A fetish-fueled concoction

Though you're sorely tempted by the SLUT button, you **** yourself to tab through the other Syrup panels just to get a feel for exactly how much variety is at your command. The rotary mechanism replaces menu after menu of selections.

You're not prepared for what you find. In category after category, you discover buttons that begin reading like a who's who VIP list of your several gigabytes large porn collection.

Under PROF - for profession? - you find STRP, MAID, MODL, and BNNY.

With FTSH - yes, there is a fetish tab - you discover incredible listings like BRED, DOLL, and SLVE.

The other type buttons suddenly read like a who's who VIP list of your porn collection - SLUT, TMBY, MPDG... that'd be Manic Pixie Dream Girl, you'd bet.

And just like that, your jeans are feeling tight, and suddenly a world of inspiration strikes you. The panels on the machine suddenly make sense - alert for who notices the change. Scope for how wide the changes go - retroaction means the transformation is retroactive. And potency determines how the transformation takes effect.

But most critically, you spy a switch labeled 'MIX' next to the syrup selection. You flip it, and a little LCD screen turns on. Now when you press syrup buttons, they're added to a mix, rather than each being a one-off.

It's too perfect. The coiling need in your gut propels you to make up the new drink. Just as an experiment, for fun, of course. It's not like you actually have to make anybody drink it.

You start keying in everything you like, just how you like, heeding only what feels good as your guiding star.

--TYPE--
(MIX)
SLUT 20
BRED 15
EXHB 15
MPDG 15
TMBY 15
DRON 10
DOLL 5
SLVE 5

--Alert--
Server - ON
Drinker - OFF
Witness - OFF
Public - OFF

--Scope--
Normalcy - OFF
Memory - OFF
Local - OFF
Global - OFF
Retroaction - ON

--Potency--
Aesthetic - ON
Stylistic - ON
Interests - OFF
Lifestyle - OFF
Personality - OFF
Motivation - OFF
Mental - ON
Physical - ON
Sexuoerotic - ON

Purity: 60%

You leave a lot of the switches off. Not randomly, but rather, because you'd want whoever drank this to still be themselves... but just, a sexier, sluttier version of themselves that just so happens to embody a selection of your particular tastes.

And that would be that... but then you glance between your friends. Your eyes linger on Jane. If the last drink turned Pearl pink, what would this mess of a slurry do to your crush? Too late, you try to push the idea out of your mind.

Impulsively, you mash the press pour button instead. You instantly regret your choice as the machine whirls to life, drawing everyone's attention, but you just wanted to indulge the fantasy for a second longer.

You don't even know if the Juicer Max actually works yet, or if you've just had a break with reality. And this drink is a total nonstarter. It's far from the subtle, minimal experiment Yutong might recommend in your shoes.

So when the Juicer Max spits out the fresh, cold-smoking can, you hastily snatch it up and go to throw it away before anyone notices your shame.

Unfortunately, your suddenly stealthy demeanor quickly draws Indigo's keen artistic eyes. "Hey, are you holding out on us, Chase?"

"Huh? What? H-hold out on you?" You spin around, red-handed. You try to laugh it off. "No, never!"

"Uh huh. Then what's that can in your hands?" asks Indy, pointing. Everyone's looking right at the can, now.

"It's ah... a mistake,"' you stammer. "I was playing with the syrup settings and -"

Jane snorts and elbows Pear in the ribs. "I bet it's another insult-to-women-everywhere Popple brand," she says. "Only time I've seen Chase look that guilty is when I caught him looking up porn on his phone in class."

Sully busts out laughing. "In class, dude? Really?"

You glare indignantly at Jane. "That was supposed to be our secret!"

Jane grins and shrugs helplessly, which, however aggravating it is, is a very cute look on her that only makes you wish she caused trouble for you like this more often.

Pink Pearl sighs and motions with a hand. "All right, Chase. Let's see what could possibly be more embarrassing for Popple Quench than literal Bimbo Juice."

"No!" you cry. You rush for the nearest window out of the lab room, intending to huck the accursed can as far as it'll fly.

"Get him!" yells Jane, pointing after you with a laugh.

Sully grins disturbingly similar to his cousin and launches himself after you, slamming into your back with the full **** of a high school linebacker (which position he actually played last year).

You're knocked off your feet and flattened to the ground, the wind knocked out of you and what feels like every bone in your body broken.

The can launches out of your hand as if shot out of a cannon and sails through the air in a perilous arc.

Yutong jumps and catches the cold silver can from exploding on the sterile tile floor.

Indigo cheers. "Woah! Great save, Yutong!"

Yu smiles sheepishly. "Um. No problem." Then, curiously, she fixes her glasses and turns her attention to the can.

"What's it say?" asks Sully, sitting up on your back.

Pearl sighs. "Cause we're dying to know."

You struggle in vain to get your huge stupid friend off your back. This can't be happening.

"Fetish Fuel," reads Yu, squinting at the laser-etched lettering. "Diet Pixie Drone Slut." She scrunches her nose and holds the can out at arm's length. "Ew."

Indy and Pear blush. Jane and Sully burst out laughing. Sully's convulsive laughs each threaten to snap your spine.

You feebly attempt to free yourself from his weight, but your good-natured friend is having none of it. Slight shifts of his weight keep you pinned.

"How is that even a flavor?" asks Indigo, perplexed.

"Well," says Pearl, looking around the lab, "this was Popple's R&D department. I bet it never made it to market."

Jane, meanwhile, proactively hops over to the Juicer Max. "Looks like it's all still keyed up," she says, experimentally jabbing the pour button. In seconds, another can of Fetish Fuel: Diet Pixie Drone Slut is on the table. Amused, she brandishes the soda. "Who wants to try it?"

Sully's hand shoots up, even as he keeps you pinned to the floor. "Shoot me some of that Drone Slut," he hoots, joking. "Can't believe my own best friend tried to hide the good stuff from us."

Jane slings her cousin a can of the pornographic Popple, and pours another one for herself. "This is just too good," she chuckles.

You try to gasp a warning, but you can barely breathe. And the more you struggle, the funnier it is for Sully to keep you ground down. Being pinned by the big man is like getting stuck in a Chinese finger trap. The only way out is to relax, and that's the last thing you can do under the circumstances.

"Okay, sure, screw it. Give me a can," volunteers Indy, raising her hand. "We're here to do stupid shit. Drinking a can of Fetish Fuel is as stupid as it gets."

Jane smiles and hands her the next off the presses.

Yutong, not wanting to be left behind by all her friends, quietly regards her own can in a different light.

Blonde Pearl is the last holdout, but not for long. "Fine, I'll have one too. I mean, it's still degrading, but fuck, I meant it when I said that the Bimbo Juice went down like liquid crack. I want to see what else these 90's chauvinists could whip up."

This can't be happening. How did you fuck things up this bad?

Your friends all share a toast and crack their respective cans of Fetish Fuel.

"No," you wheeze. "Don't."

But no one listens. They each tilt back their cans, and it's down the hatches.