Mark and Bill noticed the barista first when they entered the Midtown Café; the two business students had been here often enough, but they were sure they'd have noticed such a stunningly hot - not to mention busty- goth chick before. "She must be new," Mark said, elbowing Bill in the side. "Think she'd be interested in going out somewhere when she gets off work?"
Bill grinned. "Maybe she's got a friend," he said back. The two young men were handsome twenty-somethings, always neat and well-dressed (though Bill was blond and Mark had brown hair), and they were used to getting plenty of female attention. They seated themselves at the bar and Mark leaned over to the girl. "We'll have two coffees, please," he said. "You been here long, beautiful?"
"I know you, though you don't know me," the goth girl said, smirking. "And soon now I shall set you both free." She winked and walked away, her shapely rear swaying; Mark looked over at Bill and shrugged. So she was weird. Still hot, though.
Shortly she was back, setting two cups of coffee in front of them. Both young men took their drinks and sipped from them; Mark thought he noticed a strange taste, but couldn't put a name to what it was. "This is good," he said.
"There's no need to pay today," the goth girl said, smiling. "Morrigan is my name, if you please; both your lives I now shall ease."
"What was that about?" Bill asked, taking another drink of his coffee. As he set the cup down, Mark's eyes widened; Bill's hair was getting longer as he watched, curling down to his shoulders and turning jet black. His lips were also swelling and had turned the same color, and his skin was turning a striking white.
"What's happening to you?" Mark said, suddenly afraid. Bill leaned close, his eyes now rimmed with dark shadow and his face softened to resemble that of a beautiful woman.
"What do you mean, luv?" Bill asked, his voice now husky and feminine with a distinct British accent. "Don't you think I'm still as sexy as I've ever been?" He - she - leaned forward, her dress shirt shifting to become a low-cut black blouse that exposed a vast expanse of pale cleavage on which a pentagram necklace rested. Below her pants had become a long black skirt with a slit up the side almost to the waist, exposing long, toned pale legs that rose to a pair of shapely hips.
Mark rose to his feet and stumbled back, noticing as he did so that his own legs felt strange; he could feel the air moving around them. Looking down he saw that they were bare and had become smooth and feminine and equally pale, his hips and crotch barely covered by a black miniskirt. Then he felt his hips widening, becoming broad and curved, while beneath his skirt his penis and balls inverted, becoming a warm vagina. She couldn't help but moan in pleasure at the transition, and as her shirt crawled up her torso to become a black tank top covered by a leather jacket, leaving her flat belly and navel piercing exposed. She could feel her hands becoming more slender as her nails grew longer and were painted black, and her face softening into a goth beauty as her hair became a black pixie cut. At last her shirt was stretched tight by the pair of breasts that grew from her chest and now stood firm and proud.
Mark and Bill, boring and respectable, were gone; in their place were Marceline and Wilhelmina, lesbian girlfriends and gothic art students. "Oh, nothing's wrong at all," Marceline said, licking her lips as she slid into Wilhelmina's lap. "I love you just the way you are. Leaning forward, she planted a hard kiss on her girlfriend's lips as her hand slipped up under her skirt and wandered upwards.
All around them similar scenes played out, as those café patrons who'd drunk Morrigan's drinks were changed into lovely lesbian goths, many of whom were now in various stages of sexual activity with those around them. Morrigan was pleased with her work, and ready to join the fun.