Playboy Bunny - Out of Time

Peter pressed his card through the reader with a satisfying beep. The door slid open, just as it had done for him that morning. He began to walk through the corridors towards the main chamber, knowing the route already by heart. The lab looked different at night – the sterile lights were kept to their minimum emergency settings, the shadows seeming thicker, but Peter didn’t feel afraid. As he slid open the final door to the chamber, all he could think of was how excited he was.

Dr Golding’s machine stood proudly in the centre of the massive room, hooked up to all manner of monitors and generators. Cables as thick as Peter’s arm were threaded into and out of the great machine in the middle, still covered in darkness from the low lights. Peter deftly flicked the switch on by the door, filling the room with light.

Peter had been Dr Golding’s assistant for almost a year now, yet she still had only told him snippets of her work. He had spent most of his time fetching coffee and checking equipment rather than putting his degrees to good use. In truth, had hoped the role would be the perfect post-graduate experience, letting him ride the coattails of a veteran scientist that was on the brink of something truly life changing and in doing so propel himself into the scientific community. Peter pressed his hand against the cold metal of the machine, the heavy door moving slightly with his touch. Dr Golding’s experiment wasn’t just life changing, it was world changing, with even those beyond science keen to hear her results.

After a lifetime of research, the brilliant scientist believed she had cracked what was long dreamed of as impossible: time travel. Peter wasn’t a believer until she had demonstrated her hypothesis to him using the machine. Experiments had only been completed on a small scale – a tiny Golden Butterfly caught in a recursive loop, using the colossal machine. For Peter it was enough, and Dr Golding had planned for tomorrow to be the first demonstration of the test to those outside of the laboratory – the very first peer review. Peter had other plans.

While Dr Golding would be discussing  her work with the other scientists, Peter would be making his own place in the history books. Dr Golding was keen to stress how the machine was still in its early stages, but Peter believed it had more potential than she could imagine. He had calibrated the machine so that he would have his own time travel experience, reappearing the next day just when Dr Golding was demonstrating her work. While Golding’s work would get her in the academic journals, Peter knew that it would be him that would get the fame as the first ever time traveller.

Dr Golding had briefed Peter and the rest of her staff about the dangers involved. The risks of paradoxes, the dangers of meeting oneself, and even the simple mechanical failure of the machine. It drew unfathomable amounts of power even just to transport one butterfly, so anything larger would take a monumental surge with unpredictable effects. Peter felt confident in Golding’s work – she had placed numerous safeguards in the device to prevent any disruption to the flow of time, and to pull whatever was transported back in the case of an emergency. Whatever travelled would be theoretically invisible to the occupants of the time – themselves shielded, at least visually, from being a disruption to linear events.

The assistant had been planning this for months, the seed of inspiration planted when Golding had first proven to him its possibility. Peter moved around to the control panel, setting his desired date, location, and return date. While he knew that it was his return in time that would be the impressive thing, Peter wanted to enjoy the trip. With a well-rehearsed click of his fingers on the console, Peter’s journey was secured: he would be travelling to the Playboy mansion in the early 70s. It was perhaps juvenile given the seriousness of the rest of the experiment, but Peter had always been curious as to what went on behind the closed doors of the rich and famous, and Dr Golding’s device would hopefully prove to be the perfect opportunity to safely explore it.

He lifted up the heavy cables, plugging them into the myriad monitors, reserve power supplies, and flow limiters as he had done many a time under Dr Golding’s supervision. This time, Peter hands were shaking in excitement. All those hours of studying and slaving under Golding would be worth it, finally. He ran through his final checks and pulled the lever on the console. The machine was never designed to be activated from within, so he rushed inside, closing the door with a bang.

Peter could hear the machine powering up, now reverberating all around him now that he was inside the machine. He tried to steady his shaking hands. Peter was on the very edge of human history, his name soon ready to be spoken in the same breath as the first man on the moon. His ears were ringing as the surge of power grew louder, but he didn’t care. There was a sound of thunder, and Peter vanished.

Outside Dr Golding’s machine, the one unplugged cable sparked impotently.

The smell hit Peter before anything else – stale ash and tobacco. It swam up into his nostrils and forced all other smells to vacate. Peter realised that his eyes had been closed since he got into the machine, and with his heart beating powerfully in his chest, he slowly opened them.

Peter was in somewhere completely different than Dr Golding’s machine. The floors were a dark green carpet, soft and plush. Rich wooden panelling covered the walls, with a large, decadent chandelier hanging down above his head. He appeared to be in some kind of corridor, the wide hallway stretching off, further into the mansion.

It had worked. Golding had been right, and Peter would get his place in history. He had travelled backwards in time. The man leant up against the wall for support. The sensation was overwhelming, the thrill of the possibilities to come once he returned to his own time. His face would be plastered on every newspaper and his name taught in history books for generations. Even in his ecstatic state, he was picturing Golding’s shocked face when he emerged safely from the machine tomorrow morning, knowing that it was him that the other scientists would want to talk to, not her. He ran his hands over the walls, if only to confirm that it wasn’t just a hallucination. It was real, and he was here.

Peter could hear footsteps coming from around the corner of the hallway, harsh clicks muffled by the thick carpet. A sudden fear rose in him, cutting through the excitement. Then, he realised that he had nothing to worry about. Golding’s safeguards meant that he would be invisible so had no reason to fear. He was nothing more than a passive observer, getting a chance to view a place only open to a handful of people.

Slowly, a shadow grew larger on the wall as the figure drew nearer. Backlit, Peter watched amused as the shadow grew more humanoid, then clearly female, and then finally two shadowy bunny ears came into focus. He grinned with delight – he was going to see one of the famous Playboy bunnies with his own eyes.

Rounding the corner, a woman appeared. Even at a distance, Peter could tell that she was beautiful. Feminine features were framed in chocolate brown hair, curling up at her shoulders in an old-fashioned style. Smokey eyeshadow made her dark eyes all the darker. A bright red bunny suit was doing little to cover her figure. Her large breasts were practically bursting out of the garment, and dark tights gave a slight sheen to her long legs. A pair of red high heels were marching towards Peter, and he noticed the cuffs, fluffy bunny tail, and the iconic bunny ear headpiece to finish the look. For Peter, she was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. A brief thought crossed his mind as he considered how old the woman would be in his own time – if she even had lived that long. He tried not to think about it, reminding himself that he was here to enjoy himself – albeit at a passive, safe distance.

“There you are!” the woman said, her voice’s frustration coming through despite the sickly sweetness of her accent. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Peter looked over his shoulder, back down the corridor behind him. There was nothing there, save for a bookshelf full of reading material that Peter assumed was merely decorative in nature.

“Hello?” the woman’s voice came again, this time much closer to Peter. She seemed to be looking at something through him, and then in shock he realised the truth: she wasn’t looking through him, she was looking at him.

“You can see me?” he said, panicked.

“Of course I can see you, Diane. What do you think I am, blind?” the bunny repeated, now making no attempt to hide her annoyance. “The photographer has been waiting for you for like half an hour now! Where have you been?”

Peter murmured something unintelligible, more out of shock than in any attempt to answer the woman’s question. Fear gripped him. Why was the woman able to see him? Golding had been right about everything else – had she somehow misjudged the invisibility? Peter quickly tried to recall the meticulous processes he had gone through to activate the machine. He had rehearsed them so many times that it was difficult to remember if he had missed anything out. The practise and the reality were merging into one. Had he forgotten something in his eagerness? He tried harder to remember the process, but the thoughts felt further away than ever, separated by decades. Peter could tell the woman was saying something more to him, but he couldn’t hear her any more. He leant up against the wall once more, but this time not in shock at the success of the time travel, but in horror at what he had gotten into. If the invisibility wasn’t working, what other safeguards had failed? Was he even going to emerge victoriously from the machine in the morning, or would Golding try and fail to find her missing assistant?

“Hello?” the bunny repeated once more, waving one hand in front of Peter’s face. “Anyone in there?”

“Sorry I-“ Peter said, barely managing to formulate words. His body felt odd, as if this was happening to someone else and he was merely watching it be replayed.

The bunny reached out both hands, grabbing Peter’s own. He felt something change with her touch. The world around them both seemed to freeze. Looking at his fingertips, Peter gasped in shock, but no words escaped his lips. His nails that he had chewed from long anxious nights in the lab were changing. Peter knew that it was impossible, but since using the machine, Peter was finding it harder to trust the reality he knew. They grew longer, shifting in hue until they were a matte pink, extending from his fingertips. The changes continued in a wave, Peter frozen and unable to take his hand away from the other woman’s.

His fingers grew slimmer. There was no pain, merely a slightly disorientation. Peter could see his own familiar fingers one moment, and then they were someone else’s. It wasn’t just a costume. The touch of the woman’s hands felt as real through these new slimmer fingers as with his own. He watched as the changes worked down from the fingertips, his hands growing smaller and daintier. Another inch onward, and his wrists shrunk. Peter had less than a second to look at his smooth unblemished skin before a white cuff was covering them, buttoning up tight. His arms grew slimmer, both in time with each other. It was graceful, almost hypnotic for Peter to watch, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was his body that was changing.

The muscles in his arms fizzled away, replaced by smooth, fleshy limbs. He suddenly felt colder as he noticed his shoulders were exposed, his dress shirt fading by the second. They grew smaller, his body slimming down. The two waves connecting in the middle as Peter’s collarbone adjusted, fitting in better with whatever form he was taking.

“Oh God…” Peter muttered as the changes slowly inched down his body. The shirt was gone from his torso now, his unbelievably soft skin now on display. The woman opposite him didn’t seem to notice, her own self seeming distant and slowed in comparison to Peter’s panic. Looking down at his chest, Peter could see two large fatty mounds growing. A pair of heavy, pliable breasts soon appeared, hanging loose and proud from the rest of his rapidly changing body. Then, they were covered, squeezed into a deep cleavage by layers of dark blue silk. The silk travelled further, compressing Peter’s waistline, a flash of white ribbon growing into a small rosette. His hips grew wider as the silk finished in a cute playsuit. His rear grew more pert and curving, and Peter could feel the weight of the bunny tail that he knew was part of the costume. Underneath the silk, Peter’s groin felt empty – the familiar presence of his manhood now turned into something strange, hidden within himself.

His legs looked darker as his trousers vanished, and Peter realised it was due to the tights that he was now wearing, covering his long legs. His thighs were now thick and alluring. Somewhere amongst the panic of the transformation, he realised that he had grown shorter. Now, his comfortable shoes were gone, transformed into a pair of heels that raised his height by several precious inches. Peter swallowed as he felt the white collar come in tight around his neck, a tiny bowtie sprouting out of the fabric. He could feel his jaw and ears popping as his face shifted, the muscles growing more used to a cheerful, almost permanent smile. Although he couldn’t see his new face, Peter could tell from the pout his lips had and the fluttering of his eyelashes that he was undoubtedly now a beautiful woman, his face covered in makeup. Golden hair tickled at his ears, then rested on his exposed shoulders, forced into a voluminous style through hairspray and perseverance.

With a momentary pressure on his smaller head, Peter felt the weight of the bunny ears, finishing his change.

“Diane?” the woman called again, shaking his hands. “I don’t care what you’ve had, but you need to go to the studio for your shoot or you’ll get in trouble, understand?”

Peter blinked rapidly, taking a deep breath. Dr Golding had warned him of the dangers of altering the timeline. Had she installed another safeguard without him realising it, forcing his body to adjust to its destination? Peter realised that it might be safer if he tried to blend in.

“Sorry”, Diane said, her voice now high and feminine. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Do you want me to walk you to the studio?” the other bunny said. Diane nodded, feeling her big blue bunny ears waggling with the slight movement. “This way”, the woman said, leading her on.

Strangely, Diane found it easier to walk in the heels than she had expected. The hallways all felt as though they were blending into each other, but she was striding down them with ease. If anything, as she relaxed, she grew a slight sensual sway to her walk, her hips moving hypnotically. Diane theorised that the longer she stayed trapped here, the more likely it was that she would fully adjust to it. Some panic surged in her as she wondered if it was possible that she would get lost in whatever persona she had stumbled into. She tried to ignore the thought, if only because focusing on it would drive her mad.

As they passed several rooms, Diane could hear soft moans coming from inside of them, alongside the slaps and creaking of flesh meeting flesh.

“What’s going on in there?” Diane asked innocently as they passed another room.

“What do you think?” the bunny responded sarcastically. Deep down, Diane knew. Deeper still, a feeling was growing that was making her want to open the door and join in.

“Have you been here long?” Diane asked.

“You know all this already, Di. I’ve been here a few months longer than you”, she continued. Despite the proximity with the beautiful woman, Diane realised that she wasn’t feeling any attraction to her. Her tight, sensual body, squeezed into the costume was just another person to her – a fellow model, trying to get her big break.

“Enjoy the shoot!” the woman said as they reached a final door. She pulled it open and Diane walked inside. For a second, she was disorientated once again – she was now standing impossibly in a restaurant. A row of lights and a large camera at one end of the room ruined the illusion – it was a set, nothing more.

“I’m sorry I’m late”, she said as she spotted the photographer, just adjusting one of the lights. He was probably in his thirties, with shoulder length hair and a beard. He smiled and approached her confidently, placing one hand on her waist and kissing her on the cheek.

“Don’t be! Always a pleasure to have you on a shoot”, he said, releasing her and gesturing to one of the mock dining tables. Diane was stunned for a moment. The man’s touch felt almost electric to her.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, knowing it was safest to just play along until she hoped Dr Golding would work out a way to rescue her.

“We’ll just do a few simple poses starting off. We’ll see how we go from there!” said the photographer, taking his place behind the camera. Diane grabbed a menu from the table, leading against the edge of one of the chairs.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Perfect!” the photographer responded, followed by a flash. “Absolutely gorgeous, Diane!”

Soon, Diane fell into a routine. She would pose, have some minor adjustments from the photographer, then have a series of photos taken before shifting position. At first, it felt awkward, but the man’s small talk was soon putting her at ease. Diane tried to remind herself that she had never modelled before, but somehow it felt incredibly natural, as if her body was custom built for this. Slowly, she realised she was enjoying it more and more, the shoot no longer just a way of maintaining the illusion.

The suit that she wore had at first felt exposing and constrictive, but as the poses grew more and more elaborate, she found it oddly comfortable. She realised she enjoyed wearing it. The feeling of the silk on her body, the way it highlighted her curves and the playful, sexy sensation of knowing that she was a Playboy bunny was all the comfort she needed.

Diane leant back across a table, striking another pose. A small part of her was silently hoping that one of Golding’s other safeguards would soon kick in, but in truth she was finding it hard to remember much of Dr Golding at all. The photographer was taking up all of her focus, and now that she thought about it, he was looking more attractive by the second.

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A commission for Username93845! Two time travel stories in a row - what are the chances? There's also a few references in this to one of my favourite short stories. Big points to whoever can spot it.

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