Secretary For A Change 2
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I, Secretary - Part 1 free porn video
I, Secretary
"I cast a curse on you in the hope it'll help you see the error of your
ways. Whatever your secretary, Chantelle, wears one day, you'll be
trapped wearing the next. Whatever outfit she spends the most time in
between midnight and midnight will be sealed to your body for the
following twenty-four hours. Only she will be able to release your
clothing, if she so chooses, and only she can end the curse." The
Mediator closed his eyes as he spoke.
"The clothes you wear will be the actual ones she's worn, so you really
get a feel for her struggle, and you'll wear everything down to the
underwear. Any male clothes donned over the top will fall to shreds and
any attempt to cut the clothes off will prove futile. Your comfort is
now at her mercy, as hers has been at yours for years previous to
today."
With that, the black void vanished and we were back in the office at
five to five.
"See ya!" She winked, strutting out before I could collect my thoughts
enough to speak.
As she disappeared through the door, I watched her bum shimmy side to
side in her ass-hugging black suit dress and heard her thighs whisper
nylon on nylon. She slung her coat over her shoulder and left,
whistling, as I sat back and pondered.
That night, I went to bed early. I wanted to prove this whole thing to
be an elaborate hoax. I'd wake up fine, and there'd be no problem.
Surely. I kept whispering that to myself as I fell asleep. Surely...
surely...
I woke up in immense pain and discomfort, and went to roll out of bed to
climb to the toilet in my ensuite. Something was crushing me hard, and
it was only when I threw off the covers, went to roll and landed
awkwardly on a set of glossy black stilettos that I realised I'd been
wrong.
I, of course, immediately fell to the floor, nylon-wrapped legs splayed
at the knee and held tightly together at the thigh by the bottom of my
immensely figure-hugging black polyester suit dress. Whatever I had on
underneath tugged and twanged as I struggled to my feet. Even my body
had changed shape, and where I'd previously had fairly good muscle mass
and a lean stomach, I now had her chubby rounded figure to fill out her
bra, among other things.
I stumbled to the mirror, trying not to break my neck but also trying
not to look down too much as the sight of my rounded thighs brushing
together as I struggled in her shoes was too much for me right now:
doesn't mean I couldn't feel them rasping together, nor hear them doing
so as I'd heard hers do on many an occasion! I stopped short and my
mouth fell open. I looked ridiculous!
From the neck down, I had her body, essentially, exactly as it was
presented yesterday. It was rounded, featured two giant breasts wrapped
in that stupid shiny black bra which I could see tiny bits of sticking
out of her tight black suit dress, as it had done on her yesterday! I
turned to the side and pulled at a sleeve to see light glimmering off my
satin bra cups. It was then that I noticed a lack of underarm hair, and
then, peering as best I could through the glimmering dark nylon of her
tights, I noticed I had no leg hair either! I really was exactly as she
had been from the neck down!
I then turned my attention to what I had on underneath. I remembered
seeing the tiny zipper dangling from the back of her neck and reached
round as best I could to grab it, feeling the dress tighten dramatically
over my huge bosom and, what felt like, threaten to pull it out of my
bra! I pinched the tiny zipper between a thumb and forefinger and tried
it, but it wouldn't move. My blood ran cold. What were his words?
'Whatever your secretary wears one day, you'll be trapped wearing the
next.'
Trapped was right. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pull the
zipper down. Not just because of how massively awkward it was, and at
this stage I had my face stuffed into my own breasts trying desperately
to get it down, but because it was seemingly sealed permanently in
place!
I gave up, red-faced and flustered, and decided just to cut it off. I
swished and waddled my way to the ensuite where I grabbed a pair of nail
scissors. I put them at the taut hem of the dress and began to cut. They
made slow progress upwards through the fabric, but after a few minutes
of patient sawing and cutting, I made it up to my genitals. I was able
to pull the two flaps aside and reveal the shimmering lining of her
dress and my iron-grip tight pair of control pants. I took a moment to
pull the waistline of the control pants away from my stomach and peer
in, the light from the window reflecting briefly off a pair of shiny
black satin panties contained within the dusky nylon of the tights.
I'd had enough. I began hauling and tearing with the scissors, cutting
further and further up the bodice, up past the top of my tights, up past
my control pants, up to the bottom of my bra, between the cups, and
through! The dress fell to the floor like a tattered coat and I turned
to see myself clad in my secretaries underwear in the mirror. My
cleavage heaved in the bra as I hyperventilated, and I took a moment to
stare down at her semi-naked body. For a brief moment, I considered how
packed in she actually was under her deceptively flattering clothes. The
control pants I wore were nearly killing me with every breath, so they
were next to go.
As I began cutting, something I cannot explain happened. The words
sprang into my head first:
'Any male clothes donned over the top will fall to shreds and any
attempt to cut the clothes off will prove futile.'
The scissors were pinged from my hand by the cut I'd made into the
control pants sealing shut like a fast zipper. Then, like a tiger onto
its prey, the dress leapt off the floor onto my back and fed itself
forcefully over my arms as I thrashed, stumbling around the room, trying
not to break my neck in her heels. It pulled its two sides together and
they slowly merged, blurring into one and covering me back up, once
again entombing me within its slippery, tight little grasp, and I fell
to my knees in the middle of my bedroom with my hands tightly grasping
at the neckline, breathing heavily and feeling very sick.
What the Hell was happening to me? Why was I the one trapped in this?
Then my phone rang. It was Chantelle.
"You likin' my dress?" her cheery, scouse voice didn't help.
"What the fuck have you done to me, you bitch?" I snarled through
gritted teeth.
"Careful, babe. You don't wanna get het up in that underwear 'cos it's a
real bitch," she laughed. "I should know! I was wearing it yesterday,
remember? They've definitely gone from my wash basket!"
I shuddered as I was reminded that the clothes I wore now, according to
the genie, were indeed the exact clothes she had indeed worn yesterday.
They even had the remnants of her perfume wafting off them. I suddenly
felt very claustrophobic, closed in and trapped by that immovable zipper
down my back.
"Listen, right. Here's the deal. I'm coming over with some outfits in a
bag. You're gonna ring in sick and let them know you're giving me some
paid time off. Then we're gonna go through the outfits and see what
you'd like to wear this week. If you do as I ask, maybe you'll get some
time in a t-shirt and jeans. Hey, I could even wear your stuff for a day
so you can go out tomorrow and get some fresh air, or I could possibly
think about letting you out of whatever you wake up in. Of course, if
you disobey me..." she trailed off, leaving me to imagine what manner of
nightmare I might find myself in. At that point, I snapped.
"Listen here you bitch. I don't know what you've done, or how you've
done it, but I'm going to fucking kill you for this. You put this shit
right, and you do it right fucking now," I snarled.
The line went dead.
Still filled with pent up rage, I sat back in the living room, trying to
just watch TV while I thought of a plan. It was near impossible to get
comfortable in what I had on though, as the bra would pinch rolls of
skin between it and the top of my control pants, or my tights would
start to shimmy down and I'd have to pull them back up because, if I
didn't, they shot back up violently and threatened to really hurt me. It
was also hard to relax with my feet propped up so high at the heel,
meaning my knees were higher than I was used to. No amount of fiddling
with her shoes, however, would get them to release my feet even
temporarily.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, exasperated, as I slumped back on the
couch.
The rest of the day passed without incident. I spent it itchy, hot and
breathless, and began drinking in the middle of the afternoon.
I finally collapsed into bed at something past nine, and fell into a
deep, dreamless sleep.
What will he wake up in next? I'm trying to think of what she could do
to him to really, really punish him, but I can't quite make up my mind.
I'm also thinking about doing a prequel to this to give the back story a
bit more meat, as there actually isn't one at the moment. But this is
the fun bit, so I did it first. This is more of a rough outline, I
guess, but the main thread is here.
Ideas? Thoughts on this one?
Nadene
- 08.01.2023
- 24
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