among other things.\"  \n  \n She slapped a card down on the counter, a card with a glittery gloss on it -  \n  \n**JEWEL**  \n**952-555-JEWL**  \n  \n It didn't say what line of work the bootylicious beauty was in, but it wasn't hard to guess.  \n  \n When Selene looked up, Jewel was halfway to the door. She paused, half-turned, tossed a cute little fingers-only wave over her shoulder. And let Selene see her Daisy Dukes, see the curve peeking out the bottom, read the words printed across the back.  \n  \n**YOUR FACE HERE**  \n  \n \"Ma'am?\"  \n  \n Suddenly, Selene's mouth was very dry.  \n  \n \"Ma'am?\"  \n  \n_Ding._  \n  \n Oh. Right. Customers. Her day job. She swiped the card off the counter  \n  \n_(mine mine **mine** )_  \n  \n and blew a bubble, the same shade of pink as her lips, her eyeshadow, the frost at the end of her hair. When it popped, she chewed it, loudly, mouth open.  \n  \n \"Can I, like, help you?\" she said.  \n  \n Her mouth tasted like bubblegum.  \n  \n ----  \n ----  \n  \n**\"LipThick 3: Lines\"**  \n 2016 Nequ  \n Key Grip: Thomas Mapother IV  \n Send me fan stories, plz.\n\n* * *\nChuck Palahniuk is a best-selling writer with a wildly successful movie adaptation, and I've been reading his 36 Essays on Writing, which you can probably find by Googling.  \n  \n For funsies, I tried to write this story like him. Less emphasis on dialogue, less on character thoughts, strong emphasis on physicality and sensation, none of my standard \"someone telling someone else a story\" framing device.  \n  \n And then I wrote two people _roleplaying_ a story.  \n  \n I think I have a problem.  \n ----  \n The headphones are Monster Diamond Tears, and they are _exactly_ as tasteless and overpriced as they sound.\\* Shorts from Lady Gaga's \"Perfect Illusion\" video because, I mean, _wow_.  \n  \n \\* So, y'know, if someone wants to buy me a pair... /joke","series":{"name":"Lipthick","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1020544-lipthick-2-bimbo-tgs.json"}}